by Reyes, M. A.
“Wondering if you can come by in the morning and talk about looking after my place while I’m gone next week.”
“You got it, Mrs. G. Is eight too early? Football practice is at nine sharp.” His voice cracked at the end of his question and I smiled, thinking about the change in Michael’s voice.
“Perfect, Sean, thank you.” Sucking in a deep breath, I placed my phone on the breakfast bar and poured a glass of wine, pondering what sort of dinner I’d fix.
Recollections of meeting Sean for the first time washed over me. A few summers back, I’d heard a loud crash coming from the front yard. Scrambling to my front window, I saw a teenage boy, crumpled on my cherished hostas and ornamental grasses that encircled the mailbox. His buddy was bent over his own bike, laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. Little harm had come to my plants, but the poor kid had a goose egg on his forehead, swelling minute by minute.
My irritation leveled off when I suddenly recognized a terrific opportunity. Changing my tone, I promised Sean I wouldn’t tell his parents about the calamity. Relief overcame the youngster until I further explained he’d have to help out around the yard whenever I needed it. After several minutes of serious contemplation, he nodded, shaking my hand to seal the deal. Sean’s been my unofficial gardener ever since.
Giggling at the thought of Sean running into my mailbox shook me from my rambling reflection. A wave of excitement washed over me and I cranked my favorite Indigo Girls CD and, completely unrestrained, joined the duo in the last verse of “Galileo,”
But then again it feels like some sort of inspiration
To let the next life off the hook
She’ll say look what I had to overcome from my last life
I think I’ll write a book…
Scrapping the idea of fixing dinner, I walked to a neighborhood Chinese place and ordered sesame chicken and some lettuce wraps. While I waited, I went next door to grab a six-pack of Stella. I’d make sure to pack what I didn’t drink. When I got home, Cody was more excited than usual, circling my legs and jumping up as much as his old legs would allow.
Easing him down, I said, “We’re going on a trip, Buddy, and you’re coming with me!”
I couldn’t imagine traveling without my furry companion; he’d provided unyielding companionship and a sense of security, in spite of his ten-plus years.
Beater was ready by five o’clock the next evening—my gear, loaded by six o’clock. I putzed around the house all evening, finishing it off with a hot bath. Still, I couldn’t sleep. My night vision was terrible, or I would have left right then and there. Even worse, driver fatigue tended to overcome me like a thick veil—once the sun went down, so did I. TV blaring, I mindlessly scrolled through the channels until I stumbled on one of my favorite movies. I was eleven years old when I first saw Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I think my parents thought it was a typical western, like the Spaghetti Westerns that Clint Eastwood made so popular. They allowed me to go to the movie with a couple of girlfriends, all of whom were pre-pubescent, while I was post.
Several years before, Mom had explained that all the women in her family matured early, as she handed me a giant box of “feminine napkins.” I was ten. I hated how I’d developed so early; it made no sense and left me feeling (and looking) very different from my friends, all of whom thought it was normal to ask to see my boobs and armpit hair.
I never felt more different as the night I saw Butch Cassidy. Aside from the schoolgirl crush I had on both Robert Redford and Paul Newman, I was stunned by my physical reaction to the love scene between Redford and Katherine Ross.
My girlfriends giggled and scarfed popcorn, while I questioned the pulsating sensations in my groin. My face flushed, and I had no clue why. Heart racing, I thought I was dying. Literally. I sat completely still throughout the movie. I didn’t tell anyone about what happened—I wouldn’t have known where to start.
I decided to text Daniel right before that scene, hoping to pique his interest,
Today, 9:42 PM
MAGS: U up?
I waited exactly seven minutes for his reply,
DANIEL: In what way do you mean?
MAGS: LOL! Ok, awake
DANIEL: Barely
MAGS: Sorry!
DANIEL: Don’t be – wassup?
MAGS: Watching a fav movie
DANIEL: Porn?
MAGS: No! I’m serious
DANIEL: Ok – which one
MAGS: Butch cassidy
DANIEL: Classic
MAGS: I know, right?
DANIEL: What channel
MAGS: TCM
DANIEL: Let’s watch together
MAGS: Ok!
DANIEL: Going to call
MAGS: Why?
DANIEL: Want to hear you
MAGS: K
He called in under a minute, right when Etta enters her little house, startled to find Kid sitting in a chair. At first, the audience doesn’t know about their romance, creating sizzling tension. After having watched the film at least a dozen times, though, I knew that theirs was a red-hot affair, and I couldn’t wait to get to the part where Kid points his gun at Etta, urging her to unbutton her blouse. Camera closing in, the only thing in view was a string of buttons. The scene was set up to appear as though Kid was taking Etta against her will, until her famous line: “You know what I wish? I wish just once you’d get here on time.”
“Do you want me to take you against your will, Maggie?” Daniel asked in a smoldering voice.
I was incredibly aroused watching that scene and listening to Daniel’s heightened breathing. I pictured him stroking his cock in the dark, lying on his sheets with an air of masculine confidence. His question caught me off guard, and I stopped touching myself.
With hesitation, I responded, “Not sure, Danny, do you?” Don’t overthink this shit, Maggie!
Almost empathetically, Daniel said, “We’re just playing, Mags, just go with it, you know me by now. Let’s just play this one out.”
Ignoring the analytical side of my brain, I allowed myself to fall back into the fantasy. Daniel began to walk me through a scenario much like the one in the film, only modern day. His voice led me through the scene he’d created—my resistance pushing against his insistence. I said nothing, focused only on Daniel’s voice and the images that danced in my mind. His orgasm broke my spell, and I came seconds later. His guttural moans reverberated through the phone, making an electronic connection with my whines and whimpers.
“Danny, you drive me wild,” I said breathlessly. How could virtual sex be so incredibly hot?
“You do the same for me, Mags.” Daniel’s tone was not as euphoric as mine; sultry tension coated his words, “I am transfixed, irrationally wooed by your passion. You’ve cast a spell that I can’t break away from.”
My juvenile statement paled in comparison to how Daniel characterized his feelings. He intrigued me more than ever, yet a flash of panic ripped through me. I was the one that always fell first in relationships; had Daniel upset that pattern?
“I’m tired, Danny, completely spent, courtesy of your vivid imagination,” I said with partial sincerity. I needed to hang up and make sense of what he’d said. I announced with no warning, “By the way, I’m going away.”
“What? When?” Daniel said with unexpected concern.
Casually, I answered, “On a road trip…‘MGroadie,’ remember?”
“Ah, yes, I do. Alone I assume?” he said, seemingly half joking.
What the hell?
“No, I’m taking my man, Cody. He protects me and keeps me warm.” I tried to lighten things up, but it wasn’t working.
“Will you be in range?”
Fuck if I know.
“Sometimes, though I will be in the wilderness part of the time. Don’t worry. I’ve done this before, I know my way around Wyoming.” Even more annoyed, I wondered if Daniel noticed the shift in my mood. “I better get some shuteye, I leave at five in the morning. Thanks, Danny, for
a wild ride tonight.”
Dammit, take the bait!
“Okay. Be safe, Mags. I’d say call if you need anything, but I can’t really come to your aid, now can I?”
Hook, line and sinker.
Glad the conversation was coming to an end, I said, “I’ll shoot you a text every so often. We might be able to squeeze in a date or two, who knows.”
“Sounds good, Mags. I really enjoyed tonight. I’ll miss you.” His tone finally lightened, though the idea of him “missing” me was irksome.
“G’night Danny, I will too.” I said with less conviction.
***
I left the house at 5:07 Sunday morning. Heading north on I-25, I took US 287 just past Fort Collins. I made great time, reaching Laramie a few minutes before seven, and stopped for a coffee refill at Shari’s, a familiar truck stop for anyone traveling this stretch of the Interstate. I didn’t travel with a thermos; I scheduled my coffee stops at 24-hour diners and truck stops so I could mingle with the locals—real salt-of-the-earth types. I made sure Cody had a chance to relieve himself and sniff around, something he never tired of.
I jumped on WY 130, which became Snowy Range Road about thirty miles later. Approaching the tiny town of Centennial at the base of Snowy Range teased my memories, and I deliberated pulling onto an old logging road to find a place to camp. It seemed too early in the day though, so I kept going until I came to the WY 130/WY 230 junction; 230 led to Encampment and 130 to Saratoga, which was home to a dog-friendly hotel, so I turned in that direction.
The hay fields had dried to golden yellow and scattered cattle grazed on meadow grass; the lucky ones sipped along the North Platte River. I pulled into the Riviera Lodge, a large “We Love Dogs” sign hanging above its entrance. It was a few minutes after nine o’clock and the front desk clerk was a bit surprised to greet a guest checking in at that hour. Still, there was a room available, and I handed her my credit card. Minutes later, I began unloading Beater.
I was unusually sleepy and stretched out on the worn but neatly made bed. Pulling Cody’s throw from his bag, I crumpled it on the floor next to me. Though Cody was invited onto my bed at home, I respected the hotel’s policy and kept him off theirs. I snoozed for a little over an hour, waking to memories of Jack, which led to memories of Michael. Tranquility encased me, not profound grief I’d feared would sit shotgun the whole trip. I felt my whole body relax and couldn’t wait to get out in the Wyoming air.
My six-day excursion was rejuvenating and provided a much-needed respite from my routine back home. Cody and I hiked rugged trails off Snowy Range Road and strolled along the Platte’s banks. Driving through the tiny town of Encampment, I discovered a little diner that served excellent pulled pork sandwiches; I’d leave with a napkin filled with small pieces of the tasty grub for my dear old dog. I spent guiltless mornings on the river’s edge, entranced by the ripples caused by stones I tossed with little care.
At the end of each day, I felt restored—physically, mentally and emotionally. I cried very little; instead I smiled, remembering my family’s early camping trips in Wyoming. One in particular stood out: The very first time Jack and I took Michael on a rugged hike. He was seven and already competitive—we were amazed at our son’s ability to keep up and enjoy it. Memories like those fluttered about like the beautiful butterflies that danced around the river’s edge.
I woke to a beautiful sunrise the morning I left Saratoga. Staring out my small hotel window, I decided not to call Jack and Michael back. I’d spent seven years hoarding memories of them; as if the massive cache would, in some way, bring them back to life. I’d come to realize they’d been with me the whole trip—and the last seven years. Accepting they were gone somehow made their presence more…real. As I loaded the last bag into Beater, I sensed a blanket of love all around, feeling Jack and Michael, knowing they would never leave me entirely. I walked to the North Platte River’s edge and silently released them, encouraging a route along the river’s bend up to the intersection of the Oregon and Bozeman Trails. I trusted they’d find their way to Montana—a place we loved almost as much as Wyoming.
***
I’d taken my time driving home, and it was late Friday afternoon by the time I pulled into my driveway. The yard looked the same, maybe even a little better. “Good job, Sean,” I said out loud as I got out of Beater, my joints stiff from the hours of driving. Cody made a beeline to the side gate, and, taking the hint, I opened it. Chuckling, I watched him run to his favorite patch of grass and begin to roll around with unfettered joy.
I unpacked the gear, stowing it in the garage. Hauling the duffels inside, I noticed that thick, stale air had enveloped every square inch of the house. I dropped the bags in the hallway and, quickly making the rounds, opened all the windows to entice fresh air from outside. I stripped off my nasty clothes and raced to the shower, where I stood for a good ten minutes, rinsing road trip grime from my skin and hair.
I replenished Cody’s water and poured a heaping bowl of kibble—he’d earned it. My thoughtful sister left a note on the breakfast bar,
Hey sis – Left you a present in your super empty fridge (hint: it’s white, cold and refreshing!). Drove by the house every day as requested. Apart from the frat party and hooligans ransacking your place, things went just fine. Hope you come back happy, healthy and horny for Greg … yummy! Katie
Katie, it seemed of late, had an appetite for the details of my love life. My sister had been single her entire life, and I wondered if she would ever marry. She lived for the chase and, once caught, easily got bored. She’d had a string of boyfriends but none good enough for marriage, or so she claimed.
Our folks had reluctantly accepted the fact that Timmy and Lisbeth would be their only great-grandchildren; since then, they’d focused on their daughters, showering us with love, praise and occasional gifts that, though well intentioned, really didn’t suit our tastes. We joyfully accepted them, hoping for re-gifting opportunities along the way.
I cracked open the bottle of wine and poured a glass, making my way outside to the deck. I scanned the yard, hoping Sean had cared for the back as he had the front. Everything looked fabulous, and I silently thanked him. I wiped off my chaise and plopped down. Cody was busy decoding all the new scents along the back fence, and I watched in amazement at how he delighted in the simple things. Tilting my glass, I said, “Cheers,” imagining Jack raising his glass, too.
My official travel itinerary ran through Sunday night; I didn’t want people bothering me while I decompressed from my trip. Halfway through my glass of wine, however, Greg came to mind and I wondered if he was still interested in me. Oblivious to the notion that I could be bothering him at that hour, I sent a very quick “hello,”
Today, 7:19 PM
MAGS: Howdy stranger
I placed my phone on the table and picked up my glass, not expecting a response anytime soon. A few minutes later, it buzzed,
Today, 7:23 PM
GREG: Hello! How was your trip?
MAGS: Amazing… perfect, actually
GREG That’s how trips should be, right?
MAGS: Indeed
GREG: What r u up to?
MAGS: Hangin on my deck, glass of wine
GREG: Jealous!
MAGS: Why?
GREG: Cleaning out my garage
MAGS: So sorry LOL!
GREG: Wanna come help?
MAGS: No way, not for hire
GREG: Dinner included
MAGS: Hmmm – not too hungry
GREG: Tomorrow then?
MAGS: U don’t have plans?
GREG: Only finishing the garage
MAGS: Delayed spring cleaning?
GREG: Classic procrastinator, my only flaw
MAGS: Your ONLY one?
GREG: Perhaps u will find more
MAGS: Casual ok?
GREG: The only way to go, for now
MAGS: Where and when?
GREG: Varsity, around 8:00?
Holy sh
it! The place where Brett and I first met. It didn’t feel right at first, but then I decided I didn’t want Brett to control where, when and with whom I had dinner.
Fuck it!
MAGS: Sounds like a plan! Still look like my pics, do u?
GREG: Yup! Look for jeans and t-shirt
MAGS: Look for something else
GREG: Nice – ok! G’nite Mags, sleep peacefully
MAGS: U 2
I woke early the next morning to birds chirping and the realization that I had, indeed, slept peacefully. It was Saturday, and I had chores to do. My backyard beckoned, so I raced through my housework. By eleven o’clock, I was on my way outside. I grabbed a book I’d started before my road trip and fell into my hammock. I wanted to be rested for my date with Greg, so I committed to a relaxing afternoon. I didn’t need any more color, either. My days in Wyoming were spent outside, and I’d come home nicely tanned. I opened my book and read for the next couple of hours, falling asleep for a couple more.
Cody’s bark woke me, and I saw Katie walking through the gate.
“Living ‘La Vida Loca,’ I see,” she joked.
“Hey, sis. Yes, I am.” I gave her a bear hug, and we walked into the house for a glass of water.
“Meet anyone on the road?” Katie asked.
“Nope, wasn’t my plan. But you know what?” I was eager to share all that happened in Wyoming.
Gulping her water, Katie said, “What?”
“I had the coolest experience, Katie. You know how Wyoming makes me thing of Jack and Michael? Usually, I choke back my feelings and memories. I think because I’m afraid that I might lose them forever.” My eyes began to water—not with sadness, but tender reflections. “This time, I really let my feelings out, when I was hiking, resting, sleeping. I wanted to really feel my guys. Then, on the last day, I let go. Out loud, I mean.” I was crying now, and Katie reached out and touched my hand. “I told Jack and Michael that I was okay and that they didn’t have to be locked up in my head anymore. I told them to follow the river to Montana…and then said goodbye.”