by Peter Grist
The attendant spoke as slowly as he walked. “Sure thang, jus a few blocks up on the right, can’t miss it”
“Right” replied Ed. The attendant turned away from Ed’s window and set to the task of refuelling. The salesman turned his wing mirror up slightly so that he could watch the attendant’s slow purposeful movements as he removed the gas cap and started to fill the tank. The man had skin hued like the strongest of coffee and even with a pronounced stoop, the man stood almost seven feet tall. The oil stained bibs carried the name of the gas station on the back, the attendant’s name, ‘Buster’ on the front and evidence of a thousand tire changes and lube jobs. The cotton of the man’s once white T-shirt strained to confine the bulging biceps and pectoral muscles. Except for the eyes, Buster’s smooth face gave no clues as to his age; Ed figured he could have been ten years either side of fifty, but the big brown eyes seemed much older than that.
After gently replacing the nozzle on the pump and putting Ed’s gas cap back on the car, the giant stooped down beside Ed’s window.
“That’ll be twenty-seven bucks exactly”. Ed handed the attendant a twenty and a ten-dollar bill but held onto one end. The attendant looked in, but not directly into Ed’s eyes, a question slightly touching his smooth brow.
“Don’t I know you from someplace?” asked Ed.
“Pends how often you been through here, you a salesman right?” he replied almost automatically.
“First time today” replied Ed.
“Well then you ain’t never met me, I ain’t ever left this town ‘cept for vacations.” Ed knew it was a sad fact about his homeland that only 25% of Americans held passports, most were happy to stay where they were. He held onto the notes for a second longer, trying to get Buster to make eye contact. Buster remained still and looked like he could stay that way forever, a statue cast in ebony. Like a lost word on the tip of his tongue he could not place Buster’s face, so reluctantly Ed released the note.
“Keep the change”.
“Thankya boss”.
The huge man eased himself back up so that all Ed could see was a few holes where buttons should have been on the now faded denim and a well-worn brass buckle that secured a thick brown leather belt.
Still puzzled as to where he had seen Buster before, Ed selected drive and moved out toward the two-lane blacktop, pausing to let a semi-trailer go past. He looked back in his rear-view mirror and saw Buster standing in the same position; hand still slightly extended holding the two bills, staring intently at the reflection of Ed’s blue eyes. Ed pulled forward, ringing the bell again, Buster still hadn’t moved when Ed finally lost sight of him.
Buster saw the dirt-encrusted car disappear from view; he turned and walked slowly towards the dilapidated office, tucking the money into a pocket of his bibs as he strolled. As he entered the building, he turned back, looking around the empty lot, then shut and locked the door behind him. Everything in the office matched the exterior; a tired wooden desk held level with phone books accommodated a small till, a grey telephone, a well-used notepad covered with old phone numbers and a faded family photo that showed a young black family on vacation; a mother, father and a young girl all smiling broadly for the camera.
The tattered brown vinyl swivel chair protested loudly as the mechanic’s mass landed onto the seat. It creaked once more as Buster slowly turned to face the wall behind the door. He leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees and put his hands together and rested his chin on his fingertips, as if in prayer. In the corner stood an old-fashioned girls bike, it’s shiny, cherry red paint glistened in the dust filtered light, the word Schwinn painted in white, looked as fresh as the day it was made, as did the rest of the bicycle and the tassels that hung down from the handlebar grips.
He could hear her laughing and screaming on that special birthday morning, see her running down the hall, so fast she nearly tripped, desperate to get to the front room, to see what her folks had brought for her. It was so big they couldn’t wrap it. It wasn’t new of course, but he had lovingly repainted it, made it look good as new, and then tied a huge pink bow around it. She screamed with delight when she saw it and begged to go out on it right away, but not before giving huge hugs and kisses to her mommy and daddy.
Buster sighed deeply, “Oh Gracie!”
Four
Ed was heading out to the other side of town when he spotted the motel. The car bumped into the parking lot of the Mountain View Motel, the trapezoidal neon sign out front flashed that there were still vacancies, and looking around the almost empty parking spaces, this came as no surprise to Ed. The single-story chalets were grouped in an L shape with the reception situated at the shorter left end, so Ed drove to that side and pulled up under the welcome shade of the portico by the entrance, but just the short walk from the car to the reception had Ed sweating in the heat of the relentless sun. He entered the foyer, glad to feel a rush of cool air from the air-conditioning over the door. The reception had three mismatched armchairs surrounding a glass-topped coffee table, an empty rack that once held brochures on local points of interest, a side stand that held a coffee maker and the reception desk itself. The cream vinyl cushioning on the front of the desk had seen its fair share of people coming and going. Tears in the fabric spewed tufts of sponge and missing buttons from the pattern corroborated the air of neglect. An old portable television sat on top of the marble effect Formica surface, its aerial, made from a coat hanger looked like a question mark. As Ed neared the desk he saw a small button, with ‘Ring me’ written beside it. Wondering if this was the only motel in town, he pushed the button and heard an electric buzz coming from somewhere behind the wood panelling beyond the desk. He released his finger but the buzz continued and when he looked closer, Ed saw that the button had stayed down. In his imagination, the buzz was getting louder as he fumbled to unstick the alarm, trying to prize the button out with his finger nails.
“Hey, don’t worry about that”. A fleshy fist thumped down next to the button and it popped out, silencing the noise and startling Ed. “Always getting stuck, damn thing, it’s on the top of my list of jobs to do, names Ryan, Sam Ryan, welcome to Mountain View. Ed Saunders, am I right? You phoned yesterday saying you’d be arriving this afternoon. Don’t get many visitors through here nowadays. Hey, listen to me rattling on, how long will you be staying for Mr Saunders?
Quickly recovering from the shock of the man appearing from nowhere and his machine-gun-like speech, Ed could see that the receptionist had come through a door at the other end of the panelling, that when shut, was almost impossible to see. Being as diplomatic as possible, Ed would still have had to describe Sam as obese, short and with no dress sense what so ever. The bright yellow Hawaiian shirt, complete with multi-coloured canaries was louder and more incessant than his voice. His dark green eyes were enlarged by the lenses in his circular wire-rimmed spectacles. The ruddy, veined, rotund face looked as if it had seen at least fifty summers, but the beaming smile seemed very genuine.
“Oh, well it’s Tuesday today so I guess I should be done by Thursday. Yes, I think just two nights should do it, but I’ll let you know”.
“Okay, great! You want a single or double? Extra space for just a couple of bucks more.”
“No, a single will be just fine, thank you.”
“Awesome! Well, I’ll put you in room 14, just across the way. Quietest room, you know, sometimes we get kids have a party in one of the rooms, but I always give them a room this side so I can keep an eye on them. Hell, I don’t mind ‘em coming here, they gotta go somewhere right? But you won’t hear a thing I promise you”. With a speed that defied his looks, Sam whipped out a large registration book from under the desk. “If I could just ask you to fill in the relevant details please, and oh, I’ll have to swipe a credit card from you, although nothing will be charged against it until you settle your bill, you understand?”
“Yes, of course, no problem”.
Ed picked out his company credit card and handed it over before going back to filling in his registration details. Once complete, Ed looked up and as if by magic, a room key appeared in Mr Ryan’s hand, which he promptly dropped into Ed’s.
“If you need anything, press ‘0’ on the phone, I’m always here, and for an outside line press ‘9’ for the dialling tone. Anything else I can help you with right now?”
“No, I don’t think so, thank you”.
“Alright then”. Sam looked at Ed expectantly, obviously waiting for him to leave.
“Right, thanks”. Ed turned and walked towards the door but after just a couple of steps he stopped and turned back to the receptionist, “Oh, yes, have you got any ice?” But Ed was talking to an empty room; the gap in the panelling had disappeared along with the stout but fleet-footed Mr Ryan.
five
Ed moved his car out from under the shade of the portico to the other side of the parking lot passing what looked to be a recent installation, a tall soft-drinks vending machine and a large ice machine next to it, answering his question from a minute before, then stopped nose in, directly outside room 14. Just grabbing his luggage from the trunk of the car and walking the ten steps to the room again caused the salesman to burst into another bout of perspiration. A blanket of trapped heat escaped from the room as Ed turned the key in the lock and nudged the door open with his holdall. Ed carried most of his clothes in an old air force aviator’s canvas suitcase that dated from World War 2. It had a main zipper that ran around three of the four sides of the case, starting and ending near the leather handle. When unzipped it unfolded to double its size. On each outer side was another smaller zipped compartment. Over the years he had learnt to travel light, except for his laptop that was about all the luggage he carried on his trips. The short walk from the car had caused more sweat to pour down his forehead and as he entered the stuffy confines, another wave of perspiration erupted, making his creased tan chinos and blue cotton shirt stick to his bulky frame. With the garish cheap orange curtains pulled closed, the room was in semi-darkness. Slinging his bag and laptop onto the faded bedcover, he turned and flicked the light switch. The bare low-watt bulb made a brave attempt to illuminate the few pieces of miss-matched and battered furniture clustered into the small room. The bedcover matched the awful curtains.
“Nice!” he thought to himself with irony, “but I’ve seen worse.” His eyes quickly scanned the room, taking in the small dresser with the polished steel mirror, a white Formica wardrobe, a table with two chairs over in one corner and a bedside table that held an alarm clock, telephone and many cigarette burns. At the rear of the room he saw another door which he assumed lead to the bathroom. As with most motels, there was no back door. He found what he had been searching for. Just above the bedside table, he read the small handwritten piece of paper that had been taped to the wall, ‘Air-Conditioning’. He stepped forward and flicked the switch below the notice, praying to the god of ice popsicles that it would work. A rattle from the main unit above the front window told him it was still alive, but was it in good health he wondered? He made the three steps it took to get below the air vents and waited. The rattle turned into a rasping hum as the unit’s motor sped up, Ed thought it sounded like a swarm of crickets but he was glad to feel the first blast of cold air hit his upturned face.
The bright light that had overcome Ed in the car flashed again inside his head. He stumbled backwards, falling onto the bed, banging his head on the side of his aviator’s bag. The noise from the air-conditioner grew louder, filling the whole room, filling Ed’s head with the sound of swarming insects. Louder still, the noise became painful; Ed held his head and cried out against the pain. And then silence.
Somewhere close to his head, a single cricket broke the peace as it rubbed its back legs together. Ed opened his eyes and saw the soft moss that stroked his cheek spread towards the stump of a tree like a green carpet. The cricket was just a few feet away from his head, staring directly at him. It chirped once more and leapt away in the opposite direction from the salesman. Tentatively, Ed turned. No aches, no white light, but no motel room either, just the faint buzz of midges and the odd chirp of a cricket mixed with the heady smell of a forest; the smell of moss, the fresh scent of pine trees and something else, something not so pleasant, mould? Decay? Um, not sure.
Still lying on his back, he looked up at the deep blue sky through the canopy of the tall pines. He guessed it was very late afternoon. Ed felt the soft ground pull at the tenseness in his body. Gingerly, he sat up, feeling for any broken bones. Could you get broken bones in a dream he wondered, and then thought that anything was possible? This all felt too real though, too clear, his senses were wide-awake to everything. He looked around, taking in the small clearing made by Pines and a few Buckeye trees that had fallen amongst the dense woodland, creating almost a perfect square of maybe forty foot across. He heard the distant rumble of a truck somewhere to his left and guessed at a freeway, some miles away. Much closer, to his right, he heard the faint trickle of running water, a tiny stream perhaps? Ed started to stand but just as he pushed himself up to a crouch a branch snapped with a loud crack less than fifty feet away from him. Instinctively, he ducked back down and headed for the cover of one of the fallen trees. Scooting behind it, he found the cause of the odd smell. Underfoot was boggy, stagnant water and crushed debris from the Buckeyes, all of which gave off a pungent odour. As quietly as possible, he squelched to a position that he could see in the direction that he had heard the noise but could not be seen himself. Why was he hiding? He didn’t know, but he felt sure that the noise hadn’t come from a friendly source. Another fallen branch snapped, much closer this time. He crouched down further. Through the trees he caught a flash of red, then, just as quickly, it disappeared, only to reappear a moment later as whoever it was came closer. A red and black checked shirt came into view, a man, carrying something heavy over his shoulder, a sack? He wasn’t sure. The man entered the clearing on the other side from Ed’s position of concealment, some twenty feet away. Because the sack was over his right shoulder he couldn’t see the man’s face, just a swath of black hair, but he looked tall, over 6 foot and with an athletic build. The old shirt was tucked into dirty jeans, the shiny new black leather belt that held them up looked out of place. The man turned away from Ed and let the sack on his shoulder fall to the floor with a thud. He lent over it, opened the top and pulled out a large spade. As he stood back up with the tool, a small limp brown arm poked from the sack. “Oh my god!” The salesman hadn’t meant to speak aloud but the other man’s body stiffened and Ed knew he had been heard. The red-checked torso of the stranger started to turn towards Ed’s position, the spade starting to rise like a baseball bat. The assailant took five long strides towards the fallen tree trunk that Ed crouched behind, all the while raising the spade with both hands, higher and higher, the thick, muscular arms obscuring the man’s face. He was now just two foot away from Ed’s position and an angry growl started to erupt from the tool-wielding man as the spade started to descend.
Ed woke with a start, his right arm raised defensively above his head. He was breathing deeply; sweat still pouring from him, even though the motel room was now noticeably cooler. Dazed, he stumbled to the bathroom and shakily turned the faucet, splashing cold water over his face and neck. “Jesus H Christ!” was all he could manage. As the trembling subsided, he turned off the water and walked back into the bedroom, wiping his face with a towel. He looked up suspiciously at the air-con unit, heat or not it made him uncomfortable sitting below the hum of the motor so he switched it off. Sitting heavily on the side of the bed he bent and held his head in his hands. After a few minutes, he looked up and around the silent room, at the moist shoe-prints on the carpet, then back down towards his wet shoes. His mind tried to fight it, but he knew that he could still smell the moss and the stagnant water in the room. ‘I need some fresh air!’ he thought.
six
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sp; Ed made a quick change of his soggy clothing. He peeled off his saturated socks and shoes, unzipped his pants and threw them on top of his wet shirt. Stripped down to his boxers, he put on another pair of tan chinos, his favourite choice of pants when he wasn’t with a client, and a plain white polo shirt. He unzipped a side compartment on his case to withdraw a pair of chocolate-coloured suede desert boots. As he laced up the boots he glanced at the black plastic digital alarm clock. The orange lights said it was 5.30pm. He wondered if the drug store he had seen earlier would still be open so that he could pick up some pain killers, just in case the pain returned. He had no pain now, none what-so-ever, but man did it hurt when it was happening. He opened his room door and found that the heat was now just about bearable so he decided not to drive. He turned, locked up his motel room and started walking back along the sidewalk towards the centre of town. With the pain gone his mind started to reflect on what he had seen. Were they dreams, real, flashbacks? He didn’t know, but his curiosity was aroused. He had no meetings at all today so he started heading back in the direction of the main intersection then turned left. Ed crossed the deserted main street passed a fresh rectangle of recently laid blacktop and headed for the town square and office of the local newspaper, The Marion County Tribune that he had passed on his way into town. Unlike the rest of the town, the main square and Memorial Park seemed to be well looked after and hadn’t changed much from his first dream. The grass was still lush and green and well-groomed, the area free of litter but the empty plinth in the centre now held the main war memorial, a smaller version of the famous flag raising on Iwo Jima, standing proud at the centre, dominating the scene. Names of the town’s fallen were on a brass plaque at the front. Sitting diagonally across from the white-columned town hall and other municipal offices in the corner of the main square, the newspaper office looked empty and securely locked up, but he wandered over to it regardless. The bottom half of the large window and door were painted in a brown-gold finish, with the name of the newspaper in large black italic letters over that. The unpainted top half was crammed with small ads for lost kittens, old wedding photos and wanted ads for newspaper delivery kids. Ed looked through the cluttered window into the darkened office but saw nothing that would be of help except a sign saying ‘CLOSED’ and opening times. The office would reopen at 9am and close again at 5pm. Lunch was taken at midday for an hour. It was nearly 6pm now so what did he expect, he asked himself? Vowing to return in the morning, Ed started to walk back to the motel when he noticed the lights were still blazing in the town’s library just across the street.