25

The girl was easy to miss, a nondescript point on the road, as common as a rotted wooden fence leant against a patch of high grass. And he would have missed her if it were not for the pitch black of her hair fluffing up in the sun, like a crow lazing through the thick summer air. Her slender tan arm perpendicular to her body, a thumb encouraging a driver to notice her. He pulled to a stop a few feet ahead and she ran up with a sweet prance. In his rearview he could see she was wearing those flat shoes that sling around women’s feet like small nests. He wondered if gravel had found a home in between her toes already.

She knocked on the car door even though the windows were rolled down.

“Where you headed?” That seemed like the kind of question someone picking up a hitchhiker would say. He had never done this before.

“Would you be able to drop me at Manitou Springs?” She gave a banal smile, one he could see her using on any man she was asking something from. Her teeth were straight as soldiers, the front two a little longer than the rest. Her eyes were small and slanted, black as her hair.

“It’s about two hours out.”

“We’re in Severance so we have a straight shot down 25, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you headed that way?” Her fingers drummed the dirt-baked exterior and he knew she saw the lock already clicked open. He was meant to head thirty minutes west to Masonville. His wife’s friend wanted to lend her a new dough hook and Doris didn’t know how to drive. And she had to take care of the kids. He looked back at the exotic girl bending through his window, face close enough for him to see her eyes weren’t black but a cloudy brown. Dust particles pushed through the air and light between them.

“Sure. Yeah, I’m heading that way.”

She gave a real smile this time, eyes disappearing into her cheeks and full lips pulled too tightly across her chin. The car door was pulled with too much force. He winced. It was over a decade old, and the hinges whined at her enthusiasm. She swung into the passenger seat, bouncing a little on the upholstery. He could picture her as a kid, a decade ago maybe, catching snowflakes in mittened hands, the same breathlessness he could see in her now. She couldn’t sit still and kept reaching for a seatbelt that wasn’t there. Her white dress crinkled at the hips, crisp with new starch.

“What’s your name?”

“Maggie.”

“Hi, Maggie.” That’s not the name he thought she would have.

“And you, mister?”

“Robert. Robert Turner.” Being called mister made him feel the lines taking up residence around his eyes. He looked over at her smooth face, birthmarks instead of wrinkles.

Maggie nestled into the cracked leather before shaking her head and turning her torso towards the backseat. Robert knew there were only coupon clippings and a ratty jacket and empty cardboard boxes and an ice scraper rolling around back there – a cleaner seat than usual – but he still tightened his hands on the wheel. Did she see an old man in those scraps? Did she realize the cracked leather she was sitting on was more worn than she had ever been?

Maggie hummed, turning back around with a bounce. “No murder weapon that I can see. Glad you were the one that pulled over, Mister Turner.”

“Robert is—wait. Murder weapon?”

She laughed, hand pressing into her stomach. “You heard of serial killers? They’d love to pick up someone like me.” Her laugh wasn’t too attractive, snorts blending into happy keening. It must have been her pressed nose limiting her airflow. Robert smiled along with her before starting the car.

“I don’t keep up with stuff like that.”

“Really? You have all those newspapers back there.”

“Those are receipts.”

“Oh.” Maggie looked out the window, the car picking up speed. The definitive lines of nature started smearing into blue meeting browns and greens. “Well they’re popular around here I think.”

“Serial killers?”

“Yeah.”

“You a fan?”

“No. I don’t support murderers. Or whatever.”

Robert glanced towards her, stealing two seconds from the road. She was still focused on the scenery passing by. Her hair dragged through the wind of the open windows, dark rivers breaking and forming on her small head. He let one hand fall from the wheel, the straightness of 25 taking over. Maggie probably had a boyfriend in Manitou Springs, she’s thinking about him while she looks away from Robert. She was probably a recent high school graduate, top of her class, maybe already enrolled in Colorado State or maybe a school in California, hundreds of miles away from her boyfriend. Someone she probably touched the shoulder of so casually, thin fingers tugging on a t-shirt, other hand pressed into the flesh covering the bottom of his spine. Hot lips trailing her thin neck. She probably hid him from her strict Asian parents, scared of a belt or a sense of distrust. Parents that expect her to marry a doctor or become one herself. Her boyfriend probably had a car, driving her around like this, eggshell skies and breeze licking their faces playfully.

“Can I turn on the radio?”

“Sure.”

Before she could even hear the station he had it set on, she started messing with the dial, a small wrinkle between her brows. He realized he didn’t know any of the pop stations—if Doris could help it, she only listened to classical. Maggie settled on something Robert had vaguely heard before. Maybe when shopping with the kids.

“I don’t like this version as much. Just in case you think I’m a poser or something,” she said very seriously. She stuck her elbow out the window and slouched in her seat, put off by something Robert didn’t understand.

“There’s another version?”

She snorted, short this time. “Yeah.”

Robert nodded. “I see.” He didn’t.

25 was a long stretch of nothing, two asphalt strips divided by a bare stretch of grass. The road cut through the middle of the state. It loped up and down and flat, but besides that there was no variation. It was just straight. Prone to small dizzying summer mirages in the distance and drowsy drivers at night. Robert shifted in his seat. He could feel a band of sweat taking residence at the crook of his jaw. Maybe he wasn’t being a good host. Not that he planned on being a host in his own car. His tailbone already ached from driving for forty minutes—he wasn’t used to going much longer than that. He hadn’t driven this far out of Severance in years. His hand cramped a little, a sharp pain through his knuckles. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, tried to not look at the girl in his passenger seat.

 Robert shifted in his seat. He could feel a band of sweat taking residence at the crook of his jaw. Maybe he wasn’t being a good host. Not that he planned on being a host in his own car. His tailbone already ached from driving for forty minutes—he wasn’t used to going much longer than that. He hadn’t driven this far out of Severance in years. His hand cramped a little, a sharp pain through his knuckles. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, tried to not look at the girl in his passenger seat.

The music played at a low hum, often getting lost in the friction of tires and passing cars. From what he could tell, Maggie’s hand was bunched into the skirt of her dress, flat nose facing the flat plains of farmland.

They stayed silent like that for twenty more minutes before Maggie turned back to look at Robert. They were skimming the top of Denver when she said, “Have you heard of the Mousetrap?”

“No, not really.” Robert winced. Was there anything he did know in this girl’s world?

“It’s coming up. It’s like a really complicated intersection between 25 and 70.”

Robert released some of the tension in his shoulders. “Oh, of course. I have been living here for a while now.”

“How long?” Maggie started, ears reddening. “Sorry if that was rude.”

“Why would that be rude?”

“You’re not supposed to ask people’s ages. Especially older people.”

“You think I’m old?”

“You don’t look that old. But I shouldn’t have asked. Mom says it’s not polite.”

“I’ve lived here for forty-three years. Since birth.” Robert scratched the side of his head. “I think the asking age thing is just a woman thing.”

“A woman thing…” Maggie murmured. Her hand twisted a little more in her dress. “Maybe. But me too. Not the forty-three years old thing but the being here for a long time. Like I’ve been living here since I was a toddler.”

“Where did you live before? China?”

It was quiet for a second. “Michigan.”

“Oh, I just thought—”

“I know.”

Robert’s thighs clenched against the tension radiating off Maggie’s small shoulders. “So how long have you actually been living here?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“You’re a little young for hitchhiking.”

“Nah, my friends have been doing it for a while now.”

“This your first time?”

Her nose scrunched. “Yeah.”

“It’s mine too.”

“What?”

“I’ve never picked someone up before.”

“Oh.”

The Mousetrap came into view, roads looping and crossing with a logic Robert couldn’t decipher. Interstate 70 hovered above their heads. Robert had never thought about it, naming interchanges. Cars went all different directions, some sliding off the interstates, some lumbering on.

“Could you pull over, mister?” Maggie snapped him out of his thoughts. Her voice was strained.

He nodded, gradually stopping on the side of a grassy knoll. The cars were fast around here, their tunnels of air breaching Robert’s parked car, rocking it in a disconcerting way.

As soon as the car was completely parked, Maggie tried to shove the door open, but the doors were locked. She looked at Robert, rabid desperation clawing at the backsides of her eyes. He fumbled at the lock button to let her out. She shoved one more time and almost fell out of the car. Her knees scraped the grass and her shoulders tried to follow.

Robert looked away as vicious retching coincided with the traffic beside them.

He stayed in the car, looking anywhere but the girl vomiting beside him. They were in the middle of the Mousetrap. Two parallel highways lurched above their heads, forming a thatched concrete roof screaming with rubber and dirt.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” More retching.

Robert turned away from his window. “Are you okay?”

“Absolutely fine, mister!” Retch.

“Was my driving bad?”

“No, mister.” Retch. A pause. “Maybe.”

They sat there, both looking away from each other, for at least five more minutes. Robert’s stomach churned in discomfort. He hated when people were sick. He knew if he looked at her one more time he would be sick too. He would bet that her white dress collar was soaked with sweat and her knees imprinted with grass stains. Her face was probably flushed and snotty. Would she look like his daughters when they stay home from school with high fevers? Would she look like his wife, stoic and dismissive of help? The radio kept playing.

“Could we stop by a gas station?” Maggie climbed back into the car, wiping the spittle around her soft mouth. She flicked her hand a few times out the car door. Her lips were plump but pale. Chapped. She was still slightly folded over in the seat.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” She slouched even more. “Should we find a gas station?”

“Yeah, sure.” Robert started the car again, looking out his side mirror. He didn’t know what to say. The liveliness seemed to have seeped out of her body, her hair limp and arms sallow. His eyes dipped to her legs, knees not ripe with grass stains, but littered with dead grass pressed into her skin like sad dry flowers.

“Sorry. I get car sick pretty often. I should have told you.” She still wasn’t looking at him, eyes tracing the Denver skyline.

“It’s no problem.”

“It probably is to you, but I’m still sorry.” She sighed, lungs heavier than a seventeen year old’s should be. A gust of wind slid through the car windows, and he could imagine her sick breath entering his mouth and mixing everything together.

He was quiet. He didn’t know if he should say something. He was still scanning any signs for a gas station, fighting the bile creeping up his throat. He thought back to the girl he saw in Severance, bright and young and pretty. So removed from the gray thing sitting next to him, sunken into the passenger seat upholstery like a bad stain.

Maggie turned up the radio, feedback trilling sharp and clear.

Robert kept looking straight ahead. He couldn’t bear to see the girl next to him. The sky was still bright blue and the grass on the divider was still dried by the end of the summer. 25 was still mind-numbingly straight. Maggie was still seventeen.

“Is your family in Manitou?”

“No.”

“Why are we going there?”

She turned to look at him. He looked at her. He couldn’t stop himself. Her face was startlingly pale and he couldn’t tell if it was because of being sick or from something else. Both her hands now twisted in her dress, crinkling the starched flatness completely.

“I wanted some fresh air.”

Robert almost laughed, the sound expunging in his throat. Severance had too much fresh air. “I see a gas station ahead.”

“That’s good.”

“There’s a store too. You could get a drink. Stretch your legs.”

The car pulled into the lot, gravel crunching under and cascading away from the tires. Before Robert could stop fully into one of the stalls, Maggie opened the car door. A yellow car almost caught her, her spindly body dodging it at the last second to jog to the convenience store.

Robert looked down at the empty seat for a few seconds before realizing he needed to get up and pump his gas. He hoped she was alright. It was never good to see someone so pretty become so vulnerable. Doris wasn’t pretty like that. He could pat her back and watch her knobby ankles get twisted and witness her saggy tit milking for a baby. He didn’t know how someone would be able to do that for Maggie. She was too promising, foreign in the blandness of Colorado. She deserved tropical oceans and tall buildings. Not a grassy knoll to throw up on.

He saw Maggie step out of the store, carrying a small bag of chips. She looked slightly better, hair tied back and shining. Robert tried to smile at her but she seemed to be looking elsewhere.

Her attention was realized when she swayed up to the yellow car that almost clipped her. With a better look, Robert could see a young man, arms nonchalant and wrists hinging off his wheel. He couldn’t see his face but Maggie was smiling at him, leant over pleasantly. They laughed together. Robert couldn’t look away.

“Mister Turner!” a voice yelled. Maggie seemed to remember him.

He nodded. She hadn’t come any closer, rather her head poking above the yellow car hood. Her arm waved as if buoyed in the sunlight.

“This guy over here is good to give me a ride! You can go back to Severance now.”

“But I can—”

“Don’t worry about it. I know you probably have a wife to get back to.” She grinned innocently, looking pleased with her usefulness. “I’ve only put you out one hour. I hope you can get back by dinner!”

“I—”

Maggie got into the yellow car. The driver gave an aborted wave goodbye to Robert, already distracted by the girl next to him. The driver that didn’t know that she threw up minutes before. Didn’t know she was from Severance. Didn’t know she was born in Michigan, not China. He watched the car carry her off on 25, wondering if she would come back. There was no reason for her to come back. But he wondered.

He started the car and pulled back onto the highway.