[Fiction Practice] Returning Back Home

“What was that, Float?”
“Let’s race there!”
The two childhood friends already drove through hours of forest to arrive at that rest stop. They could see hints of their destination, still over two hours away, through the mountains. The suited man driving a white sports car revved his engine before the stylish man revved his red muscle car louder.
“How about to the next rest stop, Quest?”
“Yeah, no harm in pushing it… a little.”

“Ground rules?”
“Max at fifteen over?”
“Huh, getting soft, Questie?”

Quest brought out his wallet to show Float a photograph of his new family. They had already flown out with Float’s family and were waiting at their destination. Before he met Goalie, he always pushed it to the limit. No concerns about living past this moment. Something changed once he met the boisterous chef at their college graduation and it all clicked after they had their daughter. “Oh, lay off… there’ll be another one, Floater!”

“That’s the old Quest.”
“Yeah, next rest stop? After you.”

Float secured his drooping red cap, hiding his wild hair, before letting his car rip through the unassuming roads. His clothes were expensive, prepped by professionals, helping him to pass as polite society, notably: expensive gray suit complemented with pricey green accessories, shoes of fine leather, and technologically-augmented glasses. Yet he wasn’t taking it in stride. They’d fractured after college. After they mutually achieved financial stability, he landed in a place of dishonest, overwhelming wealth.

“This isn’t working. I need more stability.” She said before leaving him…
“You do you.”

Quest was worried, even if his friend refused to admit anything was wrong after the divorce. He kept their moralities in check when they did wild things, always pulling him back before they did anything unethical, yet now he was too reckless. Float’s clothing always complemented his discontent: then an anti-tank design on his skateboard in college, now his cutthroat negotiation suit. Perhaps giving Float the victory would help him decide what he should do?

They uneventfully arrived at the next rest stop. Both got out of their cars.
“Mostly good race, dude. You held a good pace until the end. Did you get cold feet?”
“Sure did. Better hang out, let’s talk.”

The two friends had surfed years of concrete waves, yet hadn’t had any extended life chats before. They kept it off-limits mainly for respect, rather than anything concerning. They couldn’t find any mutual terms, so they glided around the concern, where they found a stride with a row of innocuous key memories. Float had decided his direction along the conversation, so they returned to their cars, and Quest put on his light blue suit jacket.

“Hey Quest, wanna race there?”
“Nah, she’s gotta take it easy now.”
“Alright. Same light pace?”
“I’ll lead… Hey, good chatting.”
“Yeah, you did you.”
“Yeah, I did me!”

Quest reclined back, looking over his tattered memento concert shirt.
“Float’s decision is his own to make…”
Wouldn’t disrupt the friendship either way.

(Part 1. This was Part 2… of 3?)

My big goal is writing. My most important goal is writing "The Story." All other goals should work toward that central goal. My proudest moment is the most recent time I overcame some fear, which should have been today. I'm a better zombie than I was yesterday. I'm not better than you and you're not better than me. Let's strive to be better every day.