Rebecca
The fine line between dream and reality is becoming goddamned thin.
Watching the headlights flood the perilously narrow stretch of barely paved road in front of me, I realize that I’d crossed that line ago.
Hours ago, possibly.
Thousands of miles ago, even more possibly.
What was the last normal, believable thing that happened to me, anyway?
Fuck, I may have to go back years for that one.
Left turn ahead onto…
The voice coming through my smartphone speaker crackles and fades abruptly.
“Left turn onto where? What left turn? It all looks straight! Help! Where did you go?”
Okay, a left turn, that’s what I’m looking for.
If my eyes stay open.
Fuck, should I just pull over and sleep in this goddamned SUV?
It’s certainly frigging big enough.
Much bigger than I thought I’d be getting at Shannon Airport. I booked a subcompact to make the drive out to my cottage in…
Somewhere in the middle of Ireland.
Even in my head, I sound like a stereotypical American dope. That’s one reason I wanted to get the most unassuming vehicle possible to drive to my rental home in the middle of nowhere.
I didn’t want to stick out in any way. Of course, this meant not making a big stink when they handed me the keys to the largest vehicle they had on the lot.
Possibly the largest vehicle in any part of Europe at that, without a built-in GPS, which I had not only booked ahead of time, but went so far as to confirm several times with the rental counter via email and VoIP calls from the States…
Erm—maybe I had this coming, actually.
It’s fitting, really.
I acted, albeit unwittingly, like an obnoxious American, so I ended up with an obnoxious American car.
Although to refer to this rolling behemoth as a ‘car’ would be stretching the very definition of…
In...hundred…eters, take a slight right onto D…
“What? What? Wasn’t I supposed to turn left? Now I’m turning in a hundred meters, or nine-hundred kilometers, onto some street with a…no!”
This really is a dream, isn’t it?
Next, I’m going to be back in high school, except, Jack Nicholson’s going to be the principal, for some reason; and Principal Nicholson will tell me I have to come back for a semester to take some course I had somehow missed twelve years ago. But then I’ll forget to attend any classes and get lost on my way to the final ex…
Left turn ahead onto—
Static. Then nothing.
It’s too frustrating to even yell anymore.
And besides, it’s not my poor phone’s fault I accidentally pissed off the staff of the car rental counter at Shannon Airport.
In fact, it did have me heading in the right direction for several hours.
At least, I think it was the right direction.
Fuck. If I really wanted to eschew American stereotypes, I could’ve taken a goddamned bus or something.
Although, if all the roads in this area are as narrow as the one I’m on, I doubt there’s much bus service in the area.
It looks like I’ve got about a half tank of fuel left, and I’m bound to reach some sort of civilization eventually.
I’m not keen on just stopping out here in the middle of the moorlands.
If that’s even where I am.
Dream or not, I’m not convinced there aren’t some sort of sprites or faeries—the type of creatures who’d be at home in an illustrated book of Celtic mythology—but would turn out to be quite real and furious about my intrusion on their moorland homes if I were to stop here for even a minute.
Now that’s an idea for a children’s book. Some mythological land that’s actually quite accessible—a place you could end up in without even trying.
Maybe one of those places you’d be transported to from your bedroom after a family fight.
There were times I could’ve used a place like that, even during my adult life.
A magical place of escape, full of wondrous creatures.
That’s something that could capture the imaginations of kids and adults alike.
Even though I’m busy with this massive illustrating contract right now, that’s a book I could draw and write.
I could start sketching out ideas during my spare time here—especially since I no longer have a husband to occupy so much of it.
I left that Dickhead back in LA.
Yes, that’s his name now. Dickhead.
I feel like even that is better than he deserves, but I’m willing to be magnanimous.
The ink’s barely dry on the divorce papers, but a few thousand miles between us should help kickstart the process of exorcising every bit of his memory from my heart, mind, and soul.
A good creative project—I mean, besides the one I’m doing for work—wouldn’t hurt either, I bet.
Especially if it turns out to be a popular kid’s book in its own right.
Upcoming…urn…in…ters.
“Shut up, phone, unless you want to help me brainstorm.”
I don’t understand this…brainstorm.
I think my phone’s AI virtual assistant app is getting smart with me.
“Come on, phone. Help me think of some ideas. Here’s the basic premise: it’s a children’s book, about this kind of other world, a land if you will, but you can get there easily—maybe magically after a family argument—and these magnificent sort of creatures live there. These…things. And they…”
Showing results for Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak—
“Fuck, you just had to choose the worst possible moment to—”
First published in nineteen sixty-three—
“Stop telling me about it! Since when do you even do that? Just please tell me how to get to my fucking cottage so I can sleep.”
The enormously popular children’s book—
“Ahhhh! Why are you emphasizing certain words now? Just be quiet!”
Unable to take it anymore, I grab the phone, still keeping one hand on the wheel and both eyes on the empty road.
Squeezing the sides of the phone with my hand and jabbing the front of it with my thumb, I try desperately to silence the jerk-face of a device.
To no fucking avail.
One of the most successful such books of all time!
“Ahhhhhh!”
Finally turning my head to see my asshole smartphone, I only get a brief glimpse before I decide I’m too mad to even look at it, so I just throw it behind me, into the backseat, as hard as I can.
The phone finally shuts the fuck up at the moment of impact.
Twisting back towards the windshield, I have a moment of panic as my foot slips on the accelerator.
The vehicle starts to weave forward with the mildest bit of unsteadiness, and I have a split second of pure panic getting my foot back in its normal position on the pedal.
I’m still going plenty fast, but that’s by choice now, I’m just about ready to—
Is that finally a fucking street sign of some kind ahead?
I’m not sure yet, but I remember I’m going to need my phone to find my way around no matter what.
I glance into the back of the SUV to see if my phone is within reach—it’s not—before looking right back at the road like a responsible driver.
Hmm. That’s not a street sign, and it’s moving slowly.
Oh, shit—that’s a person, right in front of the headlights.
I slam on the brakes.
As the giant vehicle screeches to a halt, I no longer see anything through the windshield that looks like a person, or even a street sign.
However, I do hear a distinctive thump.