Chapter 2 – Riders on the Storm

Driving for hours with an urge to pee, I pulled into another gas station, fortunately one unlike the previous arrangement back home. Getting back in the car, I woke up Jenny. Wearing her now-wrinkled Zeppelin shirt, she stretched, for a brief moment, thinking it was my room. We shared the beef jerky before the tired girl fell back into dream. Really, I was surprised Jenny was so sleepy at one o’clock. Her head seemed comfortably rested under her hand against the door. Despite her strive to be adult, she looked an innocent eighteen. It was a pleasant, calm, and heavenly side of intimacy; in close times, a frequent nature I saw when her strong personality submits to the hidden femininity. She had no idea she gave herself away in sleep. I glanced over and over again, occasionally giving her a one-over that thin fragile body supported by a rock-solid empire of mind.

Our highway path remained continually infinite. Its final horizon is when or where an end was awaiting, never revealing how far there is to go. Is there enough supply of cement and black top for a highway with no end? “Am I going to make it to the end, to California, the land of exile and insanity?” Planning out what would happen was exciting though dangerous. It’s like guessing what you’re going to get for Christmas. It’ll be fun, there’ll be lots for you except for the couple of random, unwanted gifts from a relative you never see. We’d be basking in the sun: warm, tan, and laying out.

With her hair still stuck to the sides of her face, Jenny awoke complaining of being hot. Morning’s chill had long left the Camaro and was replaced by typical June discomfort. She pulled off the jacket that had doubled as a cover.

“Turn on the air conditioning, I’m burning up!”

“Wakey, wakey,” sliding the switch to high, “Enjoy your nap?”

“Uh, huh. So we haven’t been in any accident yet?”

“Nope. You want one?” I swerved off the road slightly, hitting the rough of the right shoulder.

“What the hell! Man, some of the things you do!”

“Things I do?” dishing a smirk. “Sorry, just messing around. Hey, you wanna get something to eat soon?”

“I guess. Jerky isn’t enough.”

“Not for your appetite.”

“Is there any respectable dump to eat at? Nothing fancy, nothing dingy, nothing to offend the Health and Safety Board.”

“We’ll see. I’m kinda hungry, too.” My stomach was rumbling and churning like the innards of a thunder cloud and I failed to do a good job of hiding it from Jenny. “Something shall turn up.”

“I hope so, I might have to start digging into these melted M&M’s.”

“That you stole.”

Without an inch of guilt on her face, “So?”

After lunch, we decided to drive until the sun set, then had to find a place to spend the night. Our day started off with running from town, horror, abuse, pain, deception, and the sun. Okay, maybe not as dramatic as some noir tale. The sun eventually caught up and won the race, beating us to salvation. Night dripped in, creeping serpent, slithering and crawling low until it strikes. Once it does, it’s too late, night has arrived and the only thing one can do is wait for the sun to avenge the murderer. I had been awake over fifteen hours, mostly on the road, mostly thinking, mostly assessing my situation.

“How are our stomachs holding?”

She replied, “My stomach’s holding nothing since that’s what’s in it.”

Up the road was a home favorite of mine to get some grub. I felt like eating a breakfast at Village Inn was perfect. For a comparison and to test her, I asked, “Village Inn or Mc Donald’s,” knowing which one she’d choose.

“Mc Dumpster is too junky and the Villagers are restless. Eh, breakfast isn’t bad.”

Soft pancakes, crunchy toast, oozing syrup, and warm brew seemed pleasing. It was just like home (well, sort of). Jenny dealt with her pick, getting a country-style omelet and orange juice. She told me she never ordered waffles, that they were just pancakes with syrup traps. From that logic, I’d assume that for her the Waffle House was just a gimmick. We were both very hungry and made sure we didn’t leave still desiring another bite.

“I’m tired,” looking to the stuffed person slumped in the passenger seat, “We need a place to spend the night.”

Like poetics, from the Village Inn to the Holiday Inn the short jaunt went. Jenny surveyed her temporary residence, saying our room was full of invisible “Holiday People.” She felt festive in her reassurance of freedom from home. It was I who drove all day and carried four bags – mine, hers, and the two under my eyes pushing to the brim.

“Eric, I’m getting a soda from the machine, want one?”

“Yeah, please. Coke, if you’ll share it with me. Coffee always makes me thirsty.”

Sprawled on the only bed, I attempted a very rewarding rest. The ease of having only one bed, Jenny would sleep with me for the night. Audible was the clanging bottle from down the hall. Jenny ran back in, shoe-less and sock-less, but on her tip toes to not let her little feet get dirty.

“Here you go, lazy,” tossing me the bottle and my opener.

Frowning, “Lazy, I’m the one who did all the work today.”

“Kidding,” in a comic tone.

There was a tiny explosion sending a carbonate mist over my hand causing her to giggle.

“You know, girl, it actually would look funnier all over you. A riot in fact!”

Tipping the drink slightly, I pretended to pour it on her. To retaliate, she sort of backhanded my Coke, getting more on me.

“Oops, I guess the Holiday People did it.”

Playing along, my brow lowered, giving a mad scientist’s smile, “Get cola on me? Never!” My voice raised to a roar, a king leading his army to war, “How dare you get Coke on thy crown! I wish to be dipped in wine!” Reaching over and grabbing her hands, pulling her next to me.

“Hey, I could have spilled it.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Her smile made me go numb, “No more soda, just me.”

I solemnly agreed.

Musty motel room smells, pains of life, wet cola on one’s head, feelings of depravation, and the thought of being away from home all walked away steadfast. This goddess’ perfumed aroma, her eyes, her lips, her warming state that blankets the soul and touches the heart, riding each moment beat by beat. I rolled over and onto Jenny, looking down on this wild child, the beauty whose freedom was suppressed for eighteen years. Nothing would come before her or between us. Her mind reflected back in those eyes, emerald palaces fenced by lashes, gleaming on the edge of tears. All of the world went away, we were in space floating on Aphrodite’s wing.

“Not so tired now, are ya’?”

“No, why not at all,” dropping my voice.

“I’m glad ‘cus you can’t go tired on me.”

“Is it a plague or something?”

“No, but you can’t be tired if you’re going to fuck me.”

Now completely awake and playing innocent, “Fuck you? Who said anything about having sex?”

“Well...,” feeling smart, “it is why you got just one bed and you’re on top of me hundreds of miles from parents catching us, right?”

Dumb of me, I hadn’t thought of it that way. We had come close to making love before with the likelihood of being intruded upon. Here we were alone, no one to walk in and make sure Jenny is never seen again. Waiting to be in this moment, to become one and take a cosmic journey to another spiritual level.

“It saves money to get one bed instead of two.”

“Smart aleck.”

“You’re right, we are alone, away from confines and chains that hold us down. Free like a hawk soaring endlessly in the desert sky: aimless, endless, forever, and infinite.”

A soft smile and more than ever, the wall that kept in all her feelings and inner child so submissive and innocence disappeared for this moment. It fell over under the pressure of love’s wrecking ball. Alone, no sound, no one, weightlessness, with daring tendencies.

“Jenny, the jewel fallen from heaven, golden and unearthly.”

“Eric, the crazy horse running from the horizon.”

“Love me, nothing else, for I love you.”

Kissing, stripping off clothing, whispering, and eagerly making love. God and Goddess high upon Mount Olympus, the world ceased to continue without us, and the spectrum of colors blended into one array called love. Magic, mystery, my girl on a bed, woven in a Celtic bracelet. Sheets stuck to our bare bodies. Naked, the way God made us, without the shrouds that conceal our true selves. Our form, sleek and slender, hers carved from perfection. She was a painting, a portrait of beauty and light. Up in heaven, and falling off a cloud, “You’re so exquisite, enthralling, and sexy. My girl, God’s child, Aphrodite’s reflection. I love you more than my own worth and I never want to lose you. May we always remain this way. Never stray, please stay.”

She never thought of parting until now. Could our lives crumble if separated? “Eric, I love you, I couldn’t leave you. We are one, connected by magnetism.” She saw it was too intense and broke the air, “You know how many weirdoes have slept in this bed?”

“We’re one of many I suppose. Let’s hope they washed the sheets. Wait, I think I see an old semen stain there on your pillow!”

She sat up very quickly to see a fresh, clean pillow sheet below her. I laughed from her startle. Removing her eyes from a false alarm and onto my red laughing face, “Fucker,” and laughed.

Early next morning, there was my love within arm’s reach. She still lay in slumber. And not blocks away, not bound by any distance. No. Making love the night before replayed in my head and I remained amazed that we finally could. I kissed Jenny on the shoulder she wasn’t laying on. Her back’s faint freckles were like points on a road atlas, the one they must get back on and head westward. Surveying the room, collecting our belongings, out fell loose coin, which dropped on the counter catching the attention of the brown-haired girl, barely awake.

“Wakey, wakey, Miss Nakey.”

“It’s too early to be up. Aren’t you tired, Mr. Nakey?”

“The highway calls us.” 
Yawning, “Ah, come on back to bed with me, then wake back up when it’s light out, you know, maybe noon.”

“Noon? That’s too late. We wouldn’t be out of here ‘til one or two o’clock. Besides, there’s a check-out time.”

“Well, I’m not getting up now. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Well,” mocking her, “you’re not sleeping ‘til noon.”

“Wake me up at ten, early bird.”

“Okay. I’m going to get some things we may need, come back, and get ready.”

“Ah, fine, I can live with that, but put some clothes on before another Shelly gets you.”

Rummaging up a pair of pants and shirt, I slipped on my shoes and left out the task of putting any underwear on. Even that was somehow freedom. No cramping in a hot jail cell. Jenny lay silent and sweet, wanting to be held. She was fast asleep, moving slightly, when I kissed her goodbye.

The car in its cool atmosphere revved with a jump, seemingly happy as the driver was with his love. A small convenient store sat down the road. Its sign still lit, barely lighting an empty, oil stained parking lot. Inside, its clerk was mellow from tiredness, possibly up all night on the graveyard shift. My hands became filled with coffee, soda, and a muffin. Before purchasing, this shopper looked to see condoms for sale near the register. “Oh, fuck! We never used…! Damn me! Shit! What if...,” continuing in my head that this was only once and she wouldn’t be pregnant. I walked to the counter, a frustrated shopper.

“Morning. That’s it?”

“This...and a…box of rubbers...please.”

“You got a soda, muffin, coffee, and a box of rubbers,” I coughed when hearing the last word. We skipped the “what kind do you want” question and went right to the ring up. “That’s...” I didn’t care how much it was. I handed the clerk a five and walked out trying to juggle the drinks, the food and condom box and no paper bag.

The door to the motel room was open, Jenny not in sight. I threw my purchases on the floor inside, setting the coffee down easy, and looked around. The lone occupant was not there. “Where is she?” I ran outside, pacing the front area hoping to see her, hoping no one grabbed her and drove off. There’s a voice from behind, it’s Jenny exiting the motel office.

“Whatcha running for, trying to keep in shape?”

“Where were you?”

“Lobby, getting a drink, talking to the Holiday People.”

“I thought the Holiday People had kidnapped you. You scared me.”

“Sorry, I just needed a drink. Sex makes ya’ thirsty ya’ know.” There was a laugh between us and me nervously looking around to see if anyone heard that. “At least I know you care about me enough to worry.”

“Of course I do,” putting my arm around her and playing with her hair on the far shoulder. “I love you baby, but you’re prone to mischief.”

“Ha, like you’re not. You may behave in front of your parents, but not in school. You and all of your football pals. For all I know, you did something illegal while you were gone. Was that hooker still on the corner? No, you came back too quick to have had any.”

“What?” playing along, “No, she left leaving me pretty disappointed.”

“Hmm, speaking of the deed,” closing the door behind us, “last night was quite a ride. Planning on doing that again?”

I smiled, “Yes.”

“Please do.”

We kissed and began getting our belongings packed. Jenny took some fresh clothes and looked over my way, about to ask a question. Instead, I asked first.

“What? Missing something?”

“No, I need a shower.”

“I already took mine so you’re free to take one.”

“Cool, won’t be long.”

“Yeah, we need to be out by twelve I’m sure.” And we did leave on time.

I gave my muffin to Jenny and settled for hot Coke instead. Not a good breakfast but enough to suite two kids who usually don’t eat in the morning. So far, though, we’d broken that rule. With no indication of trouble, I felt for some odd reason like today was going to be excruciatingly long. But Jenny seemed cool; her long hair still damp. Farther along the journey, the air began to feel like rain.

Maybe someone (perhaps God) hated me for running away and partaking in excess. When Mom and Dad find out I won’t be coming back home so soon, what will they think, what will they do? Was this trip wrong? Am I doing a bad thing? Am I ever going home? If not, where am I going, California? What’s there? Could Jenny be pregnant? I didn’t hear her mention morning sickness. What if she is? What would we do? We can’t have a kid, not now, not here. Out came a silent prayer, hoping an angel with exceptional hearing was listening.

Relieving my conscience, I blurted out, “Jenny, we never used a rubber last night.” She went still, realizing the truth. A quick glance at the distressed driver and then her eyes fixed to the road. “I bought some this morning.”

“Well, I’m not pregnant if that’s what you think,” turning her demeanor around and poked fun, “Better pray you’re sterile.”

“Ha!”

“How many?”

“Six I think.”

“That’s enough for one night, right?”

Almost falling out of my seat, “No, I don’t believe I have it in me!”

Sarcastically, “Disappoint me then, humph. Afraid it’ll fall off?”

“Maybe, but not likely.”

“Planning on another room tonight, mister?”

Southernly, “Yeah baby, we gonna have ourselves a good time and I’m gonna love ya’ baby all night long. Yeah, all night.”

“Promising indeed, Jethro!”

Suddenly the mental storm cloud lifted, making me feel better and so was Jenny. Even the rain that began to fall was not so bothersome. Little drops of life, born in the same place as my girl. Some soft, some heavy, all silvery beads leaking from an invisible tap. Land and play, then go back home into the clouds to sleep. Life is a cycle, circular and infinite, and everything on earth follows the pattern that makes the race. Rain fell more intensely until windshield wipers were needed to see.

Rural areas we entered did not provide hip radio stations. Neither of us had the patience to surf fuzz and hear every second word being sung. And so looking for a topic of conversation, “Jen, what do you think about the direction of music?”

“Going in the wrong direction.”

“True. Rock seems to have been left behind in dust and old memories.”

“Are we going in the wrong direction?” Her face almost seemed serious.

“No, we’re headed West. That’s where we’re supposed to be going, right navigator?”

“I mean, what will we turn out like?”

Jokingly, “Rude and crude outlaws on the loose in California. Screwing, smoking, snorting, and smiling.”

“Eric, that’s not us; you’re nuts.”

“My nuts?”

“No, as in you’re nuttier than the Planter’s Peanut guy. You know, with the cane and monocle.”

“His nuts?”

“Ugh, if you continue this the whole way then I’m going to consider the dope just to tolerate you.”

“You’re nuts. What do you want to do once we settle down?”

“Sightsee, hit the beach, and groove.”

“Whatever happened to the Holiday People?”

“Still around. They were waving at us when we left.”

“Oh.”

Though the rain ceased, the sun remained partially hidden behind the gray sky. Westward meant facing its little rays of light, forcing one to squint passed them. Sizzling sounds came from passing cars as they sped down the wet highway – same sounds that come from bacon, sausage, pork chops, steaming meats frying in grease and cast iron, like home in the kitchen. Home, the place I lived all my life, where I felt safe and secure; though, here I felt secure with Jenny, but somehow unsafe here in the concrete wilderness. We were both capable of wild acts and on our own could prove dangerous.

Ironically, it was another night’s rest at a Holiday Inn. Jenny said it was the Holiday People drawing us back. A fast food bag lay atop the bed with a box of French fries waiting to be consumed. Starting to eat, it was obvious a couple next door were shouting. Man and woman in a heated squabble, suffering a mid-life crisis.

“You fucking whore!”

“Shut up! You dragged me to this dump. So this was your way of saving our marriage? Fat chance asshole, I hope you die!”

“You old bitch. What was I thinking? Nothing could save you except a good plastic surgeon and twenty years therapy. Look at you, you’re nothing but an ugly face with no tits, no femininity, and your hole is as loose as a t-shirt three times too big.”

“You couldn’t get it up to find out.”

“I could ask any guy in town to find out, they know. You’re used meat, a tramp. I only stayed with you this long because...”

“Because no one else is dumb enough to marry you. Because no one else loves you. You’re an old, fat, drunken loser. Hell, I don’t even love you, I never did.”

“You know Barb, I don’t love you either. I used to, but not anymore.”

It quickly got quiet in 225. The door slammed and through the wall we could hear Barbara cry. I felt sorry for her, and the man, and then turned to my girl who seemed unconcerned, eating her sandwich and sipping on soda. Then again, yelling was once common in her house. The two next door didn’t phase her much. A sedan in parking lot sped off while Barbara continued her sobbing.

“Those two remind me of how you described your parents.” She kept eating, pretending no one spoke. “Cases like that make me reconsider marriage. Don’t they all lead to divorce?”

“Almost. It’s a ritualistic thing, not done for love. Besides, people feel more comfortable telling someone that they’re married to the woman they’ve been fucking for years.”

“Your parents...’

Interrupting, “Are dead. I killed them.”

“In your mind you did.”

“That’s right. I’m not going to talk about them. Gilbert and Mae are gone, got it,” pitching sandwich wrappers and its bag in the trash.

Tension could arise between us, but would not surmount like in 225. I left the room saying sorry and went to the swimming pool. Took my shirt off and plopped in like a little kid. Water was nice and cool, no one around, calm as I floated weightless, crossing the pool light creating shadows. Hearing the fight must have been harder for Jenny than I thought. I guess she said they’re both dead to make the memory fade; though, only her dad was the deceased one. It doesn’t work because she remembers it all. In a way, I felt bad for leaving Jenny all alone back in the room, just like when she sat alone for hours in her bedroom. Reconsidering my swim, I was about to go back in when I saw she sat down in a patio chair.

“I’m sorry for making you leave the room.”

“You didn’t make me leave, I left so...”

“There wouldn’t be a fight, like the one we overheard. I know you’re afraid of marriages and you don’t want fights either, neither do I. Just don’t mention my parents.”

“Alright, I won’t. Is Barb still crying?”

Stepping to the pool’s edge, “I dunno. It’s quiet in there. Who cares? She’ll be fine in a few hours.” Unfortunately, an hour later, a gunshot came from 225. Barb, alone, had apparently committed suicide. From the sound of it, the shot sounded like it came from a small revolver. The police and paramedics arrived creating quite a scene. We ventured out long enough to not be interviewed by anyone in uniform and luckily the Holiday People were never questioned by authorities.

“Left alone to the unfamiliar faces

Vague hazy traces of human portions

The mind is a strange machine

Where the deranged and spiritual meet

Sick psyche, the derelict broadening of thought

I need you for everything you offer

Emptiness in which I suffer wish would end

Knowing the very fabric of sanity tears at will

Lost and still, morose my conscious may weigh

Yet, I wade through the trouble

Ahead is a fresh new world

But until landfall, the seas are rough and unforgiving

Making it hard for the living and fun for the dead.”