Gas Station Slushies

The smell reminded Deni of gas station slushies.

Carried on a fall breeze, it curled in through her open window. Sweet, sour, tangy—a combination that she could only define as pastel pink. Instinctively, her gaze searched each side of the road, looking for the glow of a Cumbies.

But, she didn’t live in the north anymore.

In the early, dark hours, the city lights blinked groggy before her. The rhythmic tick, tick, tick of her left turn signal filled the car. Her foot pressed firmly against the brake.

It wasn’t hard to slip back there—to a world of vibrant trees and a town with three stoplights. It was like slipping on the old glove found at the bottom of a box of winter clothes. In her mind the sun was warm on her face, and smoke curled from behind Paige’s blue-stained lips.

Deni turned her head, pulling in a lungful of unseasonably warm November air through the gaping car window. On her tongue was the soft press of rot—of leaves changing with the threat of snow soon to come. It mingled with the sweet, soft pink slushie and sour gas station brand gummy worms.

A plane hummed overhead, landing gear disappearing within.

Through the haze of Paige’s exhale that hadn’t yet cleared, her gaze followed the silver underbelly.

“Where do you think they’re going?” Paige asked from beside her, legs kicked up and tucked to the left of the steering wheel.

Deni made a quiet sound of consideration around a mouthful of ice and gummy worm and squinted at the ascending plane.

“Boston,” she settled on. It was the first thing that came to her mind.

Paige laughed. “Too close. Would someone really fly to Boston from here?”

“I think so. If they wanted to leave that bad.” Taking a long drag of her cigarette, Deni held it in her chest—let the quiet buzz warm her cool tongue before she added, “And, there’s nowhere to park, I wouldn’t drive up there, either.”

They watched as the plane tilted right, wings reflecting the midday light of the sun. Deni frowned.

“Ha!” Paige exclaimed, pointing at it with the hand still curled around her slushie. Beads of condensation dotting the paper cup dripped between them with a quiet thwump, thwump. “South. Can’t be Massachusetts. Now what do you think? And you better not say Waterbury.”

Deni rolled her lips together, chewed a gummy worm thoughtfully. “New Orleans. They’re getting away for the winter.”

Paige’s socked foot tapped the glass of the windshield. “I could get behind that. Days filled with music; the ocean. Would you come with me?”

“Always,” she said, no hesitation. Tilting her head, she looked at her best friend, an amused smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “Your life would be so dim without me, Silverstone. Endless days of your adoring fans kissing your feet. You’d need someone to make sure you read a book or two, or, you know, pop your head when it gets too big.”

Paige—Silverstone—scoffed, taking one last drag from her cigarette before flicking it out the window and pulling her feet from the dash.

“You’re just jealous,” she said, the car coming to life as she twisted the key in the ignition. “You wouldn’t shine your shoes if you had admirers to do it for you, either.”

Paige Gold had adopted the nickname, Silverstone, after the iconic Alicia Silverstone from Clueless. Deni couldn’t remember the exact moment where the name had slipped over her shoulders, but it was like it had always belonged to her. Main character in the dictionary was defined simply by a picture of her. She didn’t even need to dye her hair.

So, yeah—Silverstone.

Looking down at her shoes, Deni frowned. “I wear Converse, Silverstone. What’s to polish?”

Paige put the car in gear, but didn’t take her foot off the brake. Instead, she looked at Deni, face blank, and blinked. “That was funnier in my head.”

Deni barked a laugh, tossing her cigarette to the dirt parking lot as the car ambled back onto the main road.

Over the years, it hadn’t been Paige’s music taste that had changed—it was Deni’s. Notably, it was the way she’d fallen into this orbit shared by Paige and her mom, where Dave Matthews Band always played quietly in the background, and Deni swayed to the beat, a step outside the bond that bridged the two of them. Pretending, politely, that it was something that resonated just as deeply.

So, when Ants Marching came on and Paige turned it up, Deni sang along.

Out the window, what was left of bright orange and yellow rolled by, a few hardly-clinging leaves gave up, twirling to the browning grass.

Lights down, you up and die.

The car fell quiet, cutting the saxophone solo in half as Paige pulled into her driveway and put the car in park.

The field behind Paige’s house—a white raised ranch that radiated warmth, even on the cusp of winter—was the portal into their realms. Underfoot, the long grass crunched, having died with the first frost weeks ago. Ahead the black plastic stretched over the rows of crops reflected the sky back at them, a sea of waning yellow as the sun made its way towards setting.

Bisecting the field in half was a long stretch of dirt road.

Down one way, passed the old, blue car rotting and threaded with weeds, was the rope swing. It was a realm of summer—long walks and longer days. They’d sit for hours on the rock overhang, toes dipped in the glittering river, shaded by trees. When it rained, they’d drive too fast on the tangle of road with muddy dips laid into the forest like veins.

If they turned the other way, cement and civilization, the entrance guarded by a small store. Quaint; a daily stop. The family of a girl the grade below them owned it, having burned incense by the register for longer than they’d been alive.

Over that road, nestled into the back corner of the far field, cradled by overgrown brush and tall trees, was the barn. The years had weathered it. The boards had started to bow and lean, the paint long stripped and wood gone gray, but it was sturdy; constant.

Deni waved her hand in front of her face. “Could you aim that elsewhere, Silverstone. I don’t need a contact high.” Around them, the old tobacco barn creaked as it settled in the breath of the warm breeze, nearly bare branches scratching the roof.

“You could try it, you know. You might even like it.” Paige winked, cheeks hollowing on a neatly wrapped blunt delicately perched loosely between two fingers.

“Nope,” Deni said, popping the ‘p’. Her nose scrunched at the thought. Adjusting her glasses, she took a drag from the cigarette in her hand. She blew an unbothered smoke ring into the air. “You know it makes my head too loud.”

Paige made a noncommittal noise in response, face lighting as her phone buzzed.

Leaning back, Deni’s gaze drifted up. The smoke from her lips danced in the beams of the setting sun drifting in from the pocked roof, the gaps between the slats. She watched it—the easy drift upwards, and thought of all the places she wanted to go.

Snapping her phone closed, Paige pocketed it, shifting awkwardly on the upturned bucket.

“My mom got me a job where she works,” she said, and even the smoke seemed to still. “I start next week.”

Deni raised an eyebrow. “Manufacturing?” At her nod, Deni’s gaze moved over her shoulder, to the cobwebs in the corners. “Generous of her, especially when it will be for less than a year.”

Shrugging, Paige fished her phone out again.

In the sky, the slow approach of another airplane cut the small town quiet.

When the silence had stretched too long, the release of it feeling like it might take down the whole barn in an ill-aimed snap, Deni asked, “Where did you decide to go after this?”

Paige hummed in question, eyes glued to her phone, fingers flying over the keys.

“School, Silverstone. What did you decide on?” She knew Paige had just gotten the last of her early acceptance letters. Come January, they’d have the rest. It would be time to decide soon—for both of them.

Paige looked up, only briefly, but Deni caught the wince before her eyes flicked down again. “Oh, I’m still thinking about it. I might take a year off.”

“A year?” she gasped, sitting up with her elbows braced on her knees, cigarette forgotten between her fingers. “What on earth for? I thought you wanted to be—”

“I’m just not ready yet,” Paige interrupted, stamping out her blunt in the ashtray before carefully tucking the rest into her shirt pocket. “There’s just—” she sighed, “there’s so much left to do here.” Gesturing widely at the barn, Paige’s shoulders fell. In that gesture there seemed to exist so much she wasn’t saying, and Deni wondered when they’d stopped telling each other everything.

Deni raised an eyebrow at Paige’s downturned face. Instinctively, her lips parted on an inhale to start ‘the fight’ again, but stopped when Paige lifted her face to her, a withering expression masking the exhaustion that was there a minute ago.

With a click, Deni’s jaw snapped shut. She ran a hand through her hair, adjusting the glasses on her nose. What was left here, aside from a whole lot of the same? Her parents had each other, her brother. How many nights had they stayed up, convincing each other there was nothing to fear?

They’d talk about it later, she was sure of that. They had time.

When gooseflesh rose along both their arms, and the gold of the sunset began to caramelize into orange, they stood. They slipped easily between the gap in the doors, with only the whisper of grass along their ankles to tell of their exit.

Overhead, the sky was a riot of colors—as it was so often over this field.

They didn’t need to speak as they both rounded the thick of the brush, stopping in unison to bask in it, arms brushing.

It was as if the sun had melted into liquid gold, its progression solidifying into orange, then pink. Deni’s heart fluttered strangely as everything deepened. It felt too fast, too fleeting—like it wasn’t enough time for the sight to fill their eyes and soak into their bones.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Paige brightened, even as the sky didn’t.

Catching her eye, Paige turned, smiled. The sunset painted her pale skin in pink, the clouds reflected in her eyes.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” she asked, nodding in the direction of her little white house.

Shaking her head, Deni smiled, infected by the quiet joy of the sunset. “I think I’ll walk home, I need to finish some homework.”

Paige nodded, wrapping her in a long-limbed hug, hair smelling of smoke. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me when you get home!”

For a moment, Deni watched as she went through the field towards her house, leaping between the rows of plastic to not disturb the plants. The angle of it made it look like Paige frolicked between the clouds—the world momentarily turned on its head to let her dance along a sunset.

Twirling, she spun to give Deni one last wave before jogging away.

Unbidden, she thought, She is rooted here in all the ways I have rejected.

Deni pulled in a lungful of cool air, stepping on the dirt road. With one last, long look at the sunset, she turned, heading towards the road, going lef—

A horn from behind startled Deni, and she blinked at the lights in her rearview, then back to the road ahead. The fog of memory cleared slowly, like cigarette smoke seeping out a window, or the fading stain of slushie on the tongue. Waving apologetically, she pressed lightly on the gas, finally turning left.