Ok so maybe it has to be written down to be completely effective. Maybe it is only good if on wishes on paper. I mean things like I love you and I hate you are of course more powerful when spoken but really important things like making it rain to shut up the gal next to me , those had to be written down. I told my son the stories and nothing bad happen when HE wrote them down. Maybe it was just me. Maybe only my words had power. Spoken was soft, written was real, hard, truth. I also wondered if I wished it on paper, I could get another bottle. Maybe. I might be a worth a try. I turned to Denice.
“Hey got pen and paper with you?”
She laughed. Good lord was anything serious to her. She laughed a lot. She had dots of white milk all over her tanned face. She looked like she had some sort of disease. Milk pox, Measles’s Milk, Teenager acne, whiteheads before the big dance. I shook my head. Time to focus.
“No really you have a pen and paper?”
She laughed again, “I don’t know look in the glove box. Maybe something in there. Sure wish the air conditioner worked I would close up this car so we could be dairy free. “
I reached forward and started to shuffle thought the typical carp in a glove box, extra fuses that probably did not work, battle, a dead flashlight, a thousand years’ worth of registrations and oil changes receipts. There were combs and hairband. There was even a tampon but there was neither pen nor anything with enough room to write one. I shoved the shit back in and closed the glove box.
“I could change that if I had a pen and paper.” I informed her. Could possible make it rain for reals. I think if I write them words are more powerful, more magic.”
“Sure they do maybe I have some in purse. I look next time we stop ok.”
I did not like her tone, a little condescending if you ask me. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I wasn’t tired but I did not want to talk to her anymore. Or look at her. Or smell her. She smelled of sunshine and for some reason that annoyed me.
I fell asleep and soon, I was back on the deserted road and there was that wolf again. I could not understand why a wolf I was not Native American, I was not spiritual, and I sure in heck did not believe in spirit animals, so why did I keep dreaming of a wolf who talks in riddles? This time the wolf just growled at me and acted like a wolf. It was scary but it was a dream so I went ahead and walk up to the wolf.
“Why are you in my dream?” I asked.
The wolf growled. And showed his teeth. Great, now he was not talking to me. Awesome.
“Do you have something to say?”
The damn wolf bit me! I yelped and woke up.
I was sitting in the passenger seat. It was early evening and it looked like we were stopped in front of a restaurant. Denice was nowhere to be seen.
I got out of the car and shook off the road. A few stretches and I could with only a little stiffness. I went into the restaurant and looked around. Way in the back, I spotted Denice. I shuffled into the seat opposite of her. Of course, she smiled at me.
“Hungry?” She asked with that inane grin.
I was, but I had no money on me, so I shook my head no.
“Ok” she smiled.
When the waiter came she ordered two cheeseburger with all the fixings and french-fries, salad and peach pie alamode for dessert.
She smiled and said “My treat. You have to be starving. I am.”
The waiter returned after forever and brought our food. Denice was correct; I was starving, even more when I saw the food. I inhaled, but Denice, she wolfed down that food. If she ate like that all the time and still was skinny, well she could sell a millions books with whatever formula she had.
We were silent except for the grunts and the lip smacking that goes with eating. When we were done, we both sat there satiated, ready to go, but having to sit there until the waiter came back with the bill. Why they do that? They should just bring it with the food. I pulled a clean napkin to me and asked Denice for a pen. She rummaged around in her purse and found one.
“You still trying to prove the magical words? You do not have do that. I mean some words are powerful some are magic but really, you don’t think you have a special talent that makes them all come true. It is not as if God gave you magical powers that you are a literary wizard or something. Everybody has times when what they say or wish for comes true; it does not make them word necromancers.”
I looked at her. Then wrote in large letters, “I wish it would rain” I showed her.
“Right”, she said, “we did that.”
“But I did not write it down” I said.
I then grabbed another napkin and wrote, “Wish I had all the whiskey I could carry “I didn’t show her that one. On the other side, “I wish I was alone again.” I felt a little mean about that one. She had given me a ride, and fed me, but I really preferred to be alone. I also had a feeling that there was no way she would ever just let me alone, to go about my travels. She would follow in hat damn car making I was ok. I really just wanted to get more booze in me and be left alone. Yet, I knew, I had wrote it and I could not unwrite, but I knew. Look what happen to the others. Oh well I t was done. All I could do was wait.
Finally, she was able to pay for our meal and off we went down the road. Couple of hundred more miles and New York would be graced with our presence. Denice refused to seal up the car, leaving the top open and her widows open. I rolled my mine up. Sure enough, it started to sprinkle. Before she could get everything totally closed up we were hit with a deluge. It rained like no one’s business. It rained so hard I thought I saw Noah in a field building arks. I grinned at Denice.
“Told you so”, I yell at her.
“Yea right” she yelled back, “You just lucky.”
Nope I said, “Nope I ain’t just lucky, I am telling you. Words can mess you up. Especially if they written down.”
She smiled, “I got to admit for an old drunk you are entertaining as hell. Talk about a God Complex! You are so not responsible for the rain.”
I waved the napkins at her, “What did it say? Did I show you? Did it not say I wish it would rain? See?”
“No, I don’t see. What did you write on the other ones?” she asked. “Has those come true?”
“Not yet “
“Well would they not come true at the same time you wrote them at the same time?
I had not considered that. She may have a point
She continued, “So what did you write?”
She asked for it, so I told her “I wished I had all the booze I could carry and that I was alone”.
She laughed of course she laughed. She always was laughing.
“You don’t really mean that. No one really wants to be alone, they may want some quiet time, but people need people. You would get very lonely without people. The booze wish, I believe though. That I believe you want . However, to be alone, no, no one really wants that.”
“I do,” I muttered.
“No one, I mean no one is meant to be alone”, she continued on her little rant. “God made us to be together. People that is. We were meant to be social creatures that have others with us, like our own tribes, or clans. We hang out with people like us. Our own kind. Those who have the same values and traditions, eat the same foods and talk the same language, it is the way humans are, it is the way it is meant to be.
I was starting to drown her out in my head when she said that last part, our own kind.
I turned to her and growled, “And who is my kind? Who can write some words and make them happen? “Who has killed off the best and the worst of people? Who is like my kind? Where should I go to find MY kind? Who knows that words are magic they are powerful? Where is that clique?”
She rolled her eyes, then looked at me, “Again you and your God complex, the only one who can speak or write and have their words come true is God. Like in Genesis, God spoke, it happened, and it was good. You are certainly an egotistical bastard aren’t you?”
Neither one of us saw the stopped pickup truck in the road. We hit it doing 45; the poor little car’s front end was pushed towards its back. We both were enveloped in white pillows that were shot at us form a cannon. I thought that damn air bags were going to smother me so I pushed it away from my face. I looked towards Denice. She was facing me with a grin on her face. Or maybe it was grimace.
“You ok?” I asked,
“Yea but I can’t move.”
I could move and my door even opened. I got out of the car and walked around to Denice’s side. She surely could not move. That side of the car was all smooshed up. I tried to open the doors but tit was a no go. I
I asked her again. The airbags had deflated b then and she was able to turn her head.
“Yea, I can feel everything I just think I need someone to move the dashboard so I can get out. But pretty sure I am ok. Going hurt later though.”
I nodded, “Yea I bet, wait here, I am sure someone will come. I am going to see the driver of the truck.”
I walked up to the truck. There was debris all over the place. It looked like the truck was carrying, oh yes, cases of whiskey. Oh, words ARE magic. I pick up one, opened the bottle, and took a big swig. It felt good going down my throat and warming up my stomach. I went to the front of the truck. I looked in there was no driver, anywhere. I looked on the outside all around the truck. No driver. That is weird. There was cellphone in the front seat of the truck. I opened the door and grabbed it.
I dialed 911 as I walked back to Denice. She was in the same position as before but her eyes were closed and she looked very, very still. Damn. I went to find a pulse when her eyes opened. Good she wasn’t dead.
“911 what’s your emergency”, a voice that sounded of boredom, solitaire games and one too many cigarettes, spoke into my ear.
“Yea, there’s an accident.”
I gave them the details, told them about Denice, and hung up. I decided I didn’t need to be rescued. I patted Denice on the head and then went back towards the truck. I picked up all the bottles that would fit into my backpack that I had retrieved and one for each hand. I hopped the barbwire fence and made my way to a small hill that would give me a view of the accident below. I say down in the wet grass, rain falling on me and took a big mouthful of whiskey letting it roll down my throat. I sat up on the hill until the fire trucks showed up. I watched as the put Denice into an ambulance. As it drove away, sirens crying in the night, I raised the now almost empty bottle in salute.
“See Denice”, I mumbled, “I am alone, I have my booze, it is raining, and words, they have power they are magic!”