RJ's Arc

Chapter 6 of 7

The cloud held its shape for one more breath, then dropped. RJ flinched as it fell, soft and slow, settling into the field like something laid down by hand. When it touched the grass, it wasn't a cloud anymore. It was red. Solid. A 1931 Model A Ford, glossy and whole, sitting where the cloud had been. RJ couldn't move. Christopher started toward it, then turned back. "Come on." RJ followed. The grass behind the car was scorched in two long black streaks, like the car had braked hard from somewhere far away. RJ touched the fender. It was warm. "I found one of these in a field once," RJ said. His voice was thin. "Bought it for almost nothing. Drove it six years." He looked at the car sitting still in the long grass. "And here it is. Dying in a field again." Christopher opened the driver door. "Get in." RJ slid behind the wheel. Christopher walked around and got in beside him. The seats smelled like old leather and rain. On the dash, the radio was already lit, glowing soft blue. A song was playing low through the small speaker. It was their song. The one they'd sent up. Coming back down through a car radio, the way songs do on long drives, the way his songs never had. Someone, somewhere, was playing it on a station. Someone had heard it and put it on the air. RJ didn't speak. Christopher didn't either. Tears ran down both their faces in the quiet. Outside the windshield the field was still, the air held like water in a basin. RJ let his hands fall from the wheel. The song kept playing. It had reached someone. That was enough for now.