According to the map…
According to the map, we have a four-and-a-half-hour trip ahead of us.
It may not be long, but somehow it feels strange to drive for so many hours without any music in the background.
I wonder what it will be like to sit in silence with Jan while time drags by forever, but as soon as we leave the city for the highway, I fall asleep.
I wake up after two hours. My heart is pounding like a hammer, I think I had a bad dream. I don’t remember much of it. Somehow, I was arguing with Jan…
I feel that I’m slimy, my mouth is dry, and my lips are chapped, and that can only mean one thing.
“Did I sleep with my mouth open?” My voice is hoarse from sleep, and I wipe my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
“Yes.” Jan doesn’t take his eyes off the road.
“And did I snore?”
“Yes.”
Oh, shit.
“Don’t tell me I was talking in my sleep?”
He doesn’t say anything.
So be it.
“So, I was talking. Anything specific?” I’m embarrassed because I know how it may have sounded. Toska recorded me on a dictaphone when I spent the night at her place after an exam. A veritable babble interspersed with cursing.
“From a few unintelligible sentences, I only caught the exclamation, ‘Fuck you, old geezer!’” he says.
Goodness, total trailer trash.
“My body reacts to stress this way.”
“So yesterday must have been a highly stressful day for you. Last night, you sat up abruptly and for two minutes forty seconds conducted a monologue full of juicy epithets directed, I guess, at your parents.”
I feel like sinking into the floor mat.
“I’m sorry you had to listen to that.”
“Don’t apologize. It was an interesting experience. Your mental state is appealing.”
“Are you attracted to my… mental state?” I look at him like he’s crazy.
“Indeed. I have never met a person who is so highly developed in terms of logical-mathematical, verbal, interpersonal and emotional intelligence at the same time.”
Oh shit, I guess that was a compliment.
“I thought you were primarily attracted to my ass.”
“Undeniably, you have a great ass. However, from a pragmatic point of view, your other qualities have a more stimulating effect on me.”
“Like?”
“You do not wear jewelry. You don’t use strong makeup or beautify yourself with fake eyelashes and nails. You are natural.”
“And that turns you on?”
“This shows that you are not vain and do not pretend to be someone you are not.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about vanity.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to keep talking.” I smile. “What else turns you on about me?”
“You are punctual, which means you also respect my time,” he continues.
“Your friend is gay, which shows your tolerance toward individuality that is not necessarily accepted by society. You are not discouraged by directness, which also suits me, given that subtlety is not my leading asset. You are energetic, open-minded, and lively, which makes you a sexually attractive partner, although this can be quite an obstacle in our relationship, given my aversion to spontaneity.”
“Your behavior yesterday at the office and today’s trip were spontaneous.”
“They would have been spontaneous if I had not been planning them for six months.”
“I see.”
I feel a pleasant warmth spreading from my stomach all the way to my heart.
And this is quite a surprise to me because I didn’t think that someone like Jan would be able to evoke such feelings in me.
I’ve never dated this type of man. I have always steered clear of grumps, withdrawn individuals, stiff, formal types.
I am drawn to those ‘cool guys’ who, with a frivolous smile, flirt with you at the first meeting and charm you with effortless ease, often verging on nonchalance.
I like to mingle with open-minded, chatty, funny and laid-back people.
I seek to feel exceptional, validated and important just being next to someone like that.
But it is Jan, who I hated and considered a social loser, who has made me feel really special.
I regarded him as the type who only thinks about himself, while he’d been studying me for the past twelve months so keenly and imperceptibly that he noticed qualities in me that none of my previous boyfriends knew existed.
God, how sweet, kind, loving and appreciative…
I stare at Jan, feeling my heart melt. His gaze is focused on the road, his profile as sharp as ever, restrained.
He sits up straight, and holds the steering wheel at ‘3 o’clock and 9 o’clock’.
(How come his hands haven’t gotten tired from this textbook position?) The speedometer doesn’t move past eighty-five miles per hour, the maximum speed allowed on the highway.
With such a car, he could easily floor it to one hundred and twenty.
But Jan the ‘Risk-Taker’ won’t, of course; he’s had more than enough crazy on this trip, which he planned for only six months! He is a very peculiar specimen.
I consume him with my eyes, admiring his killer look in that turtleneck that accentuates his sculpted physique.
I’m reminded of how his muscles flexed under his bare skin as we were doing ‘it’ in the office, at his apartment, at my place in the shower.
I hear his words in my head: “You are mine,” “you are beautiful,” “you are so damn sexy…” I recall the watch he gave me; all the furniture he bought from me; the overtime I was paid for…
My heart beats faster and faster, my stomach clenches into a knot, I feel a tingling sensation that spreads from my thighs, up into my chest and suffuses my face with heat. My palms start to sweat, and I know perfectly well why. Holy shit, I fell for Jan!
“Stop,” I say in a choked voice.
“We can’t stop. We are on the highway.”
“There is a rest area there.” I point to the emergency exit. “Get off the road.”
“This is not a parking space.”
“I don’t give a damn. Get the hell off the highway!”
Jan glances at me. I must look strange because he turns on his turn signal, pulls over and parks with the car almost touching the emergency gate.
I grab my purse, jump out of the car like a cat on a hot tin roof, pull out a pack of ciggies, a lighter…
“I had to stop because you wanted a smoke?” he asks in disbelief, getting out of the car.
“It’s an emergency.” I try to light a cigarette, but gusts of wind extinguish the flame in the lighter. I hold it tightly in my hands, purse the cigarette in my mouth, panting—and not at all because I’m standing in just a sweatshirt in the cold.
God, I’m emotionally unstable. How could I fall in love so quickly with a guy I hated just forty-eight hours ago?
“I think it’s a good time to stop it.” I hear his voice.
“What?”
I don’t even have time to look at him when he pulls the cigarette out of my mouth.
“What are you doing?”
“Smoking is bad for your health.”
“It also causes cancer and heart disease. Chill out.” I pull a pack of smokes out of my purse, and then Jan takes it from my hands, takes a swing, and throws it over the fence.
Well, fuck it!
“Are you crazy? Why did you do that?”
“Because I don’t want you to smoke.”
“But you said yourself that you used to smoke.”
“Ten years ago. For fifteen days and seven hours. I’m not happy about it. Nicotine is a stronger addiction than heroin.”
“Then maybe you remember what it’s like when you want to smoke like hell, and you don’t have any cigarettes?”
“Addiction solves nothing. That’s why this is your last cigarette. Enjoy it because you are quitting as of today.” He hands me the cigarette, and I snatch it from his hand.
“You will not tell me what to do.” I light the cigarette and take a deep drag.
Jan squints his eyes.
“How long have you been smoking?”
I roll my eyes.
“Gimme a break.”
“Answer me.”
Jeez, it’s starting.
“Since I turned sixteen.”
“So twelve years.”
“I see. You are better at math than me.”
“I’m not.”
“Sure, you’re not. It was a joke.”
“I’m not kidding. Every year six million people die prematurely worldwide because of smoking.”
“I know, and you are telling me this because?” I take another drag.
“Because I like you and don’t want you to die prematurely.”
I’m choking on smoke. Christ, what a lecture. I cough it out as it scratches my throat.
“For now, I’m not going anywhere. And I might as easily die in a car accident, get colon cancer from eating processed foods, or get stabbed by a thief and bleed out in a dark alley.”
“You can be more careful when driving, limit your consumption of processed foods and avoid dark alleys.”
“What if I’m not the one driving?”
“You can ask the driver to drive more carefully.”
“Or to give me the keys and drive myself,” I suggest.
“Yes.”
“Perfect.” I inhale one last time, throw the cigarette butt in the snow, put it out with my shoe and extend an open hand toward Jan. “So give them to me.”
“What?” He looks at me, confused. He doesn’t get it.
“The keys.”
“What keys?”
“The ones you are holding.”
His eyebrows shoot up. He glances down at his hand that is holding the keys to the BMW.
He has an absolute mindfuck . He opens his mouth, then closes it.
He opens and closes it again. Finally, some gear clicks into place, and Jan lifts his head and throws me a hard stare —one of those for which I felt like murdering him at work.
“That’s not an option.” He turns around and walks to the car from the driver’s side. “Get in.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?” He stops.
“I want to drive. You know, it’s about being careful while driving.” I wink at him.
“I am a careful driver.”
“I’m more careful. Wanna bet?”
“No. Get in.”
I cross my arms.
“You have two options: I drive or I stay here. Which do you choose?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” he replies through clenched teeth.
“You have ten seconds to decide. Two of which have already passed.”
“Maria. No. You will. Not. Drive. My. Car.” Each word is a slow hiss.
I look at him closely. The vein on his forehead pulsates.
“Do you think I can’t drive well and will scratch your car?”
“No,” he denies immediately. “I am sure you are a good driver.”