Mary and Alvin Ch. 31

"Does that feel significant to you?" Mary asked.

He shrugged. "In a way, I guess. It kind of makes me feel like I should have traveled more."

"Well, you are traveling now."

"Yes, I am." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "I'd like to travel where there is something to see besides corn, though. I see enough of it at home."

They crossed the Mississippi River at St. Louis, and had a good view of the Gateway Arch from the bridge.

"They probably ought to have built it right over the highway, so you would go under it," Alvin said.

"No," Mary replied, "That would be too Freudian."

Alvin laughed. "Well, I guess we know what's on my mind."

Mary took the wheel when they stopped for a bathroom break just west of the city.

"You know, this was Route 66, back in the day," Alvin said as she pulled back on to the interstate.

"Yes, I do, I came this way when I moved to Maine." She paused for a second, then said, "It's hard to believe that was twenty years ago."

Alvin began to sing, off key, "You go to St. Louie...Joplin Missouri...Oklahoma City looks oh, so pretty..."

"Sweetheart," Mary laughed, "You are on the road to Hollywood, but you aren't going to make it in show business."

Alvin felt more at home as they drove through the Ozarks and into Oklahoma. The rolling, forested hills gave him a sense of comfort after so many miles of flat farmland. To the northwest, the sky looked bruised. Distant lightning flashed, but the storm drew no nearer. Just past Vinita, they saw a vast herd of cattle grazing along the road.

"Wow, how many cows do you think that is?" Mary asked.

"Hard tellin', not knowin'. Got to be thousands," Alvin replied. "You know what that is, don't you?"

"What?" she asked.

"That's the leather supply for all the shoes you're going to buy next year."

"Smartass. Actually, it's the beef for all the greasy cheeseburgers you're going to eat."

Mary had changed their reservations from the St. Louis Holiday Inn to one in Tulsa. "Terre Haute to Tulsa," Alvin joked, "sounds like a country song." They arrived and were met by a blast of intense heat as they exited the car.

"Jeezum, must be a hundred degrees," Alvin said.

"Maybe we could take a swim after supper," Mary suggested.

"I don't have swim trunks."

"Yes, you do. I bought you a pair and packed them."

They checked in, then ate supper at a burger joint in a strip mall across the street.

"You were complaining about me eating too many cheeseburgers just a while ago," Alvin pointed out.

"Yes, but these are actually pretty good," she countered, "And besides, we are on vacation, so it doesn't count."

Even at dusk, the temperature was well into the nineties. After supper they changed into their swim suits and went down to the pool. A young mother with two young boys were splashing about in the shallow end. Alvin went to the middle and sat down on the edge. Mary, without hesitation, slipped into the water.

"Come on, big boy, get in here." She flicked at the water with her hand, splashing him.

Alvin lowered himself in and dogpaddled over to her.

"You know," he said, "you could still wear a bikini, you didn't have to get a one piece."

"Thank you, baby, but I think once you hit forty, the one piece is more appropriate."

The mother and kids exited the pool and went into the hotel. Noticing that there was no one else around, Alvin pulled Mary into his arms. He cupped her ass in his hands and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He started to tip over backwards, but righted himself and backed against the side of the pool.

"I feel something poking me," Mary said. She draped her arms over Alvin's shoulders and pressed her crotch against his groin.

"Can't be a fish, not in the pool."

"Hmm, let's see." She reached down and slipped her hand inside his trunks. "Well, it might not be a fish, but it's big enough to be a keeper."

Alvin slipped the trunks down his hips. Mary gripped his cock and, slipping the crotch of her swimsuit to the side, guided it into her vagina. She looked around to assure herself that no one had approached the pool area, then began to move up and down on it.

"I guess you just need a little inspiration now and then," she said.

"Well, you can wear that bathing suit every day if you'd like, I won't bellyache about it, bikini or not."

Mary had only been riding his cock for a few minutes when she heard a door slam. She stopped and looked around. Seeing no one, she began to move again, and soon felt herself nearing orgasm. She realized that what had so aroused her was the realization that, at the age of forty six, she still turned her husband on. She understood, for the first time, that she had grown as anxious about their sex life as he had.

"You still think I'm sexy?" she panted, pushing down hard against him.

"I think everything about you is sexy," he said, "The way you look, the way you smell, the sound of your voice..."

His words of reassurance pushed her over the edge. She pressed her forehead against his, and felt her climax pass through her body.

Alvin squeezed her tighter, and began to passionately thrust into her.

"Come for me, baby," Mary gasped, and he did, moaning loud enough to make her look around to see if anyone had heard him. Seeing no one, she rested her head on his shoulder.

"That was fun," she said.

"Maybe we ought to put in a pool."

"Hmm, how about a hot tub?"

"That's a wicked good idea. It will be an especially good idea when we've got the house to ourselves."

Mary frowned, "Don't remind me of that. It's coming up too soon."

When they returned to their room, Alvin looked at the weather app on his phone. The forecast for the next day was for even higher temperatures.

"I've got a suggestion," he told Mary, "It's just eight o'clock now. I think we ought to get a few hours sleep and then hit the road. Try to do a good piece of our driving at night, when it's cooler."

Mary agreed, and they were on the road again by midnight. Alvin took the first shift and Mary slept while he listened to a sports talk radio show. He didn't care about the upcoming showdown between the Astros and Kansas City, but the sound of voices helped pass the time and keep him alert.

They pulled off the interstate in the Oklahoma City suburbs and got coffee at a 7-11. Mary took her turn driving and, despite the coffee, Alvin soon dozed off.

He was awakened by the sound of the minivan's door opening. Mary was stepping out of the vehicle, but he could see nothing outside except a strip of dusty shoulder, and one lane of the highway, lit by the vehicle's headlights.

"Come on out," Mary said. She reached in and turned off the headlights, then shut her door.

Alvin stepped out into the darkness. After a moment, his eyes adjusted and he saw why Mary had stopped. He walked over to where she stood in front of the minivan, and took her hand.

The sky stretched, unbroken from horizon to horizon, and it was aglow with stars. The Milky Way hung just over the road before them.

"It's almost like being at sea," Alvin said. For some reason, he felt the need to whisper his words.

"It is," Mary said, squeezing his hand, "It reminds me of the first night we spent out on SeaJay."

"That's a fine night to remember."

Mary turned, still clasping his hand, and wrapped her other arm around his waist. Resting her head on his shoulder, she began to softly sing.

Could I have this dance for the rest of my life,

Would you be my partner every night?

Alvin lifted her chin and kissed her. In the distance he saw headlights approaching.

"Where are we anyway?" he asked.

Mary pointed back down the road. "The state line is back there, about a half mile. We are in the Texas Panhandle."

"Well, yippy ki ay," Alvin said, kissing her forehead.

The lights neared and a beat up pickup truck slowed to a stop. An elderly man in a John Deere gimme cap leaned out the window.

"You folks alright?" he asked in a slow drawl.

"We are fine, thanks, just taking a moment to enjoy the night," Alvin answered him.

The man looked at their license plate. "Headed for Vegas?"

"No, Los Angeles," Mary said.

The man nodded. "Well," he said," Don't know why anyone would go there, but have a good trip."

Mary and Alvin waved as he drove away. "I guess geezers are pretty much the same everywhere," Alvin said.

"You ought to know," Mary said with a laugh.

They got back in the car, with Alvin behind the wheel. Mary looked at the GPS on her phone.

"It's only about an hour and a half to Amarillo," she said, "Maybe we can stop there and have some breakfast."

"Amarillo by morning, that is the name of a country song," Alvin said as he pulled back on to the highway.

They were eating Huevos Rancheros at a Denny's on the outskirts of Amarillo when the sun came up.

"So, what's our plan for the day?" Alvin asked Mary. "You're the captain on this trip."

"Are you tired?"

"Nope, I'm wide awake."

"We've got reservations for tomorrow, no, well, tonight, in Albuquerque. Why don't we keep going? We can be there in about four hours."

Alvin agreed and they pushed on, through the Texas Panhandle and into the high plains of New Mexico. As they gained elevation, it grew cooler and they drove with the windows open. The desert air was invigorating. Mary leaned her head out the window and let the wind blow through her hair. Alvin looked at her and chuckled.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"You should look at your hair."

Mary flipped down the visor mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess.

"You were worried about a few gray hair, now you look like you combed with an eggbeater."

She laughed. "Don't make fun of me."

"Sweetheart, on your worst day, you were the best looking woman I ever saw."

They reached Albuquerque and found their hotel. Entering their room, they both flopped down on the bed. They cuddled and kissed and fell asleep. When they woke up late in the afternoon, they went for a stroll through the Old Town district.

As they walked around the old Spanish neighborhood of pink and yellow adobe buildings, so different from Maine, he thought about how the light here somehow made him think of home. He had noticed before that there was a quality to the light of Maine that seemed to make everything it touched take on a little extra beauty. He had always ascribed it to somehow be caused by proximity to the ocean. Perhaps the desert had the same effect.

"You know I ain't much of a city fella, but this place is beautiful," he told Mary. "It just seems like there is color everywhere."

He took pictures of the long strands of chili peppers hanging from the fronts of bodegas and restaurants, drying in the sun. "I want to show these to Jen. I think it would be a nice thing for her to do."

For supper, they ate at a charming little taqueria. As the sun sank, they headed back toward the hotel.

"Taverna means bar, more or less, don't it?" Alvin asked, looking at a sign hanging over an archway between the street and a tree lined patio.

"Yes, it does," Mary replied.

"And cerveza means beer?"

"Si."

"Well, alright then." He took her hand and led her to a table. They sat and drank, nibbling on tortilla chips until well past dark.

"Maybe we ought to get back to the hotel," Mary finally said.

"We don't need to hurry," Alvin said with a laugh, "Only driving about six hours tomorrow."

"That's true," Mary replied. She ran her hand up his thigh. "But there are other reasons to get back."

Alvin looked at her and grinned. "They don't have a pool, do they?"

"Well, tonight we should see how you perform on dry land, sailor."

They returned to their room, and Alvin performed just fine.

***

In the morning, they headed west again, through vistas of red sand plains and distant mesas. To Alvin, it seemed an alien landscape. The only familiar feature was the endless procession of puffy cumulus clouds. Eager to make good time, they got lunch at a Wendy's drive through in Gallup and kept moving. When they passed by Winslow, Arizona, Alvin feigned outrage that they'd seen towns named after his daughter and his wife, but none with his name. Mary googled on her phone and found an Alvin, Colorado.

"If you want, we can add two extra days to our trip, just so you can say we went there."

"Nope," he said, "I prefer the grievance."

By early afternoon, they arrived at the entrance to Grand Canyon National Park.

"You good for walking a half mile or so?" Mary asked.

"Well, if I ain't, you can carry me."

"Okay, turn right, there, where it says Desert View."

Alvin turned into the parking area. Mary took his hand and they took the walkway to where the Desert View Watchtower rose above the canyon's rim. As they approached the edge, Alvin felt his anticipation growing, but he was not prepared for the sensory and emotional impact of the view that emerged before him. The vertigo that washed over him as he gazed into the vast empty space of the canyon was something he had never experienced. He felt lightheaded, almost nauseous. And yet, he could not turn his eyes away.

"Isn't it magnificent?" Mary asked, wrapping her arm around his.

"Yeah, sure is," he replied without enthusiasm.

"Do you want to go up to the top of the watchtower?"

Alvin shrugged. "Can't see as the view would be much different from another fifty feet up."

"Sweetheart, is everything okay? You're acting kind of strange. You aren't afraid of falling in, are you?"

"No. Are you?"

"No," Mary said, "Because if I ever fell, I know you would swoop down somehow and catch me and carry me away."

They stepped away and walked back to the car. As soon as Alvin had turned his back to the canyon, he felt better, more grounded, and was able to begin processing why he had found the view so disconcerting. What he felt had not been fear, precisely, he was not afraid of falling in or anything like that. As they drove to the next overlook at Navaho Point, he found the word he was struggling to articulate to himself. What he had felt was dread.

When they reached Navaho Point, he felt a compulsion to drive by, but he did not want to disappoint Mary, so he turned in and parked. The view was even more expansive here, the great chasm stretching as far as the eye could see, but he was prepared for it, and he did not react so negatively. A few people had walked out to the open rim, and he hoped Mary wouldn't think that was a good idea, but she shuddered as she watched them.

"I'm just a little bit afraid of heights," she said, "I'm fine from back here, but I could not stand that close to the edge."

They drove the rest of the way to the village and checked into their room at The Thunderbird Lodge. It was located only yards away from the rim of the canyon. Mary was disappointed that their room was on the far side of the building. Alvin commiserated, but was secretly glad to have that little extra bit of distance from the disconcerting canyon.

When they had settled into their room, they walked over to the Bright Angel Cafe, and tried bison burgers for their supper. Alvin declared it better than moose meat, which took Mary by surprise.

"I can't believe you are not defending the moose of Maine," she said, laughing.

Alvin smiled halfheartedly.

"Sweetie," Mary asked, "Are you okay? You have seemed a little off all day."

"I'm alright," he said, "It's just been a long trip and I'm feeling a little bit weary."

"Okay baby," she said, patting his hand, "We'll get a good nights sleep and by this time tomorrow, we will be at my Mom's house."

He picked up her hand and kissed it. "I can't begin to tell you how much I love you, Mary."

"I love you, too, honey. But, I don't want to wear you out."

***

Alvin woke up in the dark room. Mary lay on her side next to him, gently snoring. He slipped out of bed and walked to the window. The moon hung low in the sky and bathed the landscape in silver light. He considered waking Mary, but decided to let her sleep. He pulled on his jeans and slid his feet into his shoes. Quietly closing the door behind him, he went down the hall and out into the crisp night air.

He approached the canyon with hesitant steps. Far down the road a woman was walking a small dog on a leash. Wouldn't let my dog anywhere near that big damn hole in the ground without keeping a tight grip, he thought. He crossed the empty road and stood at the stone wall that lined the canyon's rim. He felt as if he was being drawn to it. There was something about it that he needed to face, something he could not quite assemble into coherent thought.

He looked out over the canyon. The dim moonlight illuminated the tops of the cliffs on the far side, but below that there was only blackness. He saw nothingness as if it were a real presence. When he looked into the black depths of the canyon he thought of that line about staring into the abyss, and how it stares back at you. Who said that? Nietzsche, wasn't it? Or Yeats? T.S. Eliot? He couldn't hold that stuff in his head as well as he used to. But he thought that he understood the quote in a way he had not before.

He had not thought a lot about aging. He saw it's effects, he felt them, but it was just something that happens, wasn't it? But aging comes to an end and the thought came to him that what he felt when he gazed into the canyon was mortality. The thought embarrassed him. It seemed trite. But he was much closer to the end of his life than to the beginning. Something about the canyon, about all that endless emptiness, jolted him into recognizing that fact.

He remembered his father telling him, on the day he left home, that the time would come when he would choose to become a man. And he remembered Mary telling him that his father was wrong, that there was not one moment of choice, that the choice of how to live one's life was something that needed to be reaffirmed, time and time again.

This was another such moment of choice, he realized. He'd been slowly, imperceptibly giving up on life. Mary, however, had no intention on giving up on him, and she had shown him, since that night in the Essex Inn, how sweet life still remained. There was another quote he remembered, the one about raging against the dying of the light. That was Dylan Thomas, he was sure of that.

He raised his eyes from the canyon and up at the rising desert moon. What about when you look into the light, he thought. Doesn't the light look into you as well? The abyss would take him some day, but he felt certain that it wasn't going to be today. Today, he would live, and live as fully as he could. They would drive the rest of the way to Los Angeles. They would visit Mary's mother and the rest of her family, and have a lovely time. Then they would fly home and resume their daily routines. Right now, though, he would return to the room and wait for his beloved to awaken from her slumber. When she did, he would make love with her. Each and every time they joined themselves together, life was reaffirmed. The day would inevitably come when he would no longer be able to achieve that affirmation, but today was not that day either.