There’s only so much crap a person can pack into the back of a U-Haul, and Omar Watson is officially past the limit. Before him, boxes and boxes of memories are stacked to the ceiling, like a cheap cardboard city, threatening to topple down faster than his engagement to Monica. She dumped him about a month ago, and despite many bottles of liquor, many mouthfuls of joints, and many reassurances from friends, nothing feels right, and Omar is pretty sure nothing ever will again.

Omar grits his teeth and wipes his brow, taking one last look at what his consumerism is reduced to. How 30 years of life can be shoved away in boxes as if he is putting toys away in a daycare bin. What a cosmic joke. Then he reaches up and yanks the door down, revealing the Two Idiots and a Truck logo, taps the back of the truck, and sends his two idiots off with a half-hearted wave.

“See you in California,” Omar mutters before adding, “Don’t break my shit.”

The moving truck lurches forward, kicking up gravel that, for some reason, kicks up memories. His breakup with his fiancée, Monica, flashes in his mind’s eye, sharp and unwelcome, like pigeon shit splattering on an unsuspecting bald head.

“I can’t keep fixing you,” Monica says with tears running down her face as she turns away. “…How can I expect you to love me when you can’t even love yourself?”

And to Omar, that’s what hurts the most. She’s right, of course—Monica is always right. He can’t love anyone because he can’t love himself. And you can hardly live life without love; it’s too long. It’s too treacherous. And frankly, it’s too damn lonely.

Omar shakes the memory off and jams his hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled plane ticket and stares at it intently. Only a few more days, and he will officially leave Ohio behind and start his new life. There’s nothing left for him anymore. His mother’s dead. His father’s a deadbeat, and all his friends have settled down and forgotten all the memories they shared. So it’s off to the land where dreams come true, to get a fresh start where nobody knows his name. The kind of fresh start Omar needed, perhaps more than ever.

A cool breeze picks up, blowing leaves across the parking lot as Omar reaches behind his ear, produces a joint, lights it, and inhales long and slow, taking in the earthy, green taste. After craning his head to get one last look at the movers pulling out of the apartment complex, he begins the slow walk to his empty apartment.

“California’s gonna be different,” Omar mutters, convincing no one, least of all himself. “I’ll make sure of it,” he adds.

Suddenly, Omar hears the faint rattle of a car rolling to a stop, and slows his steps.

“Man, you better tell that truck to turn around—they forgot to put my shit in there,” says The Voice defiantly.

The joint falls from Omar’s hand as he freezes. The voice is gravelly, familiar in a way, like a song you haven’t heard in years getting stuck in your head. He turns around slowly, his heart quickening, his face folding onto itself, and then he sees him. Jasper—his father—sitting in his beat-up grey Honda Civic, wearing a too-excited smile, with a beat-up suitcase in one hand, and a can of Coke in the other.

Omar’s stomach drops. “Fuck me,” he mutters before running a hand through his hair.  Jasper just smiles in a way that’s waiting for a response. Omar shakes his head.

“What… what are you doing here? How… how did you know where I live?” Omar’s words come out harsher than he means, but who could blame him? It’s not every day your estranged father shows up on moving day like it’s some kind of family reunion.

Jasper lets out a genuine laugh he hopes will disarm. “Shit, man, you really think your father wouldn’t know where his son lives?”

Omar clenches his fist and looks off towards the grass as if it has answers.

“It’s news to me,” says Omar, finally getting a hold of his nerve.

Jasper scratches his chin and shrugs half-heartedly as if crashing his son’s life is no big deal. “Heard through the grapevine about you and Monica. Figured you might need some company on the drive out west.”

Omar’s eyebrows shoot up. “Drive?”

Jasper nods toward his Civic. “Yeah, man. I’m thinking we hit the road together. It’ll be fun.”

Omar’s eyes temporarily bug out of his head.

“Fun? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Omar says, taking a few steps forward, the panic of “together” tightening his chest.

Jasper raises an eyebrow, tapping his suitcase like he’s about to sell Omar an insurance policy. “Does it look like I’m joking?”

Omar’s mouth is ajar. Everything in the past month has been full of unfortunate surprises, but this one feels the most cruel.

“I’m moving across the country, Dad. You can’t just— I… I have a plane ticket.”

Jasper waves Omar’s objection away like it’s nothing. “It’s just money. I’ll pay for it. Forget the flight—hop in the car, and we’ll drive. Come on, man, who doesn’t love a road trip? It’s American as apple pie.”

Omar blinks, staring at his crumpled ticket as if it might hold some answers. “Seriously, why… why are you here? We haven’t talked in years.”

Jasper’s grin falters for the briefest moment, his eyes softening. “You’re smart; there’s your answer. We haven’t spoken for years, and I’m fixin’ to change that,” Jasper says, now standing outside the car, opening the passenger door expectantly.

Omar can’t believe this shit. Honestly, it feels like a dream. Not a good dream, where everything you want can and does happen, but one you can’t wake up from. And based on the sick feeling pouring up from his gut, unfortunately, he’s wide awake.

“So, what do you say? Come on, man, it’s not like you have any shit here,” Jasper says. “I just watched it roll away.”

Omar looks down at the ground, his eyes fixating on a large stone, and wonders if he dropped it high enough onto his head, maybe it would kill him. Then he looks up and studies Jasper, his eyes teetering on the line between determination and pleading. There is something about the way he stands there, looking thinner and older—like a faded version of the man Omar once knew—that makes it clear something is off. And for some reason, he’s still holding his suitcase tight against his body as if it contains his life savings. Omar sighs, long and heavy, weighing his options while his mind spins out of control.

“Well… what do you say?” Jasper repeats.

Omar wants to say no. He wants to laugh in his father’s face, slam the door shut, and walk away without a second glance, like Jasper did to him all those years ago. But something in him stops that—something weak, maybe. Or maybe it’s the hopelessness that comes from everything else already being lost. Maybe, in a fucked-up way, a road trip with the man who walked out on him is better than sitting on a plane for five hours alone with his thoughts. Misery does love company, after all. Omar blinks some more.

“But what are you really doing here?” Omar asks, his now voice low, almost pleading. “I… I want the truth.”

Jasper’s grin returns, but there’s something different now. Something off. Something almost sad.

“To be honest with you, I’ve got some news I need to share with you, and it’s the kind of news you gotta tell someone in person,” Jasper says, tapping the suitcase again. “So, what do you say? We’ll be in California by the time your movers arrive, and if you’d like, after this, you’ll never have to see me again.”

Omar feels his heart race as he studies Jasper once more. He notices the lines on his father’s face, the thinness in his frame, and the suitcase he holds too close—like it contains more than just clothes. He can’t quite place it, but something is definitely wrong.  Omar squeezes his fist and takes one look at his apartment.  He had already checked out, and his plan was just to lay low before his plane, maybe rent a hotel, but this… this was something new. Something unexpected. Then, with the release of his fist, he relents.

“Fine,” Omar mutters, then points a finger at his father. “But I’m not doing this for you.” Omar pauses. “And we can’t be late; otherwise, I might lose my job.”

Jasper chuckles, relieved. “That’s alright, I don’t need you to do it for me, and we’ll be on time – Hell, early even. You know I drive fast.”

With one last sigh, Omar grabs the last of his things, slinging a backpack over his shoulder, and heads toward his father’s car. He hesitates for a moment before yanking open the passenger door and throwing his bag in the backseat. Then he slumps into the passenger seat and attempts the impossible, getting comfortable in an uncomfortable situation, while his mind spins out of control.

Jasper hops in the driver’s seat, cracks open the Coke can with a satisfying hiss, and takes a long sip before tossing the can onto the back floor. He strums the steering wheel, content, then turns to Omar.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road, huh? West Coast, here we come,” says Jasper.

Omar just stares out the window, unsure if this is the start of something new or just another mistake in a long list of them. Jasper then turns the ignition and the car roars to life with a sputter. The wheels crunch over the gravel as they pull away, and the apartment complex shrinks in the rearview mirror. Omar watches it grow smaller and smaller, disappearing behind them, just like everything else in his life.

Omar now sits with his arms and legs crossed, making him appear like a human ‘X’ while his forehead rests on the passenger side window, seeing the Ohio countryside blow by in a constant blur.  His eyes were dark, sleepless circles, and the unspoken tension of it all made his head feel like a basketball in the hands of a highly skilled dribbler. He is busy doing what he does best—tuning his father out—and deeply regretting letting him talk his way onto this trip.  But no matter what he does, he can’t help but wonder what the news is that Jasper wants to… needs to share.

Every few miles, Jasper looks like he is about to say something, but then he just stares out the window instead, leaving Omar alone with his thoughts and the dull roar of the highway. More than anything, Jasper wants to confess to Omar. To tell him why he joined the trip in the first place. To apologize for their rather inglorious breakup. To share his secret that he knows will change everything, especially his son’s life.

But how can he share a secret so large when his son can barely acknowledge his existence? How can he share news so bad that it will make his son feel anything but good? Often, the past has ropes that keep you bound, and Jasper is caught struggling against its snare. He is surprised Omar hasn’t commented on his decline, his shriveled appearance, his premature aging. Soon, he will have to tell him, but now, he’ll need to win his trust. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Jasper clears his throat.

“Thanks, Omar.”

Omar doesn’t even look up. “For what?”

“For letting me come on this trip. It… it means a lot.”

Omar shrugs, not bothering to hide his irritation. “Yeah. No problem.”

Jasper rolls down the window, letting the awkward tension blow out with the breeze.

“So… why California?”

Omar sighs. “New job.”

Jasper, clearly trying to break the silence, presses on. “Doing…?”

“Dad!” Omar snaps, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Just drop it, okay? You said you had something to tell me—so tell me. What is it?”

Jasper shoots back in his seat and eyes down his suitcase. “Yeah… I’m just waiting for the right time.”

Omar shakes his head. “When the hell is that gonna be? Because time with you is a funny thing. It took you long enough to show your face.”

Jasper sighs and crunches over like he took a punch to the gut. “I’m sorry about that. Really, I am.”

Omar huffs and looks out the window. Jasper clenches the steering wheel. “Look, when we grab lunch, I’ll tell you there, okay? I’m just waiting for the right moment. Food might help.”

Omar grimaces, panic mixing with impatience blooming in his chest. “When do you want to stop?”

Jasper looks at the gas gauge and notices the needle, a hair’s length from E, looking like a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.

“Soon.”

“Okay…” says Omar in a long, annoyed sigh.

Jasper grits his teeth while his eyes dart back to the road when he notices a blue sign that must have come down from the heavens above:

BP Gas Station 2 miles

“About damn time,” Jasper mutters, “Alright, kid, we’re getting off here soon… real soon. I just gotta get past these—oh, what the fuck.”

A truck merges into the passing lane ahead of them, pacing the truck in the slow lane. To their right, a black Audi pulls alongside them, driven by a lady glued to her phone, while two more trucks pull up behind, officially boxing them in. Jasper sucks his lip, silently cursing the entire trucking industry, and compares their trucks to dinosaurs, wishing they’d go extinct. He steals a glance at the gas gauge again—it’s deep in the red. His pulse quickens, and he slaps Omar’s arm.

“Get her attention. She’s gotta let us over… we can’t miss this exit,” Jasper says, jabbing his finger toward the woman.

Omar doesn’t move. Instead, he stares down at a photo of his fiancée, Monica, wishing he was the new guy in her latest picture.

“Come on, man! You ain’t gonna make the move without gas,” Jasper snaps, his eyes flicking between the mirror and the road ahead. “We’re boxed in.”

Omar lets out a long, annoyed sigh and looks up at the lady. Big, black sunglasses cover much of her face, making her look like a fly. Her head is tilted down, and she stares at her phone while driving 70 miles per hour, somehow managing to keep her car between the lines.

“She’s texting, and you can’t pass her? Have you tried using your blinker?” Omar deadpans, years of repressed sass creeping into his voice.

Jasper squeezes the steering wheel as if he could wring out some extra patience. “Of course I did! What do you think, I can’t drive?” He waves his hand frantically at the dashboard. “She’s not letting me over!”

His eyes dart to the gas gauge again, and he mutters under his breath before glancing over at the woman. “Move the hell outta the way!” he shouts, hammering the horn.

Omar brings his hands to his ears and scowls. “She can’t hear you, you know.”

“It ain’t from a lack of trying!” Jasper erupts and wipes the sweat from his head. “She kind of reminds me of you.”

Omar pretends not to hear that and returns to his phone, knowing his father is right. About a thousand yards out, the exit ramp appears like an oasis in the desert with all the allure of freedom. Tasting salvation, Jasper taps the accelerator and takes a deep gulp as his eyes focus on his exit. It was time to pull a fast one on this bitch. He presses his heel down till his foot feels the floor, and the car zooms forward, sending the men back into their seats with a whoosh.

But no progress is made.

Despite staring at her phone, the lady finds a way to block his exit and match his speed. No matter what he does, he cannot shake her; she is glued to his side like a logo on a shoe. And as Jasper’s last morsel of patience burns out, that’s when it all happens. Jasper’s nostrils flare: he slams down the automatic window button, shoves his son back into the seat, reaches out the window, and gives the lady the bird.

“Move the fuck over!” he shouts.

It is as American as Johnny Appleseed, holding a firework while riding a bald eagle. Jasper holds the middle finger triumphantly, ignoring the road and focusing on the lady, hoping she will get the message. But when she finally cranes her neck and sees the middle finger, she does the most inconceivable thing. She smiles and waves, which has the effect of short-circuiting Jasper. His jaw drops, his face twists, and he looks as if he has just seen a ghost, temporarily frozen with disbelief. Unfortunately, for Jasper and Omar, something directly ahead of them is much more menacing.

“Watch out!” Omar screams, throwing his hands over his face. Standing smack dab in the middle of the road is a 10-point buck delivered from Karma herself.

Jasper, still staring at the lady, doesn’t see it coming. And he doesn’t have to; his other senses do the heavy lifting.

WHAM!

He feels the impact of hitting the buck at 70 miles per hour, which sends shockwaves straight to his seat.

He hears the shattering glass cry out with sudden, deafening force.

He smells the blood spraying across the windshield, mixing with the cool rush of outdoor air that slices through the open window.

When he looks up, Jasper sees the world has flipped upside down as the car rolls over and over until it finally crashes into a ditch with a bone-rattling thud.

As the dust settles and the shock sinks in, Omar turns his head, his body aching from the crash. He takes one long, hard look at his father, feeling the old hatred bubble up stronger than ever before.

 

 

I NEED YOUR HELP! Sorry for repeatedly posting my opening chapter, I’m just trying to get it right. This is a new angle I’m experimenting with. If you like it, I’d love to know. Thank you for all of your help, I appreciate all of you more than you know!