Rain clapped against windshield hard enough to drown out that week's cookie-cutter pop nonsense droning from the car speakers. Hua could barely make out tail lights in front of them. She alternated between sucking on her cardigan sleeve and tugging her long, black hair to calm nerves. If the visibility had gotten any worse, she may well have spit-soaked her sweater from wrist to shoulder.
Camila didn't show any concern on her face, despite a distracting collection of raindrops still clinging to glasses precariously slid down her narrow, rain-slicked nose. Hua wasn't looking at her face, but her hands on the steering wheel and white on her knuckles overtaking all the melanin.
"Are you sure we should be out here in this? The weather report said it's going to get even worse."
"Don't be silly, babe. I grew up in Florida. This is nothing." Camila smiled in effort to reassure, though her eyes were drying out the way she watched the road.
Hua scoffed and focused on her lap, which mercifully stayed inert as long as the landscape whizzing by was outside her view.
Don't be silly, babe. That had become a catchphrase over the seven months they were together. Hua forced a conversation to address it back in January. It was supposed to be a simple talk of worries minimized, but it spiraled into their first fight. A whole debate about intent and impact and censorship and basic human empathy.
The treaty they struck was flimsy. Camila would "try" to do better, and Hua wouldn't "rake her over the coals" if she slipped up. Trying turned out to mean translating the phrase into a language of eye-rolling which Hua understood fluently. She imagined her bastard father dancing in his casket knowing someone new picked up his torch.
There was another fight to be picked over it, but why bother? That war would certainly be nuclear. Destruction would not be mutually assured. Victory would be pyrrhic. And the resistance would simply flee underground to develop new codes.
“I’m not being silly.” Hua put some bite on it.
“Oh c’mon, you know that’s not what I—“
“I’m just saying we could do this another night.”
“No chance.” Camila started talking with her hands, more like an animal clawing out of corner. Hua winced each time she let go of the steering wheel. “Finals are coming up, then graduation. Who knows when we’ll all be able to get together again?”
“Fine, whatev—could you keep your hands on the wheel? Please?”
Camila drummed her palms against a leopard print steering wheel cover in rhythm with the radio. Giggled each time the beat left it hands-free. “Are you nervous?”
“Stop it.”
“Alright, I’m stopping.” Camila clamped both hands to the wheel and roared like the gas-guzzling monsters she used to watch make the rounds at the Daytona 500. “The checkered flag is out! Pedal to the metal!”
“Stop it, Cami!” Hua’s voice went hoarse immediately, mint-in-box vocal chords straining to meet the moment.
“¡Ay! Okay, chill out!”
Their shouting relented to the gunshot rain and pop station it-girl. Or maybe then it was a song of a different flavor of girly-pop, Hua couldn’t tell you. She learned to read sheet music, never Rolling Stone. Was that still a good reference for a modern music rag? None of them ever put Rachmaninoff on their cover, so what would she know about it.
Before thinking, before second-guessing the boldness, she lunged to shut off the radio. Camila was faster, bolder, and more hungry to take up space and airwaves. 2009 Corolla speakers crunched at such a high volume, mangling the poor pop star into a grisly mess.
“Is this about my friends?” Camila shouted, “Because they are going to love you!” Camila Ruiz, World Champion of changing the subject.
“Yeah, maybe that’s it.” Hua tossed the words away and then dared to watch black cutouts of wind-bowed trees sail past, risking nausea to keep Camila well out of view.
It’s about how you’re going to kill us both, you dizzy bitch.
Maybe it was about her friends, though. Sort of. Hua certainly didn’t look forward to meeting the rogue’s gallery. How many times did Camila question why she was friends with these people? So why should Hua want to be either?
The bigger issue was the timing. Bad idea to take things to the next level when she was looking for an out.
Again.
She should have called it in January, then Camila’s grandmother died. Then she was whisked away on a whirlwind Spring Break trip, predictably wonderful and romantic, so hope crept back in. That lasted all of a week, but she didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Next came graduation panic, and suddenly she was valued. Her shoulder was, at least. Still, it felt nice.
But that’s how breakups are for everyone. You can’t just cut and run. It’s ebbs and flows. Careful navigation of emotional waters, reading winds and tides to steer the relationship through the path of least resistance. That’s how you limit pain at the end.
Right?
Against Camila’s best efforts, they made it to the bar. A charming dive straight out of the ‘70s with a decent trivia night and a staph infection waiting around every corner. Peeling vinyl stools, oozing foam from their wounds. Matted blue carpet made sickly by dim lights cast from stained glass chandeliers cobbled out of old Heineken bottles sacrificed for the illumination of good, god-fearing American beers. A grizzled bartender who could have been 60 or 600, he’d haunted the spirits for so long. The place had everything.
But not for Hua. She preferred places that didn’t smell like wet cardboard, where the drinks required six ingredients and arcane rituals performed by detached twenty-somethings only bartending until they “make it”.
The crew was already there and a round-and-a-half deep. They cheered Camila’s arrival, passed convivial hugs all around while Hua was left hovering alone in their orbit. Must have been five minutes of idle chitchat before anyone thought to pull her to the surface of the conversation.
“Oh! Guys, this is my girlfriend.” Camila yanked Hua into the inner circle by the arm, too playful by half. Then spotlight, all eyes on her, and she wished more than anything to be back in the outer space of that moment.
A woman, chiseled from six-foot-one Nordic marble, extended a hand for Hua to shake. “…Well, does Girlfriend have a name?” Cheerful sounding, but laced with a capital-G girlfriend like that’s the only name she needs.
“Girlfriend is Hua.” Camila answered, damning Hua to a single dimension by the commutative property. “Hua, this is Harper.”
That was Harper? Homely Harper? Only still friends because they’ve always been friends, No Attraction Harper? Hua thought the bullshit in Camila’s stories would be more subtle.
“And this is Mark.” She gestured at a man getting a beer ahead of everyone else. He wore a fitted Sig Ep sweatshirt over what seemed a well-toned body. He let go of his drink long enough to turn and wave once before facing away to keep pounding.
Hua remembered an irritating freshman English 101 course with a boy that had his same boy-band mop and chin dimple. She once used the word “aggress” discussing McCarthy’s Glanton Gang tearing through Mexican villages, and the boy asked what it meant. She answered, as well-meaning as could be, that it meant “attack.” Then just say attack weirdo the boy sneered, and that set the tone for the rest of freshman year.
“And this is Pat.” Camila leaned onto the shoulder of a squat, red-bearded balding man wearing a flannel shirt a size too big and patched jeans a size too small. He was beaming, rosy cheeks washed out to a ghostly pallor by the lighting.
“Whassup, Hoo-uh!” He leapt from his seat to hug Hua as he said it. She was no stranger to the pronunciation, but this faux-hillbilly accent he put on suggested it was supposed to be jokey. For the first time in her life, she found herself pining for sincere disrespect.
But at least he seemed happy to meet her.
“That’s everyone, I guess. Lex was supposed to be here too.” Camila glanced around, hoping to spy another friend deep in the bar.
Pat mimed a joint like someone who’s never seen drugs in their life. “They’re on one of their drives.”
Harper clicked her tongue. “That figures. Hu-Hu, you’ll learn pretty quick that the only things certain are death, taxes, and Lexi-poo’s drug problem.”
Hu-Hu? Warmed Hua’s blood worse than the hillbilly schtick.
“So, Hu, what are you studying?”
“Computer Science.”
“Do you like it?”
Hua had planned to stay guarded, except she didn’t get to gush about her career choice that often. She was originally pre-med, but switched majors the day after dear old dad was stashed underground.
“I love it! Coding is so cool. It’s like a language that can make things come to life. Like magic.”
“You know AI is gonna replace you in a year.” Mark’s back told her.
“Yeah, maybe…”
Pat tried to head bad vibes off at the pass. “When is AI gonna replace this guy’s shitty attitude, amirite?”
“Soon as you can pass a box of donuts without a hard on.” Mark stabbed back, and Pat shrunk into his beer.
Camila leaned into Harper and whispered. “What’s his deal today?”
Harper put arms around Hua and Camila and guided them into a huddle well away from the guys. It was astonishing how electric her touch felt. Her Dior J’adore smelled incredible. An orange blossom, rose, and jasmine delight. “Marky’s not doing so hot in his classes. He might not graduate on time.”
“Well, there’s always baseball.” The two friends laughed conspiratorially. Camila buried her face into Harper’s neck. Lingered there, both of their eyes closed.
Homely Harper. No Attraction Harper. Just A Friend Harper. Straight As An Arrow Harper. Statuesque Harper. Fragrant, Intoxicating Harper. Goddess Harper.
The goddess herself must have noticed Hua gawping at their display and pulled back so suddenly it spooked Camila, who gasped like she’d been yanked from a dream. “God, I can’t wait to be single again. Graduation can’t come soon enough.”
“Why not just break up with him?” Hua asked, tart and tangy from the hypocrisy of the question.
“Oh, who wants to have that talk, you know? I’ll be off to New York while he’s repeating classes, and things will fizzle out.” Said in that aren’t I so bad wink-and-nudge sort of way.
Hua was in awe of it, a selfishness as grand as a natural wonder. Felt pangs that dropped her heart to her knees. A white-hot rage with a chewy jealousy center. And then a sticky, icky shame coating when she spied Pat watching them, watching her. Camila noticed it too, noticed Hua’s discomforted shifting from toe to toe.
“We should probably get back to the guys before Mark strangles Pat.”
Before they could, the booming wail of a tornado siren tore apart the dull clink and chatter of bar ambience.
“Oh, boy.” Camila palmed her face.
“Oh, boy!” Pat rushed over to the women. “You know what that means!”
“A tornado…?” An answer so obvious, Hua knew right away it would be the wrong one. Sure enough, everyone looked at her like she’d interrupted a symposium of scientists to ask what reality TV shows they’ve been watching. White-hot rage. Sticky, icky shame.
Mark passed by them and startled Hua to clucking, he’d left his seat so foxily. “Let’s get this over with.” And he was out the door, with Harper and Pat trailing after.
“What’s going on?” Hua asked hoping they were headed to shelter, but fearing that wasn’t the case.
Camila gripped her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got to go help a friend.”
“What? Shouldn’t we find a basement or something?”
“Yeah, no, we will. It’s just—we have to take care of something first.”
What could be more important than safety? Hua felt months-collected bile rise in her throat and threaten to escape. But that was the perfect time to let it out. To spew out all the indignity that had built up right there in the den of spew. Their dalliance had caused enough pain, and now it had become a matter of life and death.
“What’s that?” She said instead.
“I’ll tell you in the car. I mean, if you’re up to it. We could really use your help.”
Hua’s walls buckled. “I don’t know…”
Camila edged closer. Gorgeous, hazel crowbars forced their way through Hua’s corneas. Wormed their way into the deep folds of her brain.
“Please, we need you. I need you.”
Jericho fell. Wanting to be needed. Needing to be wanted. That Camila could give it all to her with one look and one sentence is what bought their seven months together. Flashes of an earnest request at the student center. Intimate study sessions in the library cuddled over a single book. First date jitters and first date swoons. Late nights and twined bodies. Was their relationship really all that bad?
“Okay… I’m in.”
Camila hopped and linked arms with her, leading her out to the Toyota. As bullets of rain slammed onto her head and then soaked through her clothes, Hua thought she had never felt the weight of regret so well.
Intrigued ot see where this is going... will we get to meet the wizard?
Good setup and I like the way you painted each character. I found myself trying to map scarecrow, tin man, and lion to the gang. I'm excited to read the next two parts :)