Al’s Wild Ride, by Gabrielle Kaasa

Courtesy of Ashley Morris

Al gripped the steering wheel tightly as the tiny, economy-sized rental car crept down the icy road. It was foolish to go out in this mess, but staying in was an even worse alternative. The thought of being stuck in the hotel, cut off from Cherise for days was too much to contemplate. Al had come all the way out here, got on a plane, flew over the border and halfway across a foreign country just to see her and damned if some winter storm watch was going put a stop to those plans. Plus, these were the Southern United States- from what little Al knew of the region, winters were mild and temperate. A winter storm watch probably meant a light dusting of photogenic snow, great for snapshots and paranoid school closing, but not even enough to make a good snowman. Al was from Toronto. Al was not afraid of a few snowflakes.

Al didn’t know that most Southerners are.

“Jesus Christ, does time itself stop here for a snowflake?” Al wondered aloud. Where were the snowplows? Where was the salt brine? Where were all the people? The road was deserted and slushy, the snow barely worn down on the road. With sunset quickly approaching and no de-icer on the pavement, it was only a matter of time before the slush on the road turned to ice. Al wasn’t afraid of snow, but had sense enough to be very wary of ice.

“Shit, shit, shit. Got to make it to Cherise’s before it gets dark.”

Frantic buttons were pushed on the onboard GPS. Clumsy, suddenly fat fingers screwed the address up not once, but three times, each resulting in loud curses and a quickening of the pulse. Finally, the right address, the right directions.

Estimated arrival: 17:32.

Al would really have to push it to get there in time. Heart racing, Al wondered if the light sweat that had suddenly broken out all over was due to the weather, or the realization that after so long, Cherise would finally be there, in the flesh, instead of on a computer screen. Or rather, Al would be there. What if they didn’t get along as well in person as in chat? Or on Skype? Or during their late night video sessions? The light sweat became heavier as Al recalled one particular video chat, mind wandering to a particular bourbon-fueled discussion that led to-

Brakes screeching. Car swerving. A bunny hopping by, unscathed, unaware of the nature of the tragedy he and Al narrowly avoided.

Al sat motionless behind the wheel, drenched with all kinds of nervous energy and perspiration. Life hadn’t flashed before the eyes, as they often say in near death experiences. Cherise in her peach chemise had. It wouldn’t have been a bad way to go out.

“Must. Pay. Attention.” Al said out loud, in a trembling voice, as a reminder.

Estimated arrival: 17: 41.

Al drove the remaining distance at a crawl, heart racing, palms perspiring, clock ticking too slowly and sun setting too quickly. No pondering mistakes. No wandering mind. No wondering heart. Just driving.

Estimated arrival: now.

And suddenly, there Al was, at Cherise’s address. A quick glimpse in the mirror, a check of the teeth, a moment to try and calm down before realizing that there was nothing more to be done but leap from the car and knock on the door, no matter how nervous or frightened or disheveled from the flight and the drive and the worry.

Al knocked on the door. It opened. There she was, Cherise, in her peach chemise. For a moment only. Then she was in Al’s arms, head nestled in the crook of neck, lips placing a sweet kiss just at the sweet spot in the bend where it meets the shoulders. Al sighed with a noticeable tremble.

“Oh, Allison,” Cherise sighed, “I have been waiting for you.” She pulled back briefly to look her in the eye and smiled. “Or do you prefer “Al”?”