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Salim is nervous.
Admittedly that is a general state of being for him, though he likes to think he’s found more confidence since embarking on his new life.
Purpose will do that for a person.
He’s more willing to stand up for himself, more willing to send back a meal that isn’t what he ordered, more willing to stop and give himself over to God’s love and mercy no matter where on the road they find themselves, unapologetic and joyful in his supplication.
Purpose was the reason he’d able to point a gun to the head of a angry giant arguing with a skinny little woman and tell him to quit stealing his cab, and that, he thinks with some consternation, is the reason he is in this mess.
And, as mentioned, nervous.
Said giant is currently sprawled in the back seat of the cab, taking up more room than should be humanely possible, and Salim isn't sure what is worse, the smell of the corpse driving the car, or the smell of Sweeney not having showered in several days.
Salim, from his position in the passenger seat, is resolutely staring ahead so as to avoid what feels like a brewing tension in their small space.
It had started in the morning.
“Move.”
“It’s my turn to drive.”
“Like fuck it is, I ain’t seen you sleep for days and I don’t fancy seeing what happens to that meatsack you call a body if you plow us into a tree.”
“I’m dead, asshole, I don’t need sleep.”
“No? Then why are you trying to buy condoms instead of gum?"
The pause had been a hateful little thing.
"Maybe I'm starting a collection."
His response had been succinct, filthy, and earned him a black eye.
It had continued through lunch, when she'd slapped his hand reaching for the pile of papers on the counter.
“No, no more travel brochures.”
“Why the fuck not-“
“You don’t need more brochures. I don’t need more brochures.”
“I’ll just keep them in-“
"You say that but then they're on my seat and in your pockets and I can never find anyth-"
"Fuck off I'm getting a GNNNK."
“Did I fucking stutter dude put the fucking brochures down.
The gas attendent had been so uncomfortable Salim had had to pay and apologise as Laura had dragged Sweeney out by his beard, growling and hissing as he stuttered in pain.
The sulking that ensued had only been eased when she hadn't been able to find a cigarette and he'd refused to roll one for her until she'd threatened him with something called 'grape shucking'.
And into the afternoon, when they'd pulled over so Salim could pray and Sweeney could relieve himself.
“Why, every fucking time, why?”
“Coincidence?”
“No; you have some kind of piss radar. Whatever you want to fucking talk about can wait until I-“
“Awww, does it get shy?”
“Fuck. Off.”
“Can’t go with people watching?”
“FUCK. OFF.”
“DID YOU JUST TRY TO PISS ON MY BOOT?”
Now, in the late afternoon sunlight, it seemed to be building to something. He knows he shouldn't be surprised, given that they seem to find any excuse to argue and escalate, but he really couldn't have expected the blow out over...this.
The car has been quiet for a blessed and glorious five minutes when he hears it.
A bright humming sound coming from the driver’s seat.
The hum becomes a tune.
The tune becomes words and a melody.
And, quite suddenly it seems, she is singing along to the radio.
One night of magic rush
The start of simple touch
One night to push and scream
And then relief
It was a pretty voice, throaty and sweet with a rasping breathiness, clear and in tune, and he finds himself smiling at it.
This is not something he associates with her normally, though he has seen her expression soften and her smile seem genuine as she has watched him pray. Now she looks about 15, watching the road with a dreamy expression as she sings softly.
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
There's something almost reverent about it, gentle and unassuming but honest, and Salim feels his chest expanding and his eyelids prickling. He thinks of a man with eyes like fire and knowledge, warm and rich and wonderful, the honest comfort of knowing with everything he has that he has a path now and following it with love in his heart and belief in his soul.
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
He wants to stretch but doesn’t move, hesitant to disturb the feeling a peace descending over the cab sinking into his bones, aware that this is something special. She’s not even fully aware of singing along he thinks, but that gentle guitar and her voice are a cool, somewhat lost but hopeful little melody that he feels on his skin like silk.
He glances in the rear view mirror.
In hindsight, this was the mistake.
Maybe it would have been fine if he’d looked away immediately.
If he’d averted his eyes, pretended not to see Sweeney’s mouth slightly open as if parched and sated, seen his eyes at half-mast as if he’d only just opened them, in a reverie, staring at the back of her head as if in prayer. He looks younger, open and a pining, a yearning is stripping years away and reducing his focus to a single point.
He’s leaning forward slightly to hear her better, and Salim watches as something like longing passes the big man’s eyes.
If he looked away now, it would all be fine.
But he doesn’t.
He’s been so focused on what peace or something like it looked like on that tense, angry, guilty face that he forgets to mind his damn business (which, frankly, has been his survival strategy so far) and keeps watching, even enjoying it.
Mistake.
Sweeney straightens suddenly as if becoming aware of being watched.
His eyes shift like a predator spotting prey and lock onto Salim’s in the mirror and he knows. Knows his expression has been one he hadn't meant to share, and Salim is well aware that he is very close to danger and so he panics, hard, and does the only thing that comes to mind.
“Hey, could we try another channel?!”
It’s too bright, too cheerful, and she’d probably have called him out on it except he changes the dial without waiting and is relieved when something loud and distracting fills the cab.
Laura, who has been utterly oblivious to the politics of the rear view mirror, grins happily and swats at a rogue fly.
“Yes, good call!”
The guitar is rich and twangs pleasurably and she immediately begins shifting happily in the seat and then singing along as loudly and raucously as possible. Her movements are slightly out of beat but there's genuine joy in her now off key singing.
The change would be hilarious if the man in the backseat wasn’t pouring death into that rear view mirror, and Salim shivers at the knowledge that they both know what he’s seen and Sweeney looks ready to pop Salim's head like a grape and he thinks briefly that there could be worse songs to be murdered to than this music when…
Actin’ funny, I don’t know why
Excuse me while I kiss this guy
It’s like someone flips a switch.
Their staring contest stops and they are both watching her now as she continues to sing.
Salim's heart is thumping but once again the big man's attention is completely on Laura and this time it's with a kind of unabashed horror followed swiftly by amusement.
The bark of laughter from the backseat is harsh and surprised and turns into a laughing fit that starts in Sweeney's belly and pours into the cab.
She turns as if to see what’s so funny. “What, hey quit it, what?”
He’s laughing so hard there are tears in the corner of his eyes. “You fuckin’…is that what you think the words are?”
She rolls her eyes, looking back at the road. “Um, I think I know what the words are, dumbass. This is a classic!”
He’s laughing so hard now it looks like he’s in pain. “You…you have got to be the stupidest-“
“Hey, fuck you! Those are the words! Hendrix was progressive!”
Salim is trapped in some sort of nightmare as she looks to him for agreement and he realises then and there how the flight, fight, or freeze response operates.
He cannot bring himself to move in any direction but he's aware that he has still somehow taken a side and her eyes narrow.
At his silence she slams on the brake, hard, sending Sweeney into the plexiglass divider and opening the door hard enough to bend the metal.
Sweeney is deeply unimpressed as he sighs and opens his door, muttering.
“Aww for fucks’ sake.”
He watches as Sweeney hauls himself out of the cab, striding around the car to follow her partway up the road.
“You’re fucking insane, you know that?”
So a zombie is walking off in a huff as a leprechaun follows her and Salim thinks maybe madness isn't such a bad idea after all.
They've stopped now to better turn and face one another, expressions furious and gesticulating threateningly.
Sweeney is towering over her bellowing about young people murdering classics and not knowing their history and while the 60s saw a helluva lot more freedom and plenty of stars may have dabbled Hendrix wasn’t fucking singing about it in Purple Haze.
Laura is not backing down, craning her neck up at him with her arms crossed before squeezing her hands in front of her as if she wants to choke him and indignantly shouting that she had spent enough time listening to that song and others that she was perfectly aware of the lyrics and didn’t need a drunken hobo to explain shit to her and where exactly he could take his opinion and to fuck off there with it and fuck off some more.
Salim wonders if this is the strangest thing he will ever see.
She stomps off up the road and Salim watches Sweeney cursing aggressively at her retreating back, lapsing into the same language he sometimes speaks when truly hammered and feeling melacholy, before lurching his way back to the cab.
On Sweeney's instructions Salim drives to a local bar, where Sweeney buys a bottle of whisky and spends 5 minutes flicking through an old jukebox catalogue. Salim stays quiet, well aware that any sudden moves may lead to Sweeney remembering their rear view mirror nightmare, but he relaxes somewhat when the big man hands him a packet of fries and some ketchup.
By the time they're back on the road Sweeney is half cut and chuckling to himself while Salim asks how they're going to find her. He's worried, it's getting late, and he's starting to think that without her the big man's luck will get them both killed (as evidenced by him stopping to take a piss without interruption, slipping, and hitting his head so hard Salim wonders if leprechauns can get brain damage).
"We need to find her, she could be lost."
The chuckle is back and Salim fights the urge to hit Sweeney hard, just once, feeling immediately guilty at the rogue thought.
"Haven't been around women that much, have you?"
Salim thinks of his mother and sisters, thinks of fleeing and trying to establish himself here, and says nothing.
Sweeney nods to himself. "Don't you worry, your beard'll be back in no time."
Salim ignores the jab and stares out into the night.
Sweeney's voice is gentler now. "She will."
It’s one of the few times he’s seen Sweeney this calm and confident and he nods.
Salim spreads out in the back seat of the cab to sleep as Sweeney watches the road from the driver's side.
He puts on the radio and hums quietly as he sips the whisky, and the smell of cigarette smoke is oddly reassuring in the still of the night.
Salim is half asleep but hears something, and his eyes flick open at the sound of murmurs. He's alone in the cab.
He sees their outline, Sweeney sitting on the hood of the cab with both feet planet on the ground, Laura's smaller frame illuminated by the moon behind her.
He can barely make out the words, low but still audible.
“So you checked it.”
“Yep.”
“And it said…”
“You know what it fucking said.”
He’s sure he’s going mad, because in the dim light it looks as if she’s standing between Sweeney’s legs with her back to him, much closer than he’s ever seen them. If it was day time he's sure he'd be wrong, but in the quiet night it looks as if she's leaning into him, and Salim regrets that he can't see their faces.
If he was more awake he’s sure it wouldn’t look like Sweeney is keeping his hands in his pockets but leaning forward so he's speaking into her hair, pressed close and not unwelcome.
He can't hear what is murmured but they are both still for a moment and Salim thinks about love or something like it, misses brown arms wrapped around him, feels the longing of home.
A low chuckle breaks the moment and a tuneless, half laughed lyric echoes through the night.
“Excuse me while I kiss this guy…ARGHHHH!”
There is nothing quiet about the shout that fills the air as she tosses him over her shoulder hard enough that he slams into a nearby bush.
Salim has learned a lot today, including when to pretend not to see anything, so as the door of the cab opens he pretends not to see her climb in with a smile on her face, pretends not to see Sweeney looking pained but still amused as he climbs from the bush and finishes his cigarette in the moonlight.
By the time the other door opens and the cab starts moving again he is pretending so well it’s like he doesn’t see the driver and passenger pointedly not looking at one another, and he drifts off to sleep again to the sound of a soft, sweet voice singing.