From that night, it's a whole other re-telling of what happened. On Friday morning, though, Genie drove us out of town without another soul on the roads.
She pushed in a cassette tape as we passed the "You are leaving Moxie" sign, and Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Whiskey Rock-a-Roller" roared to life. She wore a second-hand, disco-red halter top that revealed bare arms and back. While both hands were on the steering wheel, she sang along like a misplaced Honkette. The whole moment gave me a heart ping, as I imagined my mom teaching Genie how to perform in some Teen-Beat-decorated bedroom. Sad to admit, since I scored solo time with Genie, I was grateful for the fires.
Taking inventory, the cherry-red Jeep was one sweet ride. Midnight black trim at all the right places with only a roll cage between us and muggy gray skies. I glanced behind her driver's seat and saw a Canon-branded camera bag. I immediately thought of Aunty Meg's protest mumble, but figured to leave it with them to work out.
The cassette tape ejected with a pop. Genie, having stopped singing about two bars back, did nothing about it. On a hunch, I asked over turbulence, "So, whose Jeep is this, anyways?"
"Marty's. Well … it was Marty's. I think you met him last time, yeah?"
"Did he ask you to park it on the other side of the state?"
"Silly goose! I won it—fair and square! A good, old-fashioned game of strip poker. I beat him with this killer hand. Needless to say, we ain't a couple no more. So. New topic. You're walking around town, and a tourist stops you, asking for directions. They go on a bit, but there's something they ALL say that bugs you. What is it?"
"Oh, that's an easy one. When they go on about how flat it is 'out here.'" That got the strangest laugh out of Genie—one with no sound and her head nodding in agreement. I don't think Genie had ever laughed the same way twice. "I mean, what the hell? They say it in such a way that you're supposed to run out on the spot and go scrunch up the ground like a bedsheet."
"Right! So right!"
"It's our home, you know? I wouldn't have it any other way." Genie moved on to the next topic: specifically, me and dating. I shook my head no before I confessed, "There was Joey."
I shared that last summer, I followed him around as he collected from puddles, creeks, potholes—anywhere with standing water. A day or two before school started again, I followed him to his parents' garage, the place of his junior laboratory. As I was looking down his microscope, his mom walked in all stealth-like with milk and cookies.
"Ha, cookie blocked!" Genie laughed at the worst part of my re-telling.
"I know, right? After I left, I had half a hope of anything more with him, but by November, Mary-Breast, with her blonde hair and blue eyes—"
