The Zero Game

She smiles faintly and looks back out the front window. I’m not sure if she believes it, but at this point – after traveling this long – she’ll take anything she can get.

Up ahead, the two-lane road swerves to the right, then back to the left. It’s not until my headlights bounce off the enormous cliff sides on either side of us that I realize we’re weaving our way through a canyon. Viv leans forward in her seat, craning her neck and looking up through the windshield. Her eye catches something, and she leans forward a bit further.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer. The way her head’s turned, I can’t see her expression, but she’s no longer holding on to the seat belt. Instead, both hands are on the dashboard as she stares skyward.

“Oh…” she finally whispers.

I lean up against the steering wheel and crane my neck toward the sky. I don’t see a thing.

“What?” I ask. “What is it?”

Still staring upward, she says, “Are those the Black Hills?”

I take a second look for myself. In the distance, the walls of the cliff rise dramatically – at least four hundred feet straight toward the clouds. If it weren’t for the moonlight – where the outlined edges of the cliff are black against the dark gray sky – I wouldn’t even be able to see where they end.

I glance back at Viv, who’s still glued to the sky. The way her mouth hangs open and her eyebrows rise… At first, I thought it was fear. It’s not. It’s pure amazement.

“I take it they don’t have mountains like these where you’re from?” I ask.

She shakes her head, still dumbfounded. Her jaw is practically in her lap. Watching the sheer wonder in her reaction – there’s only one other person who looked at mountains like that. Matthew always said it – they were one of the only things that ever made him feel small.

“You okay there?” Viv asks.

Snapped back to reality, I’m surprised to find her staring straight at me. “O-Of course,” I say, turning back to the curving yellow lines at the center of the road.

She raises an eyebrow – too sharp to believe it. “You’re really not as great a liar as you think.”

“I’m fine,” I insist. “It’s just… being out here… Matthew would’ve liked it. He really… he would’ve liked it.”

Viv watches me carefully, measuring every syllable. I stay focused on the blur of yellow lines snaking along the road. I’ve been in this awkward silence before. It’s like the thirty-second period right after I brief the Senator on a tough issue. Perfect quiet. Where decisions get made.

“Y’know, I… uh… I saw his picture in his office,” she eventually says.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Matthew. I saw his photo.”

I stare at the road, picturing it myself. “The one with him and the blue lake?”

“Yeah… that’s the one,” she nods. “He looked… he looked nice.”

“He was.”

She eventually turns back toward the dark skyline. I stay with the swerving yellow lines. It’s no different from the conversation with her mom. This time, the silence is even longer than before.

“Michigan,” she quietly whispers.

“Excuse me?”

“You said, they don’t have mountains where you’re from. Well, that’s where I’m from.”

“Michigan?”

“Michigan.”

“Detroit?”

“Birmingham.”

I tap my thumbs against the steering wheel as another bug splats against the windshield.

“That still doesn’t mean I forgive you,” Viv adds.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Up ahead, the walls of the cliff disappear as we leave the canyon behind. I hit the gas, and the engine grumbles toward the straightaway. Like before, there’s nothing on our right or left – not even a guardrail. Out here, you have to know where you’re going. Though it still always starts with that crucial first step.

“So do you like Birmingham?” I ask.

“It’s high school,” she replies, making me feel every year of my age.

“We used to go up for basketball games in Ann Arbor,” I tell her.

“Really? So you know Birmingham… you’ve been there?” There’s a slight hesitation at the back of her voice. Like she’s looking for an answer.

“Just once,” I say. “A guy in our fraternity let us crash at his parents’.”

She looks out her window at the side mirror. The canyon’s long gone – lost in the black horizon.

“Y’know, I lied,” she says, her tone flat and lifeless.

“Pardon?”

“I lied…” she repeats, her eyes still on the side mirror. “What I said up in the storage room – about being one of only two black girls in the school…?”

“What’re you taking about?”

“I know I shouldn’t have… it’s stupid…”

“What-”

“I said there were two, but there’re actually fourteen of us. Fourteen black kids. Swear to God. I guess… yeah… fourteen.”

“Fourteen?”

“I’m sorry, Harris… I just wanted to convince you I could handle myself… Don’t be mad…”

“Viv…”

“I thought you’d think I was strong and tough and-”

“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupt.

She finally turns toward me. “Wha?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I reiterate. “I mean, fourteen… out of how many? Four hundred? Five hundred?”

“Six hundred and fifty. Maybe six-sixty.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Two… twelve… fourteen… You’re still pretty outnumbered.”