Yes, Yes

“Hey. You going to Tennessee, too?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m walking. I love the cool breeze. In my fur, oh yeah!”

“Oh. Well, I’m going to Kentucky. See ya!”

“How long? I mean, how many miles?”

Coyote throws sunglasses on and puts an elbow out the windowless window. “Mm.” He checks his GPS, hitting buttons and then finally says, raising his furry eyebrows, “Oh. About five hundred miles. Says…here…it’ll take you six days by paw.”

“By paw!” Bear jumps into the car. Coyote sighs. And reluctantly nods as Bear thanks him for the fact that they can ride together.

“Sure.”

“Sorry.” Car door on Bear’s side slams close, and Bear grins big. Coyote stifles a yawn and turns on the car. Bear sighs in relief. Coyote asks whether they need to stop for any snacks. “Nope!” Bear slaps his stomach. “Gotta lose some pounds. Ya know?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” Bear turns towards Coyote, who’s driving along. “What’s up?”

Coyote is quiet for a long time, and then proceeds to say, “My family’s lost our home. We’re trying to find a place to go. To live. We’ve been evicted from our motel home.” He snapped at a deer jogging along the road who almost hit his Cadillac. Bear blinked, he noticed, but turned away to pretend not to notice.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, the only thing that’s not causing me to chomp on that fat stomach of yours or for you to take a huge swig of my intestine juice is my frustration. And worry. And sadness. And impatience to just get a new den.”

Bear was quiet. They passed Las Vegas and then the Rocky Mountains. They journey and journeyed. “We going to stop?”

Coyote didn’t answer. Bear looked at him but didn’t say anything. They both slept on the side of the road in their seats. Once morning dawned, Bear asked whether they would stop for breakfast. “You’re lucky you’re alive, boy!” Coyote blinked, rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching. He sat up straight, and started the car. “Stay in, and we’ll make it. Get out, and you’re walking.”

“You know,” Bear said, looking at the GPS and talking over it, “you’re lucky to travel for so long. And,” he pointed with a claw to a gas station, into which Coyote turned, “you’re also lucky to have your family alive. Not to pry, but you’re not alone.”

Coyote got out. Coyote gave the car gasoline. Coyote walked into the gas station. He came out. “Went to the bathroom.” Bear nodded. He looked at the GPS. Three days. To Kentucky. He almost wished he were alone. He sighed.

“What’s with the long face?”

This was day one of three. They had ventured through the fields of Kansas, saw a tornado faraway and this is when Bear told Coyote he… “Never mind.” Bear said softly.

“Hm?” It was strong. Coyote’s mouth, Bear turned to say, was tense. Pinched. Bear blinked and turned away. His stomach rumbled. “Hungry?” Coyote asked.

“Uh…no.”

“Then tell your stomach to can it.”

“Okay.” Bear rubbed it. Coyote didn’t see what was going on. “You know,” Bear said carefully, “I just…your family is safe?”

“Yeah.”

Coyote obviously didn’t want to say anything. Maybe he was too stressed. Bear turned away and didn’t say anything. “Just…want to know why I’m here. Why we’re together in this car.”

Coyote didn’t say anything. He suddenly swerved off the road onto a dirt path. Said they were a day and a half away from the Grand Ole Opry. Bear almost fell out of the rolled-down window. He glared at Coyote. “Watch it, will you?”

Coyote howled. “Whee!”

Bear grabbed the wheel, and Coyote scratched his paws. Growling, Bear raised one while guiding the car with the other. “Drive, stupid dog!” Bear glowered at Coyote, who whistled but then Bear guided the car towards the edge of the road, and Coyote panicked, grabbing the wheel and begging Bear to let him drive. Bear nodded peacefully, and sat back, putting his paws behind him. He folded his claws. Coyote looked at him, and kept doing so while driving. Soon, they reached Illinois.

“My parents went to college here.” Bear said.

“Oh.”

“Where’d your parents go?”

“Nowhere. They didn’t go to school past middle. They were too poor.”

“Did you go to college?” A bold stab.

“Yeah. Somewhere in Kentucky.”

“Are we going to stop—”

“We’re stopping at your college?”

“No. The Grand Ole Opry.”

“Is that where your family is?” Then Bear stopped. “Sorry.”

Coyote’s mouth was tense, Bear saw. He shook his head. “You know, you can be angry. But you don’t need to take it out on me. I didn’t do anything.”

Coyote stayed silent. Throughout the trip, Bear softly suggested—

“Shut up!”

Coyote yanked the car over, and swerved to a stop. Some cool swerve, Bear noticed, but Coyote ignored him. Bear got out. Coyote stayed in the car and then gunned it. “Hey!” Bear yelled, but then Coyote did doughnuts in the road, and came back. Howling with laughter, Coyote shook his head. “Did you see that?” His sunglasses had never come off. But then they went down his nose a little. “Yeah?”

Bear wasn’t impressed. “How about you shut up?” Coyote let Bear get in, and then continued driving. “We’ll never get there if you don’t be quiet.” Bear said, almost crossing his arms. Coyote was silent all through the rest of Illinois and Kentucky and into Tennessee. When Bear, he saw for a second, was marveling at all the sights, Coyote looked at him. Pursing his lips, Coyote took his sunglasses and rested, putting his elbow on the edge of the window again. He got out of the car, and slammed the door. “We’re here.”

“No, we’re not.” Bear pointed. “We’re fifteen minutes. Man,” he shook himself. “I haven’t eaten in a while. Oh well.”

Coyote, who was skinny and probably needed some food, said to Bear, “My family’s still in Washington, where we started. Hope they’re still alive when I get back.”

“You’re alive. And…” Bear raised his eyebrows. “Your family is.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey!” Bear rounded on Coyote, who froze from fear. “I can eat you just like you can me. I didn’t force myself into this car. You let me. I could’ve walked. Besides, I know what it’s like to lose something. Just because you almost lost your family doesn’t mean I didn’t lose my whole family in a coyote attack. My wife and I escaped.”

Coyote’s jaw was on the floor. He just stared at Bear. He got back in, drove Bear and himself to the Grand Ole Opry. When they got into the parking lot, he turned to Bear and took off his sunglasses, revealing his sharp reddish-brown eyes. Bear looked at him.

He reached out a paw. “Hey—here’s to us.”

“Shut up.”

Bear turned away, getting out of the car. “See if your family’s alive, man. Go back home.” Bear walked away, shaking him away. Coyote watched him go, calling out for him to wait. He got out, sitting there, listening to the country music. He felt he needed to go. Go back home. He felt tired. Really tired. He went back into the car. He sat there. And put his car into motion. And grabbed Bear.

But when he got to his car, it was gone. He panicked. Bear put a claw on his shoulder, and he turned around, slowly calming down a little. “What?”

Bear didn’t say anything. Coyote, after staying up half the night, finally drifted off that night in a small hole that night somewhere in front of a restaurant. Bear woke him up, saying, “Guess what?”

“What?” Coyote growled.

“Come and see!”

Bear said gruffly, yanking Coyote out of the hole and shoving him towards the car that was his. “My car!” He ran, arms out, ready to hug it if he could. “Oh my baby!” But when he got to his car, he stopped. His arms dropped. He stood there, and turned around.

“Are they allowed?” Bear asked, raising his eyebrows. But before he could growl, Coyote said that, sure, whoever was in that car could—

No, it was not his family. It was Bear’s wife, she introduced herself. Coyote threw a stiff smile to her, and then nervously watched Bear as he threw a paw around her shoulders. Coyote blinked, and wanted to disappear. As Bear and his wife walked back into the show, Coyote watched the lights escaping through the clay-tiled roof. He ran into the theatre and asked Bear something during a commercial break. Bear asked, “Yes?”

“How are you so…?”

“So peaceful?”

“Yeah.” Coyote blinked. And looked right at Bear.

“Well, I’ve decided to not dwell on the past. I was angry, but I learned to just strive to process the fact that our children are going to see us again sometime.”

Coyote was silent. He heard nothing encouraging in the songs, and decided to curl up somewhere outside. He howled. He wished. He dreamt. The family he saw in his dream honked loud. He jerked up, bright smile on his face. But no car came carrying a female coyote and two little ones. He inhaled and exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he said softly, going back to the show, “they’re somewhere out there. And I’ll see them again.”

And he sat down, a smile on his face.

Bear whispered, “Let’s go.”

They all went, Coyote driving, not a swerve happening. Bear and his wife sat in the back, holding paws. Coyote, with sunglasses on, elbow on the edge, smiled. For real.

For once.

The map showed from Tennessee to Washington.