I gazed out the window of the old, white pickup truck I sat in, going eighty down the interstate. There was something a bit clichéd about the situation. It was a beautiful fall day, the first afternoon of October. Fiery hues were overtaking the luscious greens of the trees, and the brisk wind breathed life into the leaves that lay lifeless on the ground, lifting them to a delicate ballet as they swirled amongst the breeze. Old music played on the radio, and my friend, Rob, drove with one hand on the wheel and one arm lying carelessly on the top of the seat behind me. 

I loved just getting to ride–watching the whizzing cars on the interstate and the reflecting sunset radiate off mirrored skyscrapers–but I didn’t know how to handle it. I was always the one driving my friends, not the other way around. It was awkward not having anything to do, and restlessness consumed me. I sat stiffly in my seat, my hands folded together with one thumb tapping the other.

Rob chuckled, “You really don’t know how to act when you’re the passenger.”

I looked at him, a laugh escaping from my mouth. My skin vibrated with nerves. Maybe it was because I didn’t know where I was going, but that honestly thrilled me. I’ve often compared my brain to a freight train–fast, heavy, continuous. My thoughts would fall out of my mouth faster than I could properly form them, or they’d swell in my head, and I’d grow quiet. My friends would tell me, “Just turn your brain off,” and I would tell them, “Can you just turn a freight train off?” I never really found myself thinking with him, though. I just knew I felt something in my chest, and the anxiety was manifesting through my fidgeting hands.

“I told you I could have driven,” I scoffed.

“Yeah, and I told you no.” Rob smirked at me, then turned on his blinker and took the exit on our right. It was one of those full-circle turns–the kind where you can see the back of your own car if you go too fast. Rob handled it with ease, keeping one hand on the wheel and turning the car with the center of his palm. The road spat us out in a congested part of town I had never been to before. Atlanta was always dense with traffic, but this was on another level. Two-tiered storefronts speckled every inch of the street, and a sprawling mall stood a couple of miles away. Cars zipped in and out of lanes, and sporadic car horns shouted at random. 

“Okay, sure, but you also won’t tell me where we’re going. By all accounts, you’ve technically kidnapped me.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes in his usual exaggerated fashion. “Oh, here we go with the ‘technically,’ I’m–”

“I’m just saying, you told me to get in the car–”

“I am not kidnapping you. What is wrong with you?” We were talking over each other at this point. Our dynamic was one that was built on banter, and it was the most fun I ever had talking to someone. Rob was generally fun to talk to. We could bicker, then discuss strategies for upcoming projects, then have deep conversations about home, then go right back to fighting. It was nice to have someone who could keep up with me. I imagine the dancing leaves of October felt the same way–moving with something just like them in perfect unison. The leaves knew each other's steps. If one blew forward, the other caught a tailwind to catch up. That was how our conversations flowed.

“Okay, well, how would I know that?

“You already know that. You’re just trying to use your little logic tricks to put me in a corner.” He pulled into a turning lane and sat at the red light. I couldn’t see the line of stores at this particular strip mall; there was a massive building in the way. The buzz of the town also kept me distracted. Talking to Rob kept me distracted, too

I laughed, shrugging my shoulders and shaking my head as I did. “Nah, I don’t do that.” The light changed, and we turned left. The line of cars in front of us and behind funneled into the strip mall entrance. I could see more clearly: a T.J. Maxx, a Nordstrom Rack, an Old Navy, and some others. I was confused, but it didn’t stick with me. I was already having fun where I was. Maybe he needed some clothes or something.

“You absolutely do do that, Ms. ‘Technically.’” He drove through the parking lot and parked in front of a store I had never heard of before: World Trade Market. “Anyways, kidnapping over.”

We unbuckled our seatbelts and headed towards the door. The coolness of the air pricked the top of my skin, and a light fog expelled from my lips. He picked at the leather jacket I was wearing. “You need to learn how to dress for the winter. You’re going to freeze.”

“Aw, come on. I like my leather jacket. It makes me feel tough.”

He scoffed and turned his face away from me, trying to hide a grin. “I hate it.”

“You love it.”

Upon entry, my jaw dropped. Halloween had completely overtaken the space. Dozens of skeletons hung about the store, and multicolored ghosts had become like a pox in the space. Glittery bats, grotesque witches, plastic ghouls–it was a playground for all things spooky, and I was a five-year-old on a sugar high. I absolutely adored Halloween. I carried my love for the season with me at all times, stretching outside of October and bleeding into the entire year. Rob knew this and would poke fun at me for it. My spiderweb purse made him cringe, and he thought my holiday earrings were silly. I didn’t understand why on earth he took me to Halloween Central.

“Go crazy,” he said, looking at me with a grin.

“What? I don’t even know where to go.” We walked further into the store, and a piece of Headless Horseman paraphernalia caught my eye. Like a heat-seeking missile, I went straight to it; Rob followed closely behind. 

“I know.” He kept his hands in his pockets, like he was some germaphobe afraid of catching the disease of Halloween. Me? I touched everything. Scratchy black cat decor, sequin Ghostface pillows, ghost-themed marshmallows–I wanted my eyes to touch everything they could. “I just thought you’d like to explore.” I turned to him, my eyes wide and mouth curved into an agape smile. The freight train in my head picked up speed. For a moment, I wondered if he had come here just for me, but I dismissed it. My mind searched for answers. For the most part, I was good at predicting what people were thinking or doing, but not him. Nonetheless, I never stopped trying. It’s like that logical paradox: What happens if an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? My brain would keep running, trying to figure him out, and his intentions would remain impenetrable to my efforts. He was a challenge. Something I had never dealt with before.

I diverted my gaze to the shelves and picked up a plush skeleton. “So, what are you here for? Finally want to decorate those boring, bare walls in your apartment?” I shook the skeleton in front of him, and he smiled big. I always liked it when I could make him really smile. Especially since it usually came from me just being myself. It made the feeling from the car return. He smiled, and all of a sudden, I was nervous for no reason again. I broke eye contact and continued walking through the store. Rob followed, looking around.

“Never. I just know you’re a Halloween fiend, and it’s important to let kids indulge themselves.”

I gently hit him with the back of my hand. “I’m not a kid. Quit acting like you’re some senior citizen. The only old thing about you is your back.”

“Yeah, whatever.” 

As we moved to the back of the store, the Halloween decor slowly faded, and the usual stock of the market became more apparent. There was food, candy, and wine from all over the world here. There was a special kind of beauty in this–getting to see snacks specific to other parts of the globe. I came from a small town tucked away in a rural corner of Alabama; we didn’t have stores like this. It was like a curtain was peeled back, and I was getting to see something I wouldn’t have seen otherwise. We were in this timeless intersection of the world that connected dozens of countries, and I got to move through it all. 

Rob finally peeled his hands from his pockets and began inspecting the food. He loved snacks. He usually bought a bag of something every time we went to the grocery store. Coconut rolls, dark chocolate-covered fruits, Pop-Corner chips–he had his usuals, and he went straight to them. That day, he was more interested in the teas. I’ve had this thing with food for years. This intense anxiety builds within me when I’m faced with the prospect of trying something new. I’ve always hated this part about myself because of the amount of things it prevents me from trying, or the embarrassingly long time it takes to overcome my brain. It’s for this reason that I was conservative about eating in front of people. I was already self-conscious about my problem, and their bringing it up just made things worse. It was best for everyone if it was hidden and avoided.

But Rob’s a bloodhound. He has figured out things about me not even my mother knows. I was glass to him–no need to hide or perform, and I couldn’t if I wanted to. The consequence of this was his learning of my eating habits. I expected him to make fun of me for it, as he does with everything else, but he made it a mission. We had been engaging in these weekly “exposure therapy” sessions where I would go to his apartment and try something new. Drinks were easier for me, so tea was first on our roster.

“Pick something,” he said, grabbing a box of ginger tea from the shelf.

“Don’t rush me, I’m working.” My eyes remained glued to the shelf. 

He chuckled. “You’re working?”

“Yeah, I’m working, Rob.” I studied the wall of tea. There were so many, none of which I had any idea of what to expect. Confusion bubbled inside me, and the train barreled onward.

He stepped closer to me, and our shoulders pressed against each other. “How about you turn off that brain of yours and just grab something?”

“Turn my brain off?” I chuckled, moving a few boxes around as I did. “Can you just turn a freight train off?”

“Trains have breaks, Mary. They can turn off.” I turned, ready to argue, but my words fell away. We looked at each other, breathing in tandem. There was plenty I could have said, but I didn’t feel the need. He was the immovable object. The dancing leaf. Anything I said, he would’ve matched perfectly. For once, I felt like I could just give in to something. I didn’t have to be on the offense. I could just relax. I turned to the teas, and my eyes fell on what I wanted. One I knew I’d like, and one that would make Rob roll his eyes.

I grabbed the small tin and proudly held it out. “This.” Rob took the tea and read the front. His eyes met mine with annoyance, and I grinned widely.

“Caramel Vanilla Macaron tea?’

“Yep.”

“No.”

I snatched the tin and began walking backwards toward the register. “Yep!”

He shook his head with a smile and walked with me. We moved through the pieces of the world to get back to Halloween, then back to the pickup truck. The sky had darkened, and the air grew colder. The wind brushed through the trees, and I could feel the first real breath of fall on my neck.

We buckled ourselves in the car and retraced our drive. Through the city that was antsier than before. Through the interstate, lit by the glow of the city, bickering and laughing the whole way. I felt like I could talk to him all night. About everything. About nothing. About Halloween and the world. About the leaves and how they dance. I was calmer now than before. My hands stayed still, and my brain was quiet. 

We braked at a stoplight, the vibrant red drenching the interior of the car. I lay my head on the seat and enjoyed the peace with which I was consumed, thinking about absolutely nothing. What did I know about freight trains, anyway? Maybe they could stop on a dime. Maybe it just took an immovable object to help them do so.