Patrick’s car was spotless, except for a little pile of Mary’s stuff in the back seat. Patrick and Mary sat up front with Whitney in the back, though Mary was turned to their side in order to see Whitney better.
    Turning the radio down, Patrick asked Whitney about her truck. She told him the make and model, but he didn’t really know enough about trucks to say much more. Instead, he asked, “Where is the best place you’ve ever driven it?”
    Whitney thought about it for a minute. She told Patrick about driving up to Theodore Roosevelt National Park with Dillon. They had prepared a long hike up to the petrified forest, but had to turn around halfway through because the rain from earlier in the week had left the trails too muddy. Instead, they spent the afternoon looking at prairie dogs and wild horses. It rained that night, too, so they slept in the truck. At first, she felt a little silly spending her big camping trip eating Taco Bell and watching movies on her laptop, but, after a failed attempt to start a campfire under an umbrella, she settled into the evening. 
    It turns out that Patrick had been to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, too. He told Whitney about driving up from Rapid City on a road trip and not being able to find anywhere to use the restroom. He said, “You know, it always annoys me when people talk about Nebraska, Kansas, the Dakotas, and they are like, ‘There’s nothing there. It’s just nothing.’ Like, I’m here. My family’s here. My friends are here. We matter. Sorry you got bored driving on the interstate. The interstate is boring. It’s not like it’s fun to drive on the interstate in New York or Oregon.
    “Sorry, I’m getting distracted. The point I was getting at is that we were driving through these huge open spaces and there was nothing around. We saw a few cars, but we were mostly all alone on these remote two-lane highways. We saw some cows grazing, some rolling hills. It was absolutely beautiful, but there was nowhere to stop. And I needed to use the bathroom, so I’m looking for any sign for a town or a rest stop or something. We finally see a sign that says there is one town in twenty miles and another in forty. 
    “So I’m thinking, thank goodness! I’m speeding. I’m taking deep breaths. I’m doing my best. We get to this town in twenty miles, but it is just two abandoned buildings and a field full of broken down cars. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
    “Oh no,” Whitney replied, “What did you do?”
    “Well, I’d rather not say in front of a lady.” 
    Mary snorted and looked out the window.
    Whitney asked Mary, “There’s no chance you’ve been to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, is there?”
    Patrick answered for them. “No way.” 
    “I don’t camp.” Mary offered. “Cougars freak me out. I don’t want to be asleep in their living room.”
    “I mean, it’s not like you’re just out in the middle of a field,” Patrick replied, “You’re protected.”
    “By what? A tent? Have you seen their fangs?”
    Whitney said that she hadn’t and Mary pulled up a picture on their phone. Whitney had to admit it was a pretty scary set of teeth. 

Once they were on Dodge Street, Patrick plastered on a fake smile and started pitching tonight’s feature film to Whitney. He explained that it was an old independent movie from the 1930’s that had been filmed around Omaha. The movie, titled Gregory I and his Wonderful Servants was a religious epic that was once thought lost to time before a surviving print was found a few years ago. 
The showing wasn’t open to the public. It was being hosted by a few employees at Film Streams who would open the doors on some secret midnights to share rare prints for film fanatics around town. Patrick did not usually attend these events, but word about this specific showing had gotten around the Catholic history-nerd circles that Patrick frequented. 
    Patrick bragged about the “Great History of Catholic Filmmakers,” walking through a rehearsed list of Catholic directors and films without going into any greater detail. He mocked protestant church groups who flock to hokey and pandering films only to complain that Catholics will not show that same interest or organization around superior Catholic films. 
    When he finally left a brief break in the conversation, Mary responded, “You know why that happens. It is because the American church cares more about obedience than theology. All of those Catholic movies you mentioned are nuanced and personal films. But nuance is a greater enemy of the Catholic church than Satanism. It’s why Catholic groups go to those idiotic rah-rah Christian movies you were talking about just as much as protestants.”
    “Look,” Patrick responded, “I know you’re going through your little Catholic Rumspringa, but don’t say things you’re just gonna regret in two years.”
    “Don’t say shit like that to me.” 
    “Stop talking about Catholics like we’re idiots.” 
    “I’m not talking about Catholics. I’m talking about all Christians.”
    “So you think all Christians are dumb?”
    “You think everyone who isn’t Christian is evil.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “Do you remember when we met those Buddhist monks and afterward you said it was sad Satan had control of their souls?”
    “Look Mary, there’s one God. You know it’s true. So if you’re on somebody else’s team, what does that mean?”
    “I don’t want to talk about this.”
    “This is what always happens. As soon as you start to lose–”
    “Shut the fuck up.” 
    And everyone did shut the fuck up. Luckily, they were already pulling into the parking lot at Film Streams. Whitney thought she remembered Patrick offering to give her a ride home if she didn’t want to come to the movie, but she only lived a short walk away. 
Patrick stormed off towards the theater while Mary waited for Whitney, silently asking what she wanted to do. 


Should Whitney: