Somewhere to
Turn
by Linda
Courtland
"I want you
to meet someone," Ally says. "Get in."
I slide into my
best friend's new car.
"In 100 yards,
turn left," a soothing male voice says.
"Thanks, Brad."
Ally giggles, flipping her hair.
"You named
your navigation system?"
"He's my new
boyfriend."
I guess it's an
improvement over the one who just broke her heart.
"Follow the
road for six miles," Brad says.
"See how
considerate he is? He anticipates my every move."
"Did you
bring the tickets?" I ask.
She points to a
corner of the touch screen. "Brad's holding
them."
"In 400 yards,
turn right."
"Shouldn't we
get on the freeway?" I ask.
"Brad
probably knows a shortcut."
Two miles later,
we're cruising through gang territory.
"Let's turn
around," I say.
"Brad will
protect us."
At a stop sign,
some tattooed teens move toward us.
"Brad?"
Ally says.
The group hurls
obscenities in our direction.
"Brad??"
Ally makes a
decisive U-turn.
Brad's screen
disintegrates into a manic mix of colors.
"Recalculating
route," he says, pulling himself together.
"Turn right in 200 yards."
"Don't fall
for it," I say.
Ally gets on the
freeway.
Brad breaks the
uncomfortable silence.
"Recalculating
route."
Several miles
later, we exit the freeway.
"Turn right
ahead," Brad says.
Ally turns left.
"Brad told
you to turn right," I point out.
Ally clenches her
jaw. "Yeah, but it was the way that
he said it."
Ally's hand flies
over the dash, pushing buttons.
"Destination
ahead," a female voice says.
"You gave
Brad a sex change?" I ask.
"Maybe being
a woman for awhile will teach him some
sensitivity."
We pull into the
parking lot and pay the attendant to enter.
"A woman
would never send us through that neighborhood at
night," Ally says.
A 10,000-seat
sports arena towers in front of us. Brad chimes
in.
"You have
reached your destination."
"Does he
think I'm an idiot?" Ally asks.
We pull into a
parking space.
"I'm sorry,
Brad, but I just can't do this anymore."
Ally presses a button, plunging her ex into utter
darkness.
We get out of the
car and start walking.
"I'm sorry it
didn't work out," I say.
"He was too
bossy, anyway."
But a single tear
traces her cheek.
"We had some
good times," she sighs. "I hope that we
can still be friends."
"Everything
will be okay," I tell her, meaning it.
"Let's get
some wine," she says.
We head toward the
concession stands. Two guys stop to look us over.
"They're
kinda cute," I say.
The guys take a
detour in our direction.
"I'm not sure
I'm ready yet," Ally says, facing the true
source of her sadness.
We recalculate our
route.
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