Excerpts from
Nightride
© 1998 by Edessa Ramos

The night was still and heavy with thoughts. Thoughts pushed out of the way until they dangled up there, hovering, like aborted rain.

The maroon chevy sped along Interstate 55 at 2:00 in the morning. The young woman in the front seat reached up to turn off the overhead light. She shoved a bunch of crumpled bills into her purse.

"Didn't think I'd be sent so far out from the city tonight," she remarked to the driver as, surrendering to fatigue, she sank deeper into her seat.

He was intent on steering the car through the late night traffic.

"Damn road construction," he muttered. "Every summer, it's like this. At this hour!" Then, as if realizing she had spoken, he threw a half-smile in her direction. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Never mind." She shifted slightly to look at him. A kind face disguised by a gruff exterior. He must have been good-looking once, she speculated, before the troubled years had thinned out his blonde hair and drawn circles beneath the eagle-like eyes. This was the second time she had seen him. The first time she did, he was with another girl. Tonight he still wore his hair in a short ponytail. And again he had on that faded green lumberjack shirt the color of dried grass.

"So, you're moving to New York, huh?" It was a polite question by way of conversation. He had no reason to pry into her private affairs for she hardly knew him.

"Uh-huh."

"Good for you. What's it like, this job that you found there?"

"Administrative Assistant in some firm. Something like that. Nothing special, but at least a steady job."

"Damn right about that." The car swerved to the left to bolt out from behind a lumbering trailer truck. He accelerated on the clear lane before resuming his chatter. "I bet it ain´t nothin´ like we got now, huh? Well, this ain´t so bad, really. Money's really good sometimes. Dependin' of course on how hard you work. But lately -I don't know, must be the slow season again or somethin'."

"I've been to New York three times," she said dreamily. "The last time, a friend invited me over. Got me a hotel room on 47th and Broadway."

Then her face lit up in the darkness. "Right in the theater district, you know. I couldn't believe it. Right there by that corner that never sleeps." Her laugh sounded like the distant echo in an art gallery. "That's got to be the most diverse corner in America. You stand there for half an hour and you could've sworn you've seen just about every color of man on earth, every outfit, every hairstyle."

He grinned again, his eyes pinned to the highway rising and falling ahead. "You like it there, huh?"

"Yeah, I like it there. I love it there. I felt like I belonged, y´know? And the giant billboards. I mean, gigantic, humongous! Nothing like the ones we have here. There was this billboard ad, right on that southwest corner, for Jordache, you know - this very thin woman with very short hair, kinda like Winona Ryder, I think. But even thinner. She was dressed in a slight sleeveless shirt and a rugged vest. Her brow was creased and her thumb was up, trying to hitch a ride. That disturbed face jumps right down at you, you so tiny standing on the opposite corner. Ahh, beautiful."