The Neapolitan Sisters by Margo Candela

Author:Margo Candela
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

♦ 19 ♦

DULCINA

I’M GOING TO TAKE Highway 1 until I have to decide whether I’m going to cut across to Bakersfield on my way to Los Angeles. This is what I’m thinking about when I realize I’m in Big Sur. There are only trees on either side of me, big ones, bigger than I’ve ever seen in my life.

Big Sur is beautiful. It’s also so quiet and so devoid of the normal sounds I’ve been surrounded by for all my life, it makes my ears hurt. And there are so many trees, too many. All I can think about is what might be hiding behind them. I keep the doors locked and my window rolled almost all the up to keep what might be out there from getting into my car.

I speed up, keeping an eye on the gas gauge. It’s already in the red and only getting redder. After a few miles of white-knuckle driving, I almost burst into tears when I see a Chevron sign. I pull in by the pumps, reach into my pocket and come up with $28.

Trying to remember what types of wildlife are in this part of California, I look around.

All I can see are those trees and the thirty feet or so that separate me from the painfully charming general store. I step out of my car and take in a deep breath. And then another, followed by a third just to make sure. The air is clean and fresh, but heavy with whatever it is those trees have seen through the years.

“Beautiful, ain’t it? No other place like this on earth.”

A stocky, bearded man in a tie-dye T-shirt, paint- splattered jeans, and suspiciously new sneakers leans against an ancient VW camper van.

“Sure. I guess it’s beautiful,” I tell him, careful not to make prolonged eye contact. I’m not interested in his pothead philosophizing, I just want to buy enough gas to get me out of here before it gets dark. “If you’re into this kind of thing.”

“And you’re not? Take a look around you! If there is a God, God is here.” He picks at his nails before shoving his hands into his front pockets. He’s not a mellow hippie, he’s twitchy and those sneakers are too big for him. “You staying overnight? There’s a place, down a ways, not too far. Clean rooms at a good rate. I can show—”

“No thanks.” I double-check to make sure my car doors are locked and head toward the store. “Just passing through.”

“That’s too bad. Can’t really take it all in from a speeding car.”

“I suppose not, but it’s also kind of the point,” I reply, shifting into bartender mode to better manage my way out of this interaction.

“For some people it is. You looking to score?” he asks pushing himself away from the van to follow me inside. “I got primo Humboldt Kush.”

Of everything I did, pot was my least favorite. It made me feel slow and dumb but not dumb enough to slow down my brain so I could forget why I was taking drugs in the first place.

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