The Ice Age (8 page)

Gunther never gets stoned during the day. It's an evening indulgence. Occasionally I imbibe in the daylight hours, on long quiet stretches of road, much to his chagrin. When we drove past a sign to the Grand Canyon I was so stoned I thought it said, ‘The Grand Crayon'. It was all infectious giggles from there. I said, ‘Hey Gunther, we should go look at that.'

He said, ‘We should.'

So we did. We both stood there, looking out. But he spent most of that time looking at me. I could see his warm, glinty-toothed smirk out of the corner of my eye.

After a while, when we were on the road again, I said, ‘Gunther?'

‘Yeah?'

‘If we're driving past the Grand…Crayon!… does that mean we're heading east again?'

‘Mmm, basically.'

‘I thought we were going to California.'

‘Well, which coast did you want? They both have their good points.'

‘Um?'

‘What do you say to New York City?'

‘Um, yeah, sure.' Then I thought about it and yelled, ‘Did you go to San Francisco without me?'

He actually stammered for a few seconds. ‘Well I, not as…' Then regained his composure with a gleeful, ‘Bit young to be a ball and chain, aren't you?'

We stopped in a sun-drenched hicky township, to grab a bite in what looked to be an old-style saloon, give or take a few hookers. Gunther was at the bar talking to the proprietor. There was a young precocious country bumpkin hanging around, and she and I got to talking.

‘Is he your husband?' she asked.

I couldn't believe I'd accomplished the huge leap from alleged daughter to wife.

‘No…'

‘That guy is hot.'

‘Think so?'

‘Fucking hot.'

An impromptu heart to heart ensued, during which she told me to jump his bones. She said old guys never make the first move. No one wants to be a dirty old man. But no one wants to be a lonely old man, either. I told her I thought Gunther liked being a lonely old man. She said loving each other's the best thing a couple of people can do. She finished on a romantic high with, ‘Shit, fucking's about the
only
thing a coupla people can do in this boring shithole,' then mumbled, ‘New York City. Wish I had your luck…'

Personally, I don't see the rush in regard to nailing Gunther. For one thing, I haven't really properly done it yet. That hasty puncture wound out back of the convenience mart barely counted. I don't know what I'm missing yet; have nothing to long for. I can feel a building desire to be closer to him, though. I am comfortably certain he is the man for me. I hate to think of him wanting me too, yet hanging back over some tortured confliction. I don't want him to suffer. And then there is the whole potential Soulmates of Eternal Darkness thing. I'm up for that.

It's nice just to be chatting again. That night, over our joints, I told him about losing my virginity. He listened somberly, then said it was about as unromantic as his first time. He asked if the experience had any redeeming qualities. I said no, not really. I didn't want to tell him the only plus was envisioning I was with a younger him. I feel so many things for Gunther that it didn't seem that pressing to come over all slutty. He told me his first time was with a prostitute.

‘What, really?'

‘Yes, I just thought it was about time.'

‘So, what, you saved up your allowance?'

‘No, nothing like that.' He laughed. ‘I haven't paid for it since, and I don't think I thought paying for it was such a hot idea back then, either. It just happened, as things do. Or it just occurred to me to let it happen.'

He paused. I passed him the joint. We were sitting on the bed, side by side, propped up by pillows. He resumed: ‘I was having a dud of a night in this seedy bar, with my father, who was playing cards all night. And there was this lady, having a worse night than me, getting hit on by all these festy old assholes, knowing she'd have to close the deal with one of them. I'd just had a birthday—'

‘How old?'

‘Sixteen. She asked me, and at the time it felt like we were helping each other out.'

‘Yeah.'

‘And I was just a curious kid.'

He handed the joint back my way. ‘But I can't imagine a more unromantic encounter. She may as well have been riding one of those amusement park carousel horses.'

‘Was she pretty?'

‘She was pretty old, as well. But, you know, that was OK.'

It was nearly the end of the joint, and our fingers touched in the handover. That was always a lovely sensation, stoned.

We fell asleep, clothes on, atop the covers. Well, he did. I lay there for a while listening to his breathing, wondering how he had ever found it in his heart to part us for all those tortured weeks.

The next day found us smack in the middle of the shadowless desert. We'd stopped at a remote fast food takeaway called Yogo's, with tacky little tables bolted to the ground outside at the base of a fifty foot Y, also bolted. This place sold postcards of local wildlife. Actually, I think they sold postcards of random wildlife. Because I don't think they have all those animals out there in the desert. Unless there was a zoo nearby. Pandas? I found one with a picture of an antelope with huge brown don't-hurtme eyes.

I wrote:

hey Stephanie,

Sure is good to be back on the road. You'll be glad
to hear I'm not grumpy anymore. Feel like myself again.
This card reminds me of you.

xx

Freedloader

We were on our way to see another of Gunther's friends. But taking it a bit slower this time. This guy Maurice lives in the middle of someone else's farm. He's renting a delightful little shack out here, all full of knick-knacks and whimsical clutter. What a motor-mouthed whirlwind he is. It's a wonder how he exists out here with barely anyone to talk to. Maybe he saves it up.

We've been here a day and a half, and he sure is doing his best to ensure my visit is educational. I got a tour of all the surrounding plantlife, which included farm crops, and weeds, among other more exotic varieties.

He plays violin, quite beautifully. And sings baritone. After dinner he brought his violin onto the front porch and regaled us with his own lilting, masterful compositions, echoing out over all the deaf nothingness.

In the morning he explained to me why it was so beneficial to drink one's first urine of the day. Apparently it contains the most nutrients of any other urine you might pass throughout the day. Good for just about anything that ails you. He actually managed to be quite convincing.

After a few days I was sure Maurice was a wise man. I asked him if he thought Gunther and I loved each other.

‘Has he been keeping his distance?'

‘Yes,' I said.

‘Sumptuous little critter like you…Well, then, yes I would say it is likely.'

This was somewhat pondersome, but I took it to mean I was in with a chance. I don't think I've been called a critter before. I definitely haven't been called sumptuous.

Maurice tends a small, scattered crop of opium poppies (these were part of the tour). He ‘milked' them, and scaped this onto a cigarette paper; basically buttered it. Gunther and I headed off with some of these, and rolled them into joints that night in our hotel. What a beautiful place to be that room was. Wrapped in all our slowly drifting smoke, rising like dragon's breath over guarded jewels, countless riches. Opium joints are a dreamier stone, and it was all I could do to stay away from him.

I said, ‘Sometimes you're just too far away,' as I pulled him toward me by his arm. I kissed him. ‘I like you.'

‘I like you, too,' he said, in an utter daze, and kissed me back.

This wasn't anything like any of the other kissing. It was slow and hypnotic, and utterly thrilling. We could pause over each other's mouths, lips only brushing, just breathing. He could run his cheek over mine, cat style, so all I could feel was his warm breath, the tickle of his eyelashes. And then there was the deeper kissing, with tongues.

We just got on a roll with all this, and went all the way. I couldn't have imagined doing anything else. Just melted into it. Not bad for the second time. Now I could definitely see why everyone liked it so much. And why Gunther's women never had much to complain about. He did all sorts of cool stuff to me. And apparently sex can last a lot longer. He said he'd build up some longevity for me, it'd just been a while for him…I wasn't one to complain. I fell asleep in his arms, and when we woke up, we did it again. He kissed me a lot. We made our way to the shower together. He even washed me. And kissed me some more.

I didn't know it would be like that. I thought it might be a little strange after all that time of friendship, touching each other like that; a little awkward, maybe. I didn't know I wouldn't be able to stop touching him, that it would feel like I was attached to marionette strings, that I was being constantly drawn to him, through no conscious will of my own. I would snap to, and find myself holding his hand, or clutching my arms around his waist, like a sleepwalker. Lovewalker.

It was such a relief to finally bask in our feelings for each other. Every notion I had ever entertained about Gunther and me opened up before us, hovering in an attractive collection of possibilities. Even the concept of forging an eternal pact as creatures of the night enjoyed increased plausibility. I was as happy as a clam.

He said a funny thing, though, first thing in the morning as he unwrapped his arms from me. He said I surprised him, that he would have envisioned himself waking up a little more…alone.

We had a day of us being close, of touching each other and not being able to help it. We got some looks, but those look-givers couldn't reach me. I'd found a way to transport that safe bubble of perfect happiness everywhere we went. It was the stoned hotel-room feeling, times a thousand. More, even.

There was more smoking and slow kissing that night. Gunther stopped and held me for a while. He said just the touch of me made him feel at ease. I told him it was nice to be that close to him.

I'd heard people get skin-hungry. People can actually get depressed if they're not touched enough; single people, old people and the like. My grandmother told me that. And I've often thought about it, because I was never touched much as a child.

So there is the comfort. But there is also an electricity to Gunther and my touching. His hand sliding down my arm carries a charge. And caressing him back, that carries a charge, too. Putting our hands together, lining up the fingertips, that is a major conductor. I'd heard you can do that by yourself; that turning your palms to face each other and holding your fingertips together harnesses kinetic energy. Imagine what two people can do.

I got all excited again, and we ended up going all the way, again.

He didn't hold me all night that time, and he was up on the phone in the morning. We were rushing off to see another friend of his. We got on the road pretty quick. We held hands a bit during the day, but when we got to his friend's he said he'd like to just ‘keep it to ourselves' for now.

This friend, Stan, lives right on the edge of suburbia; his yard borders a huge pine forest, which is cool. He has a son my age, just a little younger. Eight months, we worked out. Leopold, which is a weird name for someone around my age, but OK if you call him Leo, which everyone does. He's nice.

I must be following Gunther around too much, because Stan laughed and said, ‘Why don't you go and play with someone your own age?'

And things between Gunther and me must be kind of obvious, because later Stan clapped him on the back and said, ‘You old dog.'

Gunther can't have been very pleased with that. He's really more of a cat. This was the first time I'd ever seen him look ashamed of himself. Now that we were finally happy. What a crazy world.

Leo has a blond and fragile look about him. With a dash of Tom Sawyer thrown in, maybe because he lives so close to those wild woods. We went exploring. I reckon he's had a crush on me from the word go. As if I'd ever cheat on Gunther.

Gunther has two friends around these parts. This other friend, Emily, who lives a couple of towns over, has been pestering him to come visit for a while. He'd told me a while back it was going to be potentially awkward. He thought she may have romantic inclinations toward him, and wasn't sure they were reciprocal. At the time I thought this was a subtle hint in my direction, that maybe he carried a torch for me. And here I thought putting the moves on him had cleared all this up, because he could just bring me along. She would see he was spoken for, and that would be that.

Gunther and I have had a few days of separateness at Stan and Leo's; separate bedrooms, separate daily activities. But I'm not too bothered about this. We have cemented enough of a connection to keep me going for a while.