Wednesday's Word: BLARE. An Excerpt From Small Town Shenanigans

  Welcome to #WednesdayWords where I share a snippet of a story using yesterday's word from the New York game, WORDLE. Yesterday's WORDLE was BLARE. 

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A line of cars inched along the tree-lined road and rays of sunlight splashed off the shiny vehicles. A helicopter flew overhead.

The narrow country road was choked with a cacophony of cars, all jostling for position on the winding asphalt. The engines roared and honked, their exhaust fumes mixing with the sweet scent of freshly mown hay and wildflowers.

The line of vehicles stretched as far as I could see, each one inching and jerking forward. Horns blared, tempers flared, and the air was thick with the sound of revving engines and screeching brakes. The road was barely wide enough for two cars to pass, and yet the never-ending stream of vehicles kept coming, each one compounding the gridlock.

“I take it this is unusual?” I pulled the hoodie away from my skin. The day was heating up.

As the minutes turned into hours, the once-beautiful countryside around us began to fade into a blur of green and brown. The traffic jam seemed like an endless purgatory, a place where time stood still and the only thing moving was the curling exhaust. “I wonder if the person behind this thing could have predicted this. I know I wouldn’t have.”

“Incredible,” Dallas muttered, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ve never seen it like this.” He skated me a look. “Cascadia is usually pretty sleepy.”

I ran a finger beneath the wig, providing a brief moment of cool relief. “This wig is killing me. How long until we’re in town?”

“It’s only a few miles, but at this speed there’s no telling.”

I came to a split-second decision and ripped off the wig. Sighing, I used all ten fingers to rake my curls and message my sculp. “I don’t know how people can wear these things.”

Dallas glanced at my messy curls and smiled. “Your hair is glorious. There’s no other word for it.”

“Glorious? That’s a stretch.”

“If you’re fishing for compliments, I can provide a few.”

“I’m not. It’s just…I have a long and complicated relationship with my hair. When I was in middle school, some people called me the match-stick.”

Dallas burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but…”

“I know. The problem was, it sort of matched. Pun intended. I was tall, skinny, and I had flaming red hair…and a temper that…matched.”

“I find that really hard to believe.”

“What? That I was tall and skinny, or that I had—correction—have a temper?”

“The temper part.”

“Anger is just a mask for fear. It took me a lot of therapy sessions to realize that. And before you ask, yes, I go to therapy. All therapists do—or should. We probably need it the most. Did you go to therapy when your dad died?”

Dallas shook his head. “What are you afraid of?”

“Lots of things, and when I was young—pretty much everything.”

A white Cadillac pulled up beside us, as if to pass, but braked. The woman in the caddy pointed at me.

I slunk in the seat and rummaged in my bag for a hair tie.

Dallas flashed a glance at my pink sneakers—one of the few things I hadn’t borrowed from Phoebe. “I have an idea, but you might not like it. I assume you can ride a bike?”

I nodded.

Dallas took a turn down a dirt road and dust flew as the car bounced over potholes. I held on.

“Where are we going?” I thought about pointing out that even though we were in a SUV, it didn’t look like a four-wheel-drive, but decided not to distract Dallas. He needed to focus all his attention on the road.

To my surprise, the white Cadillac followed us. All of the passengers were pointing and waving at me.

Dallas glanced in the rearview mirror and his lips tightened.

“Anyone you know?” I asked.

Dallas shook his head.

“I thought everyone in small towns knew each other.”

“That’s not completely true, and besides, today Cascadia is chock-full of out-of-towners.” He took a sharp left, veering into the woods.

Indecision and fear burbled in my belly. The path had been made for hikers, not vehicles. “Where are you going?”

“Short cut,” he said through tight lips.

Mud splattered over the windshield when we bounced onto the dirt path. The SUV moaned and Dallas navigated a steep and winding hill into a forest. We plowed through a small creek. Moments later, we came to a fork and merged onto a path looking wide enough for an emaciated cow.

After climbing a steep slope, the SUV caught up to a man on a bike wearing a backpack. Dallas braked, and the SUV skittered through the mud. A quick glance in the rearview mirror told me we’d lost the Cadillac.

Suddenly, the backpack in front of us toppled off and pitched into a patch of tall grass.

Dallas tightened his jaw. “Not our problem.” He flashed me an evil looking grin and swerved around the bike.

Was he seriously enjoying this?

The barefoot, bearded man wearing a pair of overalls and a straw hat disentangled himself from his crumpled bike. He shook his fist at us.

The white Cadillac came tearing down the hill. Dallas made a sudden sharp turn, not braking but accelerating, veering off the road, away from the smashed tomatoes.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I squeaked.

“Lived here all my life.” Dallas white-knuckled the wheel and he steered down a path I prayed would lead back onto a road.

Now we were in the thick of the woods, chasing chittering squirrels and dodging a trio of squalling cats.

“This is someone’s property,” I said.

“Most of this is public land.”

“Public land?” I echoed. Was there any public land in New York City? Doubtful. I wanted to ask him more about public land, but a wooden lean-to with a corrugated tin roof that seemed to be growing out of the weeds distracted me. A bewildered woman and her indeterminate-breed dog stepped onto the back porch.

Dallas rolled down his window and waved. “Hey there, Mrs. Sanchez!”

The woman chased after us, swinging a rolling pin like a battle axe. The Cadillac, who had been following close behind, nearly barreled into her.

“I thought you said this is public land.”

“It is. I didn’t say there aren’t squatters.”

Squatters? “Someone’s going to get hurt,” I muttered.

The SUV bucked back onto the dirt road. Something crunched beneath the Jeep’s tires.

“What was that?” Please don’t let it be a live creature, I prayed.