T had suggested they go see a famous artist that would be only a 2-hour jaunt away. Going into it, this is all she thought they would be doing. After getting in the truck, he and T explained that they would be going 2 more hours on top of that in the opposite direction to pick up T’s new motor cycle. The majority of the ride was spent discussing T’s expulsion from the University. It began with a mere act of free speech against policy and turned into a whirlwind of meetings involving the director of art history. The expulsion was said to be about T not following policy though the expulsion seemed more so like an act of retaliation to an open letter T had dispersed across campus addressing the issue.
He was vibrating with stress over a planned protest they would hold the next day at the art building. She complained about being hungry since she had forgotten to eat earlier. They stopped at a Maid-Rite for dinner as she searched for the number of local news stations that may be interested in covering the protest. He and T got Maid-Rites while she insisted on a chicken sandwich, not knowing what a Maid-Rite was. He made her try his, attempting to pull her from her pickiness and try something new.
She took a few bites of her sandwich when he asked to see the inside. “Babe that’s undercooked.” He said, already surveying the tiny restaurant for a staff member to remedy the problem. “Sir? Can she get another chicken sandwich? This is raw.” The man looked dissatisfied with the observation and began to cook another.
“Great. Now I’ll have a spit sandwich instead of a raw one.” It was done the second round, though she had lost her taste for chicken.
Once back on the road, the same strenuous conversation continued, including what kind of posters they would use, who would come, and what their chances were of being arrested. They pulled into the parking lot that appeared to be relatively barren for a show to be going on. Walking in, they didn’t hear the echo of a lecture or the muffled sounds of a listening audience. All that was there was a woman, older, with the stature of a librarian. “Is this where the artist lecture is?” He asked the woman who looked back with regret to say it was over and that they had just missed it.
The disappointment was only a lingering feeling that dissipated quickly. He, she, and T decided to see the artist’s work that was displayed outside down the street. He and she decided that they would go to the Apple store, since it was the closest one to them and possibly fix the issues with their phones.
The mall the store was in was very large as they walked in with wonder. T went off to do his own thing while he and she waited for the geniuses to help them. A man attempted but both scenarios would have cost them each $200. Upon that news, they got up and left, deciding to deal with their personal degree of phone misfortune.
Back in the truck, T and he talked more about the situation, rehashing every detail. The final two hours to T’s motorcycle drug by until they finally reached a house in a cul de sac. He spent several minutes questioning the sellers as a group of four or five put the bike into the truck bed. The sellers had been mechanics and had refurbished the bike themselves.
She and he knew they wouldn’t be home until one but accepted it as she laid her head on his shoulder, falling asleep, only to wake minutes from home. He walked her inside and they both gathering in each other’s arms to rest up for the big protest.