Hey – yeah, you – what’s the craziest profession you’ve ever served a drink to, because I bet I can beat it. I’m – well, I’m not really a bank robber, truth be told – first and foremost, I am and always will be a performer. Doesn’t matter if I’m an actress like I used to be, or a comedian like I am now. Being on the stage is the love of my life.
I like to think my parents named me after “Romeo and Juliet,” because they knew I was destined for the theater. If they did, they nailed it. All through high school, I was the star of our theater club, not to mention all the community theater plays from before that. I was in every big show during college too. I’ve done everything. Comedies and dramas. Packed houses and empty seats. I’ve been given oversized flower bouquets, and I’ve been told “maybe acting isn’t for you, sweetie.” My point being the robbery was honestly just a gig. Who knows if we’ll do that again? At least for right now, I know neither of us are exactly itching to get back out there, not after last time. It was an absolute cluster – oh, right. I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this.
Although, the bar is pretty cleared out now. Hold up – wow, am I the last one here? That’s crazy. I remember walking in here earlier tonight and thinking the minute my set was done I would be sprinting back to the El stop. Should’ve known myself better, I do tend to be the last one at parties. What can I say, medicine cabinets take a long time to clear out! No, I’m just joking around. I just thought I’d want to race back to the actual city again. I usually don’t perform here. Not that it’s not a good bar or anything, it’s just not… a good comedy bar. Not to say it’s a bad vibe, or anything like that. Seriously, seriously, it’s, um, it’s charming. But this whole area, pretty much all of Skokie, really, it isn’t what you’d call a comedy hot spot. And not because it’s not a fun area, it’s just not… fun in the traditional sense…. Are you from around here? You grew up here? Of course you did.
Fuck it. I’m not going to be able to say this right, so I’ll just get a drink. I still get free drinks, right? All the performers are supposed to… okay, cool. One kalimotxo, please. With the orange garnish if it’s not too much trouble. I know, I know, it’s a weird order.
I was good tonight? Aw, you think so? Thanks, I appreciate that. I’ve only been doing stand-up for a year or so, actually. I know, I’m pretty good for a newbie! Juliet De La Cima, remember the name, it’ll be in lights one day. I used to do theater before this. My best friend Indy and I, we’ve been trying to become famous actresses since college, but I decided to make a change. I had a few producers tell me I wasn’t “generous enough of a performer.” They said my energy overtakes the stage. But in stand-up, that’s acceptable. Most comedians are just actors who don’t like sharing a spotlight.
I don’t usually get up to this part of Chicagoland that much, but it was what my agent booked for me tonight. Usually I’m downtown, or just west of it. Places where I don’t have to take the entire goddamn red line to a different fucking city. I’m pretty sure my agent thinks this is the beginning of the end for me, for my career on the stage. Matter of fact, he said something about that to me around two months ago, the same night that the idea for the bank robbery was born. After one of my sets, he came up to me and said, “Juliet, what I’m about to say might come off as rude, but I have to be real with you. You’ve got talent, but you’ve missed your window. Your act, it’s brash, it’s exciting, it’s just the right amount of vulgar, but it needs to come from somebody else. Somebody a bit younger. Then it’d be really funny. I don’t mean to be a dick about this, I’m just trying to be honest.” Or something along those lines, I don’t remember it word for word.
Anyway, that night, Indy had come out to catch my set. You might’ve heard of her, actually. She’s not as much of a rising star as she used to be – I’ll come back to that – but she’s landed some bigger roles with some real theater companies. India Elliot? Doesn’t ring a bell? Oh, well. Worth a shot. That night, though, that’s where the robbery started to come together.
I really shouldn’t… oh, fuck it. It’s a good story.
I’ll start by saying that technically, I’m not to blame for the robbery, because Indy came up with the idea. That’s how that works, right? I think that’s what the law says, and if it’s not then it doesn’t matter because laws are supposed to be interpretive. Lawyers don’t even know what laws mean – they’re just confidently making shit up. They’re like improv comics with actual talent. Yes, I’m joking. Jesus, sarcasm isn’t rocket science. Anyway, I wouldn’t have ever thought to do it before she asked me.
For a few months prior Indy had started getting noticed in the theater world. Sometime in May, so… around five months ago, she landed this big part for a show at Steppenwolf. I know. A big part. The kind of part all the starving artists out there like me would kill for. I really couldn’t have been happier for her. What’s with the look? What, now you think I’m joking? I’m serious. She’s earned it. Those parts always go to the same group of breakout-star assholes, and Indy, my Indy, my best friend, snuck her way into that group.
Except, right after she got cast, she found out she was pregnant, and when she told the director she got cut. So now, she and her husband have a kid on the way, and no theaters cast pregnant women, especially not for a role big enough to support a family on. And even though she’d been getting bigger roles, she was still just getting by. Plus, her husband just graduated culinary school, so he’s not exactly raking in the big bucks. The shitty thing is, they wanted kids! Indy and I used to always argue about it, since she loves kids and I think they’re like all the downsides of having a pet without any of the upsides. I guess I see the appeal, but not like she does. She and her husband really wanted a family later on. They just got stuck with bad timing.
Oh, perfect. One kalimotxo. I’m honestly surprised you knew how to make it. Usually, I have to explain what’s in it to the bartenders, and when they find out it’s equal parts wine and coke, they look at me like I just ordered a glass of my own spit.
So anyway, Indy got pregnant, and she’d been having trouble finding work for couple of months, which means all that career momentum she’d been building just fizzled. Once people stop noticing you in this business, you’re finished, so her acting career had basically gone dead in the water right as it was taking off. My heart just broke for her when she told me all this. I can only imagine how upset I’d be if I were in her shoes, how pissed off, how afraid. And this is Indy we’re talking about – if anyone deserves to succeed in this business, it’s her. When she performs, you can’t help but stop and watch, and just relish in that goosebump feeling you get, like when you hear your new favorite song for the first time. Her acting feels like art. I like to joke that she’s the only person I’m okay being upstaged by.
That night, she came and talked to me, and you could hear how desperate she was getting. I would never have thought of her as the kind of person to pitch robbing a bank, but I guess when we’re desperate, we don’t act like ourselves. If it makes it any better, I thought about it for a little while before I decided I wanted in. Why did I do it? I don’t know… part of it was the money, I’m sure. I can’t pretend that what my agent said that night didn’t make me a little scared, and it’s always nice to have an extra few bucks lying around, or an extra few thousand bucks. Plus, how often do you get the chance to rob a bank with your best friend? You’re lying if you tell me that doesn’t sound exciting. Who doesn’t fantasize, just a little bit, about their life being like a movie? Mainly though, I just didn’t want Indy to get caught, because she doesn’t have the mind for planning heists. She’s too nice for it. The main thing she helped with is her knowledge of the roads and the highways in Illinois, since she’s lived here all her life. She grew up in Aurora or something, but she says she’s from Chicago. One of those people, you know?
Where am I from? New York City. Well – Poughkeepsie, technically. But anyway, I did most of the actual robbery planning.
My life motto is, if you’re going to do anything, ever, you have to go all the way. If you’re not going to make it unique, or extraordinary somehow, why bother doing it at all? It’s no different with robberies, or any other crime. The way I figured, everybody’s going to come running in with their guns out, wearing ski masks as their disguise. We’re theater people. Let’s make this theatrical.
We ended up raiding our old theater’s prop department. Wigs, wardrobe changes, BB guns painted to look real. I borrowed a fat suit for Indy so she could hide her pregnancy belly from any eyewitnesses. She was around four and a half months along by then, so she was just beginning to show. I grabbed a bunch of helium balloons, too, so we had something to carry to block us from the bank cameras, and after we leave the bank, we can destroy the evidence by just letting them float off into the sky. Good luck to any cops trying to track those down. Pretty clever, right? Oh, and you’ll love this. Right before we went into the bank, I inhaled some of the leftover helium to disguise my voice. I – oh, come on, stop laughing! I know you’re picturing it, but you’re getting ahead of the story. I did most of the talking, so people weren’t paying as much attention to Indy while she was getting the money out of the registers. If I’d had more time, I would’ve tried to get that reverse-helium stuff – I always forget the name of it, but it’s some gas that makes your voice super deep if you inhale it. Would’ve been scarier than being robbed by Alvin and the Chipmunks, but hey, we work with what we’re given, right?
We picked this bank all the way out in Dixon. That was Indy’s idea, credit where credit’s due. It was a good call on her part. A smaller bank means less people. This particular one has no security guard, either – we sent Indy’s husband to scope out some of the potential targets, and this was the only bank we found without one. Plus, we figured Dixon, Illinois wouldn’t exactly be the trendsetter for bank security. We started googling different ways bank robbers usually get tripped up – on a public library computer, of course. The big one is dye packs. Everyone forgets about those little fuckers. The insane thing is though, they’re only really ever hidden in the twenties or tens. For whatever reason, they almost never put them in fifties and hundreds. I guess maybe it’s because you have to cut a hole in an actual stack of bills to hide the dye trap inside, so the bank might lose money if they cut up anything more than Andrew Jackson’s horse face. You want to know where we found that out about dye-packs, by the way? Wikipedia! No joke. That website really is a life saver. Anybody who tells you not to use Wikipedia is actively rooting for you to fail.
What’s that? Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely take another. The drinks are still free, right? Great. You know, that’s the only good kalimotxo I’ve ever had. I’m serious! And I’ve had more than a few. My dad grew up in Spain, and this was what he and all his friends drank when they were younger. He had me try it when I turned 21, and I had to stop myself from spitting it back up. Red wine has never done it for me. It just tastes old, like you were supposed to drink it earlier. I only order kalimotxos because they make people go “ooh, what’s that?” But this one? Genuinely delicious. You should advertise that a little more, it’s an actual skill to be able to make a shit drink taste good. Highlight what makes you stand out, you know? Otherwise, it’s just going to get overlooked. I had a theater professor say this once: the worst thing you can be in this world is forgotten about.
We picked a day at the end of August for the job. I offered up my car, because if they start looking for a getaway vehicle, I’d rather they trace it back to me, not to Indy. We printed out a fake license plate and glued it over mine, so it’d be harder to track me down. The day of, Indy and I drove out to Dixon, and we made sure to avoid the toll roads so there’s less of a record. Robbery pop quiz – where should you park the car when you get to the bank? Close to the door? Bzzzzt! Sorry, you get arrested. They have ATM cameras out front that’ll catch you in 4K if the car’s too close. Indy and I put a ton of thought into this, and I figure the best place park is in the middle of the lot. That way you’re out of range for the cameras in the bank and any traffic cameras nearby.
Oh, I’m sorry, is that a yawn? Am I boring you? No, no, I’m just messing around. Honestly the whole planning part was sort of boring. It’s like doing research for a big role. Nobody actually wants to do it, but it’s necessary in the long run. I know this isn’t the part you want to hear about. I should get to the exciting part already, right?
We got into costume outside of town. I found this bulky green jacket that makes me look bigger than I actually am, and I put on sunglasses, a cowboy hat, and a bandana to hide my face. I went for kind of a modern spin on the Old West vibe. I figured that would give local news channels plenty of fun nickname ideas for when they cover the story. While Indy changed, I blew up as many of the balloons as I could and tied them together in a big bundle, so that it makes a canopy when you hold it over your head. I made sure a couple of them hung low around our faces too.
When we pulled up in the parking lot, Indy started to panic. I remember her itching at her shirt collar a lot and saying “This isn’t going to work, Jules. We shouldn’t have done this. We can’t have thought of everything.” I think she was just surprised by how easy it was. You don’t really think of bank robberies as something that can be pulled off using Wikipedia and printing a fake license plate off. I told her I wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever performed at all, in a play or anything, but there’s this feeling you get right before you go onstage that’s similar to a fight-or-flight response. There’s this moment of potential energy, where you just think “Okay. This is it. Either I crush this, or everything crumbles around me.” It’s the peak of your nerves for the show, and after you get over that crest, everything becomes easier. For me, the crest was the whirring sound of the sliding glass doors opening. Indy followed me inside. Early on, in the planning phase, we’d discussed a bunch of different ways to conduct the robbery. She’d suggested doing a note robbery, where you give the teller instructions on a piece of paper and keep the whole thing very under the radar. I wasn’t a fan. For one thing, it’s hard to keep a low profile when you’re carrying Carl Fredricksen levels of balloons. Plus, where’s the fun in that? Where’s the excitement, the drama? I know, it’s safer for pretty much everybody involved. But I have to confess, if it came down to getting away with it versus making it a spectacle, I’m a sucker for a spectacle. At least we’d get our ten seconds of fame in the news report. Am I crazy for thinking that? I feel like you’re just staring at me, waiting for me to say that I’m joking.
We stepped into the bank and scanned over the scene. There were three tellers, one customer mid-transaction, and cameras fucking everywhere.
I saw Indy adjust the balloons in her hands, and took that as my cue. I ducked down and inhaled a bunch of helium from one of my balloons, then stood back up and said in the squeakiest fairy princess voice you can imagine, “This is a robbery! Everyone back away from the desk and get your hands above your head!” One of the tellers gave us the up-and-down look, and then started smiling. I swear to god, he did exactly what you’re doing right now – just that nervous courtesy laugh, while he waits for someone to come out and tell him he’s being pranked. I can’t really blame him at all. Imagine if somebody came into the bar right now carrying enough balloons to salvage a lame birthday party, and in a helium voice tells you, “Nobody be a hero! Comply with what we say, or we’ll be forced to take drastic action!” You can’t picture that and be like, “Nope. I don’t see why that’s funny.” I almost laughed myself, and I practiced it front of the mirror beforehand. But I kept in character. I’m a professional. I realized we needed to establish credibility, so I pulled out the BB gun and cocked it. He stopped smiling right away and backed away from the desk.
Indy moved forward and held out a bag for the money, and I gave the whole instruction speech as best as I could without cracking myself up. You know, the usual stuff. “My associate will be coming around with a duffel bag. Please deposit any fifty- and one-hundred-dollar bills inside the bag, keeping your feet as far from the desk as possible and your hands above the desk. After y’all have emptied your register, please back away from the table again. The quicker this gets done, the quicker we leave y’all be.” I thought it’d be smart to throw in the occasional “y’all” to throw them off the scent a little bit. I could see Indy shaking as she held the bags out. I get it was a scary situation and all, but I couldn’t help but be a little annoyed by that. She didn’t even have a speaking part here, I was the one putting my voice – and my car – out there to be recognized. Seemed like I was putting a lot on the line for her that I’m not sure she would’ve done for me. I guess if the tables were turned, I would be scared for my husband and my career too, but it still felt like we weren’t on the same page about it.
Eventually, all the registers were empty, and Indy came back to where I was standing and nodded. I wanted to do a little stage bow, but I couldn’t risk my disguise slipping off, so I just shouted a cookie-cutter stand-up goodbye, something like “Thanks for being great victims, Dixon! Good night!” Indy grabbed my hand and yanked me out the door.
Running through the parking lot back to our car, dodging between the other cars and lugging these duffel bags full of money… it was a feeling similar to when you and your friends would go TP a house when you were teenagers. Just giddy excitement at having gotten away with something, regardless of how temporary the victory actually is. I was giggling – full on giggling. Indy was breathing heavy. She threw the bags into the trunk and let go of her balloons, and was in the passenger seat telling me to hurry up before I’d closed the trunk. When I joined her in there, she was already trying to take off her bandana. I had to tell her, “Indy, not yet! We still have traffic cameras to worry about!”
She yelled back, “Fine! Just get us out of here!”
Oh, here's another tip. I should start charging for these or something. Maybe I can teach a crash course if stand-up doesn’t work out. The trick to getting away with something is to do it so wrong that nobody even suspects you. I call it “success by stupidity.” The bank we picked is like a half-mile off the interstate. But we can’t make our great escape on the freeway because that’s where they’ll be looking. It’s the obvious getaway option for anyone who’s looking to get as far away from Dixon as possible, which is what any logical person would do. So, we skipped the freeway and took these dumb little Podunk roads out of town, making all these weird turns, doubling back and all that. Once we were far enough out of town, we pulled off to the side of the road to change wardrobes. Indy wriggled out of the fat suit and shoved it under the driver’s seat, and I tore off the print-out license plate and buried it on the side of the road. I can only assume it’s still out there somewhere. Maybe one day I’ll dig it up to show Indy’s kids the kind of shit we used to get up to. You bet your ass I’m going to be the cool aunt.
We probably added an extra two hours to our getaway, but we were just cruising out there, taking our sweet time, knowing nobody would be looking there for us. I always assumed the stress level during a getaway chase would be like a big audition on steroids, but it was kind of nice. Indy seemed on edge still. But this time of year, the cornstalks paint all the farmland in this really peaceful shade of green, and this nice summer breeze keeps it from getting too hot. I rolled down the windows, cranked some Billy Joel… it was relaxing as fuck.
Thing is though, the getaway was where shit went sideways. We were driving along this gravel road, and our car dipped over toward my side and started rumbling, more than just from the gravel. If cars could limp, that’s what it would feel like. I didn’t realize what it was at first. I’ve never been in a car with a flat tire. I’ve spent most of my time in trains, not cars – I’m from New York City. But I could tell from Indy’s reaction that it was bad news. She just started muttering, “oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” and then told me to stop the car. I pulled off on the side of the road, and before we’d even reached a full stop, Indy was out of the car heading toward the back. In the side mirror, I saw her get to my tire and freeze, then she clapped her hands over her face. I got out to see what all the fuss was about, and there was a nail buried into the rubber. The tire looked like it was melting at the bottom.
Indy lost hope pretty quickly. She just leaned against the car and said, “It’s over.”
I don’t remember a ton from the rest of that conversation, but there was a lot of bickering about nails and what they’re doing in the countryside and how fucked we were on a scale of one to ten. At least at that point in the day, I figured we were at a three, tops. We were off the main road. Nobody would be looking there for us. I’m not saying a slashed tire is the getaway dreamboat or anything, but Indy was overreacting. We realized pretty quickly that neither of us knew how to put the spare on, and I remember saying, “Come on, how hard could it be to change a tire?” Turns out, changing a tire is fucking impossible. I think it’s one of those things that certain people are just born knowing how to do, and if you don’t know how and your car breaks down, you’re just shit out of luck. I mean, do you know how to change a tire? Of course you don’t! That part of your brain is occupied with knowing how to make a kalimotxo that doesn’t taste like expired grape soda. Oh – yeah, I will take another, thanks! Indy’s mom knows how, but that’s not really an ideal conversation to have with a parent, is it? “Hey, mom, can you drive out to the middle of nowhere to help change our tire? What were we doing out there? Uhhhhh….” So that was out. Plus, I’ve met Mrs. Elliot before, and she would’ve wanted a cut of the money for sure. I tried googling how to change a tire, once the middle-of-nowhere internet service finally got around to bringing the page up, but it wasn’t even helpful. It was a bit condescending if anything. The internet doesn’t need to be such a know-it-all about these things.
Eventually, we just gave up for a little while. Indy slowly got less nervous and more resigned to being caught, which I guess she thought was inevitable. Both of us leaned against the car and waited. Indy dug around in her center console and found some granola bars, which I’m pretty sure were from the Cretaceous period or something. You have those in your car too? I swear, everybody has some nasty fossilized snack in their center console. Maybe they just come pre-installed in new cars. Anyway, as we were sitting there, I finally got a chance to look around at the scenery. There were two wide, flat hills behind us and ahead, and the one behind had this huge ash tree at the top of it, one of those trees that’s older than anyone alive today, maybe even older than those granola bars. Jeez, dude, calm down! The granola bar one-liners are killing harder than any joke I told tonight! All around us though, there was nothing but corn fields, rustling and whispering with the breeze.
Honestly, it got old quick. The middle of nowhere is a lot prettier when you’re just passing through. That cornstalk green I mentioned earlier, it starts to just look like a green screen, this monochrome wall that stretches on forever and never changes. The farmhouses in the distance, they all look the same. White wooden slats. Blue wooden door. Porches along the front. The furniture inside is all probably all that nasty olive-green color with pink flower patterns over it. Those houses creep me out. You only move to a place like that to die in it.
By that point, I’d had enough. We couldn’t stay there forever, you know? I got out my phone, and as soon as I did Indy asked me what I was doing. I told her – I was gonna call Triple A. I’d barely even gotten the words out, and she slapped the phone right out of my hand and goes, “Like hell you are.”
I told her, “First of all, that better not have scratched my screen. And second of all, calm down, alright? Don’t you want to get back to the city, back to your life? I know I sure as fuck would if I had your life! I mean… we have to do something. How else is this tire going to get fixed? I’m just trying to help the process along.”
“You’ve helped enough,” she said.
I don’t remember every detail, but she was worried that whoever came from Triple A would see the money and our props in the trunk and would report us, which may be the dumbest thing Indy’s ever said. I’m not sure how much you’ve interacted with Triple A… not much, okay. Well, allow me to be the first to tell you: they do not ask questions. Back when I was with my last partner, she locked her keys in the car, and the Triple A lady who showed up just pulled out one of those flat ruler-looking tools and broke into the car for us without a single word. It was so fast, we weren’t even sure it had really happened! In all honesty, there’s a chance she wasn’t even with Triple A. But I wasn’t going to tell Indy that, I was trying to make a point. I guess it worked, because Indy just shook her head and kicked a rock across the road. She said something like, “Fine, but if they turn us in it’s on you.” That gave me pause, at least for a moment. I don’t want Indy to go to jail, that’s the last thing I want. But we needed to get out of there, and we couldn’t just wait for somebody to stop. I rifled through my wallet and found the number.
Have you ever spoken with someone where you can tell how completely useless they’re going to be after one sentence? Actually, who am I kidding, you work in customer service. Anyway, the Triple A line beeped, and I heard some dude’s voice go, “Yello? Oh, uh, American Auto Association, how can you, ah, how can I help you?” I had to bite my hand to keep from laughing.
I started explaining the situation to him, and after far too long we get to the point where he asks for where we are. I realized I have absolutely no idea where we are, we’ve pretty much been doing switchbacks on country roads for the last two hours. I didn’t even know which way is back to Chicago anymore. I told him that, and he said he can’t help us without an address. He asked if we can describe the area we’re in. I looked around. Cornfields on one side, cornfields on the other. I told him that wasn’t going to help much, and I asked Indy to find us on her phone. She was way ahead of me, and she showed me her screen.
Turns out we were pretty close to a town called Paw Paw, Illinois, so I told him that. Motherfucker asks how to spell Illinois. No joke. I defy you to name one customer you’ve served who’s said something dumber than that. No, no, that wasn’t a challenge! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you win!
This was the fucking weird part, though. I asked Indy to find the name of the street while this idiot spells Illinois. She grimaced at her phone and said, “There isn’t one.”
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
“This street has no name.”
I asked her if she scrolled. You know how sometimes the street name is just offscreen. She rolls her eyes and scrolls so I can see it. She was right. I’m telling you, it straight up didn’t have a name. I grabbed her phone and looked at it, and nothing came up. I thought maybe the internet out here just wasn’t loading it. Then I noticed, there was this intersection at the top of the hill, under the ash tree, maybe a hundred yards away. I started jogging toward it. As I got closer, I could see little flashes of white on it. This is it, I thought. I told the Triple A dude I had the street name for him. Then, as I got up the hill to where I could see the street sign face on, you know what it said? Nothing. The thing was just painted green with no words on it. I remember whispering into the phone, “What the fuck.”
On the other end, the voice went, “Ma’am?”
I just told him as plainly as I could. This street didn’t have a name. I turned to Indy, then back to this ridiculous green rectangle in what might be the actual middle of nowhere. I turned back to Indy again, and from over by the car she just flapped her arms at me as if to say, “Welp, we tried.” I made my way back to the car, and eventually a new voice came on the phone and offered to send a car out to search for us around Paw Paw. I used Indy’s phone to see about how far south we were of the town, and described it to the new voice. The whole time, though, I was only half paying attention. That street sign blew me away. Even after I got off the phone with Triple A, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Have you ever been somewhere that you’re not a hundred percent sure isn’t limbo, or purgatory? This bar? Ha, that’s a good one. Seriously, though. We were sitting out there, stalled. Not able to leave, not able to do anything except wait. Green cornfields surrounding us. Green leaves on the ash tree. More than anything, that blank green street sign taunting me with this nonexistent road. When I closed my eyes, I could see it, just this green waste of space. All I could think was, are we even on Earth right now? Is any of this real? I remember I said something to Indy about it. The whole conversation is pretty clear to in my brain, actually.
I asked, “Is this hell?”
“It’s not that hot,” she said. Clever, but annoying.
“No,” I told her. “I actually think this is hell. Nobody’s driven down this road since we got here, there’s nothing to do… and streets don’t just not have a name.”
“Yeah, I can’t say I’ve ever seen that before.” She paused for a moment. “You know what my mom would say?”
“I absolutely do not know what your mom would say.”
“We make our own hell.” She dipped her head back onto the roof of the car and squinted into the sun. “Might be the wisest thing she’s ever said.”
“What’s it supposed to mean?”
“Means this doesn’t have to be hell. You just think it’s hell because it’s boring to you.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why then?”
I shook my head and labored a bite off my granola bar.
“I’ll just assume it’s because it’s boring to you then. So, let’s make it not boring.” Indy smirked. “I spy with my little eye….”
“You’re fucking joking.”
“Something green.”
“This is hell.”
Eventually, we heard this low rumble, and a car crested over the hill behind us. I swear, I’ve never felt so much relief in my life. Indy was a different story. As soon as she saw the car, she devolved right back into a nervous wreck. “It’s over,” she kept saying. “It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.”
I was right, though. The Triple A guy couldn’t have given less of a shit what our situation was. I still think Indy and I could’ve planned our next bank robbery out loud while he fixed the tire, and he wouldn’t have bothered us. As soon as he got out of the car I knew. He had on untied tennis shoes with no socks, exercise shorts, and a striped T-shirt with a stain on it, which I can only hope was mustard. He looked like he’d rolled straight off the couch and just appeared on that nameless street to help us. You think I’m making this guy up? I swear to god this is real. Oh, and I almost forgot! He had aviator glasses on too. It was Top Gun from the neck up and Pig Pen from the neck down. He looked down at his phone and went, “De La Cima?” He pronounced it wrong but I figured even if I corrected him he wouldn’t change it.
I said, “Yeah?”
He nodded and put his phone back in the car, then started toward us. At Indy’s request, we’d already taken the spare tire and the jack out so he wouldn’t have to look in the trunk for it. He stopped in front of the tire, let out this big sigh like we’d asked him to give us both a piggyback ride home or something, and got to work.
Remember earlier when I said some people are just born knowing how to change tires? This guy must’ve been practicing in the womb because he had it fixed in minutes. Indy sat motionless, propped against the car’s side. I figured she was trying to hide the fat suit, which was peeking out from underneath the driver’s seat. I stood behind her and closed my eyes. The fucking green rectangle was there again. I opened my eyes, and that purgatory feeling from earlier came rushing back. It felt like I was losing my mind.
I think that’s why I did what I did. Because in any other circumstance, I would never have done something that put Indy in danger like that. She’s been my best friend since college. If I’d had the money to spare, I would’ve made sure she never even had to rob a bank. I’d give the world for her. But I had to see.
The Triple A guy stood up and said, “Kay,” and started back to the car.
“Hey,” I called after him. “Which direction goes away from Dixon?” I could feel Indy’s eyes burning into me.
He went, “I dunno.” He pulled out his phone and pointed the way he had come. “Dixon’s that way, apparently.”
“Good to know, thanks. We just came from Dixon, so we definitely don’t want to head back that way, if you know what I mean. Police and all that.” In the corner of my eye, I could see Indy trembling a little bit.
“Sure,” he said, and back into his car he went. Like I hadn’t even said anything. I stood outside for a moment, and gave him a sort of half-hearted wave as he drove away. I assume he didn’t return it. Sometimes it’s a blessing to have someone who cares so little, you know? Things get done quicker with someone like that. You can get away with more with someone like that. But I think in this situation, I would’ve preferred someone to care.
I kicked a piece of gravel across the road and slid into the car. As soon as the door was open, Indy was yelling. “What the fuck is the matter with you, Jules? How could you do that? Do you have a fucking death wish?” I felt bad. Really, I did. But I couldn’t explain myself. How do you explain that? Nothing back there made sense. How do I say to her that after everything that happened on that street, some part of me felt like I needed to make sure I still existed?
Indy’s elbow dug into my side. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” she said. “I’m serious. Since the minute I included you in this plan, you’ve been putting us in danger. You talked me out of the note robbery for one thing. And now, you just… you basically confessed! I mean, what was that? Are you trying to get us caught? That’s not rhetorical. I need to know!”
I told her the truth. “Of course not.”
“Then why? Why do shit like that? Even in the bank – during the robbery! What was that thing you decided to say at the end? “Thanks for coming out tonight, Dixon,” or whatever the fuck ever? I mean, are you serious?”
I knew she was right, but for some reason I couldn’t let her know that. You ever have a fight like that? Where you know you’re in the wrong and you dig your heels in anyway? I just said to her, “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”
“That’s funny, you should put that in your fucking act. You have to be joking. You’re the person who thought of parking in the middle of the lot to avoid the traffic cameras, the person who remembered the dye packs, all that. But you don’t think saying something like that might make them think the robber’s an aspiring comedian?”
I won’t lie, that pissed me off. Aspiring comedian. That’s bullshit. Even if I am performing in places like Skokie – no offense, sorry. But even if I am playing gigs in Skokie, I am not an aspiring comedian. I haven’t come this far and worked this hard just to be called an aspiring comedian. And by my friend, too. Someone who’s supposed to know me. Maybe I’m small time compared to the great India Elliot, the fucking golden child of Chicago theater struck down in her prime.
Doesn’t matter. Back to the fucking story.
She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes when she realized I wasn’t going to say anything, and I started the car. As we drove over the hill in front of us, she said, “We’re never doing this again. Ever.” The ride back was in silence.
The only time she spoke up again was after we were finally back to the city. I pulled up at her apartment and helped her bring her share inside. She caught the door as I was leaving.
“I really didn’t think I would have to say this, Juliet. But don’t tell anybody about this. You have to think about how this stuff impacts me too, you know. Just because you don’t have anything to lose doesn’t mean the same goes for me.” She paused for a minute, then went, “That sounds worse than I meant it to. I just meant this could ruin both of our lives. You know that, don’t you? You can’t tell anyone. I’m serious.” I nodded, and she closed the door. Actually, that’s the last thing she’s said to me for a while. We haven’t talked since then. I’m not really sure when the right time to see her again will be.
I drove back home and while I was stuck in traffic, I tried to think about that road, that place we were stuck at for what felt like an eternity, and already it was fading from my mind.
Fuck, I’m getting sad-tipsy. Sorry about that. I’ve probably overstayed my welcome a bit too, it’s almost closing time, right? Yeah. I’ll get out of your hair.
You know, I was serious about that kalimotxo. Only good one I’ve ever had. You really should advertise it. Make it a drink of the week or something, or a signature drink. I’m serious! You want people to remember you for that.
Maybe I’ll see you here again. Probably, if my agent keeps up his bullshit. That, or like I said, you’ll see my name outside the Chicago Theater or something. Either way, I’ll see you around. Oh, and don’t be going home and telling your friends about all this, what I just told you. Or… I guess a little bit is fine.