STORY: Long Obedience

"Are you Louis?"

"Yessir. Avery?"

"That's me," I said as I climbed into the back seat of the old gold Accord. I closed the door behind me and situated my suitcase on the old stained tan fabric beside me. But he still didn’t go, just holding the steering wheel with his head turned just far enough to see me in his periphery.

I said, "Uh... we can go. Just catching a flight."

He nodded and affirmed, "Mm hm."

But we still didn't move. Louis looked to be a 20-something year old fella with a pale face cratered with acne scars.

I sat back wondering if I should say something. Waiting awkwardly, I just resorted to putting my seat belt on.

As soon as the click echoed through the car, he looked forward and we moved.

He drove with two hands on the wheel and straight posture, eyes always directly on the road. He reached for the Monster energy drink from time to time. I noticed a tattoo that went from under his shirt, up his neck, and disappeared under his hair. (where would someone have a shaved head and shirt off often enough to need a tattoo like that?). He drank from a Monster energy drink in one center console cup holder, which sat next to another one unopened.

From time to time he took puffs from a vape stick he produced from somewhere. I suddenly remembered the marijuana in the front pocket my backpack. "Oh, shit."

He glanced back at me.

I replied, "I just remembered I fuckin' have some pot in my bag."

His eyes got big in the mirror but then slowly drifted back to the road, still large.

I started to unzip my bag as I said, "You know, these are going to go to waste, would you wanna... with me..."

His eyes stayed large and on the road. I tried to read him but his expression didn't change. Eventually I just zipped my bag back up and determined to throw them out the window when he wasn't watching.

When I settled back I noticed a hand-made sign on the back of the seat in front of me. It said, "Ask me about how much Jesus loves you."

I stared at it and then back at him, and then back to the sign making sure I read it right.

We pulled up behind a stack of traffic and red break lights. "Hey, I see this sign... ummm."

Still silence. I looked at him and his eyes were on a leather-skinned homeless woman in a tank top with a sign.

He said, "Can you hold on a sec, please?"

This was the first time his eyes waited on me, though it was only through the rear view mirror.

"Uh, yeah. Okay?"

"Thanks." He looked over to the empty passenger seat and grabbed what looked and sounded like a rolled up lunch bag. He left his door open as he ran across a lane of traffic and stood by her. He stayed with her there for a minute or so and whatever deal they made, his back blocked me from seeing it. I leaned to look into the passenger seat but the seat belt locked. I grunted my frustration and undid it and peaked around the seat. I saw four more brown paper bags bulging with something and rolled up on the seat. They each had something written on them in sharpie?

The cars started moving and he turned. I saw her let go of his hand and reach toward him in a mothering way. Otherwise her face looked numb. His brown checkered polo, plain jeans and old Reeboks looked like they were from The Salvation Army, or he had been wearing them long after they should have been sent there. He closed the door behind him and sat there unmoving with his hands on the wheel as the car in front of us got further away. Someone behind us honked. I suddenly remembered and put my seat belt on. He quickly caught up to the car in front of us.

We merged into the fast highway traffic. He glanced at the map on his phone. "When do you need to be there?"

"Uh--it leaves uh--in two hours. I'd like to be there by, uh 5:20- ish?"

He did a calculation in his head and nodded. I restarted our conversation, "Uh, um..." but was perfectly split between needing to know about the woman and the sign. Then I noticed a gold coin, like ones from AA, taped in front of his tachometer, and any path I had started down in conversation swirled away like ink in water.

I just looked out the window. We slowed with the rest of the traffic and passed a car with a flat tire. I watched the black teenager and his girlfriend staring at their flat tire. But the next moment we had pulled out of the lane and stopped in front of their car.

Louis said, "We'll still make it in time." And leapt out of the car. He left the door open again and jogged back to them. He made a quick introduction and the kid handed him the tire iron. Louis knelt down next to the tire and went to work. The girl friend looked in my direction and suddenly looked weirded out. I closed my mouth, swallowed and turned back forward. I shook my head and then opened my door and leaned out to look back. Louis was teaching the kid how to change a tire, though not looking at him, as he spun the tire iron to pump up the jack. Louis was also glancing at the cars driving dangerously close to them and seemed distracted that some of the kid’s tools that he couldn't reach were close to getting run over.

I set my feet on the ground. Louis somehow saw me and shouted, "Hey! I know this is unprofessional but if you're willing, bring two of the bags from the front?"

I nodded, glanced at my stuff, bit my lip, and then reached around the seat. I gathered two of the bags with my fumbling fingers and then jogged toward them. I glanced down and tried to read the markings as I secretly felt for what was inside. "...such plans" I rotated it as I felt it. Inside must of had a toothbrush package, and maybe some granola bars or cookies. And maybe some socks. "God has... for you" The words stretched around the other side It said, "God has such plans for you." I set them beside Louis and gathered a few of the tools from the traffic.

Eventually we got back in the car. But we didn't go.

I scrambled and buckled my seat belt. We merged into traffic again. "Um, so I was gonna ask about... uh,”

I paused for some reason though. He glanced back and saw my eyes which were accidentally on his tattoo.

"Oh, it's uh--" He looked back forward and massaged his tattoo similar to how he would if his neck was sore. "It says 'Iiyika'kimaat ' which means never give up in Black Foot. I'm a quarter Native American."

"Fuckin cool, man. I love Indian shit. Was it ike your life motto or something at some point?"

"Uh, not really. I want to be transparent with you," he seemed uncomfortable for the very first time. "But I don't want to give you the wrong impression of what I believe. I've always wanted to hear from God, but I just don't... really. And there was a time I was doing time on a chain gang type thing and we'd wear these like shirts…" He made a motion to indicate a tank top like a 'wife beater' without saying the word. "And I had a shaved head and I wanted to make sure God could see all day that I'd still never leave him.”

We sat in silence. His hands on the steering wheel. We arrived at the back of the line in the airport traffic. He picked up his phone, opened some new app, and I could see him swiping, slow at first, and then almost frantically.

"You, uh, looking for good fuck for tonight?" I tried to deliver it with a smirk he would get.

"Um," he paused for just a second and in a flat tone replied. "No. Not on here no.”

A moment later we started moving again and he placed his phone back in its holder. It showed Duolingo flash cards for learning Korean.

I added, "A Korean wife?"

I saw him try to hide an embarrassed smile.

"Eh?" I was doing my best to break him open.

"I've been going to some Korean church services."

"Okay, so you ARE pretty religious then?"

"Koreans hear from God all the time."

"Wow, man you really need to know if God is real, don't you?" My eyes drilled into him. His eyes stayed on the road but squinted, as if my question was completely unrelated. I thought a second longer and added, "Oh I think I see. Is that why you do all this good stuff for people? You're a little bit OCD about not going to hell?" I regretted the tiny bit of disdain that slipped out in my voice. I sometimes did that with religious people.

"God's definitely real," He held one finger as if working through my questions. He held up a second finger "And no, I just want it to be more like heaven, right now." He thought for a minute longer and added, "J--" was he choking on a knot in his throat? "Just a lot."

As we pulled closer to the drop-off curb he said, "You should probably give me three or four stars. I know your ride has really been interrupted."

"Won't you get less riders and less money and all that stuff?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm covered. I've just given you an unprofessional ride, leaving my seat and having you help me with the tire and stuff."

“Nah, man. Don’t worry about it.” We still hadn't quite come to a stop, and I was about to miss my chance. "So, about this... uh... sign..."

"Oh," he nodded. He didn't say anything until he pulled close to the curb. He tapped the button to turn on the emergency lights and undid his seat belt. He turned around as I was taking my seat belt off and opening my door. He looked me straight in the eye, his mouth trying to form something. It seemed like it lasted ten long seconds. I put my foot on the ground, as if just to break the awkward waiting. I gave him my best weirded out look to try and make myself feel less awkward and fake in a moment that seemed one human trying to deeply communicate something to another. "This question,) I pointed to the sign. “How much does He love me?" Again my bitter skepticism flavored my tone.

His hand shot out and grasped my knee. He shook his head sadly. Were his eyes watering? His eyebrows burdened his nondescript eyes with a sorrowful look. "Just..."

His hand firmly gripped my knee.

He whispered, "A lot."

I bit my lips and nodded. He could probably see my discomfort as I slowly pulled away from his grip. It wasn't unkind. Just, it was time.

I pulled my last suitcase out and looked him in the eye with my first authentic look. I knew he could see my own disdain with my hard-seasoned skepticism. I nodded slightly and turned away. I slung my backpack over my shoulder, rolled my suitcase toward the airport doors. I glanced back and then slipped my ziplock of weed into the trash can before rolling through the doors. My phone dinged.

It read, "Rate your driver" and showed the five empty stars.

I typed in the comments and said "If I could, I'd give this man ten stars and a raise." I gave him a ten dollar tip, clicked submit, and rolled myself toward security, wooed by the rolling of my suitcase's wheels. I pulled out my contact solution to give the world a reason for my watering eyes.

Raw Spoon, May 31, 2026