The Mother Road

by Meghan Quinn

  Our next stop is the Cadillac Ranch, my most anticipated Route 66 attraction. Paul gave us the run down earlier about the ranch, which technically isn’t what it sounds like. It’s an open art space in Amarillo, Texas, in the middle of a “ranch,” where two architects back in the day took variations of the Cadillac and submerged them underground, leaving their tail ends sticking up in the air. Tourists are allowed to spray paint the cars, adding their own graffiti touch to the art piece. Every once in a while the people who watch over the attraction apply a fresh coat of paint to the cars for tourists to start new again. Bernie bought some spray paint for all of us to use. I’m ready to make my mark on an old tradition.

  “Help” by the Beatles echoes through the speakers and I watch as Bernie drums away with his fingers, wondering how in the hell he can drum that hard and not break a bone. His voice rises with the song and he finishes with a high note just as he pulls into a parking space at the Cadillac Ranch.

  The space looks like a pasture with metal fencing, the only thing tipping you off to the fact that you won’t find cattle on this ranch are the ten vibrantly colored cars sticking straight up in the air. Without waiting for anyone else, I step out of the RV and stretch my long body. The sky is crystal blue, not a cloud in sight. The sun is beating down on us, but in the September air, it’s not as hot as you think it would be. We are the only ones at the ranch, giving us free range to be idiots and no one will see.

  “What a beautiful day,” Marley says, stepping up next to me.

  “It is,” I smile down at her gorgeous face. “Are you done with your nails?”

  “Yup, all set.” She holds her fingers up for me to see. On the ring finger of each hand is a little hot dog decal on top of white polish. The rest of her nails are red. I’ve never understood the whole different color nail polish on the ring finger, but I’m not going to lie, it’s hot for some reason. Marley was right, those are memorable hands.

  “Hey,” Bernie calls out, grabbing our attention. “I’m going to wait in the RV for Paul until he feels a little better; go have some fun.” Bernie tosses both of us cans of spray paint. Mine is blue and Marley’s is pink.

  “You’re going to come out, right?” Marley asks.

  “Yeah, I’ll be out in a bit. Go with Porter and take some pictures.”

  “Okay.”

  Together, we walk through the gate toward the cars with their rear ends in the air. They are decorated in a plethora of colors, ranging from hot pink to neon orange to electric blue, people proclaiming their love for each other or just making their mark on a nostalgic American classic.

  “They’re kind of beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” I answer. “This was the stop I was looking forward to the most.”

  “Me too.” She laces her hand through my arm and walks me to the first car.

  I take in its structure and wonder what it used to look like in its heyday. It’s hard to imagine with all of its intricate “tattoos.”

  Marley runs her hand over the painted side and reads some of the inscriptions. “My mom would have loved this. She was always into art with her water coloring. She would be going crazy with pictures right now.”

  “Well then, let’s honor her.” I grab the Polaroid from Marley and wrap my arm around her, pulling her in tight. I turn the camera around so we’re taking a selfie and I just pray I aim at our faces properly. “Say cheese, Marbles.”

  Marley looks up at me and laughs at me using Bernie’s coined term. I snap the picture just at the right time, capturing the moment on film. The picture pops out and I snag it for myself before Marley can take it; I’m keeping this one.

  “I miss your mom,” I say honestly, thinking of the beloved Mama McMann. “What do you think she would be doing right now?”

  Marley disengages from my grasp and goes to the next car while she speaks to me. “Right now? Probably fussing over Paul and his ‘sicky belly’,” Marley uses air quotes. “When she was done with that, she would take a million of pictures here and write something on the cars about how much her family means to her. I could see her taking up an entire hood, blacking out everyone else’s writing first, so her proclamation stood out the most.”

  I laugh in agreement. I could so see Mama McMann doing that. “No doubt in my mind that she would stake claim on her very own car.” I pause for a second and then say, “She would be proud of you, Marley.”

  Marley glances in my direction with a sweet and endearing look on her face. “I hope she would be.”

  “She would. You’ve really made yourself into something. You hung up your pig-slumming mud boots for a pair of heels and a mascara brush, and you’ve turned yourself into a valuable asset in the beauty industry.”

  “Look at you, buttering me up.” I can tell my compliments make her uncomfortable by the way she blushes and jokes, refusing to accept the compliment.

  “I’m serious, Marley.” I grab her chin with my finger and thumb so she has to look me in the eyes. “You should be very proud of yourself. It takes a strong woman to accomplish what you have. Your determination is…sexy.”

  What the fuck am I saying? Words are flying out of my mouth that are supposed to be kept to myself, in a deep, dark place where only I can access them. But being so close to Marley again is bringing back the feelings I’ve harbored for so long. That’s why I’ve kept my distance from her all this time, to spare myself from saying something stupid…like I just did.

  Her clear blue eyes search mine, mesmerizing me in a cheese dick kind of way that I’m unprepared for. I’ve never been the mushy kind of guy, but right now, I can feel my heartbeat pick up, my lips yearning to kiss hers, and my fingers itching to wrap around her waist and explore under her shirt. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks shyly.

  I clear my throat, trying to pry my eyes off her glistening lips. “How am I looking at you?”

  “Like you want to devour me.” Her voice is husky and with each word that’s spoken it’s like a shock of pleasure to my dick. I’m in so much fucking trouble.

  I pause for a moment and then answer honestly, “Because, maybe I do. But I know I can’t. It’s too complicated between us.” I shake the spray can in my hand, gaining enough courage to tear myself away from her. “Let’s make our mark.”

  Her face is stricken from my retreat, but I grab her hand and lace our fingers together as I bring her to the very front of the line of cars. I take my blue spray paint, shake it hard, and then spray over everyone else’s postings, blacking them out with blue, just like Mama McMann probably would. I hold onto her hand the entire time until I feel like there is a clear canvas to work on.

  “You’re up, Marbles.”

  She crinkles her little button nose at me and asks, “What do I write?”

  I press my lips together as I think about her question. The sky is clear, the sun is shining down on us, and I can’t help but think about this new chapter I’m embarking on and the new friendship I’m trying to re-establish with Marley.

  “I like to think people come here to not just spray paint on a bunch of old cars, but to make a proclamation to travelers around the United States, to make a statement about your life in this moment in time. It’s an opportunity to express yourself in a way that will stand out amongst the other spray painted colors on these aged automobiles. What’s your story, Marley?”

  The base I painted starts to dry as Marley takes her time thinking about what she wants to write. I like that she’s taking her time, that this just isn’t some fun art project for her, that it means something to her.

  While she thinks about what to write, I look at what other people have written. There are a lot of hearts with initials, claiming love to another soul. There are people who aren’t very original, stating they were once there. There are some quotes and a lot of dates with names of people who visited. A part of me wants to secretly write my initi
als with Marley’s, knowing she will forever be in my heart but I refrain, even though the impulse is strong.

  “I think I know what I want.” Marley breaks into my thoughts.

  “Then get at it, Marbles. Let’s see how good you are at graffiti.”

  With a bright smile, she shakes her can and starts spraying. From the corner of my eye, I see Paul and Bernie exit the RV, spray cans in hand as well. My moment alone with Marley is coming to an end, and I can’t help but feel sad about it. I like being able to be candid around her, to touch her in an intimate way that I would never do in front of her dad or Paul.

  “Feeling better?” I ask Paul, who is limping toward us.

  “I think so,” he says in a monotone voice.

  “It’s your stomach that hurts, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a little case of sicky belly.” Bernie rolls his eyes and watches over Marley, who is still writing, really taking her time.

  “Then why the hell are you limping?”

  Paul straightens up and holds his stomach. “It makes my belly feel better.”

  I pat Paul on the shoulder. “Dude, how you made it through the Army and got laid will forever be a mystery to me.”

  “What’re you writing, Buttons?” Bernie asks.

  Marley pulls away and surveys her work. “Porter told me I had to write something meaningful, something that makes a statement, so I did.”

  Written in her girly writing is a statement to her mom.

  Mom, we’re getting our kicks on Route 66 for you.

  It’s perfect. I couldn’t have thought of anything better. Marley steps back a little more and takes a picture of her message. We all stand there together, Bernie’s arms around his kids as they have a short moment of remembrance. I feel a little out of place before Marley grabs my hand and pulls me into their family embrace. Her arm wraps around my waist, holding me tightly.

  A thought crosses my mind and I ask, “Can I add one thing?”

  “Sure,” she answers, handing me the pink can of spray paint.

  In the corner, as a side note, I write my extra note. Once I’m done, I stand up and read, “Hotdogs 4 Eva.”

  Marley snorts as Bernie claps and laughs. Paul chuckles, but then grabs his stomach in pain, fucking pansy, I swear.

  “How could I forget the hot dogs when we’re on our way to the pinnacle of all hot dogs?” Marley takes a moment and then turns to her dad. “Take a picture of me next to the car? It would be like taking a picture with mom.”

  Bernie takes the camera from her and waits for her to get into position. Thanks to the sunny day, the usually muddy ground around the cars is dried up and cracked from the Texas atmosphere, so Marley sits cross legged on the ground and leans against the car, a bright smile on her face.

  Gorgeous is such an inadequate word to describe Marley at this moment. She’s exquisite, infatuating, consuming with her inability to scarcely contain her joy.

  “Have you written something?” Paul asks, looking around. “This place is kind of cool. I think I’m going to write Savannah’s name with a heart and then take a picture with my phone to send to her. It’s okay if I just send her one picture. I’m sure she misses my face. Don’t you think that would be romantic? Writing her name with a heart?”

  “Yup, so romantic,” I deadpan. Paul would write Savannah’s name with a heart. Got to admire a traditionalist.

  While Marley and her dad are taking pictures and talking about what Bernie should write on the front car, I walk toward the very back, to the very last car. I squat behind it and look up, trying to find a clear enough space to make my mark.

  Finally finding a spot next to the rear back tire, I shake my spray can and I write what’s on my mind so I can freeze this point in time of my life, to remember forever the feelings that are beating rapidly through me.

  My hand decorates the car with my soul and once I step back, I observe my true feelings, what I can’t speak but only write.

  I’m hers.

  For my own safe keeping, I grab my phone out of my pocket and turn the camera around so I’m taking a picture of myself with what my heart so desperately wants to say. I snap the picture and then pocket my phone, moving quickly away from my bleeding heart to join the McManns.

  Paul is painting a giant heart around Savannah’s name and Marley is watching Bernie write the family’s last name with the date, a classic inscription. There is no doubt in my mind that this will be my favorite attraction we visit for many reasons. For seeing a part of Marley I hadn’t seen since before her mom died, for having an intimate moment alone with her, and for “speaking” my mind, saying what’s been weighing heavily on my heart for as long as I can remember.

  Her dad says something to her and I watch as her head flies back and a full on belly laugh comes out of her perfectly sweet lips. Her eyes light up with humor and she lightly pushes her dad. She’s captured me forever, from the moment I first met her, to the years of her tagging along behind Paul and me, to her prom night when she truly took my breath away. I will forever be hers, no matter where her life leads her without me.

  ****

  “Good call on the grilled jalapenos,” Bernie says, mouth full of food.

  “Thanks. I thought since we already had a hot dog for lunch in Texas, we could spice it up with some jalapenos on our chicken.”

  “I didn’t know you were such a cook,” Marley says, eating her grilled vegetables. Now I see where she gets her amazing body from, she eats very healthy, well, besides the Funyun and Hunky Dory binges. She’s already eaten through her bag and I see her occasionally sneak handfuls of the popcorn treat from Paul’s bag when he’s asleep.

  I shrug my shoulders. “I thought I would learn, since I live on my own and all.”

  “I thought you worked on the farm,” Marley says with confusion. “Doesn’t dad put you up in the house?”

  “He still lives in the shack next to the house and has been working on something…”

  “Hey, you done with that?” I interrupt Bernie, giving him an evil glare to keep his mouth shut. I don’t want Marley to know about my recent ambitions, especially if it doesn’t work out. I would be too embarrassed if it failed and she knew.

  “Uh, yeah.” Bernie’s eyes widen when I mouth not to say anything. He understands immediately and clears his throat. “Sorry, I mean he hasn’t been living in the farm house for a little bit. Guess he wanted some privacy for all those women he brings back to his place.”

  “Oh, really?” Marley asks, annoyance in her voice.

  I groan at Bernie’s comment. I adore the man, more than my own father, but his diarrhea mouth is not doing me any good right now.

  “Dude, you’re scoring ass and you haven’t told me?”

  I put the plates that I gathered in the trash and turn to the McMann clan, who are all looking at me for answers.

  To Paul, I say, “Man, I really wish I could say you can pull off talking like that, but you just sound like a giant dick hole. And, to answer your question, no, I have not. I do my own thing at night, no night time visitors.” For some reason, I direct that last confession to Marley. Even though I know nothing is going to happen between us, I don’t want her thinking I’m some kind of man slut trolling the streets of Jamestown.

  A spark flies up from the fire and falls right next to Paul, who screams and backs his chair up from the fire, taking the attention off of me, thankfully.

  “Son, it disturbs me that you scream louder than Marley.”

  “You know I get scared about the fire bursts. Remember when I was in elementary school and we were camping in Yellowstone? We built that giant fire that felt like it touched the canopy of the trees, remember? Well, that was the same trip one of the fire logs exploded, sending burning hot embers into my lap…” He whispers the next part. “Nearly burning off my yogurt slinger.”

  “You’re so dramatic,” Marley criticizes and walks to the RV, but returns quickly, something in her hand and a devious look on her face. She pull
s her chair away from the fire and angles it so it’s partially behind Paul.

  I try to get her to look over at me, but she is fully concentrated on Paul.

  “I remember you telling me about your crotch burn,” I tell Paul. “I would have freaked out too. No man wants their dick on fire.”

  “True statement,” Bernie nods. “I would feel lost without my penis.”

  “Dad! Don’t talk about your penis,” Marley groans.

  “What? I’m a man, I have a penis. I may only use it for peeing, but I have a penis and it shouldn’t be ignored just because it’s older than the other ones in the circle. In its prime, your mom used to call it the hammer because it would nail her to the bed in ecstasy.”

  “What is going on right now?” Paul holds his hands over his ears. “Don’t talk about nailing Mom, Jesus, Dad!”

  “Why not? I might be able to give you some tips for Savannah.” Bernie draws out Savannah’s name with a southern accent. “I was able to please your mom and give her two kids, and technically this is your bachelor party. Don’t you give the groom tips about the wedding night at bachelor parties?”

  “Maybe in the fifties,” Paul says. “Now all guys do is drink and watch strippers dance for them.”

  “Well, we have the beers covered,” Bernie ponders. “You know, I ran into a randy looking woman over near the bathrooms smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. She was a little on the skeletor side, but she seemed like she would be down for a good time. She told me she was located at the campsite across from the main lodge and could possibly get us some free ice. With that kind of hook up, we could get a real rager going on here. We could make snow cones.”