iMissyRae 2.0: "Drexting"

It's 11:36 pm and I'm in a five seat Honda that hides seven teenagers within. Myself and four others sit crammed in the backseat, envious of the ones who sit comfortably in the driver's and passenger's seat. Another friend of our's lies on our laps, her head constantly hitting the door side at any bump or turn. Our arms lie on each other's shoulders to create an extra fraction of room for our cramped bodies. My chest feels vacant since no seat belt is holding me down and I glance at the others in the backseat; I see that they aren't wearing theirs either. This is illegal, this is illegal, I chant in my head, but push the thought away. At least we're having fun, I think. The windows are sweating droplets, and I crack my window open. The cold winter air finds its way into the car, and we all sigh out of pleasure. The once humid air in the car is now crisp and fresh, but I know I'll close my window once we begin to shiver. This cycle of opening/closing my window will continue on throughout the night and I laugh siliently.


We're driving, illegally I think, on the infamous "8 Mile Road" in Northern Stockton, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything supernatural. Numerous stories have circulated about the ghosts and monsters of this long stretch of pavement, and as adrenaline junkies, we crave fear. Jerry, our legally licensed, 17 year old driver, speeds past the suburbs of eight mile, and we smile at each other in anticipation. Beck Ranch, Spanos Park East, Trinity Parkway, West Spanos, and then nothing. The road becomes narrow, unlevel, bumpy, and the darkness engulfs the white car. Jerry's headlights highlight the road ahead but as I look out my window, I find nothing but shadows. I look at the clock on the dashboard and though it reads 11:43 pm, I feel as if time has stopped because of us, because of these stupid teenagers who are bound to be pulled over by an anxious and waiting policeman. I cringe at the thought and my heartbeat quickens. Stockton is far behind us, and the tiny road leaves no room for a U-turn. It's too late, I think.

Jerry turns the music off and we sit quietly as the car bobs this way and that on the uneven road. No one seems to be around for miles, and some see this as an opportunity to experiment with the darkness that surrounds the little car. "Turn off the headlights," pleads a friend. "I want to see what it looks like!" What a dumb question, I think. Of course it will be pitch black but Jerry finds this request amusing and in response turns off his high beams. The black night blinds us, and we are left with shadows and then nothing. Most scream while others exclaim how "fun" this is turning out to be. One other is letting out a stream of curses and yells at our driver. Jerry immediately turns his headlights back on and we take deep breaths to steady ourselves. Jerry's cell phone is vibrating and he glances down at it with longing.

"Keep your eyes on the road," I say.

We continue to drive past fields and trees, aimlessly pleading with fate to allow us to see something or hear something ominous and terrifying. But the mood shifts and soon we're laughing at a comment someone made about another one of our friends. I notice Jerry is driving quite faster now, pushing the speedometer towards 40, 45, 50, and soon 60. His phone buzzes again, and he seems reluctant to leave it sitting there all alone. He picks it up despite my scolding and looks down to read his text. The others continue to laugh when something catches my eye and I turn suddenly to the road ahead.

There is a red Mustang speeding towards us and I finally realize that Jerry has drifted into the other lane. The Mustang is frantically honking its horn at us and I realize that the road is to narrow for the car to escape. It's trapped, I think. I scream at Jerry to look ahead and he lets out a scream. The Honda swerves back into the right lane, and the Mustang speeds by unharmed. Exclamations of anger and fear arise and we skid to a stop on the side of the road while the mustang's horn blares in the distance. Elizabeth, the one who lies on our laps, is cursing angrily at Jerry and soon sits up to take his phone. Despite his angry plea, she throws his phone out the window and we are shocked into silence.

Soon we're driving everyone home and there are now only four of us in the car. I sit in the backseat, humming in the awkward quietness and let out a smug sigh.

"I told you not to look at your phone," I say.