Margaritas, Beaches, and Bikinis
by
Rebecca Anna Coleman
Chapter 4: I hope I don't hear Banjos

At three o' clock the next morning I found myself putting the twinkling lights of Benton behind me. Roughly five hundred or so miles of open road lay between me and Orange Beach. Or so Google Maps told me. For the trip that morning I decided to go all out. At first I was going to wear a pair of tan cargo shorts, a loose fitting cotton t shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. Then I decided, in a fit of madness that it was time to embrace being Rebecca and stop hiding her.

And so I rose earlier than I would normally that morning, washed and conditioned my hair, clipped and polished my fingernails, shaved under my arms, my legs, I even clipped and polished my toenails. That done I decided to slip on a pair of lacey pink panties and a lacey pink bra. Cause you gotta match, And over that went a light blue flora sundress. Matching blue flip-flops and and cloth tote bag. And last but not least I pulled my hair back, braided it and tied a ribbon at the end of the braid.

The tote bag held my phone, wallet, keys, pills, and last but not least my rescue inhaler. For those nasty flare-ups when my asthma was really bad or something triggered a sudden attack. And given the nature of my mission I'm sure something would.

As I drove I started to think about all the great ones that came before me, and writers who I really wanted to write like. I know I named a few of them last night. But their were so many more. So many other great writers had tried, and I guess failed to show me what road to take. Maybe I really needed just get out of Benton for a good long while and explore the coast.

“Hey things are going to be different this time around.” I told myself as I drove through downtown Jackson. Briefly my eyes looked up at the massive high rise skyscrapers and shuttered a little. Downtown Jackson was now for three things, drug lords, pimps, and hookers. But you needed to drive through downtown Jackson to get onto the highway that would take you to Orange Beach.

And then before I could catch myself I felt a small tear starting to fall from my eyes.

“Yes, things will be different this time.” I said as I cleared away the tear with the backside of my hand. And at that most I found myself falling through time and space. A verbal vortex of memories, both good and bad, started to swirl around me. The mileage of my car started to tick.

“This time. I'm going to be true to myself. I'm not going to hide myself away from the world. I'm going to embrace my true self and enjoy myself.” I said smiling.

And then memories of my last beach vacation came rolling in like the surf of the gulf. Like I told you guys before. I was fourteen the last time I visited the beach. At that time I was going through puberty and my body was pumping testosterone through my body. It was a hellish time period.

This was before I knew about being “Transgender” or that magical bill that could put the pause button on the hellish change that puberty had brought.

I then fell into a brooding silence. I focused on the road in front of me. I'd started the day in the “Delta Region” well that was according to the map. Some purest debated if Benton was really in the “Delta” or not. That aside I'd traveled from the “Delta” to the “Capital-River” region. That's all the area that surrounds the state capital Jackson and the surrounding cities, villages, hamlets and settlements. All told, a full one third of the state's population lived within the “Capital-River” region. That was some million and a half souls.
From there I'd traveled to the “Pines” if only briefly. Could always tell when you entering into the “Pines” region because the color of the soil changed. The color of the soil was red, red as a brick, or red as ruby. This red clay was the bane of farmers, yet strangely enough it was ideal for growing trees.

All of this musing was interrupted by little alarm bells in my bladder going off. That and a growling in my tummy told me that skipping breakfast had been a mistake. It was at that moment I had a small panic. First off was the pressing pressure down below my waistline. I knew I could not hold it for long, and every passing second was me running the risk that I would soon spring a leak.

The second pressing concern was my growing hunger.

“Fine.” I muttered under my breath. “I'll get something to eat.”

Though I had no idea where I could get something to eat. I was only twenty minutes out of Florence. And I was eager to put the dimming lights of the greater metropolitan area behind me. Aware that I was pushing my body to it's breaking point I drove another fifteen miles before I spotted a big yellow sign that read.

FOOD. GASOLINE. HOT BREAKFAST. HOT LUNCH. GIFTS AND MORE AT LAKE GAS CENTER. OPEN TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAY, ONLY CLOSED ON CHRISTMAS AND DONALD TRUMPS BIRTHDAY! ONLY FOUR MILES AWAY, RIGHT ON THE HIGHWAY!

Now the last part scared me a little. But considering I was half a tank of gas. And considering I needed to really pee, and considering I was near famished I decided to roll the dice and take the chance and stop there.

“I just need to hold out for four more bloody miles.” I whispered under my breath as I crossed my legs. My legs firmly crossed, I took a deep breath and sighed. “I guess I should call my editor too and tell her what's going on. After all, I do have an Emily chapter in the works.”

And so I took a deep breath as I pulled into the parking lot.

“I hope I don't hear banjos.” I said as I shut the car off and put the car in park.