The sound the wind outside is making noises like its crushing our car into scrap metal or ripping up the night like some old jeans.
Mike’s car is a rundown hand-me-down Suburban trash that skids and stutters and has a malfunctioning brake that doesn’t work on some occasions (don’t speculate). And Bella in the backseat (unbuckled seatbelt) is telling me that this feels like Déjà vu. She asks me should that be a good kind or a bad kind? I say, what? She asks, should her Déjà vu be like, exhilaration and speed, or the bad way, like be a certain part of the thing or like her arm was torn off then or something.
A Greyhound rumbles past. The engine is impossibly loud and it sounds like danger.
Mike feigns a wolf-howl, while Bella joins in, still, no seatbelt. Bella says, getting killed in a car crash and swallowed up by the lights and the speed would be a very wonderful thing.
I try not to look backwards because I feel very sick.
Mike Newton (childhood friend): Turn around to look at Bella, eye contact is essential, mutual gaze narrows the physical gap between humans. Smile. Hey. Good evening, baby. No, too playful. Now, see my L’oreal Paris Skin Genesis Moisturizer, glow-in-the-dark drop dead gorgeous face?
Angela Weber (childhood friend): Well, if you ask me, if Bella’s different? I don’t think much. It’s like she’s a plain notebook from the paper store, but right now she is less filled. You know what I mean? It’s like after the thing the notebook was wiped cleaned with correction tape and right now it’s cleaner and less…dark?
But what we see is just the plain, brown cardstock cover. Maybe a little more scratched, a bit rougher looking.
If she was the notebook, she would never have shown us what’s inside anyway.
Mike Newton (childhood friend): What we are doing is, we are filling her with love and peace and happiness in multi-colored felt tip pens. She desperately, desperately needs some positivity. Like, right now? We have to like, shoot some sunshine in her veins. Okay, the hippie-ness was not intended, but, I think it’s better for her this way.
Angela Weber (childhood friend): There is a highway prostitute at the shoulder. She has grease tangled beach blonde hair that shines in our headlights and smeared magenta lipstick smeared glitter smeared mascara. All over her face. She gives us a flash through her fake leopard coat. The cigarette stub between her glinting toothpaste advert teeth, the glowing cherry is doused by wind we are making. Her breasts aren’t very large.
It’s pretty cold.
Jessica Stanley (childhood enemy): The gas station signs, the red white fluorescent lights? They look pretty forlorn, kind of like, abandoned, because they are mostly closed. When is opening time anyway. I guess it should be near. See the lights winking in that one single window?
Mike Newton (childhood friend): Bella says she likes the moon when it’s still white and pretty round when they sky lightens into the palest shade of dark blue. She says she can still see the hollows of the moon, then. I guess I should say something about that. Hey – do you know NASA is planning to build space stations - ?
Jessica Stanley (childhood enemy): But Bella is still a goddamn whore.