She’s Somewhere, Pt. I

Josh is sitting in in his green, vegetable juice-colored Jeep. He sticks his tongue out and makes a “blegh” type of noise when he thinks of how he detests the drink itself, but the vehicle looks like it has an absolute command of the road and the people and everything. In fact, you could probably throw a turret over the top and it would look like one of those cars they always shoot people with in the war movies.
Then again, he smiles as he affirms this aloud. “You look badass just the way you are, babe.”
What? That’s her name.
He squeezes his hands around the black leather steering wheel until they turn ghost-white as he rounds the next corner, fast enough that the Jeep slides onto the street. On this street, there are no trees, so the sun is in full view.
It seems like the yellow is brighter today. He feels it baking his skin, and a couple of sweat beads fall from his slicked-back hairline onto his blue jeans. These are sticking to his upper legs now. They were a mistake. He’s always making mistakes like that; always sacrificing comfort for fashion. Is the oven he’s in right now worth the price of beauty? Also, who makes thesun shine? Tell them to cool it.
He keeps having these momentary lapses of memory where he forgets exactly where he is going, but it comes to him.
Even aloud, he says, “Oh, right,” as if anyone could hear him. Actually, he has this strange irritation on his arm. It looks like some kind of rash or infection, but it forms in a straight line, is scalloped like a guitar fret, and wears many colors. Some green, yellow, and pus is seeping through scabbed cracks. This alarms him because in college, he took a biology class in which the long-haired professor dramatically declared that this was a very, very, very, very bad thing. Multiple colors are a very, very bad thing. He wants to get to the pharmacy to take care of the colors.
“Multi-colored is never good,” Josh said aloud.
Actually, it is not unusual for Josh to orate in the Jeep. He has used it many times to practice angry speeches to former bosses (he left on his own terms, obviously) and stories he wanted to tell his friends at the bar. Josh is no druggie or alcoholic, but he doesn’t mind a dark brewed beer on a Friday night with a few of the guys; a few because many of them depend on others for verification of self-worth, which is a bother.
He pulls into the pharmacy headquarters. Actually, he slides in like before.
“Did you see that!?”
No one does.
Now, he jumps out of his Jeep. He pulls his sticky jeans away from his muscular legs, only to discover that a chilly breeze is currently ripping through the town. The sweat of his brow has helped nothing. But it makes him look about his surround.
An intriguing situation: he has not seen a living soul today.
In fact, he has not seen one living soul for the past three days.
In a more peculiar way, he walks to the sliding doors of the pharmacy, but they are locked. It’s one thirty and the place is closed? How is he supposed to get better? He slams his fist on the glass, which sends burning pings through his pink, problematic wrist.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he says, “you’d better be open by then.” He grits his teeth to expose a set of perfect white pearls. “You better.”
There is a car parked nearby, a puny rabbit which he could easily overtake. A man is sleeping inside, head on the steering wheel. Could it be the proprietor of this establishment? Josh knocks a few times on the window of the car. When he comes close, he notices that the man looks dirty: he hasn’t shaved in a few days, his hair is matted and unkempt, and he is not the store manager type. Josh would never come to work like this. Then again, he has a much more fulfilling job; one that has given him the last few days off.
When he knocks, the man does not wake up.
“Whatever, buddy, I’ll let you sleep. But remember, I’m going to be back in an hour. You better be up by then. You better.”
His ride home is a bit quieter. He checks his cellphone and then decides he’d like to listen to some music. Josh has a number of albums in his car; “Sabbath,” “Maiden,” “Megadeth,” among others. It doesn’t take long for him to make his choice. However, the album cover is lodged in its drawer. He has to wrestle with the case enough for the car to swerve.
By the time he comes up to the view of the road, something he does not expect happens. There is a woman, dumb struck, in the middle of the road. He slams his foot on the break as hard as he can, which makes him lurch forward and the seatbelt cut into his stomach a bit. His bad arm hits the wheel, and he sees stars. Josh needs to see a doctor about this abnormality. But more importantly, the ghastly sight ahead begs his attention. Someone is standing in the middle of the road.

Author: Issac Ayers