The Plan

I know I already read this today, but I wanted to post it just in case anyone had any other comments they wished to give, after having read it in.. er.. black and beige.

Impossibly bright golden-platinum and hot white-blue headlights briefly blinded and then faded behind them as they rode silently along the interstate.  The weekend’s events had been simultaneously baffling and enlightening, and occurred in such a whirlwind fashion that when the driver of the rented SUV glanced in the rearview mirror, he gasped in fleeting shock as the white and orange insignia of the U-Haul trailer he was towing almost completely blocked his view.
                The bewildered driver was tired; he longed to be home in his apartment, indulging in a frosty foreign beer and soaking up the aromas of patchouli incense and chicken marsala.  This was a scene he frequently repeated after a day of hard intellectual labor, but as he’d barely finished any complex thought in the chaos of the last two days, he almost felt unworthy of even that one savory memory.

                Ebon considered himself a rational person, but also one who could appreciate a healthy amount of spontaneity.  If asked to describe him, he expected his colleagues and close friends and family would say that, yes, he was a responsible, ethical scholar, but that he had been known to take calculated risks from time to time with where he decided to call home from time to time, and that the money he earned that didn’t go to bills or the purchase of a few items for his own immediate pleasure typically ended up in an account dedicated to the reservation of necessary funds for trips that often took him halfway around the planet.  He wondered if those summers of boundless fun and exciting adventure had come to an end.

                And yet, Ebon found himself oddly accepting of this notion, feeling now that the most recent change in the plan he thought was infallible, might be exactly what he needed.  Asleep in the passenger seat next to him was Zenith, whose friends and family affectionately called him Netty, a twenty-two year old man he’d met when Netty had barely entered adolescence.  For seven years, they had spoken mostly via email about the trials of high school and early adulthood that had once seemed so dire to the younger man.  But those juvenile preoccupations were nothing compared to the uncertain future that the pair faced now.

                Ebon was intimately aware of Netty’s hand on his thigh.  He had never imagined their relationship turning into this… whatever this was.  When they first met, Ebon was almost thirty; Zenith was barely fifteen.  He hadn’t expected the force with which Netty pursued his friendship, but six months later, they still emailed back and forth almost daily.  So unsure of himself, if Ebon didn’t respond to emails within a few hours, Zenith was prone to send more, apologizing generously for saying anything which might have offended him.  Taking respite in his old office, where he was an assistant magazine editor, he used to chuckle in spite of himself at how eagerly this teen reached out to him.  Eventually, he set clearer boundaries with Netty, but he didn’t miss a beat and changed his behavior very quickly.

                He drifted into a sweet recollection of the cathedral they visited together with Netty’s mother, where Ebon had calmly told them everything he knew about Saint Peter.  Zenith had hung on his every word, his eyes sparkling as the freshly-lit candles danced in his peripheral line of sight.  The stained glass masterpieces and high tapered ceilings were breathtaking, yes; but not nearly as much so as the shy smile and blush that engorged his cheeks whenever their gazes met.

                Suddenly, Netty’s hand squeezed the flesh of Ebon’s upper leg.  He must have been dreaming, but what about?  Since their lane and the two surrounding ones were empty, and a barrier separated those lanes from oncoming traffic, he briefly looked over at the young man and sighed.  “What the hell are we doing, guy?”  There was no response from the softly-snoring boy, and he hadn’t expected one.  They would do as Ebon tended to, and figure it out when they got where they were going.