Coasting up the entrance ramp, I reached for a cig. The sun beat furiously on the visor and melted through it, scorching my eyes. The simple fact was: I was free.
That morning, I had left all my worldly belongings in my friend's garage and loaded up two pairs of underwear into my battered blue Mustang. He laughed at me with the kind of eyes that showed equal measures of scorn and jealousy. He didn't say, "What about your future, your career?", but as his two children ran in and out of the front door, screaming at the top of their lungs, he was clearly torn between sharing my excitement and reasserting his responsibilities, which seemed to weigh heavily on him. I told him that I had given notice at the conservatory, told my students to find another teacher, and told my landlord to fuck off.
The fact was, I had had some pretty strange dreams the night before last, and felt like I had to hit the road. I was having post-dream olfactory hallucinations of burnt flesh, and had a strong impulse to revisit the desert.
Two pairs or underwear, my guitar, and Pee Wee, my fat orange cat. And a pack of cigs. I pulled out of his driveway and felt like I had left the world and had entered the universe.
Now, Pee Wee was munching some tuna in the back seat and the radio was blaring the words of the late great Kurt Cobain: "I'm so happy, 'cause today I found my friends, here in my head". I saw my friends along the side of the road, in other cars, under the ground. Overhead, the air was full of kites: red ones, green ones, with long tails, painted with Japanese faces and whipping in the strong breeze. I turned onto the highway and engaged the afterburners. The engine groaned as I accelerated to 70 in the left lane. Tossing the spent cig out the window, I saw it injected back into the past, to join the many loose ends that flapped behind me so noisily.
Go West young man. And so I did. Passing the Denny's, I thought of waffles with ice cream, but did not stop. There was no time to loose, because I had all of time before me. Plenty of opportunities for waffles, plenty of nights for sex, plenty of notes to come out of my guitar. Only first, I had to put some distance between myself and the past, between my present and the thousand demons that yelped and hollered behind me, spitting blood. I had escaped their clutches, or so I thought.
Pee Wee climbed over the back of the seat and stood up, putting his front paws on the dashboard so he could see out the windshield. I thought I saw a gleam in his eye, as he licked his chops. He was a good boy, much given to sleeping, eating and playing. I had learned a lot from him, but not nearly enough. Now he would really teach me. I reached over and massaged the scruff of his neck, and he turned to look at me.
"Do you have any idea of where we're going?" he said.
I laughed, and glanced out at the white lines rushing by "Nope."
He laughed, and sniffed the dashboard, as if there was something in its aroma that would answer his question. I passed a semi that seemed twelve blocks long. The driver looked down from his high cab and picked his nose. I left him in the dust.
As I pulled into the station to get some gas, I saw a red sports car stopped at the pump. A delicious blond in jeans and a tight, repeat, tight leotard top was inserting the nozzle into her tank. I smiled at her and she returned the smile. She took off her sunglasses to get a better look at Pee Wee on the front seat.
"That's one fat cat you got there", she remarked with a little laugh that caused my blood pressure to rise slightly. "He's not fat, he's just got big bones." Now she really laughed and the sunlight glinted off her teeth in a way that made everything I had ever suffered in my life seem worthwhile. She finished filling her tank first, and went in to pay.
I looked at Pee Wee and said "God is great."
He snickered, "Why, 'cause he gave you hormones?"
"You're just jealous 'cause your balls were cut off long ago."
He yawned and lay down to take a nap. The goddess came out and got into her car.
"Bye", she said accompanied by another dazzling smile. "Drive carefully now," I retorted, wittily I thought. She pulled out of the station, and out of my life, leaving me thinking about all the goddesses that would never know my caresses, and whether that was their tragedy, or mine.
As I paid for the gas, I glanced inside my wallet at the crisp bills I had taken out of the bank that morning. Although my bank had cash machines everywhere in the world, or so they claimed, it seemed that leaving my money with them and getting some whenever I needed it would be too much like remaining in the prison I had so impetuously released myself from. So I took it all out, hiding it in various places on my person and in the car. I knew it was much more risky this way, But, hey, what's one more risk on top of all the others I was taking? I put my trust in the Lord. Had He ever let me down? Nope. I had let myself down plenty, but He never did.
Back on the highway. Pee Wee is lying on his back on the front seat, like a dog. I start to think about where I'm going. It's time to visit the desert, the traditional place of introspection and cleansing. Where should I go: Canyonlands, Hovenweep, Monument Valley? I'll figure it out when I get there. Meanwhile, just point the vehicle towards that blood red setting sun and press the pedal. Pee Wee yawns again. He does that a lot, and I wonder if it's boredom or satori.
Soon I'm getting thirsty, and a sleazy roadhouse beckons. The half broken sign says "Ed's Palace", and underneath is a big painted burger and a mug of beer. No icon of Krishna or Jesus ever looked as real and meaningful as this masterpiece of American fulfillment. There were a few pickups and broken down cars parked in the dust, and I pulled in around the back, out of the sun.
"OK. Pee, now behave yourself." I poured some spring water into his dish, left the windows open a crack and got out.
He looked at me like "Where the hell are you going?" but I payed him no mind. You can't let the local fauna run your life.
It was so dark inside that I couldn't see at first, but at least the bar was lit and I made my way to a stool.
"What can I git ya?" The bartender was about three hundred pounds, and his arms were covered in tatoos.
"A cold one. What's on tap?"
"Bud."
"O.K. Can I get some food too?"
"Sorry, the kitchen's not open yet."
That was a disappointment, after seeing the burger icon outside, but at least I didn't have to risk food poisoning. The beer was icy, and it hit my throat like the promised land. I lit a cig and felt whole. It's always at moments like these that I feel at peace with myself and the world. Always when traveling, with a moment's pause to consider the road ahead and the road behind. Time stands still and the past and future are mere possibilities to be mused over, not reality to be dealt with. The present burns cleanly, like a gas flame.
All the lines of the universe seemed to intersect at Ed's Palace, and the Bodhisattva behind the bar looked at me mischievously from his standpoint in eternity. "Where ya headed?"
"West." He waited for elaboration. "I'm going to hang out in the desert for awhile. Collect my thoughts."
"Hmm. That's sure the place to do it. Me and my boys used to go out into the bluffs and drop acid. Shoot beer bottles with shotguns. Heh Heh heh." He wiped his nose with the rag he had just wiped the bar with. I began to be glad the kitchen wasn't open.
As my eyes slowly became accustomed to the dimness, I took stock of the situation. A couple of good ol' boys playing pool in the corner. A broken down alky sitting at the end of the bar. Every bar has an ancient alky sitting at the end, growing into the seat. If you're near a port, it's and old sailor, long past his final voyage. If you're in Alaska, it's an Indian, canned his last salmon long ago. In the mountains, its an old logger, sitting on a stool made of wood he chopped down decades ago. Usually they get a steady and free supply of beers from the establishment, as if they were holy shrines to be made offerings to. Without their blessing, the joint might close or burn down. They were good luck charms. Sometimes, If they weren't too broken down, they functioned as bouncers in exchange for their beer. Usually, they just sat. This one looked like a steel worker, with big arms that used to be muscle, but were now beer soaked flab. His face was so red and so covered with veins that he looked like a victim of an atomic blast. I guess he was, in a way. He looked at me and nodded his head slightly. I lifted my mug to him and drank deep. The universe was O.K., and we knew it.
She came up behind me, so I didn't see her until she was right in my face. She was another kind of fixture in this kind of place, a stop along the trucker's byways. I could see right away how many nights she had spent in truck's cabs in rest stops from coast to coast. Maybe when she was younger, she had hopes. Hopes of being treated decently, of finding a life. But with the passing years and passing truckers, she was reduced to hoping that she would be noticed at all, that anyone would pay her some attention. The scraggly hair, bleached into the consistency of dirty straw, the missing front tooth (I wondered if she remembered the name of the bastard who had done that to her), the slightly pendulous breasts, the midriff that was only a roll of fat; her medals of pathetic valor. Nevertheless I saw that she, too was a goddess, albeit one that I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole.
"Hi, honey. Which way ya going?" she said as she plopped onto the barstool next to me and set down a half glass of beer. Her cigarette was covered with lipstick, as was the rim of the glass. She had on way too much makeup, and badly applied at that.
" Headin' West, towards the desert."
"Whatcha gonna do there?"
"Hang out"
She took a swig, inhaled deeply and let the smoke out in a jet that looked like a dragons' breath. "Hang out? And do what?"
"I don't know. I just know that's where I'm going."
"Well, I'm trying to get to Durango. Can you give me a lift?" She looked at me with eyes and a smile that promised much, but only as a way of getting what she wanted. I wondered if she knew what she wanted.
I took a swig, inhaled deep and let out the smoke like puffs from a whistle on a locomotive. "Are you allergic to cats? I got a cat in the car."
"Aw, no." She whined, "I love cats."
I think she figured that since I was a cat man I probably wouldn't rape her, beat the shit out of her and leave her in a ditch by the road. Somehow, I had the feeling she was all too familiar with that scenario. I finished my beer and set it down with a thud.
"Well, come on if your coming." I got up. She drained her mug and grabbed her purse. It looked like she had either gotten it in a thrift shop, or she had had it long enough for it to look like she had just gotten it in a thrift shop. The bartender looked at me with a sneer. The old alky smiled.
I held the door for her "After you." She looked at me like she was in shock.
At the car, Pee Wee eyed her suspiciously and immediately dove into the back seat, burying himself under some newspapers. "Oh, he's cute, what a big cat. My name's Helen."
"Call me Zot."
"Zot? what kinda name is that?" she wrinkled her nose. "I dunno. That's what they call me." We got in and she immediately pulled down the visor to look at herself in the mirror. She was fussing with her hair, which seemed a little like whipping a dead horse. I thought to myself 'Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?'
"I'm goin' to Durango to visit my girlfriend. She said she could get me a job doing nails at the beauty parlor where she works. It don't sound too great to me, but a girl's got to make a living, ya know?" I let that one go, but we both knew we were both thinking about other ways that some girls make a living. But who am I to judge. Is playing guitar in a restaurant for a bunch of snobby frenchmen any less of a prostitution? I think not. It's part of the reason that I was there on the road, just like her.
We got under way, and as the fresh air whipped through the car, we both felt good. She was actually more of a master of this kind of life, and this feeling, than I was. I gained a new respect for her as I contemplated her devotion to freedom, however painful it was for her.
"Are you from around here?" I asked.
"No, I'm from back east. Newport.
"Oh, yeah? I'm from New York City, originally."
She smiled. "I thought so. You seemed different from the locals."
"Is that good or bad."
She looked at me for a minute, "It just is. How'd you end up out here?"
"I'm a musician, and I got a job teaching at the conservatory."
"Oh, I've been there. I saw a concert, once. A string quartet,. They played Beethoven, I think."
Now I really looked at her. The last thing I ever expected to hear coming from her mouth were words like "string quartet" and "Beethoven".
"What do you play?" she asked.
"Guitar," and I jerked my thumb towards the back seat, where a guitar case was lying. "Classical, flamenco, blues, whatever."
"Wow. I'd love to hear you play."
"Maybe later."
We were quiet for a while we both watched the scenery go by. We weren't far enough west yet for any of the scenery to be worth looking at, but there were the other cars, roadside restaurants and businesses. Sometimes houses and farms, so close to the highway that I wondered how the people could stand the sound and proximity of the traffic. Then I remembered that when I lived in New York, I had lived right on Third Avenue. Talk about constant traffic. How in the world did I ever put up with it? Time numbs all sounds, as well as our ears and brains.
"You grew up in Newport?"
"Yeah. It was nice, but I couldn't wait to leave. As soon as I was sixteen, me and my boyfriend split. We went to Kentucky, and them he dumped me. I've just been traveling back and forth ever since. Real Jack Kerouac stuff." Oh, so now it was Kerouac as well as Beethoven.
"How long ago was that?" I didn't want to ask 'How old are you', thinking it a bit rude.
"Ten, no eleven years ago"
I was shocked. She was, therefore, twenty seven, but she looked forty. Her life must have been even harder than I thought, to take that kind of toll on her. I saw her again in a new light, the third or fourth since I had met her.
"So is school over? Are you goin' out west for a vacation.?" she lit another cigarette.
I sighed. "Nope, I quit."
"What for?"
"I'm not really sure myself. Just couldn't take it any more. I felt like I was becoming dead, and I didn't like the feeling. So I decided to chuck it all and head out. Besides, I had some weird dream, and it makes me feel like I gotta get to the desert."
She put her fist in the air and hollered, "Whoa! Call of the wild." Her eyes had a sparkle in them, "On the road again!" We both laughed.
She quieted down and said, "Well, it's not all that easy, or that nice, some of the time."
I felt like she was a more experienced teacher, offering me her wisdom. Was it a coincidence that she was sitting in my car. Is it ever?
After a couple of minutes, she asked, "What kinda dream?"
I didn't know exactly. I had only fleeting images and feelings, quick shots of the color yellow, a hospital room, a sphere, images of sexy women. It was like a music video, but with stronger aftertones.
"Hard to say. It was weird, I can't really remember it. I just know I gotta get to the desert."
"I have weird dreams all the time." She was looking at the nailpolish peeling off her fingernails.
After a polite pause, I asked, "Such as?"
I got the impression she wasn't sure if she wanted to tell me. Finally she said, "Last night I dreamt I was a little girl again. I was in a big field of yellow flowers, and I felt like I was about to meet someone important." She looked up at me and squinted slightly, as if to try and see me better.
As soon as she said this, I shuddered and an image of a little girl in a field of yellow flowers flashed through my mind. I knew that I too had seen that image, but I could not place it. Maybe in a movie.
"What's so weird about that?"
"Well, nuthin', except in the dream I could make the clouds move and the rain fall, I could make the plants grow, I felt like I could do anything."
"Sounds good to me." I looked over at her and smiled. It sounded like a projection of her wish to escape her powerlessness. Little did I know.
We continued in silence for a while, until I began to feel tired. I had been driving all day, and it was time for sleep. "I'm gonna have to rest. You mind if we check into a motel? We'll get a room with two beds." I didn't want her to think me presumptuous.
She snorted a little laugh. "Two beds, right." I guess she assumed that I wanted something in return for the lift.
We pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript motel like the ones that litter the highways. It would do as good as any. When the car stopped, Pee Wee poked his head up and looked around.
Helen started petting him. "What's his name again? You cutie pie." She scratched him under the chin, a sure-fire way of winning his life-long devotion.
"Pee-Wee, " I said.
I turned off the engine and took the keys with me while I registered in the office. No use taking any chances, I hardly knew this babe.
We were in number 12, in the back. I pulled the car around, and we got out. I went to open the door so she could go in while I got the cat, my guitar and a bag or two. By the time I went in, she had the lights on and was sitting on one of the two beds.
"I thought you were kidding about the two beds." She sounded hurt, actually. Just like a women: damned if you do, damned if you don't.
"Nothing personal, I'm just beat." It was the truth, although now that I looked at her, she didn't look so bad. Some women grow on you; they don't look so attractive when you first see them, but after you talk to them and get a feeling for who they are, it seems to transform their appearance somewhat. She was one of those.
I had stopped and gotten some food and a couple of beers, and we ate this while we watched a little T.V. I gave Pee-Wee some catfood in his bowl, and some water in another, and he ate contentedly. Just one big happy family. Unfortunately, the news had a story about a body that had been found in whatever county it was we were in, back up in the woods. It was thought to be a prostitute who had been murdered.
Helen looked pale. She also scrutinized me a little more carefully. "The world's a crazy place," she commented. I could hardly disagree with her, "That's for sure." We finished our meal in silence.
Soon after, we turned in. I got into my bed, and as I quickly started passing out, I saw the light on in the bathroom and shadows of Helen moving about on the wall.
Sometime during the night, I felt a warm presence slide into bed beside me, and a gentle hand began moving over my body. Being a guy, I was very easily convinced.