The Paradox of Vertical Flight by Emil Ostrovski

Author:Emil Ostrovski
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

7

Revelations in a Church Bathroom

The playground grows smaller and smaller through the back window. Herbert and Marie wave, we wave back.

God, I don’t know if you exist or not, you probably don’t, but in the unlikely event that you do, and in the unlikely event that you care, please send Herbert and Marie more guests. If for no other reason than no human being should have to subsist solely on microwavable food. Amen.

We pause at the end of their driveway while Tommy programs 7 Birch Street, Clifford, New York, into the GPS. Then he turns onto the road, accelerating, and we leave Marie and Herbert behind.

“How long?” Jess asks.

“Well. The straightest route would take us five and a half hours to get to Lake Champlain. And Clifford’s way on the other side of the lake.” Tommy pauses. “But, I think we should keep to the back roads. Less of a chance to bump into the cops that way.”

“So?” Jess says.

“Well. I mean—the estimate assumes we’ll be going the speed limit. We’re not going to be going the speed limit.”

“How long, Tommy?” Jess says.

“About eight hours just to get to Lake Champlain. Add a few hours more on to that to get to Clifford.”

“That’s assuming we don’t get lost,” Jess says.

“We have a GPS,” Tommy says. “What could go wrong?”

“Your GPS doesn’t even speak English.”

“Oh, relax, Jess,” I say. “We’re still alive. We’ll be fine.”

“Oh, well, thank you, Jack,” she says, turning to face me. “Now that I know we’ll be fine, that just, well, by golly that puts my twittering heart right at ease.”

We’re in the back together with Socrates. I have some doubts as to her devotion to The Cause. Also I want to kiss her so much it hurts. But does she want to kiss me back? Or will she just try to run off first chance she gets? It’s like she knows what I’m thinking, though. She meets my eye and says, “Look, as long as Jason Statham behind the wheel over there remembers this isn’t the next Transporter, I promise not to do anything too crazy. Even though this is crazy.” Under her breath, she mutters something about a German-speaking GPS.

“Hey, Jason Statham’s got nothing on me,” Tommy says. “I learned to drive by playing Grand Theft Auto and watching The Fast and the Furious, not by being a glorified package-delivery man and bona fide bitch. Transporter, my ass.”

“And a fine one it is,” I say, eager to change the subject and stop their arguing, even if the subject we’re changing to is Tommy’s ass. Still, Jason Statham probably didn’t fail the practical portion of his driving test three times. I can almost hear Tommy’s response—Parallel frickin’ parking, man!

“You guys are so. Weird,” Jess says. “And the only thing Grand Theft Auto ever taught anyone was to shoot hookers to get your money back.”

“Oh, chair-throwing college-girl, how you wound me with your narrow-sightedness. In Grand Theft Auto you have a virtual city of virtual people following

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