Tires rolling in the desert, the shot fades out to reveal [car make and model to be decided] a young man driving, staring quietly out the window, no radio. He stops to get gas at a dusty desert station. He checks his phone.

We see a text message from A: “I told mom you were coming. She’s so happy. Love you, see you in a few days.”

The young man looks away and shakes his head with his lips curled in a kind of sneer as he goes back to mindlessly watching the numbers twirl on the gas pump.

He goes inside to buy snacks and pays with a credit card. Dusty old cowboy type asks to check his ID, revealing a California ID, San Diego.

“Heading east are ya?”

“Yeah, the whole way.”

“Wow. Furthest I’ve been is to see the folks in Phoenix. Alright then sir, you drive safe.”

“Thanks.”

He’s driving through central California, Steinbeck territory. We can tell by the road signs.

He checks his bank account, dangerously low on funds. He presses a few buttons on his phone to activate a rideshare app. After driving a few miles he gets a ping from the next town. He turns on the radio. If a rider didn’t feel like talking the music made it feel less awkward.

He pulls off the exit and picks up an old woman outside of a small couple-acre ranch. A few horses are grazing in the front yard. Her skin is browned from years in the sun, her hands rough from ranch life, wiry and strong, and her hair is a silver-white. An old cowgirl. She wears jeans and a checkered light pink and white shirt.

“Will?”

“Yep. Maryann to El Centro?”

“That’s me.”

She seems sweet, tough but goodhearted. She sits in the back, most people don’t think it’s ok to ride shotgun but Will liked it, makes you feel less like you were driving Miss Daisy.

Will adjusts his mirrors and tries to make small talk, “Well, you broke a record, this is gonna be the longest drive I’ve given in a while.”

“Ain’t much sense in driving around here. Couple blocks and you’ve seen all there is, besides I never leave town much anyway.”

“Gotcha.”

Will took a sip out of his diet coke and pulled back onto the 8.

They pass a road sign: X miles to El Centro, Y miles to Yuma.

Maryann watches the sign pass by and speaks up. Will looks into the rearview mirror to watch her: “310 to Yuma. I love that movie.”

“Me too.”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“Smart boy, good answer,” Maryann’s lips curl into a smile.

Will quickly fires back, “Man who Shot Liberty Valance is still my favorite though.”

“Can’t fault you for that one, boy. My husband likes Unforgiven”.

There wasn’t anything on the radio but George Strait in this part of the country, but Will didn’t mind him and it seemed right up her alley. She hummed along with most of the words.

“I was a young troubadour when I rode in on a song, and I’ll be an old troubadour when I’m gooone.” she half hums half sings under her breath as the song winds down.

“My Charlie likes that one,” Maryann says softly.

“You’re husband?”

“That’s right.”

“Does he raise those horses with you?”

She sighs… not overly sad but she lets out a quiet “he did” as she softly gazes out the window.

“I’m goin to El Centro for his funeral. Old bastard finally bit it visiting his sister out there a few days ago.”

Will, startled, “Oh… I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Ah, sumbitch, had it coming” she cracks a wry smile. “I thought it’d be funny to play troubadour at the funeral, but he always wanted ‘the cowboy rides away’, it’s just kinda a thing around these parts, so I guess I’ll save troubadour for just him and me.”

In an uncharacteristic moment, Maryann’s eyes redden and she is quick to swipe the single tear away from her cheek and her voice briefly falters “Damned ol’ cowboy always was a pain in my ass right until the very end”. The rawhide cowgirl shows a crack.

Will has no idea what to do. He shuts down and stares ahead at the road, hoping she isn’t expecting him to say the next thing. “70 more miles to El Centro… fuck.”

Maryann checks her phone “Says here you’re from San Diego? You’re pretty far out to just be giving rides, ain’tcha?”

“Yeah, I’m actually heading to the east coast, just trying to make a few bucks along the way.”

“Mhhh, you’re family from there?”

“Yeah… I’m.” Will pretends to check his mirrors to buy time. “I’m going to my father’s funeral”.

“Sorry sweetie, you still got your mother?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well that’s good you’ll get to be there for her.”

Will nervously taps on the steering wheel, “Yeah, she’ll… she’ll like that.”

Maryann chuckles. “Damn shame ain’t it? Seems like the more fun you have, the less time you get. I wouldn’t change a thing, but that’s almost the pity of it. We did it as well as we could and I still want more.”

Will swallows, unsure of what to say, but Maryann doesn’t seem to be expecting anything in response as she watches the scenery pass by. We can just hear the gentle rumble of the road beneath the car.

El Centro is growing closer (soft, folksy song to be decided plays over the shot), and we watch the desert fly by in the car.

Maryann has reached her stop, and Will pulls the car alongside a suburban home. There are cars packed into the driveway.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Maryann says softly as she unbuckles her seatbelt and opens the door.

“Any time.”

Maryann stops next to the driver’s side window, and Will lowers it. She holds her phone up to show him a picture. There’s a tanned young couple in cowboy hats. Maryann is wearing the same shirt that she is now, but it’s bright and new in the picture. The two are giving warm smiles into the lens with their arms wrapped around one another. A younger Maryann has her hand on a tall man’s chest, and her head is resting lightly against his shoulder.

“That’s my Charlie.”

Will softly smiles through sad eyes, “that’s a good picture.”

“Oh, I know.” Maryann returns a melancholy grin.

“But hey!” She says sternly as she slaps her hand on the roof of the car. “You take care of your momma boy.”

“Yes ma’am.” Will laughs, leaning into the country-western motif.

“Alright then.” Maryann smacks the hood again as she turns and walks to the house. Will watches someone greet her at the door and welcome her in. He bites his lower lip and lets out a long, slow exhale as he turns the car into drive.

Will is frustrated, muttering to himself, “So much for easy fucking money. What am I? Her goddamn therapist?”

He pulls back onto I-8 and proceeds east.

We get a shot of him driving through the Imperial Dunes park on California’s eastern border and he is greeted by a sign welcoming him to Arizona.

Will stops at a motel for the night. He brushes his teeth and eyes a copy of “The Things They Carried” he’s in the middle of reading it. He sneers at the cover. His Grandfather had been in Vietnam.

“Don’t we all Popop?” He sarcastically jokes to himself as he spits his toothpaste out and readies for bed. He wakes up the next day and gets on the road.

His phone pings with a request from another passenger, apparently Ralph needs a lift. He was heading northwest, a bit out of the way, but Will is in no hurry. We see an external shot of Will pulling up to a house just over the border, and a disheveled-looking man walks out in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, toting a backpack.

“What’s up, man?!” The man cheers as he opens the door and throws his backpack against the far door.

“How’s it going?” Will asks with tension in his voice, already knowing that this guy is going to be a problem.

“Fucking golden baby!” Ralph shouts obnoxiously as Will reverses out of the driveway.

Ralph (“call me Ralphie”) is heading to a bus station near the Nevada border.

“Vegas baby!” Ralphie cheers randomly.

“Why didn’t you catch a plane?” Will asks annoyed looking into the rearview mirror. Ralphie is oblivious and doesn’t catch Will’s tone.

“I ain’t rich yet man!” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a handle of vodka. Will’s eyes widen as he cracks the bottle.

“Hey what the fuck man!?” Will shouts as he briefly swings his head around.

“Oh, calm the fuck down, bro!” Ralphie chuckles as he takes a swig.

Will turns around and shakes his head as he stares over the steering wheel.

Will listens to Ralphie drone on about how much he loves Vegas, talking about everything from the clubs to the “dime ass bitches”. He once made 500 playing craps… and subsequently lost it at the blackjack table.

Mercifully, they arrive at the bus station. Ralphie stuffs his vodka back into his pack and stumbles out of the car.

“See yas pal!” Ralphie sloppily waves a hand over his shoulder as he staggers towards the bus station doors, and that dark half of the American Dream wanders out of Will’s life.

Will clenches his jaw and mutters under his breath, “fuck this shit”. He punches his address into his phone to gauge how long it would take him to get back to San Diego. He sits in the parking lot, smacking the steering wheel a time or two.

“Fucker’s already dead. What’s it matter?” Will growls to himself. A text message flashes on his phone.

It’s A again, “Aunt Lil’s making meatballs. Mom wants to know how you’re doing.”

“Oh fuuuck me.” Will groans with frustration and sets a course for the east coast.

Next acts:

Texas cowboy, father figure, emotional turnaround.

Girl in New Orleans (Pink Hair)? Heart opening back up?

Joey in Philly. The big homecoming on game day. Go Birds.

Funeral.