"Nope," Liz replies.
"I'll lend you something, or if you don't want that, we can buy you something on the "
Liz interrupts her. "Nope."
Outside, Betty rolls down the convertible top. "Do you want to drive?" she asks.
"No." Liz opens the passenger door and sits.
"Fine," Betty says as she fastens her seat belt. But a moment later she demands, "Well, why not?
You should want to drive."
Liz shrugs. "I just don't."
"I'm not mad about that first night, if that's what you think," Betty says.
"Listen, Betty, I don't want to drive because I don't want to drive. There's no secret meaning here.
Furthermore, if the whole point of this trip is sightseeing, I wouldn't exactly be able to sightsee while I was concentrating on my driving, now would I?"
"No, I suppose not," Betty concedes. "Aren't you going to wear your seat belt?"
"What's the point?" Liz asks.
"The same as on Earth: to keep you from crashing into the dashboard."
Liz rolls her eyes but does fasten her seat belt.
"I thought we'd go to the beach," Betty says. "How does that strike you?"
"Whatever," Liz says.
"Elsewhere has marvelous beaches, you know."
"Fantastic. Wake me when we get there." To avoid further conversation, Liz closes her left eye and pretends to sleep. With her right eye, she watches the sights of Elsewhere out her window.
Liz thinks how much it looks like Earth, and the resemblance makes her catch her breath. But there are differences, and those differences, as they tend to be, are in the details. Out her window, she spots a drive-in movie theater she has never seen one before except in vintage photographs. On the highway, a girl of about six or seven wears a business suit and drives an SUV. In the distance, she sees the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty, both rendered as topiaries. Along the side of the road, Liz sees a series of small wooden signs, spaced about ten meters apart. There is a single line of verse printed on each sign: YOU MAY BE DEAD,
BUT YOUR BEARD GROWS ON,
LADIES HATE STUBBLE,
EVEN IN THE BEYOND.
BURMA SHAVE
"What's Burma Shave?" Liz asks Betty.
"A kind of shaving cream. When I was alive, they used to have those wooden signs on all the highways in America," Betty answers. "Most of them were replaced by billboards by the time you were born, but they were quite popular for a time, as much as a sign can be popular." Betty laughs. "You'll find that Elsewhere is a place where many old fads go to die, too."
"Oh."
"I thought you were asleep," Betty says, looking over at Liz.
"I am," Liz replies. She recloses her left eye.
Liz notices that it's quieter here than on Earth. And she can see that, in its own way, Elsewhere is beautiful. Even though there's no design to it, the effect is lovely. And even though it's lovely, Liz still hates it.
About an hour later, Betty wakes Liz, who has fallen asleep for real. "We're here," Betty says.
Liz opens her eyes and looks out the window. "Yup, looks like a beach," she says. "Just like the one right by the house."
"The point is the journey," Betty says. "Don't you want to get out of the car?"
"Not really, no," Liz replies.
"Let's at least go in the gift shop and stretch our legs a bit," Betty pleads. "Maybe you'd like to get a souvenir?"
Liz looks doubtfully at the hut with the thatched roof near the water's edge. Given its location and construction, the shop looks like it could blow away at any moment. An incongruously sturdy metal sign hangs over the porch:
WISH YOU WERE HERE
Knickknacks, Bric-a-brac, Bibelots,
Trinkets, Gewgaws, Novelties, Whimsies, Whatnots, and other Sundries for the Discriminating Buyer "So, what do you say?" Betty smiles at Liz.
"And who would I be buying a souvenir for exactly?" Liz asks.
"For yourself."
"You buy souvenirs to take back to other people," Liz snorts. "I don't know anyone else and I'm not going back."
"Not always, not yet," Betty replies. "Come on, I'll buy you whatever you want."
"I don't want anything," Liz says as she follows Betty into the tacky gift shop. No one is inside. A soup can sits by the cash register with a note: "Out to lunch. Leave payment in can. Cut yourself a good deal, just between us."
To satisfy Betty, Liz selects a book of six Elsewhere postcards and a plastic snow globe. The snow globe has a miniature SS Nile submerged in sickly blue water, wish you were here is written in red across the base of the dome.
"Do you want an Elsewhere beach towel?" Betty asks as Liz sets her two items on the counter.
"No, thank you," Liz replies.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," Liz says tightly.
"Maybe a T-shirt, then?"
"No," Liz yells. "I don't want a goddamn T-shirt! Or a beach towel! Or anything else! All I want is to go home!"
"All right, doll," Betty says with a sigh. "I'll meet you outside. I just have to add everything up."
Liz storms out of the store, carrying her new snow globe. She waits for Betty in the car.
Liz shakes the snow globe. The tiny SS Nile thrashes wildly in its plastic dome. Liz shakes the snow globe even harder. Slimy, stale blue water leaks onto Liz's hand. There's a small gap where the two seams of the dome were fused together. Liz opens the car door and throws the snow globe onto the pavement. Instead of shattering or cracking, it bounces across the parking lot like a rubber ball, stopping at the feet of a small girl in a pink polka-dotted bikini.
"You dropped this," the girl calls out to Liz.
"Yes," Liz agrees.
"Don't you want it?" The girl picks up the snow globe from the ground.
Liz shakes her head.
"Can I have it?" the girl asks.
"Knock yourself out," Liz replies.
"The sky don't fall here, not much," the girl says. She flips the globe over so that all the snow collects in the dome. She places her pinky over the leak.
"What do you mean?" Liz asks.
"Like this." The girl flips the snow globe over.
"You mean snow," Liz says. "You mean it doesn't snow here."
"Not much, not much, not much," she sings. The girl walks over to Liz. "You're big."
Liz shrugs.
"How many are you?" the girl asks.
"Fifteen."
"I'm four," the girl answers.
Liz looks at the child. "Are you a real little girl or a fake little girl?"
The girl opens her eyes as wide as they'll go. "What do you mean?"
"Are you really four, or are you just pretend four?" Liz asks.
"What do you mean?" The girl raises her voice.
"Were you always four or did you used to be big?"
"I don't know. I'm four. Four!" the girl cries. "You're mean." The girl drops the snow globe at Liz's feet and runs away.
Liz picks it up and gives it another shake. She drains it of all the remaining blue liquid until the only thing left is a cluster of fake snow crystals.