by J. M. Snyder
I didn’t even wait until we made it home. Instead, I drove to a small park just off the beltway, a scenic spot surrounded by ancient trees that overlook the Potomac River. It’s secluded there, and I drove into the underbrush and low trees until I couldn’t see the road behind me, and the river filled the windshield. Turning off the car, I gave Dan a smoldering look that said everything I had kept bottled up inside myself for the past week. “What?” he asked, a faint smile on his lips. “Hon, I’m exhausted—”
My hand fumbled at his waist, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants, I needed him. “Don’t you want to?” I sighed as I crawled over the gear shaft and into his lap. My mouth found his and I fell into him. When I managed to get his fly opened, his briefs down below his balls, I found he wanted me just as much as I did him. His hands clawed at my ass, tore at my shirt—his mouth was hungry on my own. At one point he found the seat release and practically dumped us both into the back of the car, giggling and half naked and hard with lust, and when I sat up to get the condoms I kept in the glove compartment for just this occasion, I leaned heavily on the car horn, startling a flock of birds roosting in the bushes nearby. “Damn,” I breathed. I was starting to hurt from my desire. I needed him now.
Somehow we managed to get the condom out of its package. We managed to get the damn thing on Dan’s hard cock, though it seemed more slippery than usual and I couldn’t stop laughing. I finally had him back, I couldn’t believe it. Everything else meant nothing to me—I barely noticed the gear shaft stabbing my hip, or the torn seam of my pants when I spread my legs to slide onto him, my lover, Dan. I’m usually the one in charge, the one driving into him, but when he tops me, I lose all control. In the car that day, I arched up to the ceiling as he pulled back, bucked against him when he thrust into me, his arms tight around my waist like he had to hold me down. I held onto the headrest behind him, gripped it so tight that my fingers throbbed the next day, but I needed that, I needed him. We came together in an explosive rush that threatened to tear the roof off the car and my voice from my throat when I cried out his name. I don’t remember dressing, or driving home, or making him dinner while he showered—just him in me, the car rocking gently with our motions, the two of us hidden in the wildness, on the fringes of the world.
Taking his eyes off the road for a minute, Dan gives me a look that makes me think he’s remembering that time, too. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking,” I say, my hand pressing into the V between his legs, where he’s begun to stiffen.
He shrugs. “There’s always the shower.”
I have to laugh because I know he’s playing with me now. I poke at his budding erection. “Don’t try to tell me this is from thinking about the shower. I know you better than that.”
“What?” he asks. Then, with a wicked grin, he raises an eyebrow and says, “You’re thinking about the car.”
“I’m remembering the car,” I correct. His hand catches mine as I start to stroke him through his jeans. “Big difference there, babe.”
He laughs at me. “So that’s settled, then. We go for a drive, take a run to the store, something like that. Get it on while we’re out and it won’t matter who’s in the room with us at night. All we’ll do then is sleep. See?” he asks. “Nothing to worry about, Michael.”
From behind us, my sister groans. “Tell me you guys didn’t do it back here,” she mutters. “God, please.”
Without turning around, I reach between the seats and slap at her legs—something I learned from my dad growing up. Didn’t matter who was the one causing trouble or arguing. In the back seat, all were fair game when he got angry, and he’d slap back at us while we dodged his hand.
Caitlin, though, she pushes me away. “If you guys are gonna fuck in the car,” she says, kicking at my arm, “I’m riding home with the parentals.”
“Is that a promise?” I want to know.
Chapter 11: Behind the Wheel
Around four in the afternoon, we turn onto interstate 80 and it’s back to three lanes rushing west, a concrete median separating us from the drivers heading the way we’ve come. The radio fades in and out as we pass between stations, and Caitlin starts to complain about the batteries in her Walkman again but we’re so close now, I can almost see Aunt Evie’s house from here. I don’t want to stop along the way, or dawdle any longer than we have to. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can work out who’s sleeping where and get the funeral arrangements over with. I’m assuming Penny has handled them, but she never struck me as the self-sufficient type. She might be waiting for someone else to get there first.
My mom’s sister, Penny’s a little shy in person, though she’ll talk your ear off over the phone. I suspect she’s a lesbian but I doubt that she’s out of the closet about it—even to herself. Sugar Creek isn’t exactly a city teeming with pride, and with the way Mom reacted to my coming out, I just don’t see Penny tripping over herself to share the spotlight. She’s not the outspoken type. After living in Evie’s shadow for so long, I don’t know how she’ll make it on her own now.
Just past the Punxsutawney exit, Dan turns off the interstate onto another two-lane back road, state route 650, which runs right through the heart of Sugar Creek. We’re in mountain country now, the Alleghenies no longer towering on the horizon but rising around us, shrouded in blue haze like a half-remembered dream. This is all coming back to me—fog-draped trees that stretch to a canopy above us, creeks and runoff from the river twining through hilly land, rocks suspended up steep inclines along the road. New road signs appear between the historical markers and city signs—Beware of Falling Rocks, these say, and Quiet Through Underpass, phrases that terrified me as a child. Once or twice while I was growing up, when money was tight and my parents talked in low voices of maybe not making it to Evie’s that year, I would envision this road barricaded with rocks and rubble, mountains crumbling into our path to keep us from visiting the family. That never happened, though—Evie always said that family stuck together no matter what, and it wasn’t until I was older that I realized it was she who sent my mom enough money to make the trip when we didn’t think we’d be able to come. One year my dad didn’t go, we couldn’t afford to take everyone and he told us he had to work overtime at the plant, and when we got this far, I held my breath, watched the rocks as we passed beneath them, sure that it was my steady gaze alone that held them up. If they fell, we might never get back home, but I could think of worse things than being trapped at Sugar Creek. Like not getting there in the first place, or running into Stephanie Robichaud when I went to Grosso’s for a Sno-Cone.
Now those childish fears are back, and I press my face against the cold glass of the window to keep an eye on the rocks as we drive by. If I look away, they’ll crash down around us in a landslide, isn’t that the way it worked? Children make their own magic in the world, and in this familiar territory, I feel the years peeling back from me, one by one. I’ll be eight again by the time we get to Evie’s. I’ll run through the yard with the other kids, giggling and shrieking—play hide and seek in the woods, swim down at the creek, race inside when Evie calls us home for cookies or ice cream…
Evie’s dead.
Fresh sadness drapes over me—I have to keep reminding myself of this. Dead, as in not waiting on the porch for us to arrive, not planning to call Al’s for a large order tonight, not going to sweep me up in her strong arms and hug me until my ribs threaten to crack. Dead. The one person I would have sworn was invincible is finally gone.
We pass over bridges. Tiny, wooden contraptions marked with the warning Narrow Bridge Ahead and large covered bridges like the kind you see in travelogues and calendars. Rotting railings hem in close to the car, keeping us on the road. Ray and I used to play silly, superstitious games—hold our breath over running water, hit the roof with one fist at the exact moment another car passed us on the bridge, I’m not sure exactly why. One year I managed to convince him that one stretch of road lined with wooden planks was actually a bridge,
just for water underground, and he almost fainted from holding his breath for so long as we crossed it. I got in trouble for that one, trying to kill my brother, my mom said. I argued that it wasn’t my fault he believed me, but the spanking was well worth his blue-tinted lips and red cheeks as he gasped for breath.
One bridge in particular I’m looking out for, and when I see it, I have to choke back sudden tears that blind me. An old metal riser stretched across a particularly narrow creek—not much to look at, corrugated copper crusted over with a greenish-blue patina like algae scum congealed in standing water. It’s been that way as long as I can remember, and once we clear the bridge, we have exactly thirty minutes before we get to Aunt Evie’s house. This is the last landmark before the trees thin out and houses start cropping up along the road. This is it, the final passage, the last outpost, before we enter Sugar Creek.
Something about the bridge catches Dan’s eye, and before the car has even stopped vibrating from traveling over the bumpy span, he pulls off to one side of the road. “What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned. “We’re about a half hour away.”
He smiles at me as he turns off the car. “I’m a little chilly,” he says. With a nod at the trunk, he tells me, “I’m just going to get a sweater. You want something?”
I shake my head but the idea of getting out of the car for however brief a moment is hard to resist. I feel cramped and sore from sitting for so long—I can only imagine the tension that coils in Dan’s shoulders and neck. A hot bath for him tonight, and a massage, if we manage to get a room to ourselves. That’s a thorn in my side, something I can’t get over. My mother and her homophobic ways.
When I get out of the car, Caitlin sticks a foot out to keep me from shutting the door, then extracts herself from the back seat like a newborn hatching from an egg. “Damn,” she mutters, stomping her feet in the high grass. “Was it always this long before?”
A glance at my watch shows us actually ahead of schedule—it’s barely been seven hours since we left the house this morning. “We’re making good time,” I tell her. “We might even get there before Mom and Dad.”
“Probably not,” Caitlin says. She leans against the car, her arms folded on the roof, and watches Dan fiddle with the key in the trunk. “Dad doesn’t stop unless he’s the one who has to take a piss.” I swat at her playfully, but she moves out of reach. “What? It’s true.”
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I walk to the end of the car, where Dan is digging through the trunk for something with sleeves. It is getting a little nippy out—I had almost forgotten what autumn felt like this far north. We’ve just missed the best of the foliage, though. The leaves still clinging to their branches are dying, sodden colors, and as I walk through the grass, my feet crunch over dead leaves that look like mulch, they’re so dark and worn out. A week or two earlier, and this whole world would have been on flame…and this week, we’ll miss the turning in D.C. and Virginia because we’re too far north. The thought saddens me somehow. I’ll miss the fall this year.
At the edge of the bridge, I stop and peer down into white-capped water that splashes over rocks to hurry away beneath the road. If I were brave, I’d slide down the short hill to the stream, plunge my hands into the icy water, wash away the trip and my parents and everything from that side of the bridge. If my shoes were sturdier sneakers, maybe, and not these thin loafers, and if Dan held tight to my elbow to keep me from falling in…
Arms snake around my waist, startling me, and I give out a short gasp as I look over my shoulder at my lover. “Hey,” he purrs, wrapping his arms tight around me like he’s afraid I’ll fall in if he lets go. His embrace is loving and strong, and I lean back into him with complete trust. He wears a black windbreaker over his t-shirt, a jacket with a snow leopard embroidered on the back—his unit’s mascot. Pressing his lips to my jaw, he murmurs against my skin, “I love you.”
I cover his arms with my own, lean my head back on his shoulder, savoring his touch. “No,” I tell him, smiling faintly. “I love you.”
“Are you sure?” he jokes. When I nod, he says, “Cause I was almost sure it was the other way around—”
And then Caitlin is there, her steel-tipped shoes ringing loudly off the metal bridge as she steps out to the middle of the span. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, leaning down over the railing to stare into the water rushing away below. “You both love each other, we get the point. Kiss and hug and do whatever it is you have to do so we can get back in the car now, okay? We’re not that far.”
“My sister,” I tell Dan, laughing when he ignores her and kisses me again, “the romantic.”
Flipping her hair over one shoulder, Caitlin sighs dramatically. “Hey, unless you want to ride in the back and let me drive…” Her eyes widen as the thought takes hold, and I’m already shaking my head when she starts. “Oh Michael, could I? I have my learner’s—”
“No,” I say. It’s out of the question. I’m not teaching her to drive, no way, no how. No.
But she won’t let me off so easily. “Please?” she pleads. She actually folds her hands together as if in prayer. “Come on, Mike, you have to let me.”
I shrug out of Dan’s hold and head back for the car. “I don’t have to let you do anything,” I point out. “It’s my car. I’ll bet you’ve never even driven before.”
“Bullshit,” Caitlin spits, hurrying after me. My lover catches up with us and takes my hand, but Caitlin pushes between us, stretching the link. “Dan, it’s cool with you, right? I’ve driven before, Mike, honest. Mom let me drive around the block once—”
“Once,” I echo. I’m not going for it. “No, Caitlin, okay? No.” When she flusters, I ask, “Did you make it around the whole block?”
“Well, no,” my sister admits. I know she didn’t—Mom took me on the same route when I first got my learner’s, too. The whole time, she was like, “Watch it, Mike. You’re too close on this side, move over. Watch it! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you almost hit that car! Just—no, just pull over here. No, just—let me drive, will you? Just stop, stop the car.” Yeah, Mom isn’t driving school material. I wonder how long Caitlin was actually behind the wheel.
At the car, I hold the passenger side door open and she pouts at me. “Get in,” I say gently. She doesn’t obey, just stands behind the trunk and glares at the ground. “Cat, please. I would but…” I look at Dan beside me for help.
“But what?” he wants to know. Damn him. Gesturing at the road, he points out, “There’s no one around, Michael. What’s a few miles going to hurt?”
Pouting harder, Caitlin waits until I look at her to say, “Aunt Evie let me drive.”
“When?” I ask, suspicious. Mom letting her drive is one thing, Evie is something else entirely. Evie’s the coolest person I’ve ever known, relative or not, and if she let Caitlin drive, then why can’t I do the same? “Caitlin, if you’re lying—”
“I’m not!” she shouts, indignant. “Jesus, Mike, this summer, okay?” She twists her hands in her shirt and I can hear that she’s close to tears as she recalls, “We came up the week of my birthday and Aunt Evie took me into Franklin for the day, just us. That’s when I got this—” She sticks out her tongue to show off her piercing.
“Caitlin,” I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Now I don’t believe her. “I’m really sure Evie let you pierce your tongue—”
My sister nods vigorously. “She did!” she swears. “She said anything I wanted, anything, and I told her I wanted another piercing and I think she thought I meant up here,” and she points at the top of her ear, where three earrings already trail down the length of cartilage. “But she gave me the money and told me to go on into the Piercing Pagoda while she went grocery shopping. And I go in and the guy goes you’re not eighteen, and I’m like am too, my birthday’s today, I want my tongue pierced.” I can just imagine Caitlin in a dingy, back alley tattoo parlor, haggling over getting a piece of steel rammed through her tongue. I can picture the guy, too, aging, overweight, ink
up both arms and a ZZ Top beard chopped off above his beer belly. Caitlin laughs. “He goes you got ID? And I said, look, just pierce my tongue, okay? So I hand him the sixty dollars Aunt Evie gave me and he looks at the money, looks at me, looks at the money again, and tells me okay, fine, but if your momma makes you pull it out, you ain’t getting a refund from me.”
Glancing at Dan, I ask, “What did Evie say?”
With a wicked gleam in her eyes, Caitlin says, “Don’t tell Laura. That’s it. Then she let me drive halfway home.” Before I can question her, she tells us, “Just along 62, where it’s that long, straight stretch? See, she let me drive.”
Beside me, Dan jingles the car keys, and I sigh, defeated. “Fine,” I say, sure I’m going to regret it.
As Dan tosses Caitlin the keys, she shrieks, “Hell yeah!”
“Ten miles,” I tell her. She skirts around the car to open the door on the driver’s side, and Dan climbs into the back seat behind me. “You hear me, Cat? Ten miles, and that’s only if no one else is coming up behind us, okay? And when I tell you something, you listen to me, that instant, you understand?”
She crams the keys into the ignition, starts the car, then turns the keys again in her eagerness, grinding the engine. “Oops!” she giggles. “Sorry. Yeah, I understand. Get in the car, Mike. Get in.”
I give Dan a distrustful look—I’m not sure I like the slight smile on his face or the glittery laugh in his eyes, but he’s right, what’s a few miles going to hurt? There’s no one on the road—I look again just to make sure that we’re alone—and I can already tell from the grin on my sister’s face that I’ve managed to make her day. Hell, her whole week, and with all that’s going on around us, it’s something, at least.
So I slide into the passenger seat and tell her, “Wait until I’m in.” I keep the door open to ensure that she doesn’t take off before I buckle my seat belt. In the back seat, I hear Dan snapping himself in, too. Taking a deep breath, I wish I had arm rests to grip but I settle for my hands on my knees…and what do they say in cases of emergency? Head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.