Grease Stains, Kismet, and Maternal Wisdom

by KUBOA

Grease Stains, Kismet and

  Maternal Wisdom

  Mel Bosworth

  Copyright © 2011 by Mel Bosworth

  (KUBOA)/SmashWords Edition

  www.kuboapress.wordpress.com

  It is the genuine hope of KUBOA to receive unfiltered feedback from readers regarding the works we produce. Whether your reaction to the work was positive, negative, or ambivalent, we would much appreciate your taking the time to send some remarks to us—these will be shared with the authors.

  kuboacomments@gmail.com

  ONE

  When I awoke Monday morning to drive to Hudson to meet Samantha, I didn’t know that the uncle she and her mother were staying with for the week had suffered an accident during the night. Moments after leaving my house, my truck revving toward the center of town, I got the call.

  The day was vivid and clear, warm. My face was clean, my beard trimmed, and my bag packed. I was dressed in corduroys, a long sleeved shirt and vest even though I could’ve gotten away with shorts and a T-shirt. I was already on my tenth cigarette.

  “Hello?”

  “David? It’s Samantha. I have to tell you something.”

  “Go.”

  “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?”

  “Last night my uncle fell in the hallway and broke his leg.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “We had ambulances and paramedics here at four in the morning. He’s in the hospital now in Benton.”

  “Is he alright?”

  “Well, he broke his leg. But he’s doing okay.”

  “Good god.”

  Then something occurred to me: maybe she was telling me this because she didn’t want me to come. She’d decided during the night that she didn’t like me, didn’t trust me, didn’t want to see my mug. This whole uncle thing was a crock. Samantha was a chicken shit. So I asked,

  “Samantha?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you a chicken shit?”

  “No. I’m more of a bat shit. Bat shit loony, that is.”

  No. That didn’t happen. Take two.

  “Samantha?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you still want me to come?”

  There was a miniscule pause, nothing to fret over, but I heard it.

  “Yes, of course I still want you to come. So, you should be here…?”

  “Around twelve thirty-ish. I’ll call when I get to Hudson. But I think I can find my way to you.”

  “I can’t believe my uncle broke his leg.”

  “I can’t believe it either. What was he doing?” I asked, still driving, still moving in the direction of Hudson, my tires spinning past the town common and the clay pulling ring that had been set up for the annual Fair that coming weekend where, amidst a pungent concoction of fried dough, cotton candy and manure, the oxen would snort and jerk, the rednecks would scream, the whips would crack, and the cursing would share the air with projectile spit.

  Samantha sighed. She sounded lovely. An ephemeral thought of her naked flashed behind my eyes.

  “He was rummaging around under a rug looking for some M&Ms he’d dropped.”

  “Why was he eating M&Ms at four in the morning?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Yes it is. So weird, David, that it’s not even true. Can we stick to the facts, please?”

  “Maybe. But I like this story. It’s funny.”

  “The real story is funny too.”

  “Fine. You’re right. Absolutely right. I’m sorry.”

  “I know I’m right. I’m always right. My name is Samantha and I’m always right.”

  “Typical woman.”

  “You’re still off track.”

  “Oh, am I?”

  “Knock it off.”

  She was getting heated now. I could feel it coming through my cell phone like hot air from a blow dryer.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll be there soon. Do you still want to go to the city?”

  “Yes. We can still do whatever. My mother’s going to visit my uncle at the hospital sometime this afternoon, and we can still do whatever we want.”

  “Can I stick my tongue up your ass in the backseat of my truck?”

  “No. That’s Friday night, David. And it’s not the backseat of your truck but the floor of the studio at the house in Hudson. Your knees get a little rug burned. Don’t you remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re right.”

  “Like I said, my name is Samantha and I’m always right.”

  “Typical woman.”

  “Hey, asshole—”

  I hung up on her and lit another cigarette, number eleven. I steered the truck out of town, through Cold Creek and then onto the Massachusetts Turnpike.

  I’ve forgotten my sunglasses, but no worries, I thought. I’m traveling east at the moment and if all goes well, I won’t be driving back west tonight all by myself and the sun won’t be in my eyes. Hotels, I had been thinking, as far back as the week before. Hotels.

  The Pike was busy but moving, bright but not blurring. Cranking my “Red Sox Rock” mix that I’d made back in August for a game, I sang loudly, and at one point I worried that I might lose my voice by the time I got there, so I decided to sing at a lower decibel.

  I drove, I smoked, I screamed occasionally. Passing through Hopkinton, the town in which the Boston Marathon begins, I decided that now might be a good time to call my friend Mark, just for a little security.

  “What?”

  “Hey, which exit do I take to get to Hudson? It’s been a while.”

  “Exit 21. Then get on 20 North. It’s like the first exit after that, I think.”

  “Right, right. It’s all coming back to me now. Do you know where Main Street is?”

  “Do you remember how to get to my old place on Barker Street?”

  “I think so.”

  “Main Street runs perpendicular to Barker.”

  Great, I thought. Fucking geometry. Perpendicular. Is that the “T”? I think it’s the “T.” I know parallel is side by side and so that must mean that perpendicular is the “T.”

  “Right,” I said, stupidly. Mark was growing impatient.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m at work, what the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

  “Right. What are you doing later?”

  “I don’t know. Not much, probably.”

  “Do you and Janice want to hang out later?”

  “I doubt it. I’m tired.”

  “Right, right.”

  “Go find your girlfriend. Call me if you get fucked up in Hudson.”

  “I will.”

  “I know you will.”

  I laughed a sick little laugh and then I brought my full attention back to the road. Exit 21 approached to my right. I was close now. Very close. I was going to stop at Burger King on the corner of Moon Street in Hudson to change my shirt and make myself look as pretty as a goofy looking fuck like me could look. These actions too were a part of my master plan that ended in a hotel room somewhere with Samantha, my pen pal from the west coast who I’d met only once and barely knew. I was optimistic, but not cocky. I could do humble well. And jealous. And crazy.

  Finally, things began to look familiar. I found my way around some turns and chutes and over a bridge and then I spotted Burger King. I parked in back next to a dumpster. I was giddy, nervous, and, unbeknownst, even to me, I’d entered into an alternate universe, a parallel universe, blanketed in some kind of silly spell that wouldn’t break until the follow
ing Monday.

  I grabbed my backpack and walked stiff legged into the King. It was the lunch hour and it was busy. I went into the bathroom and into the single stall. I relieved myself and then I took off my shirt. It was wet because I’d been sweating nervous sweat and I put on a fresh shirt, a button shirt, and someone came into the bathroom and started making a hell of a racket.

  There was heavy breathing and then big splashes of water and lots of coughing. I stuffed my dirty damp shirt into my backpack and tucked myself in and came out of the stall. One of the employees, a tall black man wearing a blue Burger King shirt, had come to piss and wash his hands. I smiled and moved to the sink. He left and I was alone once more. I looked in the mirror.

  My hair was a little windblown so I ran my hands over it. Better. My eyes were a little bloodshot but there was nothing I could do about that. I was wired. I’d been wired for a while. The fifteen cigarettes probably hadn’t helped.

  But all in all, I thought, I look about as good as I can get. I wonder what Samantha will be wearing. A bikini might be nice. We’re in the midst of late Indian summer so it’s certainly warm enough for it. Will we chat or will we go right for the sex? Hard to say…but I do know that things will be decided in the first 2.2 seconds of meeting. In those 2.2 seconds she’ll know if I’m to be the father of her children. Lots of pressure, to be sure, but I’ve been pretty solid for a while. Calm. Cool. Collected. Idiotic. Hopeful.

  I’d stopped my truck screaming some time ago, and now the screaming had become entirely internalized yet surprisingly controlled, or at least dulled, like a gaping shriek muffled beneath a huge pillow. I was both shrieker and pillow holder. I washed my hands and left the King. Game on.

  I climbed back into my truck and called my mother.

  “Hey, I’m in Hudson.”

  “How was traffic?”

  “Not bad at all. What are you doing?”

  “Sitting out on the deck. What a gorgeous day. So, do you know where you’re going?”

  “I think so. I have to call Mark.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Yeah. Well, I should call him and then I have to call Samantha and try not to get lost.”

  “Drop a line sometime to let us know when you’re coming home.”

  “I will. But I’m thinking it’ll be sometime tomorrow morning. They have to go visit her uncle who broke his leg last night.”

  “Let me guess—searching for M&Ms?”

  “You’re a fucking psychic, Mom.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.”

  “Of course you did. Well, so long. I’ll give you a call when I hit the road.”

  “Sounds good. Have a good time.”

  “I will. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  I smiled. I lit another cigarette and called Mark.

  “Hey, I’m in Hudson.”

  “Good for you.”

  “How the fuck do I get to Main Street? I’m at the Burger King near your old place.”

  “Okay…”

  I could tell that Mark knew more this time. He wasn’t going to spring “perpendicular” on me again. I hated that shit.

  “You know the street you were just on? Moon?”

  “Why are you calling me ‘Moon’?”

  “No, not you, you fuckshow. The street, Moon Street.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mark hadn’t appreciated my joke.

  “Well, get back on that and follow it to the end. You’ll run right into Main Street.”

  “I don’t suppose you know Chess Street?”

  “Not a fucking clue, dude.”

  “Right. Well, if I can find Main I’m sure I can find Chess.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  There was a pause. I was getting nervous again. I was sure I was only minutes away from Samantha. I could smell her. I heard Mark shift. I imagined him lying on a waterbed.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Yeah. What are you doing tonight?”

  “I don’t think I can hang out, dude. Go find your girlfriend.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  “Yup. Give me a call if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  “I know you will.”

  I hung up. I lit another cigarette. I called Samantha.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m in Hudson!” I sang. I’m a dork too. Idiot and dork.

  “Yay!” Samantha cheered. Or at least I thought she cheered. She could have been booing and I wouldn’t have known the difference.

  “I should be there in a few minutes,” I said.

  “I’ll be waiting outside for you.”

  “What are you going to be wearing?”

  Say bikini. Say bikini.

  “A bikini.”

  Yes!

  “Really?”

  “No. David, can we get back to the real story?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Call if you get lost.”

  “I will,” I said, thinking, You have no idea where I’m going either. You’ve never been to Massachusetts before. But we’re close. Very close.

  I hung up. I lit another cigarette. I checked my supply of green tic tacs. Plenty. Don’t smoke any more cigarettes, I thought. Then, Do I hug her when I find her? Of course. Kiss? On the cheek, you dumbass. Right. On the cheek. This is crazy. You met this girl three months ago three thousand miles away at three in the morning and you were buck naked. Yes, yes, but it makes total sense. This is normal. This is what people do.

  I started my truck and then pulled out onto Moon Street. I crawled through the center of Hudson. People were everywhere. The sidewalks were warm. The road was warm. I could see the end of the street.

  Main Street! Yes! Take a left. How did I know to take a left? Did Samantha tell me that? No! She told me something about…fuck…something she told me led me to take a left, just like something I did three months ago told her to come next door at three in the morning. The spell is over us all, the spell is over us all, relentless.

  I took the left. I kept my eyes open.

  Chess. Fucking Chess. I can see Chess.

  I took a right onto Chess. Now I was looking for Ledgewood.

  So close oh my god so close. There it is!

  I drove past it. I spun around and came back. I turned onto Ledgewood, feeling like a criminal. Rows of pine trees cast long shadows across the pavement.

  What am I looking for? A fork? Some kind of fork that leads to a house? Yes, that’s right. I’m looking for Samantha. In a bikini. No. Not a bikini. It doesn’t matter now.

  I popped a couple of tic tacs.

  Or maybe I did before. Don’t remember. Where is this woman?

  I turned into a half circle driveway. But I was wrong, I knew I was wrong. I came back out onto the narrow hill that was Ledgewood and then I saw her. Samantha was walking down the next driveway. The sun was at her back, her face dark.

  It’s her it’s her it’s her! Are my hands shaking? What have I gotten myself into? What is this?

  Instinctively, I thrust my hand out the window.

  Hello! It’s me! You don’t know me! I don’t know you! But you’re here from Washington and now we’re together!

  She wore a long tight skirt and a striped green tank top.

  Oh…my…fucking…God.

  She had straight dark hair that danced around her shoulders. She was smiling and waving and coming toward me. But I was so nervous I drove right past her. My window was down and I spoke in gibberish.

  “Shnergle flergle!”

  Luckily, she seemed to speak the same language.

  “Shnergle!” she exclaimed.

  I parked beneath a towering blue spruce and steadied myself as quickly as possible. Then I got out, fighting an overwhelming urge to slide tackle her into a shrub. I could see green moss and a big old house and trees and rocks and this narrow driveway and this gorgeous woman coming toward me, and who am I and what am I doing a
nd what is this and the gibberish intensified,

  “Blip-de-dooo!”

  “Chomp-di-flip!”

  And she was fucking stunning and I felt so ugly nasty such a complete fuck no I didn’t, I felt amazing and excited and we were getting closer and closer and our arms opened and then we were embracing and her face was so bright brighter than the sun and she was tight so tight she could kick my ass and did I kiss her cheek I think I did and did she kiss mine I think she did and my heart was racing and I was there and she was there and what the fuck was she doing there and what the fuck was I doing there but it was good it was great this was just the beginning and my plan what plan I had no idea wiped away I couldn’t think straight I was embracing this sparkling woman and we parted and I was unsteady and she opened her mouth and she said,

  “You’re here.”

  “You’re here.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  Her skin was warm like the sidewalks, like the street, covered in the sun and there were those fucking hazel eyes that had been haunting me in my dreams for the past three months, there they were, right in front of me. She spoke again.

  “David?”

  “Samantha?”

  I was completely in love with her.

  “How was the drive?”

  “Drive? I think I’m flying.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. Because I’m nuts too.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Samantha stepped aside and offered a grand sweeping gesture toward the house. My eyes bugged out of my head.

  “Shall we go inside?”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’ll give you the tour.”

  I followed her up the cracked cement steps toward the house. I was smiling. I wasn’t screaming anymore. I was singing, I was dancing, I was floating, I was electric, I was enraptured. I’d finally found my girlfriend. And she was nothing like I remembered. She was so much more.

  And I knew, in the back of my mind, that underneath her clothes was a black bikini, or at least a pair of black panties with a red gun printed on the crotch.

  TWO