The Scenic Route

“Do wanna do something fun?” Kasey says, hauling my suitcase onto the back seat of her coupe.

Mum’s smiling and clutching Dad’s arm; he’s shaking his head and pointing at his watch.

“Do you have anything in mind?” I say, waving them goodbye one last time.

“Let’s take the scenic route,” she says, gunning the motor.

I pull the door closed and we’re off.

#

Kasey and I go way back. We met on our first day at junior school and both went to Rosemary Wood High together. She was the big girl who was great at soccer, and I was the brainy one with pigtails and thick spectacles. We hit it off on day one. They called us the dynamic duo. No one could figure us out. On paper, we had nothing in common. But, you know what? It kinda worked. 

“Do wanna do something fun?” is the phrase they’ll chisel on her tombstone. God forbid.

It’s not that we meant any harm; we just wanted people to smile and forget their problems. Life can be so serious, can’t it? Kasey would wind me up and I’d get so embarrassed, but I loved it. I didn’t encourage her to lark about, but I should have done more to discourage her. I just thought it was harmless fun and went along with it, nonetheless. They called me Kasey’s sidekick, however, I wasn’t the fall guy. Nobody could believe I was involved, and I always avoided the flack. They said I looked half asleep, but really I was wide awake. I was like Macavity, the mystery cat; no, they didn’t call me the hidden paw. However, I never caused any trouble, and I was never there. 

Kasey’s final practical joke at the Rosemary Wood High set about an infestation that I understand plagues the school to this day. At the time, I admit I thought it was a hilarious idea to sneak the little creatures into the science class. I even agreed to provide the box and some cheese, thinking Kasey wouldn’t do it for real. Kasey said she could provide the mice, which she carried to class in her shoulder bag. On the day I got concerned at the prospect of an escape. Kasey cocked her head to one side and squinted her mouth into a smile. 

“Are you trying to give me ideas, or what?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, Kasey,” I said, covering my mouth in horror.

Our English teacher ‘Jumbo Watson’ was an old lady with a nervous disposition and a sharp tongue who always patronised Kasey. We sat at the back of her class, which gave me a chance to help my friend when Jumbo gave us spelling tests. I enjoyed English and often wrote up Kasey’s homework for her. I guess in the long run I wasn’t doing her any favours. It was just easier that way. 

The week before the mice incident, Mrs Watson had asked us all to bring something from home that no one would recognise. I’d brought an old Elvis Presley vinyl ‘78’ and a little ‘Dansette’ record player that belonged to my mother. Kasey had brought in her father’s old fishing rod, complete with hooks and floats. 

The old music machine created quite a stir. When I showed them how it worked, my classmates were slack jawed in amazement. They cheered and after six repeat plays, they were singing along to the lyrics. Everyone loved ‘King Creole’; especially the line about “jumping like a catfish on a pole.”

“But, it sounds all scratchy,” said Billy Bingham, “And there’s only one tune on it.”

“There’s another on the other side,” said Kasey. “Yeah! He’s gone, gone, gone. He’s hip shaking King Creole!” She loved the old school rock-and-roll music and jumped up onto her desk. We all clapped along to the rhythm and she brandished the fishing rod about as if she was wrestling with a mighty river monster; until Mrs Watson arrived.

“Kasey!” she squawked. “Down from there, right now!” 

“Aw, Mrs Watson,” she said, “I was just having some fun.”

“Young ladies, don’t behave like that---”

“But, but, but---”

“No buts, young lady,” she said, fuming. “You need to explain yourself to the head teacher.”

#

In retrospect, the mice weren’t such a big deal. Mrs Watson objected to Kasey, period, and made her life difficult. Kasey meant no harm. It was just unfortunate that Mrs Watson had a heart problem and an extreme aversion to rodents. She didn’t like pupils much, but mice were another matter. After they took Mrs Watson to hospital, we were told that she was on heavy medication. The head teacher, Mr Cockburne, told us in school assembly that Mrs Watson wouldn’t be returning and we were to expect a supply teacher. 

#

Mr Cockburne had words with Kasey prior to her first exclusion. He’d said that Kasey had made Mrs Watson’s life a misery. It surprised me when Kasey told me this. Quite honestly, I thought it was the other way round. Mrs Watson often made Kasey stand up and read passages from our reading book. Kasey struggled to read out loud, and we all knew it. It was Kasey’s Achilles heal, if you will. The more Kasey stammered out the words, the more Mrs Watson pushed her to continue. She asked Kasey to explain the vocabulary and the story’s thematic structure. It was painful to watch, and she reprimanded me if I whispered the answer or tried to come to Kasey’s aid. We got through it together, although Mrs Watson didn’t make any friends in our class.

#

On the day of the mice incident, we all knew what was going down. You could hear a pin drop when Mrs Watson entered the room. We all stood up behind our desks and greeted her. 

“Good morning, Mrs Watson.” We said together in chorus.

“Morning, class.”

She narrowed her eyes, and we all returned to our seats. Mrs Watson outlined today’s lesson and asked us to turn to page seventy-one for ten minutes of silent reading. All our heads dropped in unison and we opened our books to page seventy-one. A wave of restrained sniggers rippled around the room like a gentle summer tide lapping on a beach. Mrs Watson observed us all with snakelike eyes. Nobody dared catch her eye. 

“Kasey,” she said, “I’d like you to read the first paragraph please.” 

“I thought you said that we were---”

“Out of your chair, young lady. Now!”

Kasey stood up and the cardboard box slid from her lap. She clutched the text book in front of her face to disguise her smirk. A second wave of giggles cascaded around the room as the box clunked on the floor. With one eye on the container, Kasey attempted the first line. 

“When, when shall we,” she stammered, “Shall we three meet again?”

There were more restrained guffaws as the lid flipped upward. 

“In thunder, lightning, or in rain?” Kasey bit her lip as another curious white snout emerged. Everyone was now sneaking glimpses of the box on the floor. I bit my lip and hid behind my book as two more sets of quivering whiskers popped into view.

“Quiet class!” Mrs Watson focussed her gaze. “You’re struggling to contain yourself, Kasey.”

“I can continue, Mrs Watson.” I said, holding Kasey’s arm. “When the hurlyburly's done---”

“Young lady! That won’t be necessary.” 

“Kasey, please continue,” 

“When the battle's lost.” Kasey nudged the box with her scratched old sandals. “Lost and won.” Three more faces appeared. None of our classmates could hold back now. They exploded like firecrackers as all the mice ran amuck.

In the head teacher’s office, we had to explain ourselves. I took the blame, but Mr Cockburne didn’t believe a word of it. “I admire your loyalty,” he said. “But your friend is to blame.” 

“It was my idea, Sir.” I said. “I can explain everything, we just meant to---”

“Please return to class,” he said, clicking to knuckles. “I need to speak to Kasey alone.”

Kasey was no longer welcome at the school and he sent a letter to her father. He wasn’t surprised by Kasey’s behaviour. “She’s a baddun like her mother and no mistaking.” He’d tried his best with his daughter, but without out a mother’s touch he’d resorted to a thick leather strap. That night was no exception.

#

They excluded Kasey from school and sent her to a ‘special’ educational establishment called Wendall’s Academy for Young Ladies. It was a weekday boarding school set in the depths of the countryside; the pupils called it ‘Hogwarts for Hooligans’. However, despite the comparison, there were no witches and wizards and education was a euphemism for ‘do as you’re told, or else’. 

It was debatable what Kasey learned there, but it didn’t improve her grades much. Her life had become a series of detours and endless escapades. After the age of fifteen, we only got to meet up at the weekends. I’d have all week to concentrate on my studies and Dad allowed me out to play on Saturdays and Sundays. 

#

Kasey developed a hard face during those years at Wendall’s Academy. She went in as a mischief-maker and finished up as a street-wise prankster. She learned all sorts of stunts and refined her skill set in the most unexpected ways. Kasey turned up at my home one Saturday in a customised muscle car. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It looked like a cruiser and flew as fast as a rocket. There was something strange about the ignition. Kasey had to touch two wires together under the steering wheel. I was wet behind the ears in those days. I didn’t realise she’d developed a knack for hot-wiring vehicles. Nothing on the road was secure when Kasey was around. 

#

We liked to watch movies at the cinema together and afterwards we’d chill out by the lake and count the stars. She offered me cigarettes and slugs of liquor. I’d have a sip and cough, and she’d punch my arm and laugh out loud. I had my head in a pile of books most of the week. She was pulling stunts and hustling to get by. I don’t know why she put up with me; I was so naïve. Maybe that was why she liked me? I reminded her of what she’d missed out on; a simple world with sensible goals. Kasey could relax with me because I wanted nothing from her. She could be honest with me and had nothing to prove and less to hide. I was tipping my toe in an alien world and I was both scared and excited, in equal measure. I knew that I could walk away from Kasey any time I chose to. I was sure I could walk away from her, but for now it was fine; I could handle it.

I often wondered how Mrs Watson would’ve viewed our relationship, but I guessed I’d never find out. My parents told me she’d retired to a farm in the middle of nowhere. By all accounts, she was enjoying the benefits of a child free existence; managing better behaved livestock and growing her own crops.

It was a remote possibility that we’d run into Mrs Watson or even see her again.

It was unlikely that we’d sit next to her watching a movie or find her counting the stars with the students who’d caused her career to collapse.

#

Kasey offered to drive me to the airport and I couldn’t refuse. My Dad was unhappy about it but knew better than to get between us. Mum was worried but helped me pack for College. She’d experience as a student and wanted to give me last minute advice. It was my first time living by myself and I was nervous. On the day, Kasey showed up in style. Her red coupe was legit. She’d got involved in business. It had all happened over night and she was making money.

#

I looked out of the car window to see my father put his arm around Mum’s shoulder. I buckled up and adjusted my seat as Kasey floored the accelerator and we roared down the dusty road. 

“I don’t why you’re worried,” Kasey said. “I’ve been looking after my self since high school.”

“Well,” I said, pursing my lips. “It’s a big step for me.”

“Hey, kiddo,” she said, showing her killer dimples. “We could always get a place together.”

“I’m no good at housework and my cooking’s not great, Kasey.”

“I’d stay at home and you’d be the big shot lawyer, you know?”

“A law degree doesn’t happen over night.”

We reached the highway and stopped at the junction.

“Airport left or scenic route right?” 

It wasn’t a question. Kasey had decided. We turned right. I knew I couldn’t argue, but my smile faded as we increased our speed. We passed sixty-five miles per hour at the sign that gave a limit of fifty. A police car passed us on the opposite side of the road and Kasey smirked and pressed down hard with her right foot. 

We never saw the queue in front of us until it was too late. The scenic route contained a suspension bridge on the outskirts of town. It was an area known for its small farms and was sparsely populated. There had been an accident, and we were on course for a long wait behind stationary traffic. 

“Damn, farmers.” Kasey said, cursing under her breath.

I checked my watch. I’d allowed a little extra time, but nonetheless, I had cause to worry.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t tell me kiddo,” she said, checking the rear-view mirror. “Damn it.”

Blue flashing lights and a guilty conscience aren’t a fortunate combination. Kasey bumped off the tarmac and weaved her way along the inside track, passing all the cars waiting in line. 

“We agreed on the scenic route, right?”

“Well, I don’t think we discussed---”

“Let’s do it, then.”

We bumped along and turned off down a rough dirt track. The police lights ceased to be a problem, but only because the clouds of grit and dust we were kicking hid them from view. This was the scenic route without question, and the weather was changing by the minute. The sky darkened to the colour of a washed slate as Kasey ground her axles and crashed over potholes. We forced our way forward when the skies dropped their hefty burden; raindrops like golf balls tumbled down. Visibility was down to zero.

It was thirty minutes after we crashed into the tractor before the emergency services found us. They had to use a chain saw to get to Kasey’s body from the wreckage. I recognised the other driver straight away when she hobbled up towards me. She was in tears and couldn’t bear to look me in the eye. We’d ruined her first career, and this was probably going to set her back years.

The End