by J. D. Walker
“Hollis…” I tried again, but he was already walking to the car, so all I could do was follow.
I was a total moron.
* * * *
The rest of the trip to Denver was spent in silence, only broken by the serene music playing on the stereo. I kept trying to think of ways to make it up to Hollis, but I came up with nothing that would erase the ugliness I’d introduced into our budding friendship. Traffic got heavier as we hit the city limits, since it was more or less lunchtime and there were the inevitable construction crews, hard at work.
When we finally arrived at a motel, Hollis was frazzled and short-tempered, which didn’t suit the man at all. I offered to pay for our room, but he shook his head and went inside. Five minutes later, he drove us to a parking spot around back and then led the way to our room. It had two beds, a TV, and a mini-bar. He dropped an overnight bag on one bed, and I sat on the other.
“So what are we doing in Denver?” I asked, hoping to get us back on friendlier terms, in spite of myself.
Hollis grabbed a small bottle of water from the tiny refrigerator. “Concert at Red Rocks Amphitheatre.”
I hadn’t expected that. “What am I going to do while you’re rocking out over there?” Though it wouldn’t be more than I deserved to be left behind. Come to think of it, when was the last time I’d even been to a concert? God, it had been decades ago.
He grinned, and it looked genuine this time. “Oh, you’re coming with me. I bought two tickets a while back, knowing that either way, I’d find someone to take along. Always happens, dunno how. Maybe the universe likes me.” Well, I certainly like you, was my traitorous thought.
“I’m really sorry, Hollis, for what I blurted earlier. You touched a sore spot and I lashed out. I didn’t mean it, and I would never hurt you. I have no excuse and I would totally understand if you ditched me on the road and ran me over with the car, twice.”
He laughed. “Nothing so melodramatic. Maybe just once.” He winked at me, then became serious. “I got where you were coming from, and I knew it came from anger and not any real sense of malice, using the little I know of you. It’s okay.”
“Well, thank you, but you don’t mind if I hate myself for a while, do you?”
He chuckled. “Not if you don’t mind me bringing you out of your funk if you do.”
“Deal.” I went to the bathroom and washed my hands. “How about lunch? My treat? What time’s the concert?” I asked as I returned to the room, checking my pockets for wallet and cell phone.
“Starts at six-thirty. Hope you like heavy metal.” He gave me a cheeky smile and headed out the door.
Oh boy.
* * * *
The crowd was huge and loud. It surprised me to see the wide age group of people who intentionally wanted their ears to bleed while being screamed at for hours on end. Hollis certainly enjoyed it, and I admit, my head might have bopped a little when Marilyn Manson performed Personal Jesus. We were both dressed in jeans shorts and polo shirts, in deference to the heat.
I loved the amphitheater. The sound was awesome, and I could feel the energy pulsing all around me, from the multitude and Hollis. I mostly watched my companion, though, completely taken in by the joy he seemed to have in everything around him.
His hair was plastered to his head by the time Slipknot came on stage, but he was laughing and a total knockout. I wanted to taste his happiness, suck it all up so I could feel that much pleasure in the moment. I kept my desires to myself, however and let the frenzy take me away from myself, just for a little while.
“How about a beer, or something?” Hollis asked as we drove back toward the motel at the end of the show. “I’m too wired to sleep. Wasn’t that awesome?” He chattered like that for a while, hopped up on the whole experience, and since it didn’t matter if I answered, I just grunted in response from time to time.
We found a bar that seemed okay and went inside. It turned out to have a varied clientele, and club music was playing in the background. My head was throbbing by now, but I was thirsty so I figured I could deal.
“What do you want to drink?” Hollis asked as he gestured to the bartender.
“Sam Adams,” I replied, and he ordered two.
Once we got our drinks, we both turned and leaned against the bar to watch the antics of people around us. I could smell Hollis’s sweat and it was driving me nuts. I did my best to control my urges, but it was hard, as was a certain part of my anatomy-thank God for jockstraps.
“Did you like the concert?” Hollis asked, close to my ear so he could be heard over all the noise.
“It was okay,” I replied, in a similar fashion. “There were some songs I liked. The crowd was wild and it was so loud.”
“I know, right? All that energy, all those people there for one thing: music they could enjoy together. It rocked, man. I’ve always wanted to go to Red Rock, and now I can check that off my list.”
“There’s a list?” I queried, wondering what on earth else he had planned for this trip.
“Oh yeah, but we won’t get it all done this time around. Maybe next summer.”
And wouldn’t that be interesting, if our friendship lasted that long?
* * * *
We were up again before dawn—what I wouldn’t give for leaving town at eight o’clock in the morning. Once we were filled up on coffee and Waffle House, Hollis headed north on Highway 15 to Cheyenne, then west on Interstate 80. The mountains were gorgeous, and we’d been blessed with beautiful weather, if hot, on our journey to this point. The air was crisp and clean, and I felt myself relaxing even more with each passing mile. All my problems seemed far away.
“We’re going to Salt Lake City,” Hollis murmured right before we pulled off at an exit to fill up on gas. I gave him some cash and ignored his protests.
“Deal with it,” was all I said, and he rolled his eyes and did just that.
“What’s in Utah?” I asked once we were back on the road. I’d decided to shave and make an effort with my appearance, for a change. I didn’t want to think too hard as to why that was the case.
“The Utah Arts Festival. We’ll be able to catch the last day and a half of it. It has street theatre, dance shows, films, art exhibits—2D and 3D stuff, you know? And there’s a culinary arts thing I really want to see. I think you might find something to enjoy.”
“Sounds fun.”
We hit Salt Lake around three because of bad traffic, and then checked into a motel before heading out to see what was left of the festival for that day. It felt good to stretch my legs and join the hundreds of people around us, visiting each booth. There was a little bit of everything here, and I even found myself being drawn to some of the art displays. I almost forgot Hollis was beside me as I investigated a scrap metal sculpture that seemed abstract but wasn’t, depending on the angle at which it was viewed.
Hollis remained silent as I took it all in. I was in awe of the design and the sheer artistry of the subject. I would have loved to buy it, but I knew my precarious finances didn’t stretch that far. I stared at it wistfully, then engaged the artist in conversation for a few minutes. She was a local, and had been working in this particular medium for decades.
After about half an hour, I moved on to other displays. Hollis told me he’d meet me at the dance stage ahead of us so I kept on. When he caught up to me, we joined the crowd after finding some food and watched an interpretative dance performance that was as wild and beautiful as the mountains around us. I felt something in myself opening up, changing, maybe, with each experience I’d taken in because of Hollis. Would I ever be able to thank him for dragging my cranky, ungrateful ass across the country and forcing me to live a little?
* * * *
On the last day of the festival, we spent most of our time at the culinary arts shows. Hollis was enthralled by it all, and it amused me to notice how often he forgot I was even there, drawn into conversations with chefs and other experts about recipes and ideas. He was truly passionate ab
out food, where I was simply happy if it was cooked—when needed—and tasted good.
We sampled everything on offer, and I learned more than I ever wanted to know in this lifetime about meat preparation. Still, I enjoyed it because Hollis did. Every moment spent in his presence was a revelation, and I wondered if there was any way he would ever see me as anything more than a hard luck case in need of healing.
That thought was depressing enough that Hollis noticed my change in mood, though I didn’t mean for it to do so. He decided then and there that he’d had enough of food, and we should go rest up because the next leg of our trip would be a longer one.
He still hadn’t told me the final destination, but knowing Hollis, it would be something to behold. I surprised myself, because I was actually looking forward to whatever he had in store.
* * * *
I’d been offering to drive the whole time, but today, Hollis finally agreed. We left at six o’clock, in deference to my not-so-quiet grumbling about being up before the birds. We got on Highway 84 and began the eleven-hour trip to Portland, Oregon.
We stopped about two hours in at a truck stop to get breakfast—the salt in the food could rival the Dead Sea—and then continued on our journey. It was summer, so construction activity was at its height, as was the case everywhere we’d driven so far.
The Sawtooth National Forest was on the way, and although camping wasn’t my thing, I wondered if it was something I would do, if Hollis were with me. My thoughts of him had been expanding into dangerous territory as the trip progressed, and I found it harder and harder to rein them in.
Instead, I asked him about growing up. “Tell me about your family. I’ve told you all about me, which is basically brothers and sisters who don’t talk to me anymore, and ex-boyfriends who thought I was boring. Surely, you’re more exciting than that, with Patricia as your grandmother.”
He laughed, seat back and legs propped up on the dashboard. His skin was practically hairless, and I almost ran into a slow-moving car before switching lanes at the last minute. I cleared my throat and Hollis raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.
“Gran took me in because my mom was mentally ill. Before she stepped in, I used to try to hide the fact that Mom didn’t ever cook and clean because she was depressed all the time, and alternated between screaming and yelling at the wall, or crying. I was nine years old, but I did what I could around the house, though we lived in squalor. I ate a lot of cereal, and was very skinny. My clothes never fit, and I was perpetually dirty, it seemed.
“People would come over sometimes and help out or bring food, but no one ever called social services or stepped in to do anything. My dad had died in the army while overseas, or so I was told since I never met the man, and that’s all I know of him. Finally, one day I came to school and there were lice in my hair. The principal drove me home, took one look at the place, and called social services. I didn’t want to leave my mother. I mean, she wasn’t perfect, but she was all I had. I kicked up a stink, but she didn’t even see me, didn’t seem to care, she was so lost in her world.
“They tracked down Gran, who, as you know, was a social worker, and eventually, I went to live with her.” He scratched his knee. “Mom died two years ago. She was in an institution by then, but she wandered out one day and got hit by a car.” He grew quiet, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring out the window.
“Gran and I cremated her body and spread her ashes near Plum Creek in Kickapoo. We said nothing to each other, just watched as my mother joined the universe. I hoped she was finally at peace.”
* * * *
I kept on driving, marveling at how sanguine Hollis appeared to be after such a wretched childhood. We had just passed Boise. “So you stayed with Gran in Salina after that?”
“Yeah. She had her work cut out with me, but she wouldn’t let me get away with shit, and at the same time, she made sure I knew about my Kickapoo heritage, though she herself had never bothered much about it. I think she wanted me to have a sense of place, something to hold onto and be proud of after all that had happened. And because of that, and her sheer determination, I made it to adulthood, through no lack of trying to give her a heart attack on my part.”
“You seem to have turned out okay, huh?” I took the next exit because I was hungry and Hollis’s stomach had growled twice. “Where’d you end up going to school?”
“I got a full ride to Harvard. Despite my issues, I was smart and managed to get straight A’s in between all the trouble I caused. I owe Gran my life. She knows all my deep dark secrets, didn’t blink an eye when I told her I was gay, and told me that I should be honored to see the world from a unique point of view.” He shrugged and smiled. “That’s my grandmother.”
After all he’d endured, I was happy he’d had such a solid rock to lean on. “How about IHOP for lunch?”
“Sure. I think we might need to get some exercise at some point, though. All this sitting and gorging is making me lazy.”
I parked the car and we headed inside. “I don’t think you could gain weight if you tried.” He smirked as we seated ourselves in a booth. I grabbed a menu. “You planning on telling me what our final destination is, yet?”
“Nope. It’s all in the surprise factor. Just enjoy the journey, would you?” We both ordered pancake stacks and massive amounts of coffee.
After the waiter left, I asked, “So you’re going for your doctorate now? Is that at Harvard, too?”
“Nah, I wanted to be closer to home and Gran, so I’m going to the University of Kansas.” That meant he would be right around the corner in Lawrence, which was two hours away from Salina. And why should that matter? Well, I knew why, but still…
Our food came and as we ate, I asked, “So what’s in Portland?”
“Well, I wanted to go to Powell’s Books, which is the largest new and used bookstore in the world, so they say. We’re going to the flagship store on Burnside Street. It has four stories full of books, can you imagine? I could get lost in a place like that.”
I chuckled at his dreamy expression. “Such a nerd, aren’t you?”
“And proud of it!”
Hollis and I got back on the road a little while later, and even with construction at The Dalles and then Cascade Locks, we still made good time. We followed the Columbia River and marveled at the waterfalls along the way. There were a lot of picturesque spots that I’d love to explore at my leisure someday. This trip had opened my eyes to the beauty of my own country, something I’d either taken for granted or been too busy to notice, buried as I was in misery and paperwork. Whatever I decided to do in the future, I swore to myself I wouldn’t ever let life pass me by like this again.
* * * *
Even knowing Mt. Hood was nearby in the darkness didn’t make me feel any less frustrated at the traffic in downtown Portland. Hollis was using his phone to direct us to the motel he’d booked, but there’d been an accident and my bladder was full to almost bursting.
“I have an empty bottle in the back seat. You can use that,” he offered, and I glared at him.
“You know it’s not easy to pee sitting down, right?”
He raised his hands. “I was just trying to help.”
Eventually, traffic eased and Hollis pointed out a gas station where I could take care of business. Relieved, I sat in the passenger seat and he drove us to the motel, then got us checked in.
“We need to get you fed before you turn into a bear. You’re certainly grumbling like one right now,” was his only comment as we locked up our room and headed out to find a restaurant.
“Sorry. I promise to be better behaved.”
He winked at me before driving us to a Mexican eatery we’d spotted along the way. They had margaritas, and I had three, which was a bad idea since I tended to become very friendly and amorous when inebriated. Hollis thought it was funny, though he didn’t seem affected by his own drink, which he sipped slowly. Of course, he’d only had one so far.
“
Do you know you’re beautiful?” I said, my words slurring. I reached out to touch his nose and almost poked him in the eye. “I want to kiss you all the time.”
Hollis raised an eyebrow. “That so? You know you’re tipsy, right?”
“Yeah, I gueth, uh, guess so.” I was acting like a lovesick fool, but I couldn’t help it. “Do you have a-a boyfriend?”
“Not at the moment.” He smiled. “Are you applying for the position?”
“I wish I could, b-but I’m justh-just this old guy with no job. I have nothing to o-offer.” And then I belched, to seal the deal. Classy.
Hollis watched me, but I couldn’t read the expression on his face, though I had a hard enough time focusing since I was starting to see double.
We made it back to the motel much later, Hollis practically dragging me to the room since I was unsteady on my feet, and then he tucked me into bed. “Wish I could do this with you every night,” I murmured, and drifted off to sleep. I thought I heard Hollis’s breath hitch, but I was soon lost to the world.
* * * *
The morning sun was bright. Too bright. I sat up in bed, still in my clothes from the evening before. My head was pounding and my mouth tasted nasty. I almost thought I was back in my condo in Kansas, the situation was so familiar. But then I remembered I was on a spur-of-the-moment road trip, with the sexiest, kindest man I’d ever met. What the hell had I done last night?
I rose slowly in deference to my headache and shuffled to the bathroom. When I had showered, dressed, and brushed my teeth, I finally realized that Hollis wasn’t in the room. It was then that I noticed the note tucked into the mirror over the TV.
“Went for breakfast. Back soon,” it said, and I admired his neat scrawl. I tucked the piece of paper in my pocket and sat on the bed to wait for his return while I watched the local news.