Walking

Carson kicks at the gravel as it crunches under his feet, spraying rocks onto the highway. Another car zooms by without slowing.

He’d been walking for several hours now. His legs hurt…he was getting a blister on his right foot…it was cool out, but the morning sun felt hot…he was hungry….and he was thirsty. But staring down the desolate road proved it would be a while before relief.

So on he trudged. He felt as though he deserved this. The longer he walked, the more opportunity he had to think about how stupid he’d been. It wasn’t a good feeling. He was Carson Banks…he was supposed to be able to take care of himself. He relied on no one. He needed no one. He got himself out of any scrapes he got into and that’s just the way it was.

An abandoned gas station comes into view. At least there might be some shade for a few minutes…

Singing down onto the concrete ground, Carson lets out a long slow breath. This was ridiculous. It had taken several hours to drive this distance…was he really going to walk the rest of the way? He’d already tried hitchhiking once, but had had no luck. Not even truckers wanted him.

Carson’s hand digs into his pocket. His cell phone was gone. He didn’t know what had happened to it. Probably he’d lost it during the scuffle earlier. All he had now were a few pieces of change…a couple dimes and quarters.

Glancing up, he suddenly spots a pay phone. Out of pure curiosity, he gets up and goes to it, putting the receiver to his ear. It still worked.

Shaking his head, he hangs up and starts to walk away. He didn’t have anyone to call anyway. Walking was it.

But he stops again. None of options seemed appealing. He truly hated being here right now.

Thinking for a moment, he realizes that there is only one person that he would ever even think of calling. But did he even want to do that now? What would be said? What would be done? And would they even come? And did Carson even really want them to drop what they were doing to come?

He feels the blister on his foot again, and reaches up to the dried gash on the side of his head. He was in no shape to keep walking.

Finally giving in to better sense rather than pride, Carson turns back around to the phone. Within seconds, he’s hearing a tone, then the answer that awaited his response.

“Nate…it’s Carson.” He pauses. It had been a while since he’d even talked to him or seen him. This was ridiculous. If Nate turned him down, he’d walk. “Listen…I’m in a bit of a bad spot and…” He pauses again. Oh how he hated this. “Look, I need some help. I’m on the outskirts of Vegas without a way back home.”


Buzzzzz. Phil groans and rolls over to slap off his alarm. Yawning, he drags himself from bed and heads to the bathroom. Splashing some cold water on his face, he starts to make sense of his surroundings as he prepares for work.

Once showered and changed, he heads back down the hall, but suddenly stops. He looks at his watch. Kyle should have already left for work half an hour ago, but he hadn't seen hide nor hair of him.

Going to the closed bedroom door, he knocks. "Kyle?" No answer. He tries again. "Hey, Kyle!"

A muffled groan is all he receives.

Phil rolls his eyes and opens the door. "You need to be at work in fifteen minutes, you dork. Didn't you set your alarm?"

Kyle's head is buried in his pillow his blanket pulled up over his shoulders, despite the warmth in the apartment. He barely shakes his head.

Phil frowns as his brother's lethargic movements. "Hey, you alright?"

Kyle squints one eye open, making out a blurry figure in the doorway. He starts to speak, but nothing wants to come and his throat feels as though it's on fire. Finally he gives up and just shakes his head.

Phil comes in closer and puts a hand to Kyle's forehead. "Dude, you're burning up. What'd you get into last night?"

Kyle shakes his head again, letting his eyes fall back shut.

Phil sighs. "Well...I have to go to work. I'll call into the Pizza Box for you though. You need anything?"

Kyle shakes his head once more.

"Okay...see you later then."