Road Trip (An Anytown Story)

Joseph Dobzynski, Jr.
20 min readDec 19, 2022

--

Photo by Joshua Woroniecki on Unsplash

It was a clear black night, a clear white moon. David and Size were rolling down the highway at 70 miles an hour, blaring 1990s hip-hop on the way to a new business opportunity in the next state over. A long rainstorm had slowed driving conditions for a while, but nothing could stop them. They were on a mission. Maybe a mission from God.

David looked out the passenger window, thinking about getting back home to his wife in Anytown with some travel gifts from this road trip. He caught his reflection in the passenger-side mirror, the moon reflecting off his pale features, peppered by a couple days beard growth. He sat up, eyes focusing on a strange sight. Off to the right of the divided highway was a red glow on the horizon. It wasn’t from the sparsely planted highway lights leading to a rural community. No, it was the glow of flames, coming off a tractor, moving steadily towards the road. The flames lit the field behind it on fire, spreading out like a fan. David shook his head. The rain should have made that impossible. Was it gasoline? Something worse?

David turned towards Size, then followed his gaze out the front window, where wind and rain were gathering and swirling while the occasional lightning arc illuminated the clouds. A major arc flashed off to the left, and a half-second later, a massive boom rumbled the ground and disrupted Size’s car electronically.

“Size, what the fuck is going on?” David looked towards Size, trying to read his dark brown face within the poorly lit interior. Size looked out the window, wide-eyed, moving his clean-shaven head back and forth between the two bizarre events.

“Not right now, dude. We gotta go. Right fucking now.”

Traffic had slowed. Both lanes on each side were nearly at a standstill. David saw a second tractor on fire, then a third, until a whole line of flaming tractors was headed towards the highway from one side, with the rain and wind spinning into a tornado on the other. The tornado hit the road ahead of them first, whipping two cars up into the air, the sheer force pushing the other cars away from it.

Size hit the gas while spinning the steering wheel around, pulling into the ditch in between the divided highway, away from the destruction, speeding over unlevel terrain and rim-busting rocks. David turned to watch the primal forces collide on the highway behind them, merging into a larger force. Size’s engine had to strain against the pull of the funnel. Small rocks struck the back windshield like bullets, puncturing holes, shattering the frame. One rock grazed David’s head, before shattering the front windshield.

“Size, what the fuuu…..”

David awakened in the passenger side of Size’s ride, affectionately known as the hooptie. It was by no means a shitty car. The hooptie was a fully restored 1982 Monte Carlo, like the one on Breaking Bad, but with a much subtler paint job and license plate. No one likes being a target. The hooptie was sailing down the north/south highway in the middle of a summer day. The fields on either side alternated between wheat, corn, or soy, with tree lines denoting property boundaries while providing shelter from the wind. Sometimes the fields themselves were trees, usually apple orchards.

David rubbed his eyes, waking himself up, stretching out his neck to try and remove the kink that appeared during his nap. Warren G’s “Regulators” was finishing up, with Nate Dogg’s crooning lyrics riding Michael McDonald’s break from “I Keep Forgettin” to the finish. Size looked over at David, right arm extended over the top of the steering wheel, left arm propping his head against the driver’s side door, then turned back to the road.

“Bad dream?” asked Size.

“Yeah. I haven’t dreamt in a while, so that was weird,” replied David.

David Miller had been out of cannabis for a couple weeks, and therefore had been struggling with insomnia. He had been overcompensating with caffeine, doing his best to maintain a regular schedule at work, and getting maybe four to five hours of sleep a night. David moved around a little more, the warm sun creating sweat in some uncomfortable places, even with the moderate air conditioning. Probably another sign of withdrawal. Supplies had run low in Anytown, where David could usually find some ditch weed at least. But not this month, not after a major bust brought down the two biggest suppliers in the city, which sent the nickel and dime bag kids into hiding, and made the private growers become extremely private about their plants.

The stereo went silent, the cassette tape running to the end and automatically flipping to the other side. Travis “Size” Sizemore hit the eject button, an actual button that depressed a lever to present the mixtape that had just finished up. It was one of many mixtapes that Size kept in his ride, which he lovingly made from the music he found scrounging in used records stores and thrift shops. Size’s music was wide-ranging, pulling from his Chicano and Black heritage, a groovy mix of hip-hop, reggae, dancehall, jazz, traditional rhythms, whatever caught his ear. The mixes always seemed impossible when he described them, and they always came out right when he was done. He was a master of the art of the mixtape, probably had the last few cases of blank cassettes back home.

David pulled his phone from the storage space in the passenger door. He looked over towards the stereo console, then plugged his phone into a USB cord dangled freely from the cigarette lighter adapter. The phone displayed the time when connected, about 1:00pm, two hours since they had left Anytown.

“You know, if you need me to drive…”

“No.”

‘I’m just saying…”

It was a running joke between them. No one drove Size’s car but him. It was the car he had wanted since he was a kid, before he could even think about driving, before he had gone into juvenile detention and came back out. He did most of the engine work himself, only taking it into a trusted shop when he needed specialized tools or the lift. He even painted the car himself, another skill he had picked up during juvenile detention.

David shivered a little bit, the final remnants of his dream returning in flashes and shaking out. Size looked over with more than a little side eye and sniffed in amusement. David laughed a little, embarrassed. “I know. It certainly felt real.”

“What was it about?”

“Well, there were these tractors on fire on our right side, and then a tornado I think, and then…” David paused, trying to remember the rest, then seeing Size’s slowly upturning mouth. “You know what, it was some dumb shit. But it felt real.”

“David Miller.” He used the Spanish pronunciation for David’s name. Dah-veed. “Always worried about some dumb shit.”

“Mark call you back?” Mark Jackson was Size’s lawyer.

“Yeah. As of noon today, the limited restraining order against the Anytown Police Department went into effect.”

“Is that going to stop the harassment?”

Size let out a psshtt sound. “No. But it will create consequences for routine harassment. Especially from Garcia.” Officer Garcia, now Detective Garcia, had seemed to make it his life’s mission to expose any criminal activity in Size’s life. He had sent Size to juvenile detention as a teenager and had harassed him often after his release.

Size hit the blinker and drifted over into the right lane, smoothly and precisely. David looked over, catching an exit sign with the usual highway amenities. The most important to him was the bathroom. Size hit his blinker again, exactly the distance necessary to signal his intention to exit, then pulled off into the exit lane.

“Reading my mind,” said David.

“Yeah. Need gas, too.”

David burst out of the truck stop bathroom, behind the cashier and convenience area, exhaling as soon as he dared, after first breathing through his nose, then just holding his breath to make it through the ordeal. The bathroom was a disaster area, unattended for days, maybe weeks. Size had tried to warn him, but David wouldn’t listen. Couldn’t, actually. His bladder would wait no longer.

David shook his head, gagging just a bit after catching another whiff of the bathroom somehow through the closed door. His sense of smell had come back stronger after the last two weeks. Sometimes it could overpower him. Bathroom stench gave way to a different stench. Cigarette smoke drifted towards David from the designated smoking area located exactly fifty feet from the nearest pump. Four young men sat on two picnic tables, smoking and chatting.

David sniffed again, recognizing something else in the smoke, a stronger, sweeter smell. A second later, he noticed one of the four men lean their head down and take a hit off something else. One of the other men locked eyes with David, their eyes widening a bit, but David just pasted the smile of a professional cheeba hawk on his face, the kind that can work their way into any group that might be willing to share.

“Gentlemen!” called out David, waving and walking over. David looked behind him. Size was thumbing his phone while filling up the hooptie with premium gasoline. The four men followed his gaze, seeing Size, then re-evaluating David quickly. David looked back, raised his eyebrows. One of them waved him over. All four looked like white locals, just hanging out at the highway truck stop. As good as any place to get high out here.

“You guys mind if I…”

David suffered their annoyance, asking so brusquely like that. The four ribbed him just enough to let him know he was welcome but was still definitely a moocher. One young man wearing a beanie cap and a hipster moustache pulled out a prescription bottle, then packed a ceramic one-hitter with a skunky, resin-dotted chunk of cannabis. The one-hitter looked like a cigarette from far away and like a shitty ceramic replica up close, but it served its purpose. Flame was produced from a metallic lighter ejecting a tight, blue flame, combusting and melting the bud, producing the smoke which David pulled directly into his lungs. He convulsed a few times, his lungs having been unpracticed, fighting to keep the smoke in to get the fullest effect, then let it all out in a giant coughing fit. One of them patted David on the back.

“Preemo!” yelled David, then giggled, as the headrush came on. He quickly cashed out the one-hitter with metallic lighter, spitting out some ash and flakes. It was premium weed, and because of his sober state, he only partly remembered handing the one-hitter back to the young man. Kid, really. David wondered about their age, looking around again, seeing if anyone was watching, and feeling like everyone was.

Settle down, David.

David saw another kid rolling up a cone, using a matchstick to pack it in. “Hey, would you all be interested in a little trade?” David produced a $20 bill. David knew he was overpaying, but it was a seller’s market. “Because I wouldn’t mind a cone of that sweet, sweet bud. Where did you get it?”

“Across state lines. My friends have prescriptions. High quality shit. No fillers. No additives.” The guy handed him a prescription bottle for Green Pastures Farms.

“Yo, David!” Size called from his car, replacing the gas cap. David traded the $20 for the cone, dapped each of them in thanks, then stored the cone in his shirt pocket. Size met him halfway back to the car, motioning toward the convenience store. He took a playful sniff of David, then shook his head. “You get the hook up?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” David looked around again, wondering if he had spoken too loudly. Size wasn’t a smoker, but he wasn’t against it. Size liked keeping his mind sharp and focused, unlike David who was practically led into the convenience store. The automated electronic chime sounded as they walked through the sliding doors. David immediately understood the wisdom in visiting the convenience store, heading right for a small bag of twisted corn chips slathered in barbecue seasoning.

Size came over. “You get one stain in my car, dude…”

David hit up the cold case next, grabbing a soda, then wandered back down the aisle, right up to the counter where Size was placing his snacks. Size pointed towards the pump. David pulled out his wallet, offering to pay, to which Size smiled and nodded. David slid some cash under the bulletproof plastic screen, then looked up at the cashier, an overweight white man with tobacco-stained teeth and a similarly stained polo shirt bearing the station’s corporate logo. A name tag read “R. Prescott”. The cashier grabbed the cash, looked from David to Size and back again, then popped open the drawer, mumbling “fucking fruits” under his breath.

“Excuse me?!” demanded David. Size put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head, but David wasn’t paying attention. The cashier took one look at David, safely on his side of the bulletproof shield, then dropped David’s change in the metal slot between the two of them. The cashier stood there, arms crossed, staring at David in amusement.

Size became more insistent. “Come on, David. Fuck this guy.”

“Yeah, you sure know a lot about fucking guys, don’t you?” teased the cashier. David jumped forward, lost in his rage. Size gripped David’s shoulder with one hand, grabbed the change with the other hand, and dragged David out the sliding doors. David knew he was angry at the cashier, but he couldn’t quite remember why, even as Size put him in the passenger side door and walked around to the other side. David didn’t notice the other cars watching the commotion.

“Buckle your damn seat belt,” said Size, starting the car and peeling out of the station.

“What the fuck, Size?!” yelled David, after they had gotten back on the freeway. It took David a few second to figure out the seat belt, then a few more trying to get his mind focused enough to explain exactly why he was mad at Size.

“Dude, don’t do that,” said Size, gripping the steering wheel like he was revving a motorcycle.

“But he was disrespecting us, man. Calling us gay.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“If it’s not true, yeah.”

“You think I don’t know that’s untrue?” asked Size. Size’s brother was gay. He had seen Andre get teased a lot growing up. Still saw it a lot now. Size tutted. “Man, you act like you’ve never been teased before.”

“But man, that motherfucker…”

“Just grow up, David. Just fucking grow up.”

“How can you take that?” asked David, slightly mollified, calming down.

“I’ve spent my entire life getting teased by people, David. Especially by backwoods crackers like that. Getting called gay is a nice change for me. Usually, I get all the names nobody wants to hear, but all the racists love to say.”

“Still, he…”

“And it doesn’t help, David. Not one bit, when you jump in like that. It only escalates things. I don’t like having to swallow my pride. I don’t like having to not snap back. But I can’t get picked up over some dumb shit.” Size’s anger was rising. “You might be able to worry about flaming tractors and tornados and whatever, but I deal with real shit. One false step and I can get charged for nothing and spend years in a jail cell. One false move and I can get shot for resisting arrest. One stupid mistake, and…”

As if on cue, David saw the flashing red and blue lights came up behind the Monte Carlo, followed by the piercing electronic siren gathering the attention of Size and every other car on both sides of the highway. Size looked down at the dashboard, saw himself going ten miles over, which for a white person would be par for the course on this highway, but not while driving black or brown. Size calmly lifted his foot off the accelerator, then signaled his nearly perfect, heavily practiced intention to pull off to the right side of the road.

The implications caught up to David well before Size finished parking the car. Size turned the stereo off, then placed his hands on the top of the wheel, looking straight ahead. “Don’t say a goddamn word unless spoken to, David. You understand me?”

Paranoia burst into David’s mind. “Yeah, Size.”

The highway patrol cruiser pulled up behind the Monte Carlo. The siren came to a stop while the flashing red and blue lights continued their whirl. David looked into his passenger door mirror to see two officers in the car. The passenger seat officer squinted towards Size’s car, punching the license plate number into the onboard tablet. The other officer radioed in the stop, then unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car, crossing over to approach Size’s car from David’s side.

David’s mind moved a mile a minute. He wondered how bad he might smell of weed, whether the officer could tell he was high. And then it hit him that he had a dank ass, fully packed cone sitting in his shirt’s front pocket. David resisted the urge to adjust himself, not wanting to tip off the officer. A weighted ball of fear dropped from his gullet down to his gut, pulling his entire body and bowels with it.

“Size…” began David.

Size stopped him. “Just be cool, David. We’re going to be fine.”

Size pressed the button to lower David’s window. David kept staring ahead, hearing the crunch of bootsteps on the extended gravel shoulder. The officer leaned forward enough to look into the car, stealing a quick but noticeable glance into the back seat. David noticed the officer’s hand was on his pistol. David looked to the right and noticed the name on the badge: Prescott.

“License and registration,” said the officer to Size.

“My license is in my front pocket and the registration is in the glove compartment. May I retrieve both documents, Officer?”

The officer looked at Size, then David, then back to Size, re-evaluating the situation. Both questions were exactly what should have been asked in such a situation, which should have made the officer’s job easier, but instead just made him grow more suspicious.

“Yes.” The reply was short, terse, almost spit towards Size.

Size slowly pulled out his wallet, a slim line which held a few cards and about $100 in cash, then slid out his license and handed it to David. David took it, glancing at it like a bouncer before passing it to the officer, immediately berating himself for looking at it. And doing his best not to look extremely stoned, which is exactly how he felt. Size, meanwhile, reached slowly into the glove compartment for an envelope, which he handed directly to the officer.

“Insurance is in there as well, Officer.” David could hear the capital O in Officer. Officer Prescott finished examining Size’s license, then compared it to the registration and insurance before handing everything offhandedly to David. David handed Size his license and replaced the envelope into the glove compartment, careful not to lean forward. Size put his license back in his wallet and left it on the seat.

“Where were you two headed in such a hurry out of that gas station earlier?” Officer Prescott looked directly at David. David froze, unsure how to respond or whether he had a legal obligation to respond. “Brought some concern to the station attendant. He thought I should make sure you two lovebirds were okay.”

“We’re visiting friends in the next state over. Haven’t seen them in months,” offered Size. David noticed how cool Size kept. David could barely move, his fear the only thing keeping his rising anger in check.

“What do you plan to do when you get there?” pressed Officer Prescott.

“Probably just settle in and catch up. It’s been a long drive.”

“Plan on doing any partying?”

“Maybe. Still a long drive.”

“Anything in the car I should know about?”

Size didn’t miss a beat. “To the best of my knowledge, no, Officer.”

“Nothing in the trunk, huh?”

“No, sir.”

Officer Prescott turns his attention to David. “Is that true, young man?”

David looked up at Officer Prescott, careful not to move the top of his torso. “Yes, sir.”

“Are we being detained, Officer?” asked Size.

Officer Prescot looked away from David and back to Size. David could tell he was looking for any excuse to keep them detained. His radio squawked. “One minute. Don’t go anywhere.”

The officer walked back to the cruiser, this time to the passenger side where he conferred with his partner. The two exchanged words masked by the sounds of highway traffic driving well over the speed limit. David caught a few words, his paranoia convincing him every word spelt their inevitable arrest. Size stared forward, every now and again looking up in the rear-view mirror. A few minutes later, Officer Prescott returned.

“No, you are not being detained. Please drive safely and within the speed limit from here on out. We can technically write you up for ten miles over, but I’m gonna let you off with a verbal warning.”

“Thank you, Officer. We will watch our speed going forward,” said Size.

“Oh, and Mr. Sizemore? Garcia sends his regards.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

Officer Prescott lingered one more time, mumbling something into the radio back to his partner before beginning the slow crunch back to the patrol car. David kept looking forward, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Size looked ashen now, a frightening sight on his normally fresh-looking face. He mechanically placed his car into gear, applied his signal, then accelerated slowly to rejoin traffic, leaving the two officers conversing behind them.

Size made it to the next exit, which led to a highway rest area, signaling and pulling off, traveling exactly the speed limit the whole way. He pulled into the angle-in parking between two other cars. Size hopped out and strode quickly towards the bathroom, not bothering to lock up the car. David stepped out, lingering to one side and stretching his legs, unwilling to leave the car alone. What he really wanted was a little more weed to help bring his anxiety down.

Size returned a moment later, still looking frazzled, but more put together than when he left the car. David got a quick nod from him. Size held up his keys to say he knew why David stayed, waving for David to go. David walked towards the bathrooms, turning back to see Size sitting down on the hood of his car, thumbing his phone, then deciding to make his way around the rest area bathroom, away from the parking lots, until he was facing some corn and wheat fields in the distance. The wind was mild. David walked down a short path, stretching his legs out. Once he was far enough away, he pulled out the cone, and the metallic lighter he found in his pocket, absentmindedly pocketed from the four kids outside the truck stop. He laughed, happy to have it, and lit up. David started hotboxing, rapidly burning the short cone in about four concentrated pulls, letting the remaining tension leak out of his body. The second wave of fuzzy feelings poured over his body.

He crushed out the butt, tossing it into a can and heading into the bathroom to freshen up. He washed his hands, loved the feeling while high, rubbed some water over his face. He looked up in the mirror, happy to see himself happy, Officer Prescott becoming just another bad memory to suppress like all the other ones in his life. David walked around the bathroom with dripping hands, looking for anywhere to dry them, and ended up wiping his hands on his jeans. He passed a father/son duo on the way out, both holding their noses against the smell. David giggled his way back to the car, pulling up short when he saw Size staring into space, twirling his keys on one finger.

“Yo. Size, you okay?”

“David, can you drive us the rest of the way?”

David stopped, making sure he had heard him correctly.

“Size, man, I would, but I just got high, and…”

Size looked up at him, unphased. “Please, David.”

David considered it for a second, then against his better judgment, out of loyalty to his friend, he grabbed the keys. Size got up mutely and walked to the passenger seat. David slipped into the driver’s side, adjusting the seat and mirrors, doing everything in his power to try and get Size to start yelling at him to stop touching his car and force him out of the driver’s seat. But Size just sat there, staring ahead, waiting for the car to move. Eventually, David quit stalling, buckled himself in, and turned the key.

David had never felt more paranoid in his life driving Size’s car, in full radio and conversation silence. The only sounds were the wind wrapping around the hooptie and the contact of the wheels on the ground. While Size was stuffing down whatever trauma he was experiencing, David made sure to stay right around the speed limit, never over, never too far under. He kept a two-second distance between himself and any car in front of him and almost never left the right lane. It was slower this way, but David could manage it, until his short-term memory would skip, then he would go back through all the checks learned in driver’s education.

Thirty minutes later they crossed the state line. David started breathing easier, falling into a semi-severe buzzkill. Size also started breathing easier, even relaxing in his seat a little bit, enjoying the scenery. David didn’t have it together enough yet to try a conversation, but Size pulled his phone out and recalibrated the GPS to guide them the rest of the way. Twenty minutes after crossing the border, they turned onto a state highway, then a rural highway, then down a dirt road, which David hoped led towards their destination. Size started mumbling about having to wash his car, but David knew this was a good sign, while also feeling personally responsible for whatever cleaning would be necessary later.

The car went up a slight hill and turned a corner to arrive at a gate guarded by two men wearing masks armed with AR-15s. A third man was inside a booth with a clipboard. Size calmly took it all in. David noticed something pollen-like floating in the air, floating out and over a wrought-iron sign erected over the gate, which read “Green Pastures Farms”. The third guard looked up from the booth, then hit a button and waved them through the gate.

David waited as the gate split in the middle to open, then continued driving slowly through the gate towards a renovated ranch house at the end of the road. The dirt road transformed into a recently added asphalt road, moving between two fields of giant stalked cannabis plants weeping resin. David did his best not to be distracted by the sight of more cannabis than he had ever seen in his life, staying focused on the road to guide the Monte Carlo towards a guest parking space with a sign which said SIZE in block letters. David parked the car and turned it off, then handed the keys to Size before letting out the breath he had been holding since the rest area.

“Fucked up my seat settings,” said Size, with a smile.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know why I made you do that?” asked Size. David looked over at him, confused. “That’s how I feel every single day when I drive, man. From the minute I get in until the minute I get out. You might get to argue with gas station attendants and officers and threaten lawyers to uphold your rights, David, but I can’t. I can’t…”

Size’s composure broke, just for a second. David wanted to reach out to take his shoulder, but that would have been too much. Size wasn’t one to reveal himself this much, so it was best to let the moment breathe, then pass.

And speaking of breathing…

“Man, it reeks out here,” said Size, getting a whiff of the resin though the windows. Harvesters were near the fields, wearing gas masks and long-sleeves to keep as much of the resin and odor out of their systems. David watched them hack off giant buds for curing and separation, while the stalks and stems were taken for secondary processing. The smell was even more powerful outside.

“Gentlemen, let’s get you inside before you get too much of a contact high.”

David and Size saw a white man approaching, wearing a mask mostly for show. He had long brown hair, wore a Grateful Dead t-shirt, and looked about as stoned as David had wanted to be just hours ago. Size was breathing through his mouth, his eyes starting to cash out from the overwhelming odor, especially for someone like Size who didn’t partake.

“This way, please.”

David and Size were led into an office. The man shut the door and started an air purifier.

“Sorry, it’s harvest time. We have someone draping a sheet over your car, Mr. Sizemore, and we’ll cover any car cleaning costs when you get home.”

Size nodded, adopting his business face. “Thank you very much. Now, before we let David tour this stoner wonderland, I thought we could talk business.”

“Absolutely. Let’s talk about bringing cannabis to Anytown.”

--

--

Joseph Dobzynski, Jr.

Amateur writer, reader, critic, and philosopher. Follow for fiction, satire, analysis, books, and philosophy with a leftist bent.