The Mother Road (16 page)

“Well, at first, I really didn’t know what was happening. I was confused, being only just a wee little girl, until I realized that what he was doing was probably not for my viewing pleasure.”

“Buttons, that isn’t for anyone’s viewing pleasure.”

“Once again, thanks, Dad.” Paul sulks off to the side.

“The minute I realized he wasn’t making me a Christmas present or eating a stash of candy, I stopped watching, because honestly, it made me really uncomfortable.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have snuck in. I was a teenager, I needed privacy!”

“Oh, fuck,” Porter covers his eyes. “All I can think about is Paul making you a Christmas present…with that. So fucking gross.”

“Clearly,” I scoff. “So, instead of watching, I just stood there in his closet, not really sure what to do, only a thin door separating me from Paul’s dry humping.”

“Dude, why didn’t you just beat it? Why were you humping your mattress?” Porter asks.

Paul crosses his hands over his chest and stares at the burning fire. “My dick was raw. I didn’t discover the use of lotion until later on. I needed some relief that didn’t involve chafing, and the mattress was soft and welcoming. It didn’t judge me.”

“Why are we friends?” Porter chuckles some more. “How long did you hang out in the closet?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I was in there for probably a good ten minutes, trying to figure out what to do. I didn’t know that whatever he was doing was going to take so long, but honestly, I was hungry and my legs were cramping up from not being able to move. So, I did the one thing I knew would get me out of there. I called out Paul’s name.”

Porter and my dad laugh in tandem.

“I said, ‘Paul, its Marley.’ Paul, completely oblivious from his task of stuffing the mattress, he just shouts for me to go away. I then proceed to tell him that I can’t, for obvious reasons. Once again, he tells me to go away, so I take it a step further. I told him I was in the closet.”

“You didn’t.” Porter wipes his eyes.

I nod. “I did. But he still didn’t believe me.”

“Dude…” Porter looks over at Paul.

“I was too preoccupied to try to navigate where her voice was coming from.”

“Because he was so dense, I only had one other option. I knocked on the closet door, saying desperately, ‘Paul, I’m in the closet!’ Oh, boy, you should have seen how fast he scrambled off the bed and started yelling at me to get the hell out of his room. Without looking at him, I tore open the closet door and struggled to move the dresser just enough to squeeze myself out of a crack in the door. I ran to my bedroom, slammed my door shut, and held onto my Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal while rocking back and forth on my bed.”

“Fuck, that’s great.”

I enjoy watching Porter laugh; it’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. He just doesn’t laugh, his whole body laughs. His shoulders slightly move, his strong hand grips his stomach, his dimple peeks out for the world to see, it’s almost seductive, the way his body moves.

“I’ve been scarred for life.”

“Serves you right.” Paul grabs another beer and opens it. “You shouldn’t trap yourself in your teenage brother’s closet. Only bad things are in your future if you do so.”

“When my mom got home that day, I made her watch
Mulan
with me, to clear the adult content that engrained itself in my brain.”

“If only I knew what she was planning on doing, I would have spared you, son.”

“You’re a liar!” Paul points his finger at our dad. “There is no doubt in my mind in order to teach me a lesson about touching myself, you still would have helped her out.”

My dad drinks his root beer and thinks about Paul’s accusation for a second before answering. “You know, you’re right. And do you know why? Because you spent way too damn long in the shower and in your bedroom once you found a light breeze would turn your dick on. You had to be brought down a notch somehow. Luckily, your sister was the one to do so.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s lucky,” I offer.

“I’m over this,” Paul calls out, downing the rest of his beer.

“I’m calling it too.” My dad stands and stretches. “Porter, take care of the fire?”

“You got it, sir.”

Paul and my dad go into the RV, and from a distance, you can hear Paul talking to my dad about the closet story, hashing it out with him and the reasoning for humping the mattress. From what I can hear, he has some valid points, but what it all comes down to is he humped the mattress, he will never live that down.

“Good story,” Porter says, bumping my shoulder again. “Can’t believe I’ve never heard that one before.”

“I don’t tell many people, you know, to save Paul’s reputation and all.”

“What a thoughtful sister, and here I thought you two hated each other.”

I grow silent for a second, staring down at the embers in the fire. “We used to hate each other, but we’ve grown close over the past couple of years. He’s come to be the person I go to when I have a problem. Even though he can be a drama queen at times, he still gives good advice and would do anything for me.”

Porter nods in understanding. “Does he know about prom night?”

There were many times I thought about telling Paul about what happened; it was on the tip of my tongue during many conversations I shared with my brother, but I never said anything because I knew it would ruin his relationship with Porter, and even though I couldn’t stand the sight of Porter, I couldn’t do that to Paul. Porter was one of the main reasons Paul was able to get through the passing of our mom.

Dad and I are incredibly close and Paul and mom were close. I think out of all of us, he took her death the hardest. I know it’s one of the reasons why he wanted to go on this last trip before the wedding. He wanted to feel close to her again during one of the most important times of his life.

So, I never told Paul. I might have destroyed my relationship with Porter by going to prom with him and giving into my feelings, but that was my choice; it wasn’t Paul’s choice to lose his best friend.

“No,” I shake my head. “I didn’t want to ruin your friendship with Paul; it’s too important to the both of you.”

“You could have, you know. I deserved it.”

“You did,” I casually laugh. “But Paul didn’t.”

Porter nods in understanding.

“Well, I guess I’m going to get to bed as well. Do you have everything you need for your tent?”

“Yeah, I’m good to go.”

We both stand together awkwardly. It feels like I should give him a hug goodnight, but we’ve never done that before, so I refrain.

“Okay, goodnight.” I smile and then turn toward the RV, but I’m stopped when Porter grabs my hand and pulls me back around. He urges me closer and finally pulls me into a hug.

At first, I don’t know what to do with my hands, they are pressed up against his chest with his strong arms wrapped around me, but when he rests his cheek on the top of my head, I decide to ease my hands out from between us and wrap them around him as well.

My fingers glide across his well-defined back, the cotton of his flannel shirt mixed with the firm muscles in his side is a pleasurable combination. He smells woodsy but clean, like he used some kind of nature soap and rubbed it all over him; it’s intoxicating. As if we are in sync, I can feel his heart beat against mine, reminding me how much this man affects me on a day-to-day basis.

Right as I get comfortable, he pulls away and pushes my chin up with his finger. His smile is infectious as he looks down at me.

“Night, Marley.”

“Night,” I gulp.

In a daze, I walk back to the RV and slip into the bitch bed, the whole time wondering what that hug was all about.

**MARLEY**

You know when people say the air is thick like pea soup? I’ve thought of that term many times, wondering what an actual room would look like if it was full of pea soup. I imagine myself with a pair of ski goggles on, a gas mask and a machete, cutting through the green goop of the air until I found safety. I’m scrappy; I could survive with the right tools.

Now imagine that pea soup room and envision it in Tacy, our 1980s camper, the pea coming from two ends of the RV and meeting in the middle for a collision of an oxygen suffocating atmosphere.

That’s what I’m living in, that is what chokes me awake and causes me to gasp for air out of pure survival. The air almost seems so thick that I can’t see as I scramble to the side of the RV, where I know there is a window big enough for me to stick my head out of. I struggle with the lock, begging for it to open, praying these aren’t my last moments on this earth.

The faint click of the window becoming unlocked spurs my need for more fresh air. Quickly, I fling the window open, stick my head out the side, and take in a deep breath. I’m gasping for air, expunging the yak-a-licous fog from my lungs.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s the hot dogs; they’re causing everyone to have serious gas. Wrong!

Living away from my father and brother, I forgot what it was like to share a room with them. It’s not gaseous flatus that’s causing me to cough up blood from my lungs—yes, that’s an exaggeration. Nope, it’s something else.

Have you ever woken up early enough in the morning to see the dew lift off the grass, a pretty fog filling the air? Well, that happens to men in the morning as well. There is a light fog that lifts off of their sleeping bodies and fills the room they’re resting in. It’s damp, moist—yes, I said moist, cringe all you want—and it is thick enough to choke a Clydesdale in its sleep.

That’s what I’m dealing with right now, but it’s not just one man, it’s two, and the combination of their man fog in the morning has caused me to dry heave out the side of the RV.

The first morning I woke up in the RV, I didn’t experience the fog because all the windows were open, that’s where I faltered. Windows should always be open at night when sharing a fifteen foot space with two men.

“What are you doing?” Paul asks, looking at me from outside. He’s holding a cup of coffee in his hand, looking ready for the day.

“Your stink has clogged the RV. It smells like dirty armpit and belly button in here.”

“Man fog?” he asks. He knows, I used to complain about it all the time.

“Yes!”

“Serves you right.” He lets out a maniacal laugh while throwing his head back. “I kept all the windows shut on purpose, hoping to gas you out of your sleep. That’s what you get for telling that stupid story last night and stealing my beer. We’re even!”

“I could have died!” I feel my eyes widen in fury.

“Get over it. You’re fine. Get up. We’re going to pack it up soon. It’s already nine.”

Nine? Really? Damn, it was late for us.

“Why are you so chipper? Shouldn’t you be nursing a hangover?”

“Nah, did some jumping jacks this morning until I violently puked in the bushes over there.” He points to a lovely arrangement of shrubbery. “Best way to get rid of the hangover is to get it all out.”

I look over at the bushes and then back at Paul. “The KOA is so lucky.”

He shrugs. “The way I see it is I’m helping out the wild life. I’m sure it will be a tasty little snack for squirrels and rabbits alike.”

“Stop talking,” I beg, pulling my head back into the man fog.

I get out of bed and go around Tacy, opening her windows and waving my pillow around until I feel like everything is cleared out. The boys are outside, talking about the pancakes they apparently made for breakfast and the plans for the day. I can smell burnt bread and I wonder who was in charge of flipping. I grab my cosmetics and go to the back of the RV, too lazy to walk over to the bathrooms the campground has to offer.

The RV is starting to get a little dingy, but it’s not as bad as I expected, given the fact that I’ve been bunking with three other men. I open the bathroom door and nearly scream as I flip on the light.

Beard clippings are scattered all over the floor and the sink, dirty old clothes lay across the fake tile, and the toilet seat is covered in pee drops from poor aim. When was the last time I was in the bathroom?

A pair of my dad’s whitey tighties rests next to the toilet handle, while aqua-colored toothpaste streaks are splattered all over the wall. Pigs!

I storm out of the bathroom and fling the RV door open. I already know I look like a hot mess from just waking up. I’m not a pretty sight in the morning. I can never be one of those girls who rises from her bed looking like a daisy kissed them on the cheek and blessed them with a beautiful day. Nope, I look like a gaggle of nipple-gnawing woodchucks took me to their dam in the middle of the night and fucked me up with their buck teeth.

My hair’s sticking out on all ends, my clothes are askew, and I have sleep lines indented across my face from the bitch bed that ate me whole last night.

All three men have the decency to stop talking and prepare for what seems to be another red dot special, all their hands casually moving in front of their crotches.

“Who shaved their beard in the bathroom?” Spit rains down from my mouth as I shout.

I’ve never felt more attractive.

All three of them look at each other and then point at one another. My dad is pointing at Porter, Porter is pointing at Paul, and Paul is pointing at my dad – the nerve.

“I see. Whose clothes are on the floor, and, Dad, don’t lie, I know those are your undies in there. What about the toothpaste everywhere and the pee sprinkled on the toilet seat like you flicked your dicks at the seat, trying to spot paint it?”

“Paul has a funky prostate,” my dad points out. None of us buy it.

“It’s disgusting in there. You’re going to clean it!”

“Actually, we don’t mind the bathroom, do we guys?” Paul asks, looking at both men with a smug face.

My eyes narrow in on my dad and Porter, who don’t seem to understand the severity of the grossness trickling out of the bathroom.

“We’re okay with it,” my dad states.

I turn to Porter, the last man standing. I can see a slight hint of guilt in his eyes as he says, “Nope, fine with me.”