After the wine bar, the six of us piled back into the rental van to return to the hotel. I'd had three glasses back there, and I felt good. The fear of not having anything interesting to say was shushed when I found myself talking to Will who said, "And I admire you writers and I'll tell you why," but never really did, and instead went on to rant himself something awful, about why parents didn't do a better job of taking their kids' education seriously.

I made several noises as if to answer his questions-- my mouth opened, my throat clicked. No entry. Brian sitting next to me smiled. He'd watched us all day like this, me pushing and pushing to be heard. After the third glass none of it felt important anymore. Brian began telling me about his girlfriend in Phoenix. "You kind of look like her." I didn't. I'd seen a photo of them once, and she looked meek. Hungry. He said he'd worried he didn't know what motivates her life. He had a terrible beard.

In the car, Brian offered to sit in the far back with me, our knees touching. We were barreling through the overpass at ninety miles an hour when Mike slammed on the brakes and screamed. I screamed loudest, I clenched my eyes, and made my body into a mean knot. Will said, "Christ," and Adrienne said, "Asshole!" We noticed Mike had pulled over, was laughing. Had gagged us.

I looked out the window, the low concrete barricades cresting along the smudged skyline across the river where we'd just been. Brian held my thigh, "You okay?" I nodded. Then he gripped Will's shoulder. "You okay?" Will said yes, said he was glad he'd been drinking. Another hand on my thigh, "Sure?" I was fine. I wanted to know what river water felt like inside my mouth.