Colision Course
The full moon reflected off the desert sand with an eerie glow. An ebony ribbon of asphalt rippled across the badlands in a fifteen-mile-long series of roller coaster dips. Coyotes howled in the distant hills, their voices rising like the wailing of banshees. As a cloud darkened the moon, a kangaroo-rat chased a cricket across the pavement. An owl swooped. The rat squealed. When moonlight shone on the road again, the lone cricket skittered away from the glow of approaching headlights. With a roar, a black BMW flashed past. As the taillights disappeared into a dip, headlights crested a hill on the far side of the badlands.
Michael watched the approaching lights disappear into one of the endless dips in the road. Hot dry air roared past the Beamer's window. The oncoming car could be ten miles away, or only a couple. In the desert, distance could often be deceptive. Deception, an art form at which Candice excelled.
The BMW's radio moaned out a lament from an upstart country girl. "The road always seems longer when you're traveling alone... Just what he needed, someone else's problems in stereo. He twisted the knob and it came off in his hand. He let it fall.
Michael caressed the .357 on the passenger seat. It felt hard and cold, like his soul. One bad investment cost him everything. His stomach knotted. His hand slid across the seat to the box containing the remains of his business life. His probing fingers found the miniature softball statue, his rolodex and a picture frame. The only picture of Candice he'd saved. How could she leave when he needed her the most? He'd learned more about her in that one day than he had in the two years they'd lived together. Like a high-priced whore, when the money ran out, so did she. It was her turn to pay. He squinted as he watched the headlights of the other car rise out of the dip.
Jennifer saw the approaching car through tear filled eyes. As her full-size Chevy pickup raced down the road, she mourned for a life she'd once lived. She missed her old V.W. van and regretted that her only tie to the past was an old beat up guitar. She'd spent half her life dreaming about success. Now that she'd recorded a gold album, all she wanted was her old life back, to be able to sit on the beach and play music with her friends. Friends, people who liked you for who you were, not what you'd become.
She detested the people who'd infested her life. When she resisted them, tried to assert herself, little crystal bowls of cocaine appeared in her dressing room. She didn't know who she hated the most, them for providing the coke, or herself for not turning away. Sometimes she'd sneak out the back door, in search of someone who'd treat her as a living breathing person.
Life on the road had sounded so romantic; the lights, the money, and most of all, playing to thousands of fans. They'd taken everything from her, her old life, her love of music. Now they wanted to steal her creativity. As the other car crested a rise, the bright lights forced her to look away.
Michael depressed the pedal and the BMW surged ahead. He'd lost everything; his cars, house, and friends, all because of one rotten deal. Twenty-four hours after Candice learned he was broke, she'd left him.
He remembered the day he met her, on location at La Jolla Shores. Candice modeled a thong bikini as she lounged on the hood of a Jaguar. After the photo shoot, he took her to dinner at The Top Of The Cove. It seemed like a fairy tale romance. Sure, she spent lots of money, but what did that matter-- they were in love.
Clearly, it mattered to her. She'd tossed him aside like a worn-out wallet. She'd never even shed a tear. He could have traded his Nordstrom life for one at the Salvation Army, if only she'd stayed at his side. She wasn't coming back. He grabbed the picture and flung it out the window. When the pair of headlights topped the next rise, he realized they were much closer now.
Jennifer's hair whipped behind her in the desert wind. On the seat next to her, her phone rang. She picked it up and stared at it; the last shackle to a life she'd abandoned. It must be her manager. He'd try to convince her things would be different. "Sayonara. She tossed the phone out the window.
Leaving Vegas, she'd believed she could go back to her old life. Now she knew better. Life didn't run in reverse. Jennifer ground the gas pedal against the floor. Up until she'd 'made it', her life had been full of dreams and hopes.
Now, she had nothing. No one cared about her anymore, only how much money she could make. They booked her tours so tight, she'd become a zombie. She'd plodded along in a daze, until they hired a songwriter to write her songs. That's when she decided she wouldn't keep living that kind of life. Jennifer reached out and shoved a tape into the player. "The road always seems longer when you're traveling alone... The song grated like fingernails on a blackboard. She clenched her teeth. She should have refused to record someone else's song. Then, her scum-bag manager couldn't have released it without her permission. Her speedometer edged past seventy-five as the pickup topped a hill. Headlights glared at her from a mile away.
Michael picked up the .357 and hefted it. Candice should pay for her betrayal. His body felt as if it had turned to stone. He studied the approaching lights. They were higher than most cars, probably a semi. He could end his pain another way; simply drift across the line, just another bug splattering on the grill of a tractor-trailer. Either way it didn't matter, he was like a patient on life support. It was all over, he just needed to pull the plug.
The road leveled out and he saw the other vehicle coming fast. The lights loomed in the windshield. He broke out in a sweat. Which would it be, hunting down Candice or a head on with a semi? He tossed the gun at the box and heard his rolodex crack. He'd tweaked the rules and his major clients had broken off their relationships. If only a few had remained faithful, he might have salvaged his career. He picked up the rolodex. This is useless. He hurled it out the window, as the headlights blinded him.
Jennifer removed the tape and fumbled until she held it in the palm of her hand. She smashed the cassette against the steering wheel again and again. It refused to die. Frustrated, she flung it out the window. It felt as if she'd thrown away the shambles her life had become. Why not? A life without music scared her more than a life without friends. Neither was worth living.
The car grew in size every second. It'd be so easy to turn the wheel and.... She felt a cold determination settle over her. She'd go out in a blaze of glory, like all of music's greats. She could visualize the headlines. "Country superstar falls asleep at the wheel. And look, not a single fan in sight. She sucked in a breath. Her knuckles turned white on the wheel, as headlights filled her vision.
Two cars sped toward each other on the dark desert road. As their headlights merged, both cars swerved across the center line. Narrowly missing, they roared past each other on the wrong sides of the road.
Brakes locked and tires smoking, the cars slid sideways. When the squealing stopped, they sat, facing back the way they'd come. Headlights illuminated the pale faces of the two drivers. Eyes wide, mouths open and breathing hard, they stared at each other.
Two car doors opened. A man and a woman stood on a stretch of asphalt in the middle of the desert badlands. Their gazes locked. Nearby a cricket chirped, and in the distance a pack of coyotes howled at the moon.
Author's note: This story was included in MiraCosta College - Tipepools-Volume 11 1995
