I'll probably write a full commentary after posting the full story about why it doesn't work, and what does (in my opinion). The format comes out a bit screwed on here, so my apologies.
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I woke up with my stomach in the air. The car drove over a bump in the road;
its insides shook and banged. I squinted out the window and at 80km/h the
rocky landscape of pine clad hills shrouded in morning mists cycled by.
Momentary glimpses of ruined castles appeared and disappeared into view,
scattered on top of mountain peaks like rejects from a fairytale.
Wedged in by the window and crammed into the back seat, two Russians
competed for space next to me.Elbows thrusting into bruised flesh with
the clammy heat of human contact tenderising tired muscles.
“Morning Jessie, beer?” Ivan said, he thrust a bottle of Binding in my face.
“What time is it?” I said. I pulled the lank hair out of my face and my
mouth gaped for oxygen. Ivan glanced at his counterfeit designer watch.
“Just gone eight,” he replied.
“It's eight am,” I rubbed my eyes for sleep dust, “and you guys have
already started to drink?” I said. I could feel my face twist in disapproval.
“Not me,” Jens,the Germanic teddy bear in the front, said. “I'm driving,
only those two are drinking.”
The car stunk of rotten hops; bottles both full and empty rattled on
the floor and leaped off the front passenger seat.
“You sure you don't want a beer?” Ivan persisted. His grin widened
and his eyes offered a further slant as he attempted to push the bottle up
my nose. I felt the gag reflex as I caught the stale scent oozing out of the
green glass cylinder. Yuri leaned forward and pointed to his beer while
grinning. He stuck his thumb up in approval.
“No thanks I think I'll wait until I've at least had breakfast.” I said,
feeling my stomach crunch.
“You know what you guys are? You're a bunch of pussies.” Ivan said
loudly. He downed the contents of his bottle. “You guys have nothing on us
Russians.” He beat his chest proudly before pointing to Jens and myself.
“You not Russian, you from Vladivostok,” Yuri said. “Your family
were Chinese.” Even when he attempted humour, Yuri sounded like
someone just died.
“Hey my family have been in Russia for generations, just because
I have Asian ancestry doesn't make me any less Russian you motherfucker,”
Ivan snapped back.
“Oh Shut up!” Jens shouted. “It's bad enough I've been driving this piece
of shit since five am, I don't need you two getting drunk and going all
'Crime and Punishment' on me.”
“When are we stopping?” I whined, desperate to extend my body since
I am not a contortionist.
“Soon, we can get hold of some coffee and food.”
“And more beer.” Yuri said with a grin. He lifted his bottle and wiggled it.
“You guys won't be able to walk by the time we get to Munich” I said.
“Nonsense – we give harder stuff to children for breakfast” Ivan said.
“I have some Hefeweissen too if you want, it's essentially liquid bread.”
He reached into the crate on the front seat and pulled out a bottle of
Paulaner.
“Get that away from me! ” I squirmed.
Ivan took the credit for the Oktoberfest road trip. He suggested we take
Jens's car and crash at Jens's sister's place actually I don't know if Jens
had any say in the matter.
The hours when the drunks are unconscious in their beds and the
workaholics wait for their morning alarms to explode, we bundled into the
sardine tin that Jens called his car. I sleepwalked from the house to the
vehicle, unconscious again before we even left Darmstadt. I woke up
somewhere outside Stuttgart. Two Russians, one German and one
English going to a beer festival sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.
Jens pulled into the rest stop and the engine turned off with a
mechanical whimper. We all looked bad in our own way; Jens had black
circles under the eyes, Yuri's skin was fish pale, Ivan's glasses were twisted
in Picassoesque proportions and my hair showed trademarks of Medusa's
hairdresser. I'm sure our combined odor made people move tables in the
diner.
Like all aesthetically deprived roadside structures, the station kept in
Vogue with its concrete blocks, metal hinges and glass doors. We walked
through the glass doors to the oasis of exhausted travellers where quality
becomes irrelevant because you just don't care anymore. We entered the
café and sat down to wobbling tables and the cold metal chairs; after
spending hours crammed in the back of the banger I relished the luxurious
leg room. Jens returned to the table carrying a vision piled with pastries and
magnum sized coffees caffeine and food enough to fuel a bus. Jens
encouraged gluttony with good reason we planned to drink a lot and
something needed to soak the renegade alcohol from nausea. He chucked
back successive cups of black coffee and took large bites from the pastry to
cleanse the palette before attacking the next quadruple espresso.
Our table attracted disapproving looks and conspiring whispers from the
other customers as our two Russians became animated in Slavic discussion,
which, to the tone deaf ear sounded like they should take it outside.
I rolled my eyes and looked across the table back to Jens,noticing he might
smile if one placed a mirror under his chin.
“What time will we get to Munich” I said. “Two hours maybe if we are lucky.” Jens said in a monotonous and dry voice.
“I told my sister we would be at her place around 10.30.”
“That's if your car doesn't fall apart first.” Ivan said with a snigger.
“Hey, my car is an East German classic.” Jens said. I couldn't tell from his tone if he joked Germans seldom joke – his voice rarely varied
with emotion.
“It wont be much of a classic if it breaks down between Stuttgart and Munich. Your car is already a piece of junk.”
“Hey Ivan, you can walk to Munich if you want, or maybe if you start
walking back to Darmstadt now and we can hoot at you on our way
back.”
“I swear Jens, the amount of weed you smoked in your youth has warped your mind man.”
“You're one to talk 'Mr. I drink vodka for breakfast'.” Jens said.
“Hey vodka is at least legal asshole,” Ivan said, animating his voice and
pointed his finger back at Jens.
“Oh shut up.” I said. I put my hands on my ears. “I am tired, sleep
deprived and in two hours time we are going to be imbibing beer by the
litre. Can we have some peace for five sodding minutes?”
“But we already drink beer.” Yuri said. His cupcake eyes oblivious to the
conflict while wearing a smile of idiots ignorance.
I threw a sugar packet at Yuri. Crystalline flakes scattered across the table
served as a reminder that I don't appreciate humour beforemy third morning
coffee.
“Hey Jessie it's OK to drink like a girl, when you are one.” Ivan said,
he winked like a Eurotrash star.
I passed a scowl to him. “Don't give me shit just because I don't have a liver
of steel.”
“Enough of the bitch fights. Lets eat up and get back on the road. I told
my sister we would be there before 11 and it's...” Jens looked at his watch.
“already 8.30.”
“Stop being so bloody German Jens.” Ivan said, he lent back and
threw his hands up.
“Guys as much as I love all the little racist stereotypes, and how cute it is
to see you guys bicker like old women, it's too early for this.” I said.
I downed the bitter liquid and picked up the sticky bread. “Come on then
lets get back on the road.”
“What?” The guys said in unison, still they sat with drooping eyes.
“Why waste time on breakfast when we could be in Munich drinking
liquid bread in a couple of hours?”
Jens got up from the chair and the Russians remained continuing their
discussion. Ivan looked up sensing movement; he found himself subjected
to our mean stares he dragged Yuri out by the collar. The Russians got into the back of the car leaving only a tiny corner left for me to morph into.
“Remind me again why the front seat is unavailable?” I asked Jens.
“Ask these two here,” he pointed to the back-seat drinkers “they are the one who insisted on bringing not only luggage but also a crate of
beer as well.”
“And the boot?” I asked in vain since I assumed the answer wouldn't be
good. “Can we not put things there?”
“Um... it's jammed shut, can't open it.” Jens brushed his shaggy brown hair back.
“Can we move their crap to the back seat?” I said, signs of my desperation for space cracked at the seams.
“No time, we really must get going now.”
I sighed, I got back into the car and I squeezed myself next to Ivan, Jens closed the door applying the extra force to stuff us in. I had to survive
the next three hours until Munich and prayed I wouldn't get deep vein
thrombosis on the way. Ivan offered me a beer, but his eyes offered comfort
instead of mockery this time. I took the bottle in self-medication.
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