Chapter 1: I'm SEM. Continuation 1
In the backseat, leaning sideways against the back of the driver's seat, sits his companion. He is younger, but not much younger. He's wearing a short-sleeved cowboy shirt, his hair is longer than the first one, and he's a little curly, and he's also looking me in the eye, unlike his buddy.
- I'm Sam, - the guy pulls his palm into the gap between the front chairs. - It's Dean," he nods towards the driver. - What's your name?
- Michael. - I shake his hand, and you have to turn around halfway. My shoulder is twitching in pain - it must have hurt him during the fall. I'm wavering, and Sam notices it right away.
- Are you hurt? - he asks. There's real anxiety in his voice. As if he really cared about me.
I'm waving my head.
- No. Order.
- Where can I give you a lift? - Dean gives you a voice. He's got a map on his lap, he keeps looking down at it, and then looks at the road again, but it's still deserted. Not a single car passed us by during this time. I wonder if I would still be lying there if they hadn't picked me up.
I look down, just my socks on my feet, all my money, those three pitiful twenties, stayed in my bag, like my jacket, changeable underwear, and everything else. But all I regret was a notebook that kept a kind of diary, and a picture of Scott. A little bit. I try not to think about the last loss.
- Straight ahead, - I said.
Dean wrinkles and lowers his eyes to the map again.
- In seven miles there will be a small village, where we will refuel and grab a bite to eat. And then we will turn from a line on the northern highway. If you are straight, we can drop you off in the village. There's a phone and a sheriff there if you need help - he nods at my feet and looks me in the eyes for the first time. There's no pity in his eyes, but he's also squeamish. That's how people who have experienced something a hundred times worse than shoes taken off by thieves look.
I know they expect me to answer, even though they don't ask me directly. Seven miles, and we'll never see each other again. Their car is going up the mountain, the road is so steep that when I look ahead, it seems to me that we are going straight to the blue sky.
- But after the turn, you're still going straight ahead, aren't you? - I say. They don't owe me anything, and I can't even repay them for not lying in a ditch with broken bones in it right now. I don't think they'll be tempted by my charms, considering my condition, so I really don't have anything for them. I just want to go further with them, right there, to the blue sky, or anywhere else.
Dean laughs briefly.
- Yeah, we'll roll up and go straight, and then roll up again. Are you saying we're on our way?
- It's up to you to decide. - What else can I say?
Sam puts his hand on his shoulder. Nothing else happens, but I get the feeling they're talking. They argue and prove something to each other, giving arguments. They decide my fate. But they both look at the road, and the only sound that fills the silence around is the roar of the motor.
Finally, Dean sighs heavily.
- Yes, we're on our way," says Sam, taking his palm off his shoulder.
***
For a diner in a town with a population of less than a thousand people, the cafe "Joe's Cafe" is unexpectedly decent. Tables are even covered with tablecloths. Clean tablecloths, without stains. So I don't have the thought of throwing my feet on the countertop, as I used to do.
On the other hand, maybe I just don't really want to show everyone my socks. I think there was a hole on the left. Or both.
The guys are ordering for me without even trying to be polite and ask what I want. And it doesn't bother me at all. I pretend I'm not studying my nails that are too artistic, but I'm looking at my new buddies at the edge of my eye, trying to guess what they have in common. I've been struggling with this for five minutes until Sam, the burger that was grinding his teeth intensively, pulls away from the netbook he brought with him:
- So, Michael, why did you decide to go... straightforward?
I shrug - the mystery of their relationship never gave in to me, although after talking to so many clients, I thought I was a good connoisseur of people, especially those on the American highway.
- I thought maybe somewhere on the road there would be a turn especially for me.
- The place you left didn't suit you? - asks Dean, who had studied women's cafés before.
Dean seems like Scott to me. He's just as cute, cavalier and spiteful about everyone but himself. That's exactly what you can go anywhere for.
- No, - I answer briefly.
- You have been robbed - it is not a question, he states the fact. - Are there any documents left?
I shake my head. Dean is dissatisfied with his lips and sips something. Coffee or coke - I don't know. "Joe's has a relatively decent diner, but they have disposable paper cups without any identification marks, just white ones. These are cheaper. He turns around, but the way he starts to wiggle around in his chair looking at him, Sam, I know Dean didn't turn his back on me.