Rhythm

by H. L. Logan

  I found Henry a week ago—five days, actually—when I was wading through waist deep water, lugging my duffel bag on my head. I heard a tiny meow and saw this black bundle of fur, soaking wet, clinging on to a tree branch for dear life. I figured the poor guy had to have been up there for at least a couple days without food. I sloshed over to him, and he just jumped right on down onto my bag and stayed there as I made my way to the higher ground where I had parked my car before the storm hit.

  Henry hadn’t had a collar or tags, and I guessed he was a stray. He was small, and was probably about four or five months old. Driving out of town, I’d thought about finding a shelter to turn him over to, but seeing him sleeping soundly on my passenger seat, with no home of family to go to, I fell in love with the little guy. We were both in the same boat, after all.

  I’d always been a dog person my whole life, so I named him after my childhood dog, who’d also been small and black. The funny thing was that Henry (the cat, Henry) had almost dog-like responsiveness. He was completely relaxed being in the car, and at the first rest stop just outside of Atlanta, Henry jumped out of the car, strolled around, did his business, and then came back when I called to him. I’d been scared he was going to disappear somewhere, but at every single stop we’d made he’d always come back when I called.

  Thunder rumbled overhead and Henry let out a stressed out yowl as he pressed himself further into the passenger foot well. “Sorry, baby,” I said, my fists gripping the wheel so hard that I wouldn’t have been surprised if it snapped off in my hands. My wipers were slapping madly, barely doing anything to clear away the torrents of water coating my windshield. The beams of my headlights only illuminated the wall of rain in front of me and not much more.

  I cringed as I passed through a large section of standing water on the highway. Don’t spin out, don’t spin out, I thought as I felt the back wheels losing traction. Trees shot by on the right, and a pair of headlights seemed to appear out of nowhere on the left. I managed to regain control of the car just before smashing into a spin that would’ve either wrapped me around a tree or sent me into opposing traffic.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered. My heart threatened to burst from my chest and I knew that I really needed to find a place to pull over. What I should’ve done was stayed back in Flagstaff. There wouldn’t be another city for a quite a while, and driving through this storm at night was just a terrible idea.

  Henry meowed sadly.

  “I know,” I said. “The next exit, I’ll turn off.”

  Lighting flashed in the distance, throwing a stark light across the pine and fir forests towering on both sides of the two-lane highway, and casting them in a jagged silhouette. My headlights flashed across a sign that read “Armstrong Rd, 1 MILE”, with a smaller blue sign below it showing symbols for gas and food.

  Thank God, I thought. If there were a gas station and places for food, it would probably be a good place for me to stop for the night. I’d found that café parking lots were fairly decent places for me to park my car to sleep, especially if they were the all night variety that attracted truck drivers. Parking right in front of the entrance of the restaurant where people could see me always made me feel safer. I could stay here until morning and hope that the storm would let up a bit.

  The headlights of another passing car dashed across my windshield, glimmering through the thick blanket of rain, and I braced myself for the tidal wave of water sent up by its wheels. It battered the entire length of my car like a hundred angry fists, and Henry meowed again. I was beginning to realize that leaving this journey up to the winds of fate had been a very naïve idea. My cash reserves were dwindling, and were only enough to pay for a month’s worth of food and gas. The road wouldn’t just take me to where I needed to be. That sort of thing didn’t happen in real life.

  What would I do once I reached California? One big city was not much different from the rest, and if I were lucky enough to find a new job there, it’d likely be as fulfilling as the last. I really had no plan. I didn’t even like city life.

  The Armstrong road exit sign appeared suddenly out of the storm, and I quickly jerked the car off the ramp as lightning lit up the sky like a flashbulb. The road was small and worn, and in the downpour and darkness, it was hard to see where it ended and the forest began. I brought my speed down to barely a crawl. There were spots where small streams had formed and were pouring across the road, carrying debris with it, and every time I drove through one, I prayed that it wouldn’t somehow be much deeper than it looked. After a couple minutes, I passed a wooden sign that was carved with green painted trees and the words “Welcome to Armstrong, Arizona.” Ahead, I could see the glow of the gas station’s sign and the lights from its overhead canopy. It was a small, locally owned station that had an attached minimart and garage, and the parking lot was empty except for a single pickup truck. I pulled up underneath the canopy and stopped by one of the pumps, thankful to be finally under shelter. The light inside the minimart was on, and through the window, I could see the attendant watching TV, his legs kicked up onto the counter.

  “Okay, Henry,” I said to my frightened furry friend, who was still lodged underneath the dash. “We’re here.” I silently prayed that I’d be able to find a place for him to do his business—I really didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night to a smelly mess in the car.

  I opened the door, but Henry refused to come out from underneath the dash. “Henry, you gotta come out. Come on, do your business.” I crouched down on my haunches and held my hand out to try to beckon him over, but he only stared at me wearily, his pupils huge. I sighed. I’d been lucky with him, I realized. Extremely lucky. If he were like most cats, this journey would’ve been over a long time ago. “Sorry, Henry, I’m gonna have to pull you out of there,” I said, and I reached in and grabbed him under his arms and lifted him out. He didn’t fight me, but his fur was still puffed up and he didn’t look happy at all. I looked around for a dirt or grass place he could go to the bathroom, but the only spot was off away from the gas station and out in the rain.

  Maybe if I go over to the trees, I thought unhappily. They were swaying in the wind and I wasn’t in the mood to get wet or hit by a falling branch, and I knew that Henry wouldn’t be very eager about it either. Suddenly, a huge bolt of lightning streaked across the sky above the station, lighting the whole place up stark white. The immediate thunderclap was so loud that it vibrated the metal canopy. I shouted and dropped to a crouch, and Henry leapt from my arms and bounded right back into the car. I’m sure if he were able, he would’ve shut the door and locked it right behind him, too.

  “Shit,” I breathed. “Please don’t poo in the car.” I shut the door, pulled out an umbrella from the back seat, and walked toward the gas station market’s entrance. A huge lake of water seemed to stretch out between the overhead canopy and the front door, and the ground was so dark that I had no idea if it was an inch deep or a swimming pool. There was no getting around it. I sucked in a breath, opened my umbrella and fought to keep it under control from the wind, and went for it.

  It was definitely not just an inch deep.

  Water sloshed over the top of my shoes and I cursed under my breath as I did a weird little dance trying to touch the ground as little as possible, but it was no use. By the time I reached the entrance, my feet and the bottom of my jeans were completely soaked. I should’ve worn shorts. One more item to my list of stupidly poor planning.

  A chime dinged as I pulled open the door. I closed my umbrella and plodded inside, the wet soles of my sneakers squawking noisily on the tile floor. The clerk, an older man with white hair peeking out from beneath a worn baseball hat, looked up from the small TV that was playing “America’s Got Talent”.

  “Good evening, young lady,” he said. “Wasn’t expecting anyone in here. You got in just at the right time. I was about to shut the pumps down and close up shop.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” I said. “I’m doing a little cross c
ountry road trip and am gonna be sleeping in my car tonight, and I wanted to ask if I could park underneath your canopy there to keep out of this storm.”

  The man turned and looked over his shoulder out the rain-streaked window to get a look at my car. “Sleep out there, by yourself? In this storm? Keep driving a ways to the next town and there’s a motel, you know?”

  I smiled sheepishly. “Well, I didn’t exactly budget for lodging. Plus, I’ve got a cat.”

  “Hm.” He looked me up and down and seemed to be sizing me up. “Listen, I’ll do you one better than the overhang. You can go ahead and park your car in the side garage here. Safer than keeping it out to the elements, plus you can let your cat roam around, too. I used to have an old cat, Pinky—she passed away couple years ago now, but I still got a bag of her kibble and a litter box.”

  I hesitated. Of course I was thankful and surprised by his sudden offer, but… A girl on the road had to be cautious. He sensed my concern and smiled.

  “Take a look at the place first and see what you think. If you don’t feel comfortable, I can give you directions to the police station. The sheriff wouldn’t mind you parking in the lot there. He’s a good man, I know him well. What’s your cat’s name?”

  “Henry,” I said. I immediately felt more at ease.

  “Henry can use all that stuff, if you decide to stay. How long you in town for?”

  “Just till tomorrow, if the storm lets up a bit. Thank you, sir,” I said with no restraint of gratitude in my voice. I’d honestly been the closest I’d come to the end of my rope since those hellish last few days in Atlanta—even then I’d gone through everything with a kind of zoned out acceptance. Today’s events had really dug in deep. “I’d love to stay in the garage. You have no idea how much that means to me. My name’s Chrissy Seitz. Sorry if I seemed suspicious.” I gave him a sheepish smile.

  “Reynold Golden,” he said, shaking my hand. “It’s nothing. I can’t have you sitting out there alone in this monsoon. Then it’d be on me if you washed away, or something.” He laughed. “Well, go ahead and pull your car in. I’m gonna lock up soon. You hungry, Chrissy?”

  “I’ve got some food in my car,” I said. Really, I just had half a turkey sandwich and a snack bag of chips, but I wasn’t going to let the old man offer anything more to me, and I wanted to save as much cash as possible. I could deal with being a little bit hungry tonight. I ran back into the car, my pants getting doubly soaked as I splashed through the lake outside the front door. Henry had gone back to his spot lodged underneath the dash.

  “Guess what, buddy? We got a place to stay tonight.” Henry just stared back at me with his saucer eyes. I started up the car and swung it over to the garage where Reynold was standing with his hands on his hips. He flagged me forward onto the car lift that sat in the middle of the small garage, and then pulled the rolling door closed. The place smelled of grease, metal, and gasoline, and it brought me back to the garage at my parent’s house where my dad would work on his car. It made me nostalgic, and slightly sad as I remembered that my parents had refused to speak to me since I’d come out to them. I had to wonder if Reynold still would’ve offered all this hospitality to me if he knew I was a lesbian. Thinking that way made me feel bad—I’d much rather think the best of people—but I couldn’t really help it. Small town folk tended to be on the conservative side, after all.

  “Just a second,” Reynold said, opening up a tall metal cabinet. “I still use the kitty litter to soak up oil spots.” He pulled out a bag of litter and a rectangular box, and filled it up halfway with the stuff. “Kibble’s inside. It might be a little stale, but it should still be fine. I’ll be right back.”

  I opened the door, and Henry finally poked his head up over the side to look around. His nose twitched as he sniffed, and when he seemed certain that everything was A-Okay, he hopped out onto the concrete floor of the garage. I slid the litterbox over to him with my foot and then crouched down next to it and tapped it on the corner to draw his attention. His yellow-green eyes were still wide and curious, and he slowly trotted over to the box, sniffed at it, and then hopped inside. I smiled with some relief as he immediately began to chuff at the sand to do his business.

  “Things are okay,” I said to him, though really I was talking to myself. I walked around my car to inspect the garage. It had enough room to work on two vehicles, the other spot unoccupied except for a dark patch of grease in the middle of the gray concrete floor. A few long fluorescent tube lights hung overhead, and one of them flickered occasionally, a moth flitting around it. Tools lined the walls, along with shelves of spare parts, tires, jugs of oil and other fluids, and other mechanic things that were foreign to me. There was a small desk with a chair and one of those office water dispensers next to it. It was definitely a garage. Not glamorous at all, and the rain pounded noisily on the roof, but to me the place felt like a five-star hotel. I could even lay my sleeping bag on the floor if I wanted—it’d be nice to stretch out completely instead of sleeping in the front seat.

  The door that connected the minimart opened, and Reynold came in lugging a big bag of kibble on his shoulder. I hurried over to help him with it. Henry, who was cautiously exploring the area around the litterbox, looked up at the sound of the food bag and meowed.

  “Oh, he’s hungry, isn’t he?” Reynold said. “Do you have a bowl for him?”

  “Yeah,” I said, and pulled out two small metal dishes from the back of the car. Reynolds opened the kibble and scooped out some food into the bowl, and then filled the other with water from the dispenser. Henry immediately went for the food.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I said, stroking his back. He raised his butt up into the air and allowed his tail to slide through my hand. I normally would’ve fed him much earlier, but the storm had made it difficult.

  “Well, I’m gonna lock up here,” Reynold said. “Restroom is back there. I’ll leave the door to the store open, just in case you do get hungry. Just leave a couple bucks on the counter. Another fella named Lee will be opening up shop tomorrow. I’ll give him a call to let him know you’ll be in here. I just live right down the road here, if you go east off Armstrong and then take your first left. Only house on the street.” He walked over to the desk and jotted something down onto a post-it. “Number’s here, in case of emergency.” He smiled. “Well, good night, Chrissy. I’ll see you when I come in tomorrow, if you haven’t left yet.”

  I nodded and shook his hand. “Thank you, sir,” I said. I was in a slight daze from his kindness and willingness to help me. “I really appreciate this. Really.”

  “It’s nothing,” he said. He left through the minimart, and a moment later I heard the roar of the pickup’s engine outside, just barely noticeable over the drumming of the rain on the metal roof of the garage. Headlights crossed over the small window slits of the garage door, and then it was just me, Henry, and the sound of the storm. Henry was still chowing down on the food when thunder boomed overhead like a bomb going off, rattling the metal garage door and vibrating all the parts sitting on the shelves. I winced and fought the instinct to drop to a crouch, but Henry must’ve leapt ten feet in the air. He hit the ground running and darted off to hide beneath one of the shelves, his eyes the only thing visible.

  I pulled out the little towel that he had adopted as a bed, and laid it down by the front of the shelf where he was hiding. Then I changed out of my wet pants, pulled my sleeping bag out along with my half sandwich, and spread my bag out by the front of my car. I ate the sandwich as thunder continued to rumble and the rain kept up its relentless downpour. It was nine thirty, and I was exhausted. I stretched out in my sleeping bag, and thought about what the gas station owner had done for me. Reynold had let a complete stranger stay in his place of business, without even a second thought. A product of a time gone by, maybe. Or maybe I’d just gotten used to the way people treated each other when living in a big city. Whatever the reason, it was a nice change from what I was used to.

  I looked ov
er towards the shelves where Henry was still hiding. “You sure are lucky you’re a cat,” I whispered. Then I closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  I woke up the next morning to the sound of the garage door rolling open. At first, I thought it was thunder. It had rocked the building so many times during the night that I had started to dream about it, but when gray daylight poured over my eyelids, I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. A robust silhouette filled the garage entrance by my car, and when the figure walked forward, I saw a man around Reynold’s age, with a full white beard and big belly. The first thing I thought was that he looked awfully like Santa Clause.

  “’Morning there,” he said. “You must be Chrissy. I’m Lee.”

  “Morning,” I said, sleepily.

  “Care for some coffee? Gonna get the machine started up.”

  “Sure.” I rubbed my eyes again and got out from my sleeping bag. I was surprised to see that the rain had stopped.