“DRAKEEEEEEEE.” The wind slashed our faces, carrying our screams out the windows. We were an ensemble. Or experimenters, trying to test out the range of our screams. Usually, there were incoherent but a couple screams in, we just belted out Drake in the highest pitches our voices would extend to.
The elderly man driving next to us shot a disgusted glance at us. We reciprocated with a warm wave and overly enthusiastic smiles. Sarah hit the accelerator. He’s coming for us, we convinced ourselves. They’re all out for us.
My legs propped up atop the headboard. I clutched onto the seat fearing for my life. Sarah swerved through nine cars in the heat of San Franciscan traffic. I hoped we wouldn’t get into another accident today.
“Turn it up.” Sarah’s post-strained voice croaked. I could never remember how to use the audio in this damn car. But without fail, we managed to deafen ourselves to Kendrick, Dre, Tupac, Biggie. Sometimes we would revert back to the pre-teen rock star days of Hannah Montana. More than sometimes, really.
Exhausting ourselves five minutes into our private concert, we quieted down. The heavy bass of the stereo still reverberated throughout our bodies. I think I heard a crack in my ears at some point.
“So have you figured out the technical plan?” I questioned, finally turning down the music.
“Still talking to the engineers. Thank fucking god we finished the financial model last week. What’s next?”
“Prototype by April 30. Final product by August.”
I could feel the stress flooding through my system. Planning was our forte. Deadlines broke us down. I blasted the music again, draining our thoughts. The worries too faded as we approached the beautifully lighted silver bridge. The city was ours tonight.
About ten minutes into the ride, and a couple of “SARAH, BRAKE”s later, we came to our destination. A beaten brick building with the club name stretched over the half-painted entrance. About two hundred girls lined the walls, dressed in black lingerie and bunny ears. The guys wore oversized hoodies with their boxers stretched to their necks and their pants to their knees.
“Uh, are you sure this is it?” I was honestly wondering the same. Where the hell were we. Sarah and I stared at each other. What?
A bang on our window made me knock over the coffee I had been drinking the past hour.
“Ey shawty.’” Two boys? Men? Twice our age? One hadn’t shaved in maybe two years. His hair resembled Mufasa’s–straight outta the Lion King–with his gloved hands mimicking the paws of wild animals as they pounded on our window. The other, a taller man, had impeccable fashion with a black leather jacket, shorts that resembled pants, and the exquisite detailing of a half-toothed grin.
With holy fuck circulating our thoughts, Sarah and I sped from the lot, ravaging over the curb as we skidded onto the next street. Mentally and physically shaken, we crackled in terror. What had our lives come to.
Kendrick’s beats still absorbed the silence as we pulled our seats back and breathed in. An hour passed, or maybe five. Our silence was comforting. As much as our conversations.
“I wonder how we ended up like this.”
Sarah quietly agreed.
“Maybe it’s my attachment issues. You know, since my dad passed away.” She already knew this. “I was actually sensitive as a kid,” I laughed a little. I pondered at the 360 turn my life had taken.We both knew my perpetual indifference to everything caused all my commitment issues.
“I’ve always been observant.” Sarah noted, speculating the relationship between her sensitivity and overly-analytical personality. She shrugged.
I had no answers.
“I’d be buried in my own grave if I didn’t have you.” No exaggeration in her voice. Even through her whining spurts of “get the fuck out of my life” or discussing the “shitty” quality of my friendship, I knew she still needed me. I needed her too.
“Love you,” I smirked. Yeah, we were both emotional wrecks. I didn’t mind though. We were best friends, sisters, business partners, life and death and everything all at once.
Sarah pulled the car over, staring straight ahead at the ongoing traffic beside us. We watched the scurrying people honking from one end of the road to the other, lost in impatience and accelerating stress. That could be us.
“We need it.” I mused in contemplation. Sarah looked at me, her face dismantling in confusion.
I stared at her, seriously this time.
“Some real good therapy.”