Let Your Heart Drive Read Free

He’s thanking me for calling roadside, I know it’s part of his ‘protocol’ and he sounds so professional and all, but at the same time almost yawningly repetitious. I begin to wonder if anyone has ever truly thanked him for doing his job. Back in the cruiser, I watch the palm trees streak by with the parched desert wondering in my head which bag I had crammed my camera in.
     

     
    We pull into the enclosed entrance, driving right over a massive Route 66 logo, painted white on the hard cracked concrete. I collect my things and give credit to Officer Hernandez for not cautioning me on the dangers of a young naïve female traveling alone. My dad and I have already been through the drill and I’m not actually traveling alone, apparently the entire state of California is now on high alert and making sure I’m tucked in safe and sound for the night. I step out of the police car, walk around to the trunk and retrieve my other bag. I send Officer Hernandez a small toodle-oo wave and thank him.
    I don’t hear him drive off until I pass through the automated double doors into the spotless lobby of the hotel. My guess is that he’s reporting to his Sargent that his mission is complete.
    I turn to the prim and smiling receptionist at the front desk. “Hi, I need a room please…”
     
    -
     
    As soon as the door closes, I let my hair down and kick off my grunge plaid Keds. The room is small, charming and thankfully, I’m on the lower floor. It has the basic necessities, microwave, refrigerator and a coffee maker. I’m good. I toss my overstuffed bags on the bed and buckle down and dig through my assortment of clothes. I’m not the best clothes coordinator and it shows as I pull out jeans, T-shirts, flat irons, a crumpled bag of chips and finally my Sony camcorder. I can see my dad giving me that unsatisfactory look of his, like I broke some sacred commandment that makes it unlawful to pack chips, clothes and an expensive piece of electronic equipment together. I like a certain level of mild chaos, my dad likes none.
    It’s strange to not have my phone light up every ten seconds with messages from my ex and all my friends, but this trip I’m on is kind of like backpacking through Europe, a rite of passage or a pilgrimage. Of course, I’m not backpacking and this isn’t Europe, and I’m okay with that. My real friends get it and the others, well, they don’t count. I excavate my tripod from another bag and set up the camcorder. I have decided that I’ll do a video blog of my road trip, once I finish each day, I’ll post it and then the world can share all of this Route 66 novelty with me.
    Before I shower or start my vlog I call the roadside number. I frown a little when I hear the sound of an older man’s voice. “Hi this is Sinead Noelle, I have a rental car that has broken down… and I was just wondering—”
    “Ms. Noelle, please hold one moment,” the man interrupts, and I’m suddenly listening to the weirdest on-hold music I have ever heard in my life. It’s enough to cause a sensation that I’ve landed in a frighteningly funky world. Pleasantly Groovy isn’t even remotely close to how I would describe it.
    “Hi, Sin?” I instantly know the husky voice and my mood is promptly better. He has one of those voices that penetrates right through you when he talks. A voice that can hold your attention kind of like Denzel Washington or Jude Law.
    “Hey there Trey,” I laugh softly at the fact I was connected directly to him without having to ask. “How did you know I called back?”
    “Oh, I told the crew that I was working on this service for you and that if you called back to let me know. The guy that answered the phone is sitting right next to me, so, here I am, with the service complete, but …”
    “Oh my God, you did not just use that word on me. Do you know how horrid I think that word is? It’s the keyhole to all evil and bad news. I started a petition to get that word removed from the