Chapter Twelve

Spring Break

The five of them had ridden for hardly fifteen minutes when the realization that the car that they were in was quite unstable.

The car belonged to Culhwch. None of them had class on Friday, so around 10:00 am, Culhwch picked up the other four. They had agreed to spend about a week camping in Galveston. Phil studied other universities’ schedules, and the University of San Antonio had one of the earlier breaks. They hoped that the crowds would not be as bad as one might expect.

The heavy, consistent mid-day traffic in San Antonio did not betray the car’s shoddiness. Since Nell and Culhwch lived together, they loaded the car down with food, their clothes, and other essential items. They then drove up to Zaid’s house near Boerne, where she plopped in her items plus two tents. Zaid had the feeling that it was one tent too few. She did not tell Nell and Culhwch that, though. On the way to Helen’s place, Zaid felt the car was a bit bouncy. She attributed it to the fact that the car was not fully loaded, yet. At Helen’s place, she brought various camping equipment, as well as her own items. Finally, when they got to Phil’s parents’ house, he brought his own items plus all the paperwork that they may need to ever show between San Antonio and the Galveston beach. The car felt heavily loaded down, with five averaged-size adults plus luggage and camping gear. The trunk handled almost all of the cargo, but some of them kept a few of their personal items with them in the car.

From Phil’s house, Culhwch drove north on New Braunfels, and made a right turn onto Interstate 10. When the car accelerated up the ramp, everyone felt the car lug. It leaned some when he took the cornering ramp that bypassed Loop 410. The feeling of great weight upon the car made it feel slow and somehow safer than if they had taken, say, Nell’s car. It was not until they were on flat, smooth pavement that the car began to permeate a feeling of unease.

Zaid whined, “Why do we have to go in Cullen’s car?”

Helen sat on the other side of the backseat.  “Because it has the most seatbelts and the most room.”

“But will we get to Galveston alive?”

“I don’t know.  Wanna place bets?”

They said all this, just as they were leaving the San Antonio sprawl, just before Seguin.  Interstate Ten was three lanes in each direction, the whole way to Sealy, where it widened to four lanes each, plus high-occupancy vehicle lanes going each way.  It was because of these HOV lanes that Nell convinced everyone to ride to Galveston in the same car.

So, they left San Antonio just after Friday lunchtime.

Phil sat in the middle of the backseat, with Zaid on his right and Helen on his left.  Cullen drove, while Nell sat in the passenger side. Backpacks rested underneath their feet, and suitcases and various accoutrements were in the trunk.  Phil was starting to have enough of the argument.  “Could you two please stop?”

They shut up.  Nell didn’t make eye contact with Cullen.  The engine’s hum and the car’s ride satisfied her need to talk with him.  The radio didn’t work, so the backseat women put on headphones and stared out her respective window.  Phil had a central view of the middle lane, with cars and trucks on all sides of them.  The heavy traffic prevented him from seeing much else.

When they passed Luling, Phil could see the Blackland Prairie on both sides of him.  There used to be billboards on the sides of the freeway, used to both advertise as well as prevent cars from careening off the road.  Storms blew down the signs, and whoever ran the Texas Department of Transportation did not see it as high priority to clean up the mess.  Wreckage filled the medians between the main lanes and the access road.

Phil hesitantly asked, “Did we bring any food, or are we going to eat in Schulenburg?”

Nell replied, “There’re snacks in the trunk. You can get to them by lifting up the shelf behind the back seat.”

“But…I’d hafta remove my seat belt.”

Helen sighed. “You’re not gonna die. Just do it.”

“Um…how fast are we going?”

Culhwch looked down at his dead instrument panel, and said, “I don’t know.”

Nobody else offered a response. Nell pulled up a laptop from underneath the passenger seat. She also reached into a bag and got out a plug for the cigarette lighter, and connected it from the lighter to the computer. She turned it on, and waited for the operating system to boot up.

Phil slowly undid his safety belt. “Cullen, your car doesn’t…call the police, does it?”

“No, the black box was damaged when I went over a speed hump too fast.”

Zaid asked, “What does work in this car?”

“Whatever’s needed to get us to Galveston.”

Phil finished removing his seat belt, and began to turn around in the back seat. He felt afraid of doing anything quickly, lest he kick a hole somewhere in the car. He perched over the backseat, and lifted the shelf. Instead of seeing backpacks and other bags, he saw a virtual cooler of junk food and soda. “Uh, Cullen?”

“Yes?”

“Whadja do to your trunk?”

“I made it better. Do you see anything you like?”

Phil looked over the smorgasbord of cholesterol. “Uh…yeah, I do. But…never mind.”

He grabbed some chips and a soda, lowered the shelf, and sat back down in his seat. As he put back on his seatbelt, he saw Cullen blow by a cop car. “Oh my God! Cullen! You’re gonna get pulled over!”

Cullen looked over at his right-side mirror, and did not appear to be concerned. “He won’t pull us over. We’re not going fast enough to make it worth his while.”

“How fast are you going!?”

Cullen replied, “My gauges are dead. I don’t know.”

During all of this, Nell was on the internet, finding out traffic information. After some clicks at the right website Nell announced, “We’re approaching the town of Waelder. According to the Texas Traffic Information Center, traffic is moving at…eighty-five miles per hour.”

Helen shook her head. “Bull. That’s the speed limit. They’re too stupid to have sensors that detect anything higher than the speed limit.”

Zaid looked over at Helen. “Isn’t that because…speeding is technically impossible?”

Phil munched nervously. “So why’re there cop cars along the freeway?”

Nell clicked the mouse pad on the computer. “I’m going to one of those satellite tracker sites. The ones that actually track how fast random cars go, and do an average speed based on that.”

Helen rested her head on her fist, while staring out the window. “Invasion of privacy, brought to you by-”

Nell shouted, “Hackers! God bless them! Finally! A website that has some useful information on it!”

Zaid leaned forward and tried to see what Nell had on the computer. “Which site’re you at?”

“The Underground Railroad site. Let’s see…the United States…Texas…Interstate Ten…” She clicked on each graphic image that narrowed down the choices to what road that they were on. “OK…we’ve just zoomed past Waelder, on our way to…Flatonia. Let me close in on a live feed.”

She clicked on the freeway portion that she estimated that they were on. The computer showed a map of the roads in the area. The old Interstate Ten interweaved with the even older US Highway Ninety. The New Interstate Ten consisted of “super straights” that essentially bypassed any curves that the old freeway had. It also beefed up the design speeds of the old Interstates from around eighty miles per hour to approximately one-hundred twenty. They had eighteen-foot wide lanes, three of each going both ways, fifteen-foot shoulders, and maximum grades of 0.7%.

The mind-numbing experience had all the charm of driving on a landing strip as wide as a football field is wide. Nell used the computer partly to find traffic information, and partly to look at something else besides vast expanses of concrete shot through a prairie. “Here’s a feed right now.”

She held up the computer for the people in the back to see. They saw a lot of dots moving on a wide, gray strip. Helen asked, “Can you zoom in on our car?”

“Let me see.”

Nell looked out the window to look for a mile marker. She saw the number 659 whoosh by. She quickly then zoomed in on miles 660 and 661 on the computer, and began tracking cars in the middle lane. She left clicked on one particular vehicle, and selected Follow Vehicle. With the camera now tracking this particular car, she left clicked on the car again, and selected Properties.

This brought up a window with all sorts of information on it. One tab had Visual as its label, and Nell clicked on it. It read:

This option allows the detection of make, model, and year via the visual data obtained. Many vehicles look very similar from above, so you may have a list to choose from.

There was a list. Nell asked, “Culhwch, what kind of car is this?”

He blinked. “I…I’m not sure.”

Phil coughed. “Not sure? Whaddaya mean by that?”

Cullen looked at his steering wheel briefly. Then, he looked back at the road. “I think this used to be a Chrysler or Plymouth.”

Zaid, shocked, asked, “Used to be? What does that mean?”

Cullen looked for answers in his mind. “Well…I don’t know what exactly is still original manufacturer’s equipment.”

“So? This car’s so old there had to be stuff replaced on it!”

“No, I mean…I don’t know if the engine, for example, is a Chrysler engine.”

“WHAT!” Everyone screamed.

Nell thought quickly. “Hey, maybe Visual’s not a good idea. Hmm…Culhwch, what names do you have this car registered under?”

Cullen thought again. “I think it may actually be in my name. It’s the same as in the glove box.”

Nell passed the computer to Phil in the back, and began rummaging through Cullen’s glove box. She saw a lot of pieces of paper, with various names and addresses on them. “I don’t see anything with your name on it.”

“I guess…just pick one.”

She took one of the papers, and had Phil pass back the computer. She typed in the name and address information on the Owner’s Information tab, and clicked submit. A few seconds later, she got a message saying that the information was correct. “I’m surprised,” she said, “This car is…a 1987 Plymouth Caravelle. License Plate…varies, apparently. Ownership history is shady. Safety inspection spotty. Vehicle registration vague at best. This is a typical Texan car of our modern era.”

Zaid said sarcastically, “Which means we’re all gonna die.”

“Not yet, now that I’ve convinced the computer that we’re not identity thieves, we can actually determine the speed of this here car.”

She clicked on a tab with the name of Road Position. “We’re going…a hundred and five miles an hour.”

Zaid gasped, while Helen asked rhetorically, “Really? It feels more like just ninety.”

Phil shared Zaid’s fear. “We’re going twenty over the speed limit!”

Nell agreed. “Yep.”

Helen grabbed the back of the driver’s seat and pulled herself forward, leaning over Cullen. “Hey, can you take this up to a hundred and twenty?”

Phil shouted, before Cullen could answer. “What! You want to go faster!?”

Helen sat back down and resumed looking out the window. Nobody said anything until Cullen asked, “Here’s Schulenburg. Anyone want a hot lunch?”

Various non-committal responses were voiced. Even if they said no, he would have taken the exit anyway. He pulled onto the ramp for US Highway 77 southbound, then made a left turn into a place called Post Flat Barbeque. Zaid raised her voice. “What are we doing here?”

Cullen responded, “I’m parking, you’re riding, and I thought that we could eat here.”

Phil asked, “Is this place expensive? The I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-A-Burger is pretty cheap.”

Helen laughed. “You dork. You’re the only one who actually calls out ICBIA Burger by its full name.”

Nell closed her laptop computer and unplugged it from the cigarette lighter. She looked at her watch. “It’s been an hour since we left San Antonio. It’s going to be maybe four hours of traffic jams by the time we get to Galveston.” She turned to the people in the back. “I’d rather eat something interesting that just some burger.”

The exiting of Zaid, Phil, and Helen displayed their agreement. Cullen and Nell got out, too.

There was a breeze that seemed independent of the roaring cars on New Interstate 10. The wind made the Plymouth creek. Phil looked back at the blue-gray, rusty sedan and he thought that he could see it quiver with the wind. He asked Cullen, “Will your car be all right? Seriously, it won’t break down on us, will it?”

Cullen just looked back at him, and gave him a disappointed look. “I maintain that car very regularly. I catch problems before they happen. There is only one problem that I haven’t solved, and that is the Fibonacci starter.”

Helen turned to both men and asked, “Fibonacci starter?”

Cullen nodded. “Yeah. I’ll tell you about it inside.”

The Post Flat Barbeque was an establishment that tried to play off the theme of being a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. That was difficult considering all the doo-dads that the proprietors were trying to pawn off to clueless travelers. Upon entering, little radar detectors took a gander at the credit cards and other electronic forms of money that customers had on them. Phil and company did not match the profile of a highly profitable guest, so the reception opted for the “Polite but Chilly” mode. The company had trouble zooming in on all of them except for Phil, because he was the only one to have just a single identity.

The hostess at the front asked coldly, “Table for five?”

Nell took the question as a complement. “Yes.”

“Buffet, or menu?”

Nell turned to the rest of the group and asked, “Well?”

The rest of them made another non-committal response that favored nothing in particular. Nell looked back at the unfriendly hostess and said, “Buffet will be great, thanks.”

The hostess then pointed to the buffet line many yards back. “It’s over there. Help yourselves. That will be $8.50 each, plus sales tax.”

Helen cocked an eyebrow. “That’s weird. Your display board, above your head, says eight bucks.”

The hostess began to look especially annoyed. “That’s old information.”

“It has today’s date on it.”

The hostess looked up and made the mistake of staring a little too long. Helen pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and laid them quickly on the little podium that the hostess stood in front of. As the five of them began their very fast exit, Helen couldn’t resist but say, as the hostess looked down and saw the group had departed, “Keep the change!”

They moved quickly to one of the tables. The restaurant meandered, so the walls interrupted many potential sight-lines. Safely away from the hostess, they sat down and relaxed. A few minutes later, one of the automaton-like waiters walked up to them, recited a little speech about the wonderful offerings that awaited them, and a repeat of the old question, “Buffet or menu?”

They all said in unison, “Buffet.”

The waiter gestured and made hand signals in an attempt to describe the location of the buffet counter, but everyone already knew where it was. They scampered past it just a moment ago. They waited until he was gone and then began to make their way to the buffet line.

The next hour or so was uneventful. The Post Flat Barbeque offered the standard fare for Texas barbeque. Lots of meats – chicken (whole, sliced, and in leg/thigh/wing formats), beef, pork, sausage, other pig derivatives – beans, varieties of potato salad, brownies, corn, and a dozen varieties of barbeque sauce. The only green things were the green beans, which some people actually got to offset the shear amount of cholesterol that entered their mouths.

Of all the things that Phil actually took pride in, about Texas, it was the barbeque. The rest of it violated his particular brand of Protestant ethics. Helen shared similar enough ethics, but took a more extraverted approach. Phil smiled at the barbeque offerings. Helen actually pointed out the glories of rib meat to Phil, Zaid, Culhwch, Nell, and anyone that would listen. The rest of them saw the barbeque as mere food.

When they were actually eating, Zaid could not chide Culhwch for bad table manners, because everyone had thrown niceties to the wind. There were fingers on all the meat. Phil devoured his ribs with all the efficiency of a printer. Helen used bones to scoop up the potato salad. Zaid found it hard to not just mash all the beans into the mess and dig in. Culhwch was the least interesting person to view. He actually cut his bratwurst with a fork and knife, and ate it with stoic properness of a king. Zaid stared down at her own food, embarrassed to be committing all the dining sins that Culhwch was not committing.

After lunch, and back on New Interstate 10, they felt the grease bubble float to the tops of their stomachs. Two breaks, to drink some water, eat some crackers, and throw up on some trees, later, Culhwch’s engine died. The car had been going so fast, that nobody realized that there was something wrong until Nell remarked. “Hey, it just quiet in here.”

Most people would look at their instrument panels, to see if their tachometers had fallen to zero revolutions per minute. Culhwch just pushed his column-mounted gear selector into neutral, while flooring the accelerator. Engines would typically scream in you did this, but Culhwch’s didn’t. “Prepare for whiplash.”

Phil woke up from his cholesterol-shock. “Whiplash? Whiplash?”

It was too late to protest. Culhwch pressed his make-shift clutch pedal, slid the gear lever into Drive, turned off the ignition, counted to three, and then cranked the engine. When the engine initially shut off, they were traveling at 110 miles per hour. The moment right before Culhwch cranked the ignition, the speed had dropped to around 100 miles per hour. The very moment when he turned the key, and popped the clutch, the car immediately decelerated down to 80, then launched forward at 130. The people in the vehicle behind them swore that they saw flames and blue smoke shoot out the tailpipe. Everyone in the car with the flaming exhaust just swore, except for Culhwch.

Helen screamed, “What the hell just happened!?”

Zaid moaned, “My neck…”

Culhwch said nothing. The groaning in the back did not bother him. Nell almost glared at him. “That could’ve been done more…gracefully.”

Phil, the least hysterical of anyone in the back, asked, “So, what just happened? Why the stop-n-start?”

Culhwch explained, “The engine died, so I shifted into Neutral, pressed the clutch, shifted back to Drive, started the engine, and released the clutch.”

Phil tried to think about this. “Clutch…?”

Nell turned back to look at him. “He popped the clutch a bit too fast. If he’d let it out slower, there would’ve been less…jerking.”

Helen asked, “Why’s there a clutch in an automatic transmission?”

Culhwch answered, “Because it made starting the car, while it was moving, safer.”

“You mean, there’s a more dangerous way of starting your car?”

“Yeah. We would have needed to come to a stop.”

“There are shoulders.”

“The steering dies with the engine.”

Everyone in the backseat looked at each other with fear. Nobody said anything. The only sound was that of the engine. Zaid listened very attentively for any sounds of sputtering, lugging, pinging, or anything that engines are not supposed to do.

The engine stopped again somewhere between Sealy and Brookshire. The sprawl of Houston stretched out to here, which greeted travelers coming from the west on Interstate 10. The greeting came with stalled traffic. Culhwch could start the engine without causing any jerking, since the car did not move half the time.

Nell found the Houston Traffic Command Center’s website, and it showed a very pretty graphic of the eight-county Houston region. She kept inputting their current location, based on mile markers, and getting directions to the intersection of Rosenberg Street and Seawall Boulevard in Galveston. The website integrated driving directions and times with the current traffic conditions. As a result, every five minutes, you might get different driving directions. Most cars allegedly had the feature installed, but the same hardware hacking technique that zapped the police’s ability to ticket you remotely, also destroyed the ability to give instant-feedback directions. Websites buzzed with proposed solutions on how to evade the police and get all the nifty features that these black boxes allegedly delivered. In the meantime, Nell kept altering the starting points on her laptop. The directions kept repeating themselves, until they were at the intersection of Katy Freeway (the name of I-10 in Houston) and Highway 6. Nell commanded, “Exit Highway 6 and make a right!”

Traffic on the thirty lane span of concrete featured aggressive drivers with one weakness – the desire to not have their cars damaged anymore than they were already. Cars like the kind Culhwch owned were not worth saving, and additional dents and scratches would most likely not be noticed. He knew this, and so did all the other drivers. Butting his way across two lanes of otherwise impassible traffic was easy. The drivers of new Lexuses and BMWs were the most aggressive until they realized that Culhwch would not yield to them. After many tire screeches, swearing, and middle fingers, Culhwch took the crowded Hwy 6 exit ramp. Everyone in the backseat survived the experience by keeping their eyes closed the whole time.

Culhwch took the direct ramp, skipping the traffic lights, and they proceeded onto the highway. This road was the latest in ways the Texas Department of Transportation tried to kill people. Eight lanes. Seventy mile per hour speed limit. Traffic lights with short yellows. Iffy paving. Business and apartments opening directly onto the road. No medians. No merge lanes. Just one shared middle left-turn lane. This was the epicenter of Houston’s anarchistic approach to urban planning, and never-ending streams of road-widening (never mind actual road paving.

Helen asked, “Why did we get off the freeway?”

“Apparently…” she clicked some headlines at the Houston Traffic Command Center’s website. “A double-length semi ran through the concrete barrier things on a ramp from the Sam Houston Tollway onto the Katy Freeway. It fell down on the freeway, causing that portion of the freeway bridge to collapse…and…dozens killed, hundreds injured, but worst of all, from our perspective, is that the expected travel time from where we were to Galveston soared to twelve hours.”

“Wait, so a really bad traffic accident just happened, and you’re worried about our commute times?”

Nell looked at Helen. “Do you want to render first aid?”

The air in the car grew tense. Culhwch focused too much on the streets flying by: Memorial…Briar Forest…Westheimer…Richmond… “Nell, what do I do next?”

“Follow this road until you have to merge on I-45 south, towards Galveston.”

Phil wisecracked. “Will there be any more trucks of death?”

Nell did not look at him. “Maybe.”

As they approached the Westpark Tollway, Culhwch knew that the engine would die at any time. Thinking that Phil and company did not want another whiplash experience, he announced. “I’m going to go airborne over the Alief-Clodine Bridge.”

Zaid screamed first. “What!?”

Culhwch spoke quickly. “The sign says max speed is sixty mph over the bridge. I can floor the gas pedal and take us airborne before me engine dies again.”

Nell looked at him severely. “Culhwch. You’re gonna get us killed.”

He had already floored the accelerator. Helen and Phil embraced, panic-stricken. Helen snapped. “If I live through this, somebody’s gonna die…”

Cars on all sides appeared to zoom backwards, as Culhwch accelerated to a speed that only could be guessed. The crest of the bridge appeared and vanished before one could blink. The engine died shortly after that. Culhwch was the first person to realize that they were truly airborne. The steering felt suddenly light, for having no power. He did the lever-clutch-crank maneuver, and engine boomed to life. Just as he did that, the car began to fall, and that’s when everyone else realized that they were not only airborne, but falling.

Their fears were exaggerated when the car landed with little more than a thud and squealing tires. Like many things in life, people’s fear reached a maximum after the worst was over. In this case, Culhwch was braking to a stop at the next intersection, when everyone else’s adrenaline kicked into overdrive. Zaid had curled up into a ball, and Phil and Helen had practically buried each other’s heads into their arms. Nell clutched her laptop tightly against her chest. Her eyes stared wide open. For the rest of the trip to Galveston, nobody said a word.

Culhwch parallel parked in an easy spot. The late Friday afternoon sun had cast shadows from the hotels and hi-rises behind them. The beach looked tan, and families sat in bathing suits, under umbrellas, while boom boxes rested upon blankets. This was the public, ratty beach, compared to the exclusive beaches further southwest on the island.

Everyone got out of the car at the same time, and stretched. The winds from the east blew their hair back, and rippled their shirts. All of them walked towards to ledge of the Sea Wall. The heard seagulls cawing nearby, and people making noise at the restaurants and night clubs along the street. If they looked to their left, they saw all the touristy, expensive beaches for visitors from places like Omaha and Boise. To their right, were the private beaches that one had to make reservations for, like a hotel room. The island had a feeling of part Bohemian, part Vegas.

Helen stretched out her arms at the sea and whooped. “We need beer!”

Nell said, “Got some in the trunk!”

“Did anything survive after that leap?” asked Phil.

Culhwch pulled out his keys. “We’ll see.”

Most everything had survived the trip, though many items had been tossed around. They pulled out the tents and coolers, and proceeded down the steps to the sand. They found a spot one-third of the way between the wall and the coast line. Up went the tents, loaded down with backpacks and coolers. Everyone took turns changing into bathing suits in the tents, one for male and the other female. After that, and some rounds of rock-paper-scissors to determine who would stay and guard the tents, Nell, Zaid, Culhwch, and Phil ran to the coast.

[write about beach]

They ended one of their walks around town at a place called Bob’s VD. It was supposed to be the kind of place where you had the impression that you were actually at a beach, eating seafood, feeling the ocean breeze. Zaid commented, “They overdid the whole sea-island-fish thing. Kinda lame.”

The place had relatively few people; the group did not have to wait for a table. Phil had a feeling that this fewer-people-than-usual theme recurred too often. “Have any of you noticed the lack of other people? I mean, where’s the party crowd?”

They followed the host to their table. Helen replied, “Uh, no. Why? Is it bothering you that the place ain’t more crowded?”

Phil got defensive. “Well, no! I just…thought…maybe, nothing.”

“What’s bothering you? Nerves still shattered from the car ride?”

“No, but…it’s like kinda hard to explain.”

Nell and everyone else sat down, and then she said, “Phil usually doesn’t pick up on real subtle stuff.”

“Whaddya mean?” he coughed.

“I mean…you’re a real down-to-earth guy, who takes things…not as literal as Culhwch, but…you like things spelled out.”

Helen said with a snarky tone. “Funny. If you know so much about him, maybe you should date him!”

“Oh? Haven’t you heard? I’ve moved in with Culhwch.”

Both Helen and Zaid snapped, “You what!”

“Moved in. Isn’t that right, Culhwch?”

He stared at the menu, calculating estimated calories per dollar. “Huh? What?”

“See?”

Zaid wanted to stab her. “Why did you do that?”

“Personal reasons. None of your business. That sort of thing.” Touché.

“Can we please not argue our third day here?” pleaded Phil.

“That’s OK,” sassed Helen.

The tone had gone hostile for the first time since Culhwch’s flying over the Alief-Clodine Bridge. Zaid feared that if the hostility kept up, they would split apart like water ejected from a sprinkler. She had begun to wonder if she would see any of these people after graduation. Relationships had a way of fading, even after high school. She almost forgot to decide what to eat when she looked down into her menu. As she scanned, something different entered her peripheral vision.

The human eye is more sensitive to light changes at the periphery of the eye, and the light shifted from the brown-yellow colors of the interior of the restaurant to blue. She glanced at up for moment, and then a man stood out. She had pride in her ability to make occasionally accurate opinions of someone’s personality, based on very preliminary first glances. The wind blowing through the restaurant hit Zaid’s face with more force than usual. She decided that this man was up to no good, but he was not as clear as that. He wore blue: dark blue suit, with lighter blue shirt, and black tie.

He was staring. Zaid wondered if he noticed her. She followed his gaze to Nell. She wondered why this man stared at Nell. Nell took no notice of this man’s gaze, despite sitting at almost a parallel relationship to him. Surely, this man had caught her attention as Zaid’s.

Nell laughed and made conversation with the rest of the group. Culhwch noticed what Zaid was doing. “What are you looking at?”

Zaid turned quickly to him, scared that the man in blue had heard Culhwch. “I thought I saw a bird.”

Culhwch’s face did not change. Zaid felt that maybe Culhwch’s ability to see lies had come into being right this very moment. She kept it up. “Speaking of birds, I’ll have the roast…pelican?...special.”

Helen asked, “Pelican? Where?”

The group’s focus turned to the Pelican in the menu, and to the names of food items in general. Zaid felt disengaged from the group, alone. She had never felt this way before. Even weirder, she somehow knew that Culhwch also knew that Zaid was experiencing something foreign to her experience. This was the first time that Culhwch had, on this own, with no help from anyone else, managed to appear that he knew more than Zaid. She tried to decide what was scarier: Culhwch’s sudden increased perception, or the fact that a man was staring at Nell Stanley.

Culhwch asked, “Do you think that he is over-dressed?”

Zaid woke from her thoughts. “Over-dressed? Well…it is a lot layers for Texas this time of year…”

Phil turned to her. “What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

He leaned forward me. “Me. Do you think my Hawaiian shirt is too much?”

The silent members at the table now looked at Zaid. She felt really confused right then and there. “Oh! I thought…maybe…nothing. It was nothing.”

Nell asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes! I’m positive. Sure am.”

Nell raised her eyebrows. The waiter showed up, apologized for being late, and asked what they wanted. They ordered. Zaid purposely did not look back at the man.

The floor rumbled, and began to move. A disco ball descended from the ceiling, and the center of the restaurant began to open up. The floors moved apart, creating an opening. Another floor, of parquet-style wood ascended. The lights went down, and music began to play.

Helen moaned, “Oh no, not Redhead.”

Phil asked, “What?”

Nell answered, “Redhead. A disco-punk band from about twenty-five years ago.”

“Disco…punk?”

“Yep.”

He still looked confused. She explained further, “Think of it as disco with a really bad attitude, or punk that you can really dance to, not just thrash.”

Helen murmured, “At least it’s not loud.”

Zaid decided to join the conversation. “Yeah, you can hear the lyrics.”

Helen groaned again. Culhwch paid close attention:

Yeah…you do this ev-ening

This evening, you’re all right

Yeah…you do this ev-ening

This evening

This evening

Yeah…make it brilliant

This evening

Yeah

Yes, your face is nice, mister

This evening

NUCLEAR DESTRUCTION!
This evening make it brilliant

This evening

You do this evening

Your face is nice, mister

Yeah, this evening

NUCLEAR DESTRUCTION!

NUCLEAR DESTRUCTION!

Seriously angry disco music pumped through the room. The drums had the main, relentless beat. The bass guitar provided the up-beat, while the front guitar added something like melody. A woman sirened the lyrics, while the bass guitar provided the disco, the drums the punk. A synthesizer provided a staccato wave of electronic noise.

A disappointed Zaid commented two-thirds of the way through, during the bass guitar solo, with the drums and a single-key stroke on the synthesizer provided the very minimalist background beat, “This song sucks.”

Nell rocked out. “No it doesn’t! It rocks!”

Helen wanted to scream. Phil shook his head. “Music for white people.”

Culhwch added. “They’re Canadian.”

“How would you know?” asked Zaid.

“I’ve heard this before, on the radio station that plays a lot of…” he thought for a moment, “Rush, Barenaked Ladies, and…Redhead.”

Zaid wondered. “What station is that?”

“Er…”

“Did you pull it off the internet?” asked Phil.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Zaid scoffed, “Oh! I thought you meant something in San Antonio.”

Their food arrived, and they commenced eating. When they finished, and paid the tab, they walked around one of the newer boardwalks. Zaid forgot about the staring-man.

Parts of Galveston had been converted into a car-free boardwalk, much to the consternation of nearby Kemah. As a result, Zaid and her friends would not go to Kemah, which provided the ingredients for Kemah’s resentment. Zaid and her friends did not care.

They walked amid crowds of retired foreigners, with some college students showing up. Each day, the amount of young people increased, and finding a new place to pitch the tent became progressively difficult. The growing presence of partiers made Phil feel anxious. He reached out and touched Helen’s hand, and then held it.

Zaid saw this, and while feigning interest in the nearby Ferris wheel, took hold of Culhwch’s hand. She remarked out loud, “Wow. You’ve got body warmth.”

Everyone else looked back at Zaid. Nell asked, “What? What are you talking about?”

Zaid blushed. Culhwch did not react. She decided to keep the act up, even though everyone saw her holding hands with Culhwch. Helen felt the urge to gossip that fact with somebody – Phil, Nell, the man selling cotton candy, anybody. This urge to broadcast to Phil and Nell this phenomenon continued despite the fact that they too had seen the hand-holding. Helen burst. “Wow!”

“What’s the big deal?” Phil asked.

Helen let go of his hand. “Zaid’s actually touching Cullen!”

Zaid got defensive. “Yeah, so? Why’s that so weird?”

“Because! It’s…Cullen!”

Phil turned away and began walking. “Don’t care…don’t care…”

Nell followed, and so did Zaid and Culhwch. Helen felt like they had missed the opportunity to revel in something very unusual. “Come on guys! Isn’t it weird? Cullen, why…since when are you and Zaid a couple?”

Culhwch replied, “Five weeks ago.”

“Five weeks?”

Nell added, “Yeah. Culhwch told me about when I moved in with him.”

“What?”

Phil smiled. “Yeah, Helen. Everyone knew about it.”

Helen looked disgusted. “Gee, Phil, how nice of you to tell me!”

“Well? Why did you care?”

“Because Cullen’s a friend of mine!”

Nell thought about saying You don’t expect us to believe that, do you. She decided against it, and smelled the slightly oily breeze in the air.

They walked to the end of the boardwalk, and turned around. Zaid did not let go until they go back to the car, and pitched the tents on a beach looking more like some sort of rock festival of the previous decade. Had Galveston not zoned amplified music to certain clubs, the scene would be more like a rock concert. They finished setting up the tents, and packed in for the evening.

In the female’s tent, Helen did not speak to either Zaid or Nell. She read her book furiously. Zaid and Nell whispered to each other.

Zaid brought up the man immediately. “Nell, remember dinner at the weird bird place?”

“Yeah, with the music?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

“There was a guy there that was looking at you.”

Nell thought about this. “Really. What did he look like.”

“Our age. Well-dressed, too.”

“Wait. Was that what you were talking about when the rest of us were making fun of Phil’s shirt?”

“Er, yeah.”

“So, there’s this guy who’s all styled up, and…?”

Zaid blinked, like Nell was not getting the message. “And he’s staring at you.”

“You already said that.”

“Doncha think that it’s really weird.”

“Yeah, I do, and thanks for brining it up…”

“And?”

Nell sighed, “Well…I kinda expected him to make an appearance.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, the reason I moved in with Culhwch is that I didn’t feel safe in my apartment anymore.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, so like he could be anywhere. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did follow us to Galveston.”

Zaid reached out to Nell. “Don’t worry about him coming here.”

“I’m not worried. I locked the tent from the inside, and I packed a knife with me.”

“A knife? Wouldn’t a gun have been better?”

“I didn’t want to set off any metal detectors on the way in.”

“Oh, there are ways to get around those. Even I know that.”

Nell smiled. “That’s sweet of you, wanting to pack heat and all.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

“Thanks again. Do you have more information about this guy?”

“Besides the clothes, he looked kind of anonymous, in a foreign sort of way…? Like, how Brazilians come in all sorts of colors and ethnicities?”

“Right, so he’s like South American, but not literally…”

Zaid raised her voice. “Right! He’s like…somehow exotic, but there’s nothing really spectacular about him that really stands out?”

“Maybe his anonymity is the exoticness?”

“How weird…”

“But, what about hair color, eyes, height…?”

“Oh, er, black hair, couldn’t really see his eye color. He was sitting down, so maybe…five-foot ten or eleven?”

Nell blinked slowly and yawned. “So…an ordinary guy with some mysterious flare.”

“Yeah.”

“Shame. If he would just be straight with me, I might like him.”

“You’re weird.”

By Friday, people began to fill the beach up to its limits. The Galveston Police started asking people for their visitation permits. Phil had not only brought the permits for the beach, but also for the city and for camping. Everyone needed their own permit. The women went to visit some shops in the area. As Phil helped Culhwch pack up the tents, he asked Culhwch, “How bad do you think it’s gonna get?”

Culhwch took the poles, and laid them on the folded up tent. He began rolling. “It depends on how crowded it gets. The worse the crowding, the more likely that the police will resort to more expensive techniques to make sure everyone has their permit.”

“Why not just use those techniques now?”

“Same reason why cops don’t pull you over unless you’re doing at least twenty-five over the speed limit. It’s too much paperwork for any reward or kickback that might be offered.”

“It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, yes, you still pay taxes.”

Phil dropped the tent bag just as Culhwch walked towards him with the rolled up the tent. “Oh, don’t start that again!”

“What?”

“Rubbing it in that all y’all cheat on your taxes.”

“I earn forty percent more money that way, and the firm went ahead and did it like that.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as just a little bit illegal?”

Culhwch stuffed the tent into the bag himself. “There’s a circle of re-enforcement. I, and tens of millions of other people, don’t pay taxes. Public services decline, with the bureaucrats attempting to really do more than they have the budget for. Instead of re-focusing what money they do have into a more efficient operation, committees just add more programs to fit the problems cause by a lack of these programs. These programs and their enforcement suck. I and other people don’t want to support them, so we continuously withhold our own money.”

“That’s the anarchist in you talking.”

“So, what’s the totalitarian in me saying?”

“Well, you do pay sales tax.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Phil began to work on the other tent. “What do you do? Buy black market everything?”

“I try.”

“Live exclusively on cash.”

“Too traceable. Nell got me an encrypted card. Every year I get a new, ever-expanding such-and-such bit encryption card that communicates with other such illegal computers at participating stores…near you!”

“So you live way off-grid…”

Culhwch repeated the procedure on this tent as he did on the last one. “No, I live on my own grid.”

“So, in this tax-free paradise, life is what? Las Vegas?”

“Las Vegas?”

“Yeah, you know, fun-fun-fun, people getting rich?”

Culhwch stared at Phil, wondering what he just said. “It’s not a paradise, and maybe half the people you see are in on it.”

“So…?”

“You should be asking yourself, if people are living independent of taxes, and presumably businesses are moving in the same direction, how long before people begin to live independent of governments they don’t like?”

“Oh…I don’t want to think about that.”

“Then think about this: why did gas on the way over here cost $2.94 per gallon, when back in January it was closer to a $1.70?”

Phil sighed. “Supply and demand and all that.”

“Not just that, but look around. Nobody likes it. Everybody complains about it-”

“Except us!”

“Wrong, Helen and Zaid complain the most, but you don’t pay for your own gas, and Nell and I don’t care.”

“Why? Why don’t you care?”

Culhwch finished packing the tents, and began moving them to the car. “I just don’t. Gas just isn’t that expensive.”

“How high will it get before it gets ‘expensive’?”

“High enough for me to change my lifestyle.”

It was the kind of comment that Phil could not respond to. He followed Culhwch back to the car, where he joined him in leaning against it, facing the Gulf. Phil asked, “What’s with you and Nell?”

“She and I get along.”

“I get along with her, too, but not like you.”

“You and I aren’t the same, so the relationship will be different.”

“Are you in love with her?”

Phil knew Culhwch’s answer when he asked, and that it would be delivered like all the other seemingly factual thing that Culhwch usually said. “No.”

“What about Helen and me?”

“Love?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t see it.”

Phil looked at Culhwch. “What do you mean by that!”

“I just don’t see love.”

“What do you see?”

“You and her being close, but I don’t know why she likes you. Ask Nell.”

“You can be a real jerk, you know that.”

Culhwch yawned. “So I’ve heard.”

Zaid called out to them, across the street. “Hey! What’re you guys up to!”

The men waved at her. They saw Helen and Nell next to Zaid. Zaid asked, “Anything happen while we were gone?”

The men replied in unison. “Nah.”

The women laughed. “Hey, are you guys getting bored with this place?” asked Helen.

“Maybe. Why?” replied Phil.

Zaid blurted. “I was thinking about the Galleria!”

Phil’s face changed. “The Galleria?”

Nell added, “Yep, in Houston!”

“Isn’t that the big…mall…place?”

Helen nodded. “Yes, a great place to look.”

Culhwch said, “Yes, because you can’t afford to buy anything they sell.”

Helen began swearing at Culhwch, while Zaid watched. Nell brought Phil to the other side of the car. “Is it really all right if we go to Houston?”

“I guess, but we have permits here through Sunday.”

“It’s only going to get more crowded.”

“I see that. Maybe, but where to after the Galleria?”

“Home?”

Phil looked back at the Gulf. “This Break was too short.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to stare at the water, later. This island is starting to get to Helen.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but what’ll Phil and I do in a really big shopping mall?”

“I don’t know. Find an electronics or tool emporium and just gawk.”

“All day?”

Nell laughed. “You’re a guy. I’m sure you can find something electronic to stare at all day long. Besides, it’ll take three hours just to get to the Galleria.”

“Great. More driving with Cullen.”

“Yeah, he should start the car.”

“Is Helen done screaming at him?”

They listened for Helen’s voice, but all they heard was a sympathetic Zaid. Phil and Nell walked back around the car, to see Helen gasping for breath, Culhwch looking bored, and Zaid patting Helen’s back, telling her to breathe and that everything was okay. Nell sent Phil, Helen, and Zaid away to calm Helen down. Nell stayed with Phil, as he started his car. It had sat for a week, which meant that he would have start it sixteen times before the engine would stay on long enough for him to actually drive. Each time he started it, the engine would run longer than the previous time. By the time he started the engine for the sixteenth time, the engine ran for sixteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds. The previous start lasted only a bit more than ten minutes, which in his experience was a bit too short to be on the road.

Nell called Zaid on her cell phone, and told them that they were ready to head off to the Galleria. Culhwch picked them up, and then spent the next two hours driving a zig-zag route from far southeast Houston to the Uptown area. Nell gave the directions as suggested by the computer. They approached the mall from Loop 610, having bypassed congestion on the Texas-288/US-59 merge south of downtown Houston. From the exit onto westbound south Loop from northbound Highway 288, they saw a whole lot of high-rises, that had been developed as downtown and the farthest suburbs became just too long for commuters. Culhwch drove with ease amid the dense, fast-moving traffic. After passing the big curve where the Bay City Freeway split from the Loop, traffic came to a halt. The first hour had been spent getting to the Bay City/Loop interchange, and the following hour from there to a parking space at the Galleria.

Helen commented, “Cullen, you didn’t start the car that much this time.”

He locked the driver’s door. “I did, but you guys fell asleep.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you slept on my shoulder from the Grand Parkway until the Beltway.”

“How could you tell?”

“One’s a toll road, the other isn’t.”

Zaid shouted, “Wow!”

They stopped to stare at the Galleria. Actually, they stared at Galleria VI, which took up another city block, came with hotel, restaurant, and apartment developments. This Galleria became famous for having thousands of permanent residents living in a building that was connected to the most posh mall in a city of eight million. Towers poked out of a five-story high complex of very large department stores. God had blessed them with a parking space right in front. Most had to park in the garages.

After walking into the mall, Culhwch and Phil entered a walking coma. The women dragged them through miles of expensive jewelry, furniture, and above all – clothing. They had entered the mall around noon. It took an hour to leave the anchor store in Galleria VI. Another hour passed by whilst gawking at all the displays on one floor on one side in the very large sky-walk corridor connecting Galleria VI to Gallerias V, III, II, and I. Galleria IV could only be accessed through Galleria III, via the train platform and levels 2 and 5 at an anchor store. The corridor leading from Galleria VI to the other Gallerias winded for a half-mile and ended at a third anchor store. Another hour passed by there.

By 3:00, the women were hungry, and the men woke up. Zaid asked, “Where’s the food court?”

Helen responded, “We need a directory. Has anyone see one? Phil?”

“What?” asked a sleepy Phil.

“Did you see a mall directory anywhere?”

“No?”

“No? You’re not sure?”

“I wasn’t paying attention…”

Zaid asked sternly, “We’ve been walking for over three hours, and you haven’t been looking for a director?”

“No…why would I?”

Helen and Zaid complained at the same time. “Ugh, men.”

Nell said with a hint of subtlety, “Consider. Where would the food court be?”

Helen and Zaid were silent. Nell smiled and nodded her head in a direction of the mall. “In the middle.”

“Oooh!” The women awed, and began walking towards the vague center of the mall.

The men groaned. It took just less than an hour to find a food court, which was not exactly in the center of the mall. Among the three food courts, they found one of the ancillary ones. Phil whined, “Ick. We have a choice of nasty.”

Zaid responded, “Mall food isn’t that bad. It depends on how much you want to spend.”

“I want to spend my time sleeping in the car.”

“Then go!”

“Do you know where the car is?” asked Helen.

Phil shook his head. “You can drink some coffee at Suncash,” suggested Nell.

“Right, pay four bucks for a shot-glass full of coffee,” retorted Helen.

“The regular coffee is only two dollars.”

“In the Galleria?”

“The prices are set at the national level.”

Helen looked at Phil. “Enjoy your coffee subsidy.”

Phil half-heartedly saluted and walked to the trendy coffee shop. Culhwch followed. Another hour dragged by while the women argued about where to eat, then agreed to split up, then argued where to meet up, followed by yet more arguments about where to sit, and where Culhwch and Phil had gone to after the coffee shop. Phil and Culhwch had not gone anywhere. The women found them, slightly wired, in the plush, New York trendy-style shop. Phil seemed to be chattier than usual, while Culhwch seemed to radiate caffeine from his pores. Helen asked, “What did you guys get?”

Phil talked, quickly. “We got the large special.”

“Special?”

“Yep. Three bucks buys twenty-five ounces of special.”

“Twenty-five ounces?”

The men nodded tensely. Nell said, “We should take advantage of this. The traffic jams are starting now, but we get to ride the HOV. Our driver will be awake for the next three hours, so why not leave now?”

Zaid and Helen considered it, and when Phil asked, “Are you guys actually going to buy anything?” they reluctantly agreed to leave the mall.

Time had ceased to be measurable for the men in the group, so they just trudged along corridors of vague familiarity. Zaid spent the time looking out across the other side of the mall, at the stores that she did not get to visit. When the group began to drift to the railing, overlooking the other levels of the mall, she looked over.

The man from the restaurant looked back at her. He made clear eye contact, and did not look where he was going. She wanted to shout, “Watch out!” when he stepped over the tracks. He stopped onto the center platform, and waited. He turned his gaze to Nell. She did not notice him, nor Zaid observing the whole situation. Zaid keep watching as Nell walked away, and the man boarded the train. Zaid felt alone yet again, and tried not to make herself noticeable as she caught up to the group. She did not speak for the rest of the trip home.