Postcard from PDX

Past security, Audrey and Carl slipped on shoes and adjusted their carry-ons.


She smiled. “Let’s go.”

• • • • •

You just missed them; they’ve boarded a plane to Hiatus, which is somewhere between France and New Caledonia. Audrey left a note:


©2010-2011 Pam Wells



The tires brushed the curb as Audrey’s SUV took a right-hand turn.

“Dude! That’s an automatic fail right there.”

Evan groaned. He loosened his grip on the steering wheel just enough to complete the turn, not accelerating until the car was dead straight. He gradually picked up speed. His eyes darted back and forth between the mirrors.

“You gotta relax,” Joe said. “Any idiot can drive.”

“Not very well,” Evan said.

Pam Wells/The Pullets

Despite himself, Evan gained confidence and put his driver’s training knowledge to work so well that Joe said to drive home. “You have to get x-number of hours behind the wheel, right, before you get your license?”


“Any wheel?”

Evan was getting annoyed. “I don’t know—wait—”

• • • • •

The VW bus rattled and roared. Joe drove, Evan rode shotgun, and Animal Collective blasted over the sound system. They pulled out of the driveway and headed up the street a ways to warm up the engine, then onto a side street. Evan recognized it as the one he and Danni had cruised down when she’d told him about her accident. Joe pulled over just past the magnolia she’d made sure wasn’t passed off as a “tulip tree” to an innocent child a couple of months ago. Joe and Evan switched places.

“This is not a good idea,” Evan said.

“Yeah, prob’ly not,” Joe said, “but I’m kinda bored today. Gotta grease the clutch, okay? Clutch in, change gear, little gas, clutch out, more gas. Got it?”


Evan was right; he no got it. Miserable minutes went by in which he coaxed the bus onward only because it lurched each time it died. Finally he gave it enough gas to keep it moving in first gear.

“Second gear!” Joe yelled. “Good—slow down—brake, godammit, brake!”

The bus lurched and died in full view of the park. In full view of Danni. She waved.

Evan dropped his head on the steering wheel.

“Awesome timing,” Joe said.

“You think?”

“Go on, dude,” Joe said. “I’ve got a book.”

Joe reached behind the seat for a paperback as Evan got out of the bus. A few steps toward Danni and he’d pulled himself together. She always had that effect on him.

“I was waiting for you,” she said. “Didn’t think you’d drive up.”

“Well, it’s just—did we have a—I mean—”

“A date? No. Come on, let’s walk.”

Evan pushed her wheelchair. He’d figured out how to push it with one hand so he could walk more or less next to her instead of behind her.

“Have you ever been to Tacoma?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said. “I’ve gone by it on the train. The glass museum, couple of big bridges—”

“The Tacoma Narrows bridge collapsed four months after it was built in 1940.” Her voice wasn’t rising as it usually did, but staying in a quiet range. “It was the wind, and the vibration….”

Evan would’ve liked to hear more about the bridges—Danni was a rolling encyclopedia—but that’s all she had to say until they reached the far side of the park.

“My dad’s a professor,” she said.

“Uh, I think I knew that. Portland State, right?”

“Yes.” Danni bowed her head so her long hair closed around her face. “No.” As she looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with tears.

“Ohmygod, you’re leaving, aren’t you?” He knelt, kissed her sweetly and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t notice the sound of the VW starting up, or the low song of the engine as it drove away.

©2010 Pam Wells