Four of Us

There were four of us in the car. There were always three or four of us, but that day it was four as we cruised around the west side, near Santa Monica and Westwood. We weren't going anywhere in particular, just killing time. Sometimes we'd hang out at the mall and play video games or watch girls we'd never get up the nerve to talk to. Other times we'd just drive and look for whatever.

This day we found something. She had blond hair and looked kind of cute from a distance. She needed a ride, and we had room if we squeezed together. I was driving, so it didn't affect me except that it was my car. Well, not mine exactly, but close enough. One of the guys in back was pretty small, so you could work pretty much anything or anyone in around him.

We started driving again, and that's when shit got weird. I don't remember who did the talking for us, but let's assume it was me.

“Where are you headed?”

“I just need a ride back to the hospital.”

Hospital? Okay. I glanced in the rear-view mirror. The small guy in back had shrunk into the corner like he was trying to become one with the seat, in the hope that he might somehow escape her presence. The other guy had widened his eyes, but he often did that. He usually looked surprised by what life had to offer, and probably was a lot of the time, which seems like a pretty great way to go through life.

“What hospital?”

“I don't know where it is.”

Turns out it was a mental institution of some sort and she'd gotten lost. We figured out where it was and took her there. Strange day.