Tucumcari Tonite

The highway lay before them and stretched out as far as the eye could see. The road underneath was no longer finely detailed—it was a long blur that ended a hundred feet ahead. But that hundred feet was moving rapidly ahead. And now—with the increase in speed—the blur was one hundred twenty feet.

The vibration wasn't as noticeable as the noise, or rather, sound. The sound, the sound of the engine and of the tires, crowded out everything else. It was a hum, like an insect's.

The engine, that soundmaker king, worked furiously. It was hidden underneath a shiny hood, and it was as though the hood were the door of a steel cage, keeping an angry beast locked away. But that beast slammed and pushed against the cage, and it seemed that at any moment, the entire front end would rip apart.

In an effort to claw the road, the tires turned like rocks in an avalanche. And they were as unstopped as any avalanche. In fact, there was a very real danger that one of them might explode like a bomb.

There existed in the driver a strong sense of superiority. As the speed increased, so did the sense of superiority that was derived from being able to overtake others, the same sense of superiority that predators feel in relation to their prey. But there was more to this strong sense of superiority than just that.

There was also within him the kind of arrogance one gets when one can see another without being seen, for in his rear view mirror was the entire state of Oklahoma. He saw it getting smaller and smaller, and this place he was running from and his past, could not see him leaving, did not know he was getting away this time. He had the one up finally.

And on top of all of that was the sense of superiority derived from being overconfident. He simply didn't know as much as he thought he did. He did know the names of things. He knew the words for his engine and his carburetor and everything else in the cage and the numbers for his four fat round bald black rubber wheels. But as he knew nothing of the workings of these parts—the physics behind their motion, the details of the present and the devil to come—but thought he most certainly did, he fell prey to the trivia delusion—the belief that just because one knows the name of something, one knows everything there is to know about that something or at least knows enough to be considered an expert on that something. Contrary to his opinion, all was not right with his engine. If he would have ever checked his oil pan, he would have known this. And his tires' tread was worn thin. And so on.

To top it all off, his seat belt was not fastened, or at least that's what he thought. His seat belt was in fact on. He was just confusing his seat belt with the seat belts in the backseat. It was hard for him to concentrate on everything at once, you see. He was driving and he couldn't quite make out the radio and he was dealing with his own thoughts, which bounced from subject to subject. Right now he was thinking of his trunk because he knew his trunk would be the safest place in an accident. Then his eyes drooped and he relaxed enough to go onto the shoulder of the road and then he heard a voice, a female voice.

It was noon. He drove the car as she yawned. He turned his head and looked and saw her and then turned his head and watched the road.

"Pull over, honey," she said.

"Huuuhhhh?"

"We have to stop," she said. "Anywhere will do."

"We stopped, remember? Glenrio Visitors Center."

"I have to pee."

"You did."

"It's the beer, silly," she said.

"Beer and gas stations," he laughed.

"Let's stop. Anywhere."

"Tucumcari," he said as he read the sign. "Tucumcari Tonite."

"What's that?"

"Tucumcari," he answered.

"But what is it?"

He turned his head and said, "The afternoon, I figure. We'll hurry."

He exited the highway. The car slowed. They looked, and he sighed.

"This was a mistake," she said.

"I agree," he said. "Wait!"

"Eh," she said.

"It'll do."

"What?"

"I told you, Becky, the afternoon."

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"Darling, we need a nap, a pool, and you know what."

"Not here," she pleaded.

"I promise that we won't stay the night."

The parking lot was where the car stopped, and they spotted the office. She told Mitch to hurry. He left, and she stayed and locked the doors. He walked, the sun shining, the sweat forming, the asphalt heating the air. He opened the door and saw the manager.

"Halo," the manager said.

"Hi. Do you have a pool?" Mitch said.

"Yes sir!"

"Great. I'll take a room."

"Checkin is 2."

Mitch pointed, and the manager looked. The man saw the car, and he knew that it was hot.

"Okay," he said. "Checkout is 11."

"Thanks, but we won't stay the night," Mitch said.

"Oh. Have good time, sir."

"Thanks."

And the manager gave Mitch the key.

"I got us a room," Mitch told Becky.

"Oh? Get a deal?"

"Thirty, so no. But it'll be fun."

He carried the luggage, and she unlocked the door.

"Did you pack a swimsuit?" he asked and wondered where he should put his bag.

"Yes, you know me," she said and smiled.

He turned on the air conditioner.

"I could use a nap," he declared.

"I thought you wanted the other?"

"Can we wait? I need rest. I-40 was killing me. You don't know."

"You're allowed a nap," she said and frowned. "I must pee, excuse me."

She entered the bathroom and closed the door, and the door rattled.

"I can hear you," he yelled as he unzipped his bag.

"No you can't."

"Yes I can."

"It was the beer, silly."

He awoke. She was sleeping, and sounds could be heard. He heard water and children. He wondered where the pool was.

"It's been hours," he said as he shook her.

"No it hasn't."

"I want sex."

"I'm awake," she said.

He started caressing her, and she cooed.

He rubbed, she moaned, he sucked, she sighed, he squeezed, she cried.

He fingered, she moaned, he massaged, she grunted.

He inserted, she helped. He thrust, she braced, he grabbed, she yelled, he rode, she panted, he came, and she came.

They embraced. To have and to hold is to enjoy. Having sex was the best, she thought. He went to sleep. She didn't. It was quiet. They stayed and stayed.

But noises returned, and so he awoke. Kids were playing. People were frollicking. Voices and laughter were what they heard. Mitch and Becky both approached the window, and they looked. They saw cement, and the cement surrounded a pool. They couldn't see shade. The sunlight hit the cement and the water. The light radiated heat, and the heat made waves.

Mitch drank whiskey, and so did Becky. They went to sleep. Evening came. It was night. They dreamed.

He was warm and comfortable.

"Where is she?"

"Where is she?" Mike asked again.

"By the water," responded Felicia.

Mike left the comfort of his sleeping bag and wandered through the brush, past three large, healthy trees, and numerous shrubs, to find Rebecca staring at the moon's reflection on a bustling river.

"Rebecca?"

Silence.

"Rebecca, are you all right?"

"Yes, Mike."

"Are you having nightmares again?"

"Yes, Mike."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, Mike. We already did."

Mike took his cue and turned to follow the moonlit path, listening as the river's water careened over itself and into the rocks on the edges. As Mike disappeared back into the forest, the lone, slim figure, wispy and affected by the breeze, sighed and grinned.

The river flowed and breezes came and went, but otherwise the night was calm. Just then a deer approached the river, not noticing the still body in the dark.

"Little deer, why are you all alone?" She thought. "And what happened to your antler? How did it break so?"

The deer seemed unconcerned.

Some ways away, an owl sat high up in a large, tall tree, its eyes open, big, intelligent, a face fixed in perpetual shock. The wings, which could span the height of an adult, were now a part of the cylindrical sitting figure. It sat as if it were secretly on guard, and no other animal in the forest knew of its presence.

Felicia came to the river, alone. She glided through the woods and came to stand a few feet from Rebecca, enough of a disturbance to cause the deer to make a dancing flight.

"Come to hear the river, Felicia?"

"No, I have come to wade in its waters!" Felicia said as she raised her nightgown and walked barefoot into the water.

"Be careful! The current is deceptively mighty. It can carry you away as the wind carries a leaf."

"I know. You know I know. I will stay on the edge. 'Tis where I will stay," answered Felicia.

"You scared us, you know."

"I was scared—then. After, it was okay."

Just then the owl hooted, startling the girls. They both giggled afterwards. Breathing hard, Felicia returned to shore, with cold, wet feet and ankles.

"It's been hard," Rebecca whispered.

"It can be fun, sometimes..."

"I hope Mike got back to the tent safely," said Rebecca.

"He did."

"I am just glad he is no longer sick."

"He isn't," replied Felicia.

"I wish I were hungry now."

"Why, sister?" asked Felicia.

"Because I am empty now but don't feel it."

"I don't understand."

"I don't either," said Rebecca.

They sat by the river and watched a couple of limbs drift downstream, turning as they went. The night began clear but clouds came to take turns concealing the moon. Even so, stars were visible throughout most of the night-time sky.

All around them were leaves, layers thick, decomposed near the ground, and fragrant atop. Nearby was a fallen tree, decaying ever so slowly, with duty and purpose, unable to ever make it to the river, destined to stay forever in that one place until it was no longer a tree.

Underneath the owl were feathers and mice fur. And the owl could see, even with the moon behind the clouds, and the owl knew the presence of every creature in this part of the forest.

A different kind of darkness descended when the moon completely disappeared. Walls of blackness twenty feet high went up, as if a big building sprouted, and the walls were always pressing, always leaning in. They were black velvet curtains, and the night was a series of velvet curtains, without end. The stars were the only things clearly visible, and yet they could not be reached, but they did make clear up from down.

"The river never stops flowing," Rebecca told her little sister.

"Never?"

"Never. Maybe in winter. But I don't think so."

"When is mummy coming back?" asked Felicia.

"Never. I don't think."

End.