by Mike Miner
Mark played with the label of his root beer. “Depends. Depends how much of an ass I make out of myself.”
“I think I would miss doing it whenever I wanted.”
Mark shrugged. “It’s not like it happens overnight. You just fucking settle down. You know? The first year you still hang with your single friends a lot but then you just kinda go in other directions. You meet other couples. Friends get married.”
“Unless you’re Matthew.”
“I guess. Yeah. He just kept partying like a rock star.”
“How fucked up do you think he is right now?”
Mark laughed. “Pretty fucked up.”
“You think he’s still doing drugs?”
“Probably. I don’t know. He always liked booze the most.”
“You ever get into that?”
Mark made a face. “Drugs? Not really. A little bit of the dope. Nothing like Matthew. You?”
“A little. Pot of course. I did ’shrooms a couple of times.”
“How was it?”
Luke held his hands out, palms up. “Not my favorite. It would always start good but I’d end up freaking out.”
Mark nodded. Drugs. Maybe. That was always the difference between him and Matthew. Mark was as interested in having a good time as the next guy. Maybe more. But Matthew was all about testing his limits. He would do as much of whatever was around as he could. And he could do a lot. Matthew wasn’t just after a good time, he was trying to find something. Something he couldn’t find sober.
Mark drove and watched the dying coal sky turn from orange and red to gray, then white. The bleak landscape faded with it until he was in a disorienting blackness with no stars or moon or streetlights to give it depth. They might have been in a long, wide tunnel for all he could see. Now and then headlights would appear coming toward them on the horizon and define the edge of the world for them.
“I gotta stop,” Mark said.
“Where?”
“The next place.”
“Okay.”
The next place, a dimly lit dump, was called the Desert Motel, but some of the letters’ lights were broken so from a distance it spelled out “Do tel.”
“Good enough,” Luke said.
Mark agreed and they pulled in.
It was a sad, rundown dump with a sad, rundown guy at the desk who didn’t bother to look up from his book. He was reading Catcher in the Rye and listening to Dark Side of the Moon loud. It seemed like they had interrupted a suicide attempt.
“We’re looking for a room,” Mark said.
The guy slid a key toward them without stopping his reading.
Mark looked at the key. “Need a credit card?”
The guy nodded. Mark wondered how he could read with the music on so loud. He took a credit card out of his wallet and put it on the counter. The guy swiped it and handed it back.
“All set?”
“All set.”
As they walked to the room Luke said, “That was weird.”
“You got that right. This whole fucking world is weird.”
MATTHEW 6
It was still dark outside the motel. It felt more like early morning dark than night dark. Matthew found a pack of cigarettes on the dresser. Pulled one out. Put his pants on. There was a lighter in the pocket. He quietly went out the door. It opened into the parking lot and he shivered at the chill in the air. Lit his cigarette and looked up at a horror movie sky. Black clouds the shape of monsters menaced the midnight blue heavens. Beyond the motel was a vast desert with no lights. Utah. There was a wooden rocking chair on the cement outside the room. He sat and smoked.
Back east it was morning. His father would be filling the cash registers. Or maybe Mark did that now. He pictured them. Maybe it had snowed and they were all out shoveling the back dock. He almost missed it.
The chair creaked as he rocked. The brightening horizon seemed like the edge of possibility. He remembered feeling like this before he got married. At first marriage had felt like that too. Like anything could happen. Marriage just gave him a partner to go through it with. But after a while the horizon just looked like the horizon. Like a border, something you didn’t go past. He shivered. Tried to stop thinking. Took another drag, watched the day come to life.
Above him clouds puffed and swirled in the stiff breeze. The dark blue lightened. The night trembled and ended as the sun painted light from the eastern corner of the sky. In the new light, he squinted at a shopping cart lying upside down in the front lawn of the motel parking lot. There wasn’t another building in sight. He looked again and wished the shopping cart could speak. They could swap stories of how the wind had blown them here.
He realized he was going to be sick.
Tommy must have heard him retching because she came out and found him on his knees, his guts splashed on the asphalt in front of him. She scrunched her nose, “Gross.”
Matthew wiped his mouth. Felt the burn in his nostrils. He didn’t recognize any of the contents of his stomach. Tommy shook her head. There was a Coke machine at the end if the motel. “You want anything?”
“I’ll take an orange soda if they got it. Or a Coke.”
At the machine, he coaxed two dollar bills into it and got a Diet Coke and a Sunkist. It tasted like an old friend.
Sitting on the curb, Tommy made happy slurping noises. “Cool sky.”
He nodded. The sun was almost full, exposing the desert surrounding them. It made his mouth feel dry. “Where the hell are we?”
She shrugged. “Beats me. Where are we going?”
“Beats me.”
She took another gulp and licked her lips.
Her jeep was the only vehicle in the parking lot. Not a single car had even thought of driving down the stretch of road in front of the motel. “Are we the only ones here?”
“Looks like it.”
It felt like they were the only two people in the world, the survivors of some disaster. “That’s kind of disconcerting.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“If that means spooky, you’re right.”
“Close enough.”
They left things quiet for a while, listened to the wind.
Later, after they had left, she said, “A lot of space in between places out here.”
“No kidding.”
They hadn’t seen anything but road and sand and sky for miles and miles.
“Do you miss her?”
Matthew stared at the road above the steering wheel. “Yes.”
“Weird stuff.”
“I do miss her but I also miss not knowing her. That time before I met her. That would have been a better time to pull this stunt.”
“What’s it like being married?”
“It’s all right.”
“For better, for worse?”
“The best of times and the worst of times. Yup.”
She giggled. “Your wife signed up for the roller coaster ride.”
He shrugged.
“Do you love her?”
“Yes.”
Oceans of sand stretched to the horizon on either side of the road. The big empty space overwhelmed him, mocked him.
“What do you think she’s doing right now?”
“Cursing my name probably.”
“What do you think’s gonna happen?”
“I don’t know. But I’m curious.”
“You should call her.”
“I should do a lot of things.”
He savored the last few sips of his soda. Didn’t see any convenience stores anywhere in his immediate future so he tried to stretch it out. His brain felt like it needed a scrub from a Brillo pad. Something to remove the residue of the past few days but they would probably leave stains like rust. Because it was a bumpy ride it took a few miles for him to recognize the tremors for what they were. He held the wheel a little tighter, hoped Tommy wouldn’t notice. She pressed her forehead against the window and stared at the passing sand. What was going
through her mind?
“What were you like when you were my age?”
He thought about it. Said, “What am I like now?”
She bit her lip. “Pretty wild I guess. Were you pretty wild back then?”
“I guess so. What’s wild?”
“Did you ever run away from home?”
“I went to college.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“I know. No. This is the first time.”
“Did you get along with your parents?”
“Sometimes. When I wasn’t being wild.”
“Hard to picture you listening to anybody.”
Matthew smiled. “I got grounded a lot.”
“Did you get hit?”
He looked over for a second at what was left of her bruised eye. A small trace of blood in the white. “Sometimes.”
She nodded. “That sucks.”
“I had it coming.” The memory of his father’s quick smacks to his temple. The sting of the belt buckle. “Sometimes.”
“Like when?”
He remembered. “Like when I locked my father in the cellar.”
She giggled. “You locked your father in the basement?”
“Yup.”
“How come?”
“I don’t remember. He must have pissed me off.”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t know. Ten?”
“What happened?”
“It wasn’t pretty. He broke the door down.”
Her eyes were wide as she imagined the scene.
“Was he a big guy, your dad?”
“Bigger than me.”
“Bigger than you now?”
“Nope. Fatter.”
“That must be nice.”
“I guess.”
“I’d like to be bigger than a few people I’ve known. There’s a few people I could’ve locked in the basement.”
She squinted, picturing those people. He didn’t want to know the memories behind those angry eyes. Wished he could make them go away. He remembered the helpless feeling of someone twice your size letting you know who was boss. His father hadn’t been much older than he was now.
“Do you think your parents are worried about you?”
“I suppose.”
“That must be nice.”
Maybe it was. Or at least it should be.
“Must be nice to have people that care about you.”
“Sometimes.”
Matthew didn’t like to imagine people thinking about him back east. But he was sure they were. His mother was probably a mess. He started to sweat and it wasn’t hot. The tremors were worse. Needed a drink soon. Didn’t much like the idea of needing a drink but there it was. He needed one. Maybe he just wanted one real bad. The horizon in front of them didn’t offer much in the way of hope. Stay calm, he told himself.
Finally a gas station appeared like an oasis. He had the shakes pretty good. It was a weird collection of buildings. Next to the gas station was Pam’s Donuts and Ice Cream. Then there was a place called The Burning Bush Church. It didn’t look much like a church. More like a drugstore in a strip mall. He got the pump started and walked into the small market. The air was cool and dusty. He needed a change of clothes. Tommy followed him into the store.
Two kids inside were talking to each other. One at the counter had some thin peach fuzz on his upper lip that he probably called a mustache. The other kid had long, blonde hair down almost to his waist. Mustache boy had his sleeve up, showing the blonde kid the tattoo on his shoulder. Like a black crayon drawing of a woman dressed almost like a nun but without the habit.
“Who is it?” the blonde kid asked.
“It’s Mary.”
“Mary who?”
“As in Mary the Virgin. Asshole.”
“Oh Mary.” Tommy went over to inspect it for herself. The kid was happy to show it off to her. Still fresh, blood mixed with the ink.
Matthew found the beer cooler and grabbed a six pack of Budweiser.
“How much did it cost?” Blondie asked.
“Buck fifty.”
Blondie whistled.
Matthew put the beer on the counter. The kid at the register didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m saving up for another one.”
“Of what?” Tommy asked.
“I haven’t decided yet. It’s addictive you know. I’m addicted to it.”
Matthew twisted the top off a bottle and took a long swig of beer. He closed his eyes as his body’s craving hum for a drink turned to rapture, it seemed like a chorus of angels. Another. Christ, he needed that. He looked at the tattoo. It didn’t look like any Mary he’d ever seen. But he supposed it looked as much like her as any of them. As far as he knew. It wasn’t a very flattering portrait though.
“You gonna pay for that?” mustache kid said.
“Maybe.” Matthew turned to Tommy. “You want anything?”
She looked from the tattoo out the window. “Ooh. Ice cream and donuts sound good.”
Matthew took out his wallet. “OK. The beer, the gas and throw in a pint of Jim Beam.” He pointed at a bottle behind the kid.
The kid looked at the half-finished beer in Matthew’s hand. “You’re not fooling around are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
The kid rang him up. Matthew paid.
“Let’s go get some donuts and ice cream,” Matthew said.
“There aren’t any donuts,” the blonde kid said.
“How come?” Tommy asked.
“We only make donuts on Sundays. The church people eat them.”
Church people. Like they were rare birds.
Matthew looked at the blonde kid’s t-shirt. It said, Pam’s Donuts and Ice Cream. A drawing of a donut on top of a cone. “Do you have ice cream?” Tommy asked.
“Yup.”
“That’ll have to do.”
The kid who worked at the gas station locked the door behind them.
The four of them walked over to Pam’s Donuts and Ice Cream. “Not a lot of traffic through here,” Matthew said.
The blonde kid unlocked the door to his store. “Fridays and Saturdays only pretty much.” He turned on the lights and went behind the ice cream counter.
Matthew’s shakes were gone. He could concentrate on other things now, like breathing. It was pretty generic inside. Orange tables, two rows of four. Worn tile on the floor. He sat at one of the window tables. “You guys coming from Vegas?” the mustache asked. He sat across from Matthew. “Yup.” Matthew opened his second beer.
“Cool,” both kids said at the same time.
“What’s your name anyway?” Tommy asked Blondie. “Fred.”
“What flavors you got, Fred?” Tommy’s eyes perked up.
Still a kid, Matthew had to remind himself. A tug of guilt in his chest. She shouldn’t be here, not with him.
There was a chalkboard behind Fred that read “Flavors” on top but Fred hadn’t bothered to write any underneath.
“The usual suspects, chocolate, vanilla, chocolate chip…”
“Do you have mint chocolate chip?”
“What do you think this is, Baskin Robbins?”
Matthew chuckled. The town without mint chocolate chip, he thought to himself.
“We have black raspberry.”
“Let’s try that.”
“How many scoops?”
“Two.”
“Cone or dish?”
“Cone. You want anything, Matthew?”
“I’m good.”
“So, Matthew,” the mustache said, “what do you do?”
“Right now I’m a professional gambler and drinker.”
The kid nodded as though every other person who stopped filled in the same occupation on their tax forms. “Cool. You guys married?”
“Hah!” Tommy licked her cone.
“I’m married but not to her.”
Another nod. “Where you guys headed?”
“East.”
&n
bsp; “Anywhere in particular?”
“Nope.”
“You guys want to do some whippits?” Blondie said.
Tommy frowned. “What’s a whippit?”
Matthew groaned. He assumed they weren’t talking about the breed of dog.
“It’s fun,” Blondie said. “We get these cartridges for the frosting dispensers and when you inhale them it’s a major rush.”
The blonde boy went into the back room. Matthew shook his head. It was a major rush. He had done them once back in college. Only afterward was it explained to him that the sensation—akin to jumping off of a skyscraper—was caused by the destruction of thousands of brain cells with each inhalation. Not that preserving brain cells was at the top of his list of priorities. Still, there were slower ways to go.
The mustache and Tommy followed Blondie into the back room.
Matthew leaned back and put his feet up onto the table. Wished he had something to read. He read the menu posted on the wall over the counter. Donuts were only twenty-five cents each. Sprinkles were a nickel extra.
“Whoa,” Tommy’s voice came from the back and all of them giggled. “How long does this last?”
“Not long,” Fred said.
Matthew chuckled and took a sip of beer. A few sips later a green Ford Country Squire station wagon pulled up in front of the shop. The driver was a woman with straight, blonde hair and big sunglasses. She got out, slammed the door, put her hands on her hips and looked through the front window. He noticed a decent figure underneath a tight, pink sweater and jeans. Enjoyed the jiggle of her body as she stomped into the shop just as guffaws started in the back room. She took off her sunglasses and shot dagger eyes at Matthew.
“Are you drinking in here?”
It seemed like a rhetorical question so he just took a sip.
“Where’s Fred?”
He pointed a thumb to the back room. “Do you work here?”
“I’m Pam,” she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“I like your place.”
This caught her off guard. Her expression wavered somewhere between pride and rage.
“Fred!”
“Oh fuck.” Blondie came out, looking like a puppy that had just pissed on the kitchen floor. His legs were wobbly and his face was bright red. He held his breath, tried very hard not to laugh.
Pam sighed. “Chris, you too?”