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It's two o'clock in the afternoon on a July day, the hottest time of the day. The hot, dry winds of the West Coast are blowing fine dust and sand into the lungs of every pedestrian still outside, carrying with it the pungent smell of asphalt that has melted in the heat; the sun is blazing, and everything is still, from the plants on the street, to the silk scarves and shawls of the models in the windows, to the small flags planted on both sides of the road, to the cars parked in the shadows, and even to the cat lying on its back next to the garbage cans in its yellow and white coloring, from its ears to the tips of its tails; The heat wave caused the air to start twisting and distorting, and in a composition that could be described as postmodernist, a man's walk spoiled the picture. The boy walks along the street in the shadows trying to avoid the sun as much as possible, he eventually stops next to a store, looks up to confirm the name of the store and then pushes the door open and disappears inside.
The scene returns to peace once more.
.............................. ......
"Hi, umm . .can I get a, um..."
Miles started to feel dizzy looking at the dozens of drinks listed on the thin list in his hand, he recognized every letter on it, but when they were spelled together Miles was completely confused; eventually he swallowed and closed his eyes pointing to the line at the top of the drink list :" I'll have a 'lever du soleil', please."
"..... That's the name of this pub."
The bartender narrowed his eyes at Miles and flung his white towel hard in the air; even if this place had pitifully few customers at two in the afternoon, the other man still didn't look very patient.
Miles' face went red. To make matters worse he heard someone next to him laughing. It was a terrible experience for his first time in a bar; just as he was about to leave or simply ask for a Coke, there was one more person in the seat next to him.
"The mimosa served here is not bad. i'd give it a shot if i were you."
"Sure--a mimosa please!"
Miles' eyes lit up for a moment, and he quickly agreed as if he'd been saved, waiting for the small, red-haired bartender with the not-so-good-temper to turn around before Miles turned his attention to his side: he was one hundred percent sure that it was the same person as the one who'd just laughed at him, but Miles wasn't offended. He was completely mesmerized by the person next to him.
Miles turned his head, and the first thing he saw was a tousled yet chic look taking up his entire field of vision: hair that looked like a sunflower exploded in front of his eyes, taking Miles a long time to adjust to it; further down he could see all sorts of metal decorative studs, lip rings, earrings, eyebrow studs nose rings, and Miles's overly-active mind made him choose to skim over the other man's looks almost instantly, and go straight down the line, searching for any other similar adornment --
"Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown."
Hobie looked as if he didn't care about the other man's somewhat bluntly offensive gawking.
".. . h-hi! I-I mean good seeing you! I'm-I'm Miles, Miles Morales."
Miles' eyes, still lingering below, finally reluctantly turned back to Hobie as he stumbled through the introductions, while finally realizing to his satisfaction that the other man did indeed still have an umbilical cord; in the process Miles noticed the guitar that Hobie was carrying behind him, the red and blue color scheme bringing back memories :" I-I'm sorry but you look really I'm sorry but you look really familiar.... .have we met? It's just--Wait--I know! You're that singer from yesterday's live!"
And then Miles remembered that the band had played yesterday's show, in the park next door (more like a wasteland, seriously), and he remembered the lead singer being a tall, skinny guy with a red-and-blue guitar and an exaggerated haircut like this; it had been on his list of graduation travel plans, too, to hear a concert and to go to a bar, and now he could cross both of those off at the same time... thanks! to the guy sitting next to him, Hobie Brown.
"Spider-gang." Hobie repeated the name of the band; Miles' drink was brought to him, and Hobie quite naturally took the glass and took a swig, before staring thoughtfully at the bright orange liquid: "Still bit too strong for you, I think. but it's your choice."
Unconcerned, Miles took the glass and cautiously sipped the rim of the glass, like spoiled orange juice, the sweetness mingling with the sour bitterness of the alcohol; so he unobtrusively nudged the glass in Hobie's direction again.
They chatted for the rest of the evening, and Miles grew a little addicted to Hobie's thick British accent; they talked so much that it was only at the final moment of the bar's closing that Miles realized he'd just spent the afternoon plus the evening here.
It disrupted his plans for the rest of the day, but Miles didn't regret it. There was something uniquely appealing about Hobie that drew him in; it was only when the bartender coughed impatiently for the millionth time while staring at them, and finally dumped the bill on the table in no uncertain terms to tell them they were closing, that Miles lowered his head in some embarrassment and fumbled for his wallet.
Hobie, on the other hand, casually pulled a few bills out of his pocket:" I got you. c'mon, don't bother. i'm sure we'll see each other again soon."
Miles smiled at him coyly. Little did he know that the man who had bought his drink for him would be meeting him again in a few hours.
.............................. .............................. ......
"Sorry, place's full. no empty room."
The receptionist looked Miles up and down with an ambiguous gaze as he stood helplessly at the counter: "You still in school? Guess you're not the only one who decided to go on a trip in July, huh? Next time book in advance, cutie. Next time book in advance, cutie."
Miles clearly didn't know how to deal with this kind of scene, and as the hand that had painted its long fingernails orange reached for his chest Miles scrambled back and then bumped into something, a warm body. A hand held his shoulder steady and Miles turned around, only to see a lip ring glinting in the dim lights of the motel: "There you are--Miles my boy! You came."
The lead singer of the band looked up, calmly at the reception that showed skepticism: "We're together."
The woman stared disdainfully at their pressed together bodies: "If you say so."
......................... .............................. ............
"Ehem... .so--thanks, for what y-you did back then? I mean thanks, you're a life saver."
Miles stood in the room somewhat awkwardly, on the one hand he felt relieved that he didn't have to sleep on the streets or risk being attacked and robbed by hobos in the middle of the night to find a place to stay, on the other hand he had to spend the whole night in a room with someone he hadn't known for more than twenty-four hours - even if he had a crush on Hobie. He couldn't even bring himself to mention the day's experience to his parents; in his last text message he'd claimed to his police officer dad that he'd been hiking with a group of "upstanding, reliable, sunny American boys.
"You ever see Thelma and Louise?"
"W-What?" asked Miles, a little puzzled by the question, "N-No. I don't watch a lot of movies . . except for it was Marvel or Netflix--"
"I like that film, it's good."
Hobie lay on the bed with his legs folded, and he didn't even look at Miles as he reached for the remote, and the bulky, short TV in the room, which looked like it had been moved from the 1990s, finally popped out of the picture after a flash of snowy screens.Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker's faces appeared on the screen, and on the other side, Maggie Smith, dressed as a nun, calmly spoke her classic line: "We'll, he used the N-word--"
"Rush Hour. Personally I prefer the first one, but the sequels not bad."
Miles looked back skeptically, remembering what Hobie had told him in the afternoon, "I thought you said you never watch comedy." he unconsciously walked over to the bed and sat down, quickly getting caught up in the plot and naturally crawling upward a bit to lean against the bed.
Hobie sighed and handed Miles the popcorn he had gotten from somewhere : "That's a joke."
.............................. .............................. ...
It was only when the TV screen began to burn and the picture barely kept steady as the final cast list popped up that Miles casually touched his phone with a comfortable sigh; he was too engrossed in the sparks and laughs that collided between the superstar cast, even if he had seen the movie. It was probably past midnight now, and he should get an early night to get ready for tomorrow's road trip. Then Miles looked at the screen:
02:49
Frightened, he immediately turned off the screen and flipped it upside down on the sheets.
"Time for little boy to sleep?"
Hobie's voice sounded close, and Miles had just realized that they had somehow leaned together in a near-snuggle position for the second half of the movie; and now the guitarist's deep black eyes gazed up at him with a look on his face that was half mocking, half serious.
Before Miles had time to reply, Hobie withdrew his hand around Miles' shoulder and stretched: "Gotta sleep. Been a long day . . and there's tomorrow. i hate days..."
It looked like Hobie had acquiesced to his staying the night. At least that's how Miles understood it. So he took up a small half of the pillow very carefully and cautiously, and pulled over a corner of the quilt; it only covered half of his body, but it was summer, and he didn't really need bedding even with the air conditioning turned up to 26 degrees.
"Good night, Hobie."
Miles said quietly as he rolled over and turned his back on the man who had kindly taken him in.
..................
It was not a good night.
It wasn't too loud at first, and Miles vaguely heard what sounded like a brawl and a clash of flesh; he immediately assumed that it was drunks fighting, and that maybe it would all stop soon - he pressed his ears against the pillow with this naive thought and prayed for it to end soon, until a sudden "Yessss daddy!" came.
Miles realized what the sound was. He likewise realized that he wasn't the only one in the room who hadn't fallen asleep and heard it.
Things couldn't have gotten any more awkward.
The moans next door became louder and louder, the grunts progressively more outrageous; Miles's body had stiffened to the point of breaking, and he didn't dare to move or even minimize his breathing; he didn't want to disturb Hobie or, worse, make Hobie realize he cared about this-
A hand came up from behind to press against Miles' ear, and for a moment the only thing Miles could hear was the sound of palm against earlobe, flesh and cartilage being squeezed, before the screams from next door came again, only a little more muffled. At first he was taken aback, but it wasn't like the hands were pressing against him in such a way as to make Miles feel uncomfortable; Miles heard a voice ringing out behind him, traveling faster through his bones, "Sleep tight, Bambi deer."
Lucky for them, things returned to calm after the room next to them eventually let out a shrill, last-minute grunt similar to that of a dying large animal squeezed from the depths of its throat in its final moments over the next five minutes.
Still, Miles was having a hard time sleeping. Hobie's hand had no intention of withdrawing, even if the annoying sounds next door had died down. The pillow had a faint damp smell, mixed with mildew, and Miles, struggling to avoid it to prevent him from inhaling too much of the putrid smell, accidentally bumped into something hard.
It was Hobie. Hobie let out a disgruntled mumble in his sleep, and as Miles considered whether he should apologize or quietly move away pretending nothing had happened, the hand covering his ear suddenly went down and wrapped around Miles' stomach to hold him firmly in his arms. Apparently, Hobie was using him as some sort of decompression hug.
Still trying to break free, Miles yawned uncontrollably, his grip on Hobie's wrists becoming less and less strong; he found that being held by a warm body in an air-conditioned room was more conducive to falling asleep, as was wrapping up in a comforter while the air-conditioning was turned on, which was a completely different feeling than lying in a room at the right temperature covered with nothing at all.
...... Mom and Dad would go crazy if they saw this.
It was the last thing on Miles' mind before he fell asleep.
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The alarm clock woke Miles up less than four hours after he went to sleep. That was the time he had strictly followed his plan to wake up accordingly during the trip, and now with the plan ruined, Miles had forgotten to cancel it. A pair of hands came from behind him and turned off his cell phone for him, and only when Miles was fully awake did he quickly jump up from the other arm that was still holding him in embarrassment: "Sorry--did I woke you up? I woke you up right? I'm sorry--I forgot to--"
"'S alright."
Hobie didn't look like he cared. He yawned lazily and got up and walked to the door: "Coffee?"
........................
The plate that was brought up contained some scrambled eggs and two slices of bread sandwiched between slices of bacon that had been fried until squeaky clean and crispy. Hobie graciously pushed his breakfast toward Miles signaling that the other man was welcome, while he himself just sat casually on the floor with a cup of coffee.
Miles became even more embarrassed. And he was too hungry to turn down a steaming plate of breakfast; Hobie hadn't even finished half of his coffee after he'd wiped the last bit of scrambled egg foam off the bread and then stuffed it into his mouth. He remained seated quietly on the floor, his gaze piercing through the window to the vast green shade outside.
"Guess I'll be going--a-and thanks, man. f-For letting me stay last night.A-And for the breakfast.How much is it--in total? I-I'll pay you, we can split the bill..."
So that was probably the end of it. This was his parting with Hobie, Miles thought. According to the plan he should now be in the Appalachians enjoying the view of the magnificent plains, the lush vegetation swaying in the hot summer winds to form an undulating wave, and then make his way westward to finally end his journey at Coronado Beach. From the mountains to the sea, every journey contains more or less one of these two sights, or both.
But his lingering footsteps hovering in the doorway hinted that there was a boy who didn't want to skip to the end so soon. Miles hesitantly dropped his hand on the doorknob, twisting his head to look at the seated man working up the courage to ask, "Hey--what's your plan for today? I'm--I'm just asking you know..."
"I don't do plans coz I don't believe in consistency... things change..." said Hobie, picking up his coffee, his eyes still not falling on Miles; his response caused the boy to drop his eyes like a puppy abandoned on the street on a rainy day; Miles hunched his shoulders and prepared to leave with his bulging bag on his back.
I'll hang out at the museum.Wanna come?"
A sudden voice from behind him stopped him before he could press his hand on the doorknob; Miles turned and met Hobie's gaze while the other man slowly rose from the ground and walked over to him: "I'll stay here for another night, then I go west. You're welcome, of course if you have other plans then--"
"No!"
Miles interrupted sharply without even thinking; he looked up, and wow, Hobie was tall, he was at least two or three sizes bigger than Miles; as he applied his senses to the thought, Miles realized that maybe he didn't have to go climbing.
"I mean--my plan was to go west...I wanna go to the beach, see the ocean. I-I..can I come with you? Like, can you give me a ride or something... I'll leave when you ask of course--"
Hobie's arm naturally reached out to Miles to take him into his arms, the dark brown liquid swirling dangerously in the glass without eventually splashing out.
"And I'll never ask you to leave, dear."
And so it was that in less than 24 hours of their acquaintance, Miles and Hobie became companions.
.............................. .............................. ......
When they returned from the museum that evening the front desk at the hotel had been changed to another person, very kindly greeting them as they passed. They opened the door to their room and Miles was the first to sit on the bed with an ice cream cone in his mouth.
During the day they had sat outside on a bench for a while before heading back to the hotel from the museum, Hobie had left briefly and when he had returned he had two chocolate flavored ice creams in his hand. It was the best tasting Miles had ever tasted, most likely of course because he was traveling, and everything about traveling because of the excitement brought on by the unknown seemed a little better than usual.
They sat there until sunset, ready to leave when the sky turned purplish-red and the fountains in the side park started to kick in; Miles bit by bit, carefully biting and swallowing the cone of egg as they watched the pedestrians going by and talked casually.
"I never thought you'd be the kind of--museum guy. so you like history?"
"No, I'm simply here to see the damage done by capitalism, and how they were kept to be worshipped by people. all this sarcasm."
Hobie looked back, just in time to meet Miles' confused eyes: "I'm an anarchist, baby. Though, I hate these labels."
"... .wow. "Miles swallowed the ice cream that was melting in his mouth, the sticky cold sensation clogging his language system. He'd heard of similar concepts, libertarians, anarchy, anti-capital ...... things that appeared in his textbooks that Miles had just never considered seeing in person one day.
It was only when Miles looked up that he noticed that the benches on either side were filled with people at some point, all couples. Men and women, men and men, women and women, two by two, embracing and kissing each other; the atmosphere suddenly became odd as Miles noticed it all; he turned his head to make a joke or to tell Hobie if it was time for them to go back, and then Miles saw that Hobie was coming up to him.
The light of the setting sun had not yet been completely swallowed up, and the light that had turned fuchsia tinted everyone's arms with an ambiguous color, and the difference in temperature between day and night had made the evening breeze a little chilly at the moment; Miles shivered involuntarily as the breeze blew by, and Hobie's hand was already touching him; looking at the other man's body as he approached, Miles was gradually struck by a crazy thought: he had never, ever --
"Got something on your chin."
Hobie rubbed his chin then calmly spread his hand to indicate that the other man was covered in chocolate sauce; Miles' face flushed. He rubbed the small patch of skin as hard as he could, as if that would make the ridiculous, unbelievable scene he'd just been thinking about disappear from his mind.
How could he have thought that, huh? Having that crazy thought to Hobie, someone he'd just met less than two days ago-probably because it was so hot and the amount of ice cream he'd just consumed had frozen his brain.
"C'mon, let's get you another ice cream and go back to hotel."
Hobie was the first to get up, his earrings glowing gently in the setting sun.
.............................. .............................. ......
They ended the day by watching another movie; Miles was firmly attracted to Audrey Hepburn, but he didn't like how the movie was set up to end with the hero and heroine separately.
"Why do they have to leave each other,"
The ice cream is all destroyed by Miles before it melts, and the boy leans senselessly on the arm of the person next to him to express his feelings after the movie:" I don't understand, if they really love each other, then, everything else doesn't matter. There's always a solution-they can do both!
"Free will vs power." Hobie's comment was even shorter: "And power always wins. Dear, I didn't know you're an idealist."
"I'm not..."
Miles yawned as the closing credits of Yesterday's Repeat came on, and couldn't even turn off the TV in time to say goodnight to Hobie; he desperately needed some sleep, but less than two hours after he'd closed his eyes that small desire was once again shattered.
Miles braced himself and turned on his cell phone, 03:21, while he lay beside him the man had stood up and walked to the door, turning back at the sound of Miles' waking movement : "Imma go out for a ride.Come with me?"
Miles was a little dumbfounded, the lack of sleep had made his brain not as flexible as it usually was and made the first question that came out of his mouth turn into, "Why do you wanna go out at 3 in the morning?"
"Why not?" asked Hobie in return. In the darkness Miles saw a small bright light, Hobie's lip ring, reflecting in the moonlight.
Outside the window came the rustling of leaves being blown through the trees, while the moist, warm air telegraphed an impending downpour.
Miles blinked, thinking about how he was going to convince Hobie to give up this crazy idea.
…………………………………………………………
He must be out of his mind.
That was the only thought Miles had as he sat in the passenger side of that Ford, feeling the evening breeze on his face.
He must be crazy to say yes to Hobie's invitation to get in a car and drive down the highway at three in the morning with no destination in mind.
"Where are we going?" said Miles' voice, torn and muffled at breakneck speeds. But Hobie clearly caught it.
"No idea,"
The man at the wheel shrugged, holding the steering wheel with one hand; he still had a cigarette clutched in his left hand sticking out of the window, and the open-top design had blown his hair into disarray.
"Let's just see, huh?"
"Look out--"
Miles' heart stopped as he watched the oncoming truck with its blinding lights; he was almost certain that there was going to be a crash soon and at this speed he was afraid that he was going to get smashed beyond recognition; at the last minute Hobie swerved hard to send the car careening off to the side, crashing through the guardrail and hurtling off into the vast expanse of desert.
The good news was that they survived and were not run over by the heavy truck.
The bad news was that Miles realized that after the dangerously crazy move he'd been through, he should have gotten pissed off, called it all off and gone back; but he remained firmly and hopelessly captivated by the people around him.
Hobie whistled a long, long whistle, and his cigarette, which had burned to the end of its cotton, was casually snuffed out in his palm; the gas pedal was pushed to the limit, and the engine of the battered old car began to smoke.
But still they marched on. Racing forward aimlessly through a barren landscape, occasionally the tires crushed over bits of rock; the Thunderbird was filled with the smell of burning tobacco and marijuana, well after some time of running around both had pretty much dissipated; the car only had the faint scent of earth and grass mixed with the dampness of a rainstorm just before it was due to arrive. In the bleak wilderness a large sand and dust with the tires rolling up, the moonlight was reflected like a dream; choking dust and old cars racing on the plains, who can be the first to arrive at the destination?
Finally, they stopped at the foot of the hill.
"The car's out of gas," Hobie tossed out casually, as if he were asking Miles what flavor of ice cream he wanted. Just ten minutes ago his topic had been "If I drive fast enough, do you think we can drive all the way to the moon?"
He looked up thoughtfully at the mountain in front of him: "You think we can make it to the top? Bet we can do it."
And Miles could think of nothing more to say in reply.
The way up wasn't easy, especially in the early hours of the morning when it had started raining again; every step was slippery enough, and every fall was a possibility, so much so that Miles couldn't believe it when they finally reached the top through a grove of trees.
...... So he climbed a mountain anyway, and although it was a lot easier than the Appalachians as originally planned, he still did it.
Two hours had passed since their departure and it was now nearing sunrise. The temperature was slowly beginning to rise, and the coldness of the night was quietly receding, replaced by the warm scent of pine needles in the forest, and fresh dew, and-
Miles turned to see Hobie standing at the edge of the cliff.
"Wait--what are you doing? Come back man--oh my--"
He'd seen similar scenes before, or heard of them - drug-addicted crowds hallucinating, swallowing highly toxic pesticides as if they were delicacies, or sticking their hands in a meat grinder while thinking they were petting a white rabbit - and he was one hundred percent sure that this was pretty much the same Scene. Hobie was in a perverse state of euphoria, driving ninety miles an hour on a highway at three in the morning - he was either drunk or high.
Miles fought his way to Hobie's direction, then wrapped his arms firmly around the band's lead singer's waist; he tried to pull the other man back, away from the edge of the cliff, but Hobie was too big for him, and eventually Miles could only pant and cling to Hobie.
The sun rose at that moment. The burning circle wasted no time in shining her heat on every patch of earth, bringing life and hope.
Miles wasn't sure whether it was the rising sun, his strenuous efforts to hold him back or Hobie's drugged strength that had passed, but in any case the other man finally followed him off the cliff and in another, safer direction.
Miles drew a long breath of relief. His hands were now covered in the leathery smell of the jacket Hobie was wearing, and through the other man's vacuumed upper body Miles realized that he had probably left Hobie with a few bruises just moments before.
"Okay let's go back to our room, alright? We can --I don't know, maybe we could watch a movie later...you know, the one you mentioned before --"
"Thelma and Louise.”Hobie answered calmly: "Relax sunflower. I'm not trying to kill myself. Though it would be a good ending, jumping out of a cliff...but I'm not. I'm a radioactive suicide machine."
"What does that mean?"Miles looked at the other man confused and nervous, still ready for Hobie's next unexpected move.
"Well, it means nothing matters to me. I hate this world, hate capitalism, dictatorship, fascism. I hated myself sometimes even--"
Miles understood.
He walked towards the other man and sat down next to Hobie looking into the sunrise: "Then tell me, do you hate me?"
"Hate you? Noooo! Don't be silly, silly. i love you more than anything." Hobie sounded exaggerated and vain. But he always made it sound believable that he means it.
"That's alright," Miles muttered to himself as he opened the map on his phone and looked at their planned route: "We still got about 50 miles to fix it."
He had just realized what was wrong with Hobie. Everyone is like a sophisticated machine that develops different problems at different moments; some wait to be sent for repairs, others choose to ignore it, forcing it to run with the remaining intact parts until it is completely obsolete and crumbles into place.
And for a radioactive suicide machine like Hobie, his problems are definitely a little more specific.
.............................. ........................
"Wanna me carry you?"
This is what Hobie says to Miles during the descent. When Miles had just lunged at Hobie he had not only given the other man a bruise, but he had also sprained his ankle and was now walking with a very slow limp.
But Miles stubbornly refused Hobie's outstretched hand toward him: "It's--right. I'm fine, I can do it--"
"Sure."
Hobie withdrew his hand and shrugged as he walked behind Miles, only to rush right up to the other man in the next second and scoop Miles up by the waist.
"Don't worry, sunflower."
Hobie tightened his arms as Miles struggled symbolically, "If you fall, I'll catch you."
………………………………………………
Hobie held him throughout their walk back to the hotel, changing positions twice in between, and eventually Miles went from being carried on his shoulders to curled up in Hobie's arms, his injured ankle wobbling in mid-air.
"You're light."
Hobie's voice came straight through his chest, to which Miles simply replied in a muffled voice: "Yeah, and I shine."
His sneer managed to amuse Hobie, and the laughter shook Miles to the point of dizziness, or maybe it was just the fact that he was being held by Hobie that was so magical; in any case, Miles wriggled a little so that his calf was resting on Hobie's small arm, and then opened up the next topic of conversation.
He wasn't going to dwell on Hobie's crazy antics just now, nor was he going to ask the other man if he was drunk or stoned or anything of the sort; on the way back to the side of the highway they talked about other things, some of the nicer ones, music, family, food ...... Miles grumbled about how hard it had been for him to talk his parents into letting him go on a solo trip around the U.S. easy, and how his roommates and friends all had all sorts of other things to do on this vacation; most of the time Hobie listened quietly, and when they finally got back to the side of the main road ready to hitch a ride or find someone to help them rescue the gas-less, pitifully parked Thunderbird at the bottom of the hill, the first rays of sunrise light just happened to be falling through the mountains onto the asphalt.
Miles felt a sense of vertigo as an afterthought, as if he were drunk; he had told almost all of his life for over a decade, and Hobie, of whom he still knew nothing, the other man drew him onward and onward like a fog that he kept reaching for and the process of unraveling the fog was already more fascinating than the journey itself.
So Miles decided to satisfy his curiosity. His hand quietly grasped Hobie's jacket, his eyes falling on the decorative studs on it: "So . . why did you choose to go out, at 3 in the morning?"
"Why not."
Hobie's answer was still the same as it had been hours before; he stood on the curb, still holding Miles tightly in his arms until the other man kicked gently in discomfort, and then he set the boy down, still letting Miles lean most of his strength against him.
"Beautiful, innit?"
"The sunrise? S-Sure... I just, I didn't think you'd be the guy driving out at 3, chasing the sun--"
"I was talking about you."
Hobie adjusted his position, bending down so that Miles didn't have to tiptoe on his shoulders:"And the sunrise."
"As for your question, Bambi deer, I don't have a specific answer. Most things I did don't have a motivation, I just did. Why the hell not when you can?"
"Why not...when you can."
Miles repeated in a whisper. They were fortunate that a van full of farm implements pulled up, the driver with the baseball cap leaning against the window, beckoning them to get in as he heard their plight pass, his mustache peeking out of the window before his voice did.
The man in his forties or fifties was enthusiastic, handing the bag of chips lying on his large, protruding stomach to the two young men who seemed to him to be down and out, and talking to them through his thick beard along the way.
Miles, who happened to be sitting in the passenger seat, had to take on most of the conversation takers.
"So what are you two boys doing in the wilderness, at five in the morning?"
"Well..."
Miles hesitated; he couldn't tell the other man the reason Hobie had given him, the men would think they were crazy; but he couldn't think of a suitable excuse all the same, such as-
"We were on a date."
A calm voice came from the rear. Hobie shifted his sunglasses downward with one hand and looked at the man through the rearview mirror: "We are here to see the sunrise. it's romantic."
The driver returned a skeptical look through the rearview mirror, "So you're--you're, a couple?"
"No--"/ "Yes."
Miles was thoroughly confused. He didn't understand what Hobie was up to, the driver who was driving them was obviously from the south, and he didn't look like he was of the enlightened persuasion.
"Huh." the driver dismissed the scene as Miles being shy or something else; a moment of embarrassment filled the air until the driver turned on the radio, and the Eagles' voices came blurring out of it.
Miles quickly turned the conversation to music in an effort to try and ease the awkwardness of what had just happened; his personal preference was rap, but Hobie - Hobie was a little more familiar with the rock kind, and he is still a bandleader, isn't he?
Miles' eyes turned to Hobie for help, and he wasn't sure if the other man had picked up on his signals, but the conversation went on smoothly, though it only lasted ten minutes. When the man learned that Hobie was in a punk band, the atmosphere dropped to freezing point again.
It was a good thing they weren't far from the hotel where they were staying. Miles breathed a silent sigh of relief when the street loomed as a familiar sight. He was rejoicing that this was finally going to be over-
"Well,"
The driver eventually let out a heavy sigh and spoke to Hobie through the rearview mirror, "you're a punk and homosexual, honestly I can't think of anything worse. imagine what God would think about that young man, eventually you'll come around. eventually you'll come around."
"I can."
In response, Hobie was quite calm, even to Miles' surprise::" I also don't believe in god. It's a fraud created by capitalism, trying to fool people into believing their policies. judging by the situation, it's working great."
Miles closed his eyes in fear and prayed that the driver wouldn't dump them in the middle of the ride out of rage - or pull a gun out of his locker and put a bullet in each of them.
…………………………………………………
"Bye--and thanks! F-For the ride!!"
Miles snorted in desperation, and the driver who had let them off at the curb didn't even wave or honk his horn as he hit the gas and left without looking back.
Still, he dropped Hobie and Miles off next to the hotel instead of kicking the two anti-Christs off halfway through the trip.
"Why did you say that?" asked Miles, limping toward the hotel on Hobie's shoulder, grumbling slightly about what Hobie had just said, which was obviously provocative.
"Coz I wanted to." said Hobie, holding onto Miles' waist and mentioning it slightly in passing thoughtfully, "Besides, it was a good one, our date. don't you think?"
".... I didn't know we were dating." retorted Miles in a small voice, still reeling from having just offended the nice driver.
"You do now."
Hobie replied:" You know, homophobia is like a disease, we know it but no one ever admits. and I don't give a fuck."
"I don't give a fuck about how people see me. From some point, we're both a laughing stock to each other."
Miles quietly stomped on Hobie with his other foot: "You should put that on your shirt."
.............................. .............................. .........
They went to the front desk to check out, and the receptionist was the same woman from the first night; she looked at Miles' move on Hobie and his limping foot with a mixture of condescension, disdain, and ambiguity, and clearly thought they'd crossed the line last night - in a sense, they had. They crossed the line last night.
Miles sat in the co-pilot's seat of the Thunderbird, feeling a burst of midday heat; he'd completely abandoned his plan, his well-developed plan that had been carried out in one piece, choosing instead to follow Hobie on his trip. Aimlessly and casually, he walked and stopped. It was like an exodus that took place in the summer, a brief escape from life and a run to a free country that existed only in the imagination.
They drove all the way west, the bright purple body painted in bright yellow, like a bolt of lightning across a vast expanse of western wilderness; they drove through red and rust-colored wilderness, and once again passed through vast stretches of desert, and forested parks and highways; they seldom passed through busy downtowns, because neither Hobie nor he appreciated traffic jams and crowds much, and if they had expected them, Miles would have stayed in New York; and on the roads where no one else was driving Hobie even let Miles, a man who hadn't yet gotten his license, take over the wheel for a while.
"Wait--how do I stop? Where--which one is the brake and which is the accelerator?"
As the excitement faded, Miles remembered the fatal question as an afterthought; and Hobie leisurely folded his legs over the front of the car:-"You'll find out after a few tries."
The Thunderbird traced its path across the earth in a seven-twisted pattern, and from the sky their car really seemed to be a bird - a blind bird.
A blind bird.
Miles finally managed to figure out how to tell the gas from the brake before they hit a rock and managed to make a sharp turn to get around.
"Good move."
As Miles, so excited that his fingertips were shaking, trembled as he got out of the car to trade back with Hobie, the Ford's owner narrowed his eyes at the car he had just survived a heist: "Ever think of being a racer?"
Miles had gotten used to Hobie's way of speaking and was gradually following the other man's train of thought in concurrence: "How do you know that's my part-time job?"
He resumed his seat on the passenger side and sighed comfortably; while he loved the thrill of driving, the feeling of leaving everything behind and running for freedom regardless, he was going to have to surrender the reigns eventually because right now he wasn't in control of the direction of the road ahead, and wasn't sure when to hit the gas pedal to move forward and when to slam on the brakes again.
Just like when this summer was over and he had to go back to his life. They all do. They can't control life, but are in turn controlled by it.
...... At least he was. Miles stared at Hobie's hand that had fallen on the steering wheel, the black nail polish on it had begun to flake a little, bobbing up and down from time to time as the road bumped; the scene was a little hypnotic, and Miles yawned, curling up in his seat as he drifted off into a stupor; the sunlight of the Californian summer shone warmly down on him, and then Miles had a dream about yesterday. He was standing on the edge of a cliff, surrounded by a howling hot wind and muffled thunder, and the darkness of the night and the bright lightning made him shiver to excitement and a touch of exhaustion; someone came up to him, and Miles turned, and before he had time to look--
"Wake up, Bambi."
"Miles--boy wake up."
"Agh--what?"
Miles' eyes snapped open: "Are we out of gas again?"
Hobie was speechless at his reaction, he took off his sunglasses and casually stuck them in the pocket of his jacket: "No. But I think you don't wanna miss this."
Miles opened his eyes, they had driven back into a more crowded area, not the center but a town at least. He saw dozens of cars of all types parked on both sides of the road, open trunks filled with all sorts of knickknacks.
It was a tailgate market, where car owners from all over the world drove miles to gather in hopes of earning a few dozen dollars in a morning. Or maybe they're just looking for a chance to escape from their breathless lives. Just standing next to the trunk of their car with their belongings inside, enjoying the sunshine for a while.
They went around the stalls at random, with all sorts of strange things; there were gypsy guardian charms that claimed to make people fall in love with themselves, about which both Miles and Hobie had the same question: why call it a guardian charm? There were mobile coffee stalls emitting an enchanting aroma, which, sadly, Miles would have chosen to have if he'd been well rested; there were also those selling all kinds of silver decorations, and greenery-
They whiled away the entire afternoon here. Don't worry, they'll be staying in the car for the night. That was, well, the plan.
As car after car attending the tailgate market left, and night fell; the moonlight lit the way back for each car owner, making the scene a bit like Cinderella escaping home to her life before the ball was over and twelve o'clock fell. Except that at the end Cinderella is rescued by the prince, and the one thing that can save those present from that is called retirement.
Miles withdrew his fond gaze from the last car, it was time for them to leave; he turned to find Hobie walking in the other direction. Miles didn't even notice when the other man left.
"Here you go."
Hobie threw something at him and Miles subconsciously reached out to catch it: a spray can. From the stall he'd just been staring at for ten minutes.
It was one of Miles' favorite activities, doodling. But he hadn't bought it; he couldn't find a suitable place to spray paint, and he didn't have enough time to finish.
Hobie held another silver can in his hand and Miles looked down at his and back up again : "What's this for?"
"For you." the lead singer shook the can:" You told me you're good at graffiti, so let's see--you can teach me."
"What--but..."Miles' heart was beating fast, it had been a long time since he'd finished a creation, but- "But, where are we gonna paint?"
"On my car."
As Miles watched with wide eyes, Hobie calmly unplugged the spray can.
.............................. ........................
By the time they finished airbrushing, Miles wasn't even going to look at the present time; he was focused on taking in the scene in front of him: a car.
That's right, they had spray painted Hobie's car on his car. Just changing the colors, the black Thunderbird soaring over the pale green plains, the car's tires running through the front and back doors; Miles did the main composition while Hobie painted the car under his direction.
"We did a good job, eh? It's good--actually it's one of my favorites now."
Miles looked at the newly sprayed graffiti with satisfaction, and when he turned his head he realized that he and Hobie were a little too close to each other, almost cuddling. Hobie's arm was wrapped around his waist taking his whole body into it, and he was almost out of breath from the pressure of Hobie's body, or maybe it was because he was so excited -
The moon shone silently on the hood of the car, the silver metal spray cans in their hands reflecting the cold moonlight; the whole town was in deep slumber, the not-so-carefully-mowed lawns glowing with a bitter, fresh scent; and the Thunderbird's radio was randomly playing a list of songs, which just happened to be cutting to the end song of that film, Roman Holiday right now.
"Those were such happy times and not so long ago
how I wondered where they'd gone,
But they're back again just like a long lost friend.
......."
The music came clearly through the glass and the open roof, mingling with the moonlight as they darted hand in hand along this avenue that had no end, and seemed to sing on and on forever, like this exodus from summer; widening the scope even further to the wilderness, unchanging and silent in place, and all that was in the heavens, the sun, the moon, and the stars, hanging off the cliffs.
Miles wallowed in such sights, in his-their doodles. For a moment he wished the moment would never end, or that it would be okay for it to end - that they could start the next leg of their journey right away, driving on and on down the road, barreling forward with no destination in mind.
Then the music came to a screeching halt. Miles looked up unconsciously and murmured, " How far are we?"
But he didn't want an answer.
"Where?" asked Hobie rhetorically, lowering his head to Miles' ear, his arm wrapped a little tighter around him:" I don't remember we have a destination."
"To the beach--the sea! We talked about it--"
A blackened finger landed on Miles' lips to stop him from continuing; he looked into Hobie's eyes in the moonlight, glittering like obsidian, and then Miles suddenly reacted to the fact that Hobie was just teasing him.
He should have pushed the other man away or said something sarcastic back; Miles tried to move his wrist but found he couldn't muster the strength. He must have been dizzy from the smell of Hobie's cigarette smoke, or those eyes, those obsidian eyes, had cast a spell on him; maybe Hobie had stopped by that gypsy stand while buying a spray can and bought some kind of love talisman-
The ring of lips pressed against the tip of Miles' nose, warm breath spraying his lashes and quickly staining them with droplets of water; the wet touch immediately reminded Miles of last night, when they'd climbed a mountain in a rainstorm, and then Hobie had pulled out a cigarette that hadn't yet been dampened and lit it, putting it to his lips and inhaling deeply, exhaling most of the smoke into Miles' mouth again; no cigarettes were being lit right now, but it looked like Hobie was about to do something similar.
That's called a kiss, honey.
Miles unconsciously closed his eyes. He didn't know why, but it had played out like this in all the movies he'd seen -
A bell interrupted the ambiguous atmosphere. It was Miles'.
Embarrassed, the boy hurriedly pulled out his cell phone, made an apologetic gesture at Hobie after seeing the caller ID on the screen, and stepped aside.
"...Sure dad. Don't worry. ....Yeah, and tell mom I love her, alright?....I'll be home soon.....everything's going great--I'll tell you more when I'm home...love you. Bye."
When Miles returned to the car, he found surprisingly that Hobie's looking at the map. He never looked at maps. They just wandered around as they pleased on this journey.
"We're quite close. to the beach. we can get there tomorrow morning."
That was good. Miles breathed a sigh of relief, yet without waiting for him to speak Hobie continued, "I'll leave you there--at the town. You can take a train to San Diego, from there will be flights to New York."
"Wait--what? "Miles couldn't keep up with Hobie's train of thought now, he couldn't understand that a few minutes ago they were going to kiss each other and now Hobie was already planning their separation.
What had happened?
"Be realistic, kid." said Hobie gently, pulling out a cigarette and holding it between his long fingers:" The moment gonna come, sooner or later. We're from different worlds, completely strangers, just happened We're from different worlds, completely strangers, just happened to travel for a while, and now it comes to the end, like every trip."
A small spark flared up between the youth's fingers, the only spark in this barren expanse.
"I have nothing more to give you."
"You are going back to your life, go to your family, school, friends.... anything you have. Just go, fly maybe. I have nothing to give you here."
Miles didn't know how to respond, he just kept shaking his head; when he finally found his voice, he heard himself firmly pressing on the windowpane and saying, No.
His brain stifled a dull ache from hyperventilation, and an inexplicable complex of emotions welled up in his chest, the kind of pain he didn't really like or enjoy. Miles crouched beside the car and pressed his head silently against the door, right where he'd just airbrushed the black Thunderbird emblem.
The Thunderbird whistled through the wilderness, only to accidentally crash into a mud puddle, have its wings chopped off, and dent in the swamp while wailing. The fun had been fleeting and he hadn't been able to capitalize on it, so now he had no choice but to fall, after the moon had been swallowed by a dark cloud and endless darkness had struck, leaving him to sink to this end.
This summer is close to an ending.
.............................. .............................. .........
"You gave me everything. that's the precondition of saying you have nothing to give."
Miles finally calmed down. He thought about it for a long time, he thought about the times before, the roads they'd sped down; how one day because they'd run out of money so they'd walked into a local tavern and Miles had offered him a job in exchange for a meal and how when he'd finally turned around from talking to the owner of the bar he'd found that Hobie had stepped up to the stage at some point. By the end of the day Hobie had traded his dozen songs for a full tank of gas, two platters of hearty food, and two cans of beer; he remembered that more than once Hobie had pulled him up in the middle of the night and sped aimlessly down a deserted highway; at first he had protested, huddled in fear at Hobie's frantic speeds; and by the end of the day Miles had grown accustomed to it and had even learned to enjoy the way his heart almost beat when the numbers on the dashboard crossed the triple-digit mark when the numbers on the dashboard crossed three digits, and even learned to enjoy the feeling of his heart almost beating out of his chest.
He remembered that feeling, the feeling of something long lost suddenly appearing one day, and the first thing that came over him was not surprise, but fulfillment.
It was like he had finally become whole, found another piece of his soul that was missing.
Freedom.
So now, Miles gripped the car window and retorted sharply, but soon he grew gentle again, slowly reaching out and grabbing Hobie's wrist: "You gave me everything I needed, everything I wanted, even things I'd never dreamed of. i never feel I've never felt such joy since, since forever.
He expected to be able to change Hobie's mind with words, or at least make the other man realize how much he meant to him.
And Hobie still sounded calmly over the top.
"I think you just haven't enjoyed freedom for so long that you've taken my presence as a moment of freedom, and you don't really know how one should enjoy freedom, or what it stands for, and I don't want you to fall into such a childish, stupid state of mind."
The passage pierced Miles' heart like a knife. It was cruel. All truth is like that, cruel and ugly.
" lt's not like that . .i'm not a kid, you know. i'm 18. and i can tell free from love apart."
Love, that word, originally seemed too soon, but now it's the perfect time to say.
The man in the driver's seat of the Ford continued: "I didn't believe in love at first place. But now to think of it, love itself is kinda like a road trip. Nobody cares about the destination or where to go next. We just go all the way down. Run forward. It's good. Except for life's not a movie. There's no eternity."
"No," Miles slowly crouched down and looked at Hobie: "Look at me, will you?"
But it definitely means something, the way we met, every kiss, every hug, every movie we saw... it means something." . it means something."
"You said you have nothing more to give me, well, here's something I have for you."
In the moonlight, the boy offered to kiss the other soul that made him whole through the glass. The kiss left a trail of mist on the window, quickly dissipating as the skin left to lose its temperature. But the tremor left by the soul was hard to quell.
"Can you give me one last ride?" inquired Miles.
"Where."
"To the sea."
.............................. .............................. ......
The car broke down halfway across the road and the gas tank was once again empty. But that no longer mattered.
Together they walked towards the sea, in the dawn of the high tide; the grayish yellow sky blended with the deep black and obscure coastline; Miles used to hold a bit of fear and curiosity about the sea, he longed to explore the unknown and feared to be swallowed up, just as he had longed immensely for an adventure, and feared the disenchantment and loneliness that he would feel when the adventure reached its end. He believed that everything should have an end, an end point, the sea did, and so did their adventure, so he was careful before he took each step, before he was ready to enjoy it, because he never dared to go forward without fear.
But now he did.
On his journey with Hobie he had climbed the edge of cliffs, stood closest to the stage, walked to the end of the highway-each time gazing longingly across the street while he turned that step into an eternity. He's left behind many regrets, but he doesn't regret them, because all those experiences became part of his memory, good and bad, clear and fuzzy.
Until now, he took that brave step.
The sea spread over his ankles, leaving mud and sand on his bare skin. It was the last tenderness left to him by this summer that was coming to an end. The last of the moon's light was slowly fading into darkness, to be replaced by a sunrise, vociferously breaking free of its deep blue bonds and rising up in flames.
Miles tried to move on, the water was already past his calves; before he could take the next step his wrists were yanked violently, and he fell backwards; they fell into the water, and the salty, bitter liquid began to coat their bodies, gradually spreading to their ears; Miles turned his head a moment before the water poured in, and he saw Hobie give him a sign, but he didn't hear it; as the next wave of the tide faded, he heard the man beside him say to him, "I'm going to go back. He heard the man beside him say to him:
"Guess I own you a shirt now."
The sun is rising. Miles remembers that Hobie once dragged him out of the bed at midnight, and they just kept driving till sunrise. He said to Miles that if they drove fast enough, the sun would never catch them up.
It's completely bullshit.
Miles looked at Hobie as the sunshine pouring down his face. His eyes were like black stones, glowing in the light.
"I love you till sunrise."
And Hobie understood.
"Bet I can drive fast enough this time."
He reached for Miles. Miles took his hand.
Moments before sunrise, the band's lead singer pulled up his boy. and they ran, all the way from the sun.
The pale blue sky melted into the water as the coastline stretched out, and the sea breeze blew again, from the distant sky, from the other side of the land; this time it brought more than the salty bitterness of the deep sea, no; it smelled of sea water, with a slight sweetness, and slowly, slowly stopped at their lips. As if through the wind, they exchanged another kiss.
There's no end for their trip.