❝When I had money everyone called me brother.❞
— Polish proverb

7 || friendship and money, is like oil and water

"No, I don't see it in here," I tell Brolin.

Is this even a wallet? It looks to be two pieces of jean material put together by duct tape. Right now, I'm searching for Brolin's license. He's pretty sure it's in here, but I haven't found it, yet.

"Is this really your wallet?" I ask him incredously, analyzing the wallet. This thing looks as if it's falling apart at the seams... Literally.

Brolin shrugs. "Eh, it's more of a back up wallet."

You would've expect Fern's car not to have air conditioning, but it does. I'm starting to feel cold. "What do you mean "back up" wallet?" I look at him as if I'm not understanding something. People only use a back-up, if something's failed them, or it's... lost...

"You lost your wallet?" I state this more than ask it. Seeing that he's not saying anything, confirms to me that Brolin lost his wallet. I'm beginning to think he's having a more fucked up day than I am. First he gets fired, second his grandpa's in the hospital, third his gold-digging girlfriend breaks up with him, and not to mention he almost gets a ticket.

"That wallet had nothing in it," he says, trying to make it seem as if losing his billfold is no big deal. "I still have my emergency credit card and train ticket."

I get annoyed at his attempt to make light of the situation. "That wallet had your license. Now that's something."

"Stop being a pessimist, alright?"

Ooh, Brolin is getting a bit angry, I see.

A smile forms on my lips.

"I'm not being a pessimist, you lost your wallet, hotshot. What if we get pulled over again?"

I watch him.

He doesn't say anything for a moment. "Be quiet, alright? You pointing it out, isn't helping." His shoulders are tense, and he's looking straight ahead at the road.

"Well someone has to," I shoot back. "You automatically think that when things get tough, oh let's not try to fix it. Let's act as if it's not even there."

He puts his foot down on the break, making us both fall back in our seats.

We then both turn and glare at each other.

Before he even tries to pull that, "you get out of my car crap," he's going to have to wrestle with me first. While I glare at him, I see that is the first time I've actually taken a good look at him.

He's handsome; nice cheekbones, full lips, and interesting eyes. I mentally laugh at myself, because this is the first time I've noticed Brolin's looks. Maybe the way we met, played a role in my obliviousness.

Even though he's stopped the car. Like I said, I'm not exiting this car.

"I'm not getting out," I declare, crossing my arms.

Brolin rubs his face and begins to stomp his foot on the pedal. "The car isn't moving..."

I look out the window. What problem is the car having, now? I don't want to have to hitchhike, if that were to be the case I'd rather walk.

"You stopped it, what makes you think you can't move it?" I say as I feel the blood inside my body, slowly rising. This is more out of frustration than anything. I don't understand how him stopping the car could make it stop working altogether.

He keeps stomping on the pedal. "It really, just stopped,"

I sigh. Here we go...

I rub my face. Don't panic, Karen. He's driving the damn car. You're just the innocent passenger.

Fortunately we took a back road, so it isn't too much of a problem that we're stuck here. Yes, there's always a chance we could be here until dark, and Jason comes out with his chainsaw and he saws us to pieces. The news would claim that we were lovers trying to have sex, but Jason came before any clothing had been shed.

The news would claim that we were lovers trying to have sex, but Jason came before any clothing had been shed.

That sounds like a bad nursery rhyme.

I let out a laugh.

"You're really laughing," Brolin says, irritation dripping from his voice. He isn't looking at me since he's concentrated on the pedal that's not working.

"Yeah,"

I try to stop laughing, but it's hard. Him trying to make the car move, is laughable. Laughable, I tell you.

"The ignition is fine, it's this pedal," he says making an observation.

I can still hear the ignition running.

I then take out my phone.

I could try calling someone, but no one's returned my calls,  and I really don't want to talk to Dad right now. I can already visualize how the conversation would go in my head.

Me: Uh, Dad?

Dad: Karey, where are you?

Me: I'm stranded in the back roads with a guy... He's driving his cousin's shit-mobile, and it just stopped working.

Dad: Well, what do you want me to do?

Me: ...

That's Dad.

At this point, I know he won't help, considering he's too busy trying to make sure we're not left homeless and dry. Which isn't bad, but Dad's always been worried about work, and I just wonder, when can he think about me for once?

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