| General Fiction posted June 25, 2024 | Chapters: |
-Prologue- Prologue... 
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How it came to be
A chapter in the book Detour
Old Reliable, Rachelle's Version
by Rachelle Allen
This all started when my online friend, Gretchen, wanted to go to the International FanStory Conference in Atlantic City, NJ, but she felt weird going solo. FanStory is a writing site where we became friends. We'd never actually met or even spoken to each other any other way but digitally. But for some reason, we agreed that our first meet-and-greet should be in the form of a road trip together through many states along the Eastern seaboard. That, we agreed, would be an absolutely fabulous idea.
"I'll drive to your place in East Rochester, New York," Gretchen says, "and we'll carpool."
"Actually, that week prior to the conference, I'll be in Maryland at my cousin's," I tell her. "So, let's do this, instead: You come to my cousin's, leave your car there, and I'll drive us the rest of the way. Just last week, I picked up my 2024 Mercedes S-Class sedan, and I want to spend as much time in it as I can."
"Um, well, here's the thing," says Gretchen.
I always become wary whenever Gretchen hedges and then uses the words 'Here's the thing.'
"I'll upchuck the whole way there if I have to be in the passenger's seat."
"No!" I exclaim. "Not in a big Mercedes! It'll be like you're in your living room in a deluxe Barcalounger. It even has massaging fingers for your back, neck and shoulders! Gretchen, you will love it so much that when we arrive at the conference hotel, you'll start whining. You'll say, 'AWWWW! Not ALREADYYYYY'"
I smile broadly to emphasize how fantastic it will be.
"No, Rachelle," she insists. "It will NOT happen like that. A mile down the road from your cousin's house, I'll shout, 'PULL OVER!!! NOWWWWW!!!!' and then I'll jump out of the vehicle and hurl on someone's front lawn. Or - worse yet - I'll spend so much time fiddling with your fancy-ass Mercedes automatic door locks that I'll use up all my running-for-the-grass time and spew chunks all over your new leather interior."
I pause and twist my lips in contemplation. "Fine," I say. "You can drive."
Oh, how I wish I'd fought harder. All that followed could have been prevented if I'd just fought harder! Our fates - both individually as well as on into perpetuity - would have been so much different if only I'd insisted on driving.
First, she arrives forty minutes late. "Sorry!" she says, standing there all kinds of sweaty and winded. "Old Reliable here was chugging a bit, so I had to let her rest just outside of DC. I took a quick foot tour of this small town called Falls Church. Very ritzy-titsy. Your Mercedes woulda loved it!"
I look at the vehicle she and I will be sharing for the next one hundred and fifty-seven miles: a 2005 dark gray Suburban with lacy filigrees of rust skirting the entire length of the driver's side like a dust ruffle.
I've never been carsick for a moment in my life, but I'm suddenly very queasy.
"Whoa! Hubba, hubba!! Look at YOU, New York girl!" Gretchen gives me the up-and-down and whistles like a construction worker during lunch hour. "You know FS stands for FAN story, not FASHION story, right?"
She takes in my form-fitting leopard dress, 3-1/2" high heels and broad-brimmed black-and-leopard hat.
"I have a theory," I say in my No Nonsense Teacher's Voice. "If something should happen while you're traveling, if you're nicely dressed, you exponentially increase your chances of someone stopping to help you."
Whoever would have imagined that Gretchen's and my Good Samaritans would show up in their horse and buggies in the heart of Amish country.
This all started when my online friend, Gretchen, wanted to go to the International FanStory Conference in Atlantic City, NJ, but she felt weird going solo. FanStory is a writing site where we became friends. We'd never actually met or even spoken to each other any other way but digitally. But for some reason, we agreed that our first meet-and-greet should be in the form of a road trip together through many states along the Eastern seaboard. That, we agreed, would be an absolutely fabulous idea.
"I'll drive to your place in East Rochester, New York," Gretchen says, "and we'll carpool."
"Actually, that week prior to the conference, I'll be in Maryland at my cousin's," I tell her. "So, let's do this, instead: You come to my cousin's, leave your car there, and I'll drive us the rest of the way. Just last week, I picked up my 2024 Mercedes S-Class sedan, and I want to spend as much time in it as I can."
"Um, well, here's the thing," says Gretchen.
I always become wary whenever Gretchen hedges and then uses the words 'Here's the thing.'
"I'll upchuck the whole way there if I have to be in the passenger's seat."
"No!" I exclaim. "Not in a big Mercedes! It'll be like you're in your living room in a deluxe Barcalounger. It even has massaging fingers for your back, neck and shoulders! Gretchen, you will love it so much that when we arrive at the conference hotel, you'll start whining. You'll say, 'AWWWW! Not ALREADYYYYY'"
I smile broadly to emphasize how fantastic it will be.
"No, Rachelle," she insists. "It will NOT happen like that. A mile down the road from your cousin's house, I'll shout, 'PULL OVER!!! NOWWWWW!!!!' and then I'll jump out of the vehicle and hurl on someone's front lawn. Or - worse yet - I'll spend so much time fiddling with your fancy-ass Mercedes automatic door locks that I'll use up all my running-for-the-grass time and spew chunks all over your new leather interior."
I pause and twist my lips in contemplation. "Fine," I say. "You can drive."
Oh, how I wish I'd fought harder. All that followed could have been prevented if I'd just fought harder! Our fates - both individually as well as on into perpetuity - would have been so much different if only I'd insisted on driving.
First, she arrives forty minutes late. "Sorry!" she says, standing there all kinds of sweaty and winded. "Old Reliable here was chugging a bit, so I had to let her rest just outside of DC. I took a quick foot tour of this small town called Falls Church. Very ritzy-titsy. Your Mercedes woulda loved it!"
I look at the vehicle she and I will be sharing for the next one hundred and fifty-seven miles: a 2005 dark gray Suburban with lacy filigrees of rust skirting the entire length of the driver's side like a dust ruffle.
I've never been carsick for a moment in my life, but I'm suddenly very queasy.
"Whoa! Hubba, hubba!! Look at YOU, New York girl!" Gretchen gives me the up-and-down and whistles like a construction worker during lunch hour. "You know FS stands for FAN story, not FASHION story, right?"
She takes in my form-fitting leopard dress, 3-1/2" high heels and broad-brimmed black-and-leopard hat.
"I have a theory," I say in my No Nonsense Teacher's Voice. "If something should happen while you're traveling, if you're nicely dressed, you exponentially increase your chances of someone stopping to help you."
Whoever would have imagined that Gretchen's and my Good Samaritans would show up in their horse and buggies in the heart of Amish country.
"I'll drive to your place in East Rochester, New York," Gretchen says, "and we'll carpool."
"Actually, that week prior to the conference, I'll be in Maryland at my cousin's," I tell her. "So, let's do this, instead: You come to my cousin's, leave your car there, and I'll drive us the rest of the way. Just last week, I picked up my 2024 Mercedes S-Class sedan, and I want to spend as much time in it as I can."
"Um, well, here's the thing," says Gretchen.
I always become wary whenever Gretchen hedges and then uses the words 'Here's the thing.'
"I'll upchuck the whole way there if I have to be in the passenger's seat."
"No!" I exclaim. "Not in a big Mercedes! It'll be like you're in your living room in a deluxe Barcalounger. It even has massaging fingers for your back, neck and shoulders! Gretchen, you will love it so much that when we arrive at the conference hotel, you'll start whining. You'll say, 'AWWWW! Not ALREADYYYYY'"
I smile broadly to emphasize how fantastic it will be.
"No, Rachelle," she insists. "It will NOT happen like that. A mile down the road from your cousin's house, I'll shout, 'PULL OVER!!! NOWWWWW!!!!' and then I'll jump out of the vehicle and hurl on someone's front lawn. Or - worse yet - I'll spend so much time fiddling with your fancy-ass Mercedes automatic door locks that I'll use up all my running-for-the-grass time and spew chunks all over your new leather interior."
I pause and twist my lips in contemplation. "Fine," I say. "You can drive."
Oh, how I wish I'd fought harder. All that followed could have been prevented if I'd just fought harder! Our fates - both individually as well as on into perpetuity - would have been so much different if only I'd insisted on driving.
First, she arrives forty minutes late. "Sorry!" she says, standing there all kinds of sweaty and winded. "Old Reliable here was chugging a bit, so I had to let her rest just outside of DC. I took a quick foot tour of this small town called Falls Church. Very ritzy-titsy. Your Mercedes woulda loved it!"
I look at the vehicle she and I will be sharing for the next one hundred and fifty-seven miles: a 2005 dark gray Suburban with lacy filigrees of rust skirting the entire length of the driver's side like a dust ruffle.
I've never been carsick for a moment in my life, but I'm suddenly very queasy.
"Whoa! Hubba, hubba!! Look at YOU, New York girl!" Gretchen gives me the up-and-down and whistles like a construction worker during lunch hour. "You know FS stands for FAN story, not FASHION story, right?"
She takes in my form-fitting leopard dress, 3-1/2" high heels and broad-brimmed black-and-leopard hat.
"I have a theory," I say in my No Nonsense Teacher's Voice. "If something should happen while you're traveling, if you're nicely dressed, you exponentially increase your chances of someone stopping to help you."
Whoever would have imagined that Gretchen's and my Good Samaritans would show up in their horse and buggies in the heart of Amish country.
 Recognized |
#6 June 2024 |
Gretchen (GW) Hargis and I are telling the same story but each of us from our own point of view. For the full effect of our tale - and a tale it is, fictitious as can be - please be sure to "fan" both of us so you don't miss a chapter!
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© Copyright 2024. Rachelle Allen All rights reserved.
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