Origins: Dressed

My wife and I, who collaborate to write these stories, are not Winn and Will. They are not real people. While real headlines and events may be referenced for setting, our stories depict FICTIONAL events and people, and ALL characters involved in sexual situations are consenting adults.

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DRESSED

"Tell me something about yourself. Doesn't matter what."

Winn was surprised to hear him speak. Surprised, and a little bit annoyed, really. She had been lost in a book. She loved to read; in her shitty life, it was far and away her greatest pleasure. Right now, though, it was a distraction. She had really been staring blankly at the pages, willing herself successfully to drag her eyes across the even lines. But no words registered. Her mind was a broken record, replaying over and over the scene: her, exposing herself to a stranger, like some freak.

"I mean, I'm kind of in the middle of something here..."

"Can we please just talk for a little bit?" Will's palm pressed against his forehead and dragged backward over his scalp, then flattened his hair back down. He looked stressed, or tired. "I can only get AM, and I don't give a damn about Canadian sports. Who gives a shit about 'ice dancing?'"

"Agreed." This would serve as a better distraction, anyway. "What do you want to know?" She'd give him the ball. If he wanted to talk, he'd need to play nicely. She'd have her sexual identity crisis later.

"I said, 'doesn't matter what.' Kinda open-ended, isn't it?"

Not a great start, champ. "Let me think. But if you want to talk, you'd better change the 'tude. Frodo and Sam are way better traveling companions."

"Lord of the Rings, nice. I liked those movies."

Of course. "I'm guessing you haven't read the books?"

"No."

"Okay, something about myself. Easy. I've read them each six times."

"There's three, right?"

"Yeah." She didn't feel like teaching him about a dead author's idiosyncrasies right now.

"Wow, how long did that take?"

"Ummm..." She tried to stop and do "normal person math." "Like, a couple weeks for each book? They're only a few hundred pages."

There was no way she was going to tell him she'd spent 48 straight bleary-eyed hours binging her way through the entire collection for the first read. She'd been late to the party; how had she not heard of Tolkien before everyone else and their fucking mother?

Her eyes had been dinner plates through the entirety of the first movie, enthralled with the story. She had nearly dislocated Grams' arm, pleading to be taken to the bookstore. Grams, herself an avid reader of romance novels, had acquiesced, spending sixty of the family's hard-won dollars on the bound collection.

She need not have upgraded to leather binding for the young bookworm. These three were her Holy Trinity. She carried the set with her on trips, taking great pains not to smudge or bend the pages. Her familiarity with the books, combined with her well-practiced eye movements, meant that she read faster than anyone else she knew.

She'd started Fellowship on Day 1 of the trip. "Fresh beginnings," she'd thought to herself. On the afternoon of Day 3, as they rolled north on the desolate Canadian highway, Frodo and Sam were making their way up the stairs of Cirith Ungol, and she was readying the volume that included the final two books, "The Return of the King."

"Only a few hundred pages? God. I don't think I've read a book that long since freshman year."

Imagine that. She laughed. "What did you do for the rest of high school? Didn't you have to read, like, Sense and Sensibility or even Animal Farm or something? It's short; it can't be more than 150 pages."

He looked over at her like she'd grown another head. "Haven't you heard of Spark Notes? You don't even have to pay for them. Plus, Wikipedia..."

Of course this cheapskate would find a free summary instead of reading. She should have chosen a different subject.

"Alright, then. Your turn. Tell me something about yourself."

"Okay. I don't have any brothers or sisters. Your turn."

"Well, it's not trivia; you wanted to talk. Tell me more."

"I mean, I don't really know what there is to say. I don't know what I'm missing. I mean, I'm not spoiled or anything. My dad is strict."

He stopped there. If it was a touchy subject, why'd he bring it up? "Okay. Well, I have one half brother that I know about, but I've never spoken to him, so I'm not sure if that counts."

"'That you know about?'"

"Well, my father served during Desert Storm and came back really effed up. I was only 1, so I don't really remember, but he walked out on my mom and me. He has another family, now."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's okay; don't be. It's like you said. I don't know what I'm missing. Grams pretty much raised me. Mom checked out, like, the first day she found out he had a new wife."

"Sorry to hear that. My mom's pretty much a zero, too."

She continued, before acknowledging his statement. "I mean, I don't blame my mom. That's a pretty fucked-up thing to do to your family. But obviously there's more to it. I dunno. Mom and I don't really talk. What's your mom's thing?"

He paled, seeming to regret bringing her up, too. "I mean, there's a lot going on there, but basically she just parrots whatever my dad says. She doesn't really do anything, just watches gospel TV and cleans. None of the women on her side of the family had jobs, but I think maybe she wanted more kids. I don't know."

Neither spoke for a few moments as they processed this new information. It was nice to find someone at the motor pool with whom she shared some commonality. "Ummm, okay. I'm the only Shoreline High School student to win the Golden Paintbrush twice."

"You went to Shoreline?"

"Yeah. You too?"

His cheeks reddened, and he paused. "Freshman year for a bit, yeah. Then I transferred."

Okay, now THIS was clearly a sore subject. She spoke quickly, feeling like she couldn't seem to match wires with this guy. "I mean, there wasn't really any competition. You know Shoreline: wrestling and football. Anything else is a distraction."

"I know what you mean."

"Alright. Well, you know art and reading are my hobbies. What are yours?"

"I like to take things apart, like microwaves, computers, engines, or whatever. I like to see how things work. I try to put them back together, and most of the time I can figure it out pretty well. I also like to stay on top of the news as much as I can."

This last bit she ignored. She was pretty sure they wouldn't see eye to eye on politics, and it was an election year. Danger, Will Robinson. "That's cool. What's the most complicated thing you've put back together the right way?"

"A microwave."

"Wow. I could never do anything like that. I don't have spatial awareness at all. Except for driving stuff, of course. Plus, Grams just paid a guy whenever anything broke around the house. I've never fixed anything in my life."

"Really? You should talk to Uma."

Uma was one of the Droppers, a rail-thin woman about forty. "Uma scares me. I'm pretty sure she does meth, or something."

"Yeah, I would not be surprised about that at all," Will replied. Making eye contact with Will and thinking about the heavily tattooed woman, Winn laughed. She had gone on one drop with Uma. Never again.

"You know she snores in the passenger seat?" she said.

"Oh my God, yes! We took a fifth wheel down to Tallahassee, and she sawed logs for, like, an hour every morning."

"It's SO LOUD!"

"I KNOW!"

Now they both laughed, the memory of their rough-around-the-edges coworker making them thankful they had each "traded up."

"Alright. Tell me something about yourself."

She paused, thinking. This man knew hardly anything about her, but when it came time to just pick something out of the air, she was at a loss. "Ummm..."

"How about I just ask a question?"

"Yeah, that's better. I can't think of anything. It's weird."

"Alright, what's your favorite YouTube video?"

"Uh, that's not really my thing."

"Okay, uh, Facebook?"

"What about it? Isn't that just for college kids?"

"They just opened up to everybody. But that answers my question."

The silence extended, turning awkward. Winn turned to her partner. "Wait, whose turn is it?"

"It depends if we're asking questions. You just go. Tell me something about yourself." He paused. "Tell me something nobody else knows."

Well, this was interesting. She ignored the rush she felt in her stomach, remember the morning's slip-up. She looked over at Will. "Isn't that a little personal?"

"Don't make it weird. It doesn't have to be anything crazy. Like," he pause, "okay. Starcraft is my favorite video game."

"Nobody knows that about you? Don't you play with anyone else?"

"Yeah, but nobody that I care about knows."

"Do you play a lot? Certainly your parents would know your favorite game."

He laughed. "My dad only pretends to care enough to maintain his reputation with his buddies. My mom doesn't care about anything."

He stopped talking for several seconds, but Winn wasn't really sure what to say. At least his reputation started to make more sense to her. She knew something about generational cycles.

"I guess I'm the one who made it weird. Sorry. You can just tell me anything. It doesn't have to be something personal."

She comforted him, "it's okay. I was just thinking. I'll go. Umm, my bio dad sends me money every year on my birthday."

"Whoa, really? Isn't that kinda weird? Do you talk to him?"

"No. It was, at first. Grams told me when I was 10. She had saved envelopes from my first several birthdays, so I get two every year now. At least, I think I will. I'm almost caught up; I'm kind of curious to see if he'll stop sending them now that I'm an adult."

"That's cool. But, I gotta say, you might be cheating a bit."

"How so?"

"Well, your Grams knows about them. That's not really a secret."

Now he was asking for secrets? She wondered what his game was. She realized "something about you nobody knows" was probably the same thing, but to call it a "secret" evoked a certain intimacy. She didn't know if she was ready for that with this disagreeable man.

"Grams doesn't count. She knows, literally, everything about me. We have no secrets. She's amazing; even when I'm being a total crazy person, she listens and asks me questions, and never judges me. It's like she learned all the best lessons with her own kids, and then used them to raise me."

"She sounds pretty great."

"She is. I owe her everything." Grams really was the best. She had lost her husband at an early age, and the extended family had looked to her for guidance (and sometimes monetary support) for decades. Employed still at the age of 76, Grams was bursting with life. Winn was pretty sure she'd work at the law office sorting mail and greeting clients until the day she died.

"Your turn. Tell me something no one knows about you."

He waited for a long time, then spoke. "Alright, promise not to tell any of the DAMPs?"

She chuckled at his reference. A real dickhead wouldn't use her jokes, would he? She looked over at Will. Would he possibly tell her what the deal was with his, well, you-know-what? "Sure. Shoot." She shrugged at him like it was obvious. "I mean, Road Warriors, right?"

"Yeah. I guess it makes sense to tell you, of all people. I had a health scare when I was 19. It was nothing, but I had to spend a lot of money to find that out. My dad thought it would be a good opportunity to 'teach me about life.'" He took both hands off the steering wheel and mimed air quotes. Neither had thought about the highway, uncharacteristically empty this Saturday afternoon, for at least an hour.

"So basically I have a bunch of credit card debt because of it. I wasn't working as much then, and I didn't have any options."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I know how that is, though. Things have always been tight at our house. Like, not enough furniture, tight. Grams always warned me to stay out of debt if I could, and I was lucky not to need it. But I have literally nothing to my name but books and half-used art supplies."

"I mean, I guess it worked out this time. I needed a partner. Nobody else would take this route."

"I know, right? I've never seen a hot sheet so blank. Normally you've gotta write your name small to leave enough room for everybody else."

"Yeah. Should be a good moneymaker, though. If I did my math right, there should be two extra days built in. Thousand per, if we can make it."

"I know, I'm really excited. I want to go see Doomsday in the theater, but tickets are getting expensive."

"Holy shit, no way!"

"Oh, my God. Have you seen it? Don't tell me anything!"

"No! I just happened to download the bootleg right before the trip! I had planned to watch it one of these nights after we stopped."

Oh, a bootleg. She didn't have a problem with him watching it, but as an aspiring artist, she felt dirty. "Aren't those normally really shaky and out of focus?"

"Sometimes. This one is theater-quality, though."

"Don't you feel bad stealing?"

"How is it stealing? I'll go see it in the theater, too. I mean, it looks totally fucking amazing. I'll probably buy the DVD."

She saw his reasoning, but she didn't agree. "Yeah, me too. I guess that's fine, then. I thought you were just gonna pirate it."

"I'm not a TOTAL douchebag."

"I know," she replied, still not entirely certain she agreed with the statement.

"Well, sometimes the way you talk to me, I think that you think that."

Well now, if that wasn't the pot calling the kettle "black." She tried to explain herself. "You're not a douchebag; you're opinionated. I'm a smart girl. I can see the difference." He smiled briefly. "But you know that you can be a jerk sometimes."

"Yeah, I know. I'm working on it."

She hoped so. "Katie actually told me to stay away from you." She paused, hoping that she hadn't offended him.

Will looked down at the steering wheel, his face dropping into seriousness again. Dammit, Winn, she thought to herself. It took months to find this driving gig. Don't screw up your first partnership.

"Yeah, she probably would. She last spoke to me on a pretty fucked-up day."

"It's fine. You don't have to talk about it."

"Thanks. I don't really want to."

Silence.

"I think it's your turn, though, dude." She used a word she normally avoided. She hoped the gesture would defuse some of the tension.

"Something nobody knows, right?"

"Right." What a strange question-he'd started the game. She looked over at Will. He seemed very uncomfortable. He moved in his seat, but refused to return her glance. His gray-blue eyes moved rapidly, reflecting the sky, which was covered with a thick blanket of stratus clouds.

"Alright," he said, breathing out. "There's no good way to bring this up, so I guess now is as good a time as any: I found the underwear. I wasn't going to say anything, but I can't afford to get sued for sexual harrassment or something. You seem like a really nice person and everything, and I figured there was a good explanation."

Her stomach dropped into her seat. So that's why he had been so interested in her; it was nothing to do with their partnership, just her dirty secret. She had returned to their rig after stretching her legs at lunch to find the panties exactly where she had left them; unworried that she had been discovered, she had thrown the underwear in the first trash can she saw.

She'd thought her secret had disappeared with the woman, whom she was now regretting giving an actual name. She wished she could forget the event altogether.

She felt her stomach churn. He had been discreetly checking if she was some kind of pervert. Wonderful. This day couldn't get any fucking better. Against her will, tears filled her eyes.

Leaving her book in her lap, she covered her face with both hands. Oh, God. Now she was going to have to fly home. She would never look this man in the face again. Her face still hidden, she began to sob.

"Oh, God. Oh, no. No, Winn..." he trailed off, now looking at her crying form. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. Oh, God. I'm so sorry." He continued, "Please don't cry. I'm sorry. Please, forget I said anything. Doesn't matter."

He turned back to face forward. She continued to cry, seated in the passenger seat next to him. How far was it to their stop? She needed to escape.

"I'm gonna go nap."

"Yeah, okay." Of course, they both knew that she wasn't, but she didn't care. She'd had enough of this day. "We'll try again tomorrow," Grams always said.

--

Winn sat in the sparse motel room, thinking. Her slight frame was swallowed up by the large leather chair, which was extremely firm and slightly uncomfortable after a day of driving. She extended her legs, flexing her quads. Ouch. Still a bit sore from her long run this morning. Guiltily, she thought about how much trouble her legs had gotten her into today.

She was training for a Spring 10k, and her long run was now 5 miles, every Saturday without fail. An injury had ruined her fall training cycle, and she wasn't about to let inconsistency do the same to her race. Whether she was sore or not, every box in her running log got a checkmark.

Seeing her slight, teardrop-shaped calves rippling the skin of her lower legs, she remembered Cami's calves. The woman's calves, she corrected herself. Dammit. How did people repress memories? Was it possible to do it at will? She should get some Tums, she thought suddenly.

She heard a knock at the door that separated her room from Will's. She started, thinking that Will had gone to get some food. She had no appetite. They had reserved connected rooms, something that all the Droppers did whenever possible. Better to guarantee that at least one neighbor would be quiet! She heard his voice through the door, "Dressed?"

Couldn't he just say, "Winn?" She rose from the chair to look into the mirror beside it. She checked her eyes, which had finally shed their puffiness. Her tears had caused her coverup to turn into a muddy mess, so she had wiped it off. Luckily, their conversation this afternoon had terminated when they were almost at their destination. She had only been alone with her shame in the small bedroom for half an hour or so before Will had parked.

He'd called from the front, "I'm gonna leave the keys in the log." It was an uncharacteristic sign of trust, which she probably would have appreciated from anyone else, on any other day. Not him. Not today.

She turned the lock on the door and cracked it open to see that his door was ajar already. He was standing awkwardly a few feet from the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The room was unblemished; he had not unpacked anything.

"Hey."

"Hey." He may have been looking at her, but she refused to meet his eyes. She stared at the chair she'd left, not really seeing it.

"All locked up?"

"Yeah. Do you want the keys?"

"No, it's fine. You can hang on to them." Still trying to make peace, huh? "Hey, listen, I'm really sorry to embarrass you earlier. It's okay; I've done laundry on the road enough to know that sometimes..."

He paused, uncomfortable. "...uh, well, small, um, garments get trapped in my pants and fall out and stuff, and anyway, I wanted to say that I know it's not your fault. I... admit that I may have made things worse with the sexual harassment comment."

Wow, Will was giving her an out. Well, he was giving THEM an out, she thought. There were four, maybe even six more days on this trip if something went wrong. She loved the Hobbits, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to marathon the series back-to-back to avoid speaking to him.

"It's fine. I was being ridiculous." She didn't really think that, but she was happy to leave things undefined. If you didn't name them, they were easier to forget. Apparently.