The Mother Road (23 page)

Frankly, I’m terrified. I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned around and there was a cluster of cats hanging off her back.

“Aren’t you a cute little couple,” she says, sitting down next to me. I don’t bother correcting her because she’s crazy looking and I’m afraid the old bird might knife hand me in the throat. “What a beautiful day, don’t you think?”

I look up into the overcast clouds that are scattered over us.

“Yeah, real nice.” I try to hide the sarcasm in my voice, but Marley picks up on it and pinches my side. I give her a dirty look while I rub my side. She, in return, acts innocent. Those big eyes and pouty lips will only get her so far, at least that’s what I try to convince myself.

“Is this your first time in Catoosa?”

Marley leans over so she can see the lady. “Yes, we’re traveling the Mother Road, on our way to Chicago.”

“Oh, what a divine idea. Are you enjoying yourselves?”

“We are. It’s been a fun trip so far. We especially had a really good time this morning.”

I choke on my own spit from Marley’s confession. She pats my back, trying to help me.

“Oh, what did you do?”

“Enjoyed a little…fishing. Well, Porter here did.” The way she says fishing has a sexual undertone that flies over the lady’s head but doesn’t pass me. I soak it all in, once again remembering how she tasted on my tongue.

“Oh, I love fishing. Believe it or not, there’s no fishing in this pond.”

“Really?” I ask, grateful for the change in topics. Back to the whale.

“Oh no, not after the sex craze happened.”

The old lady picks her nose as she pauses, waiting for our reaction. She pulls out a booger and flicks it to the side, as if we’re not sitting right next to her, watching her every move. To be an old person must be aces. They don’t give a crap about anything or anyone. Hell, if I picked my nose right now and flicked it, pretty sure I’d be slapped upside the head by Marley for being gross. But with this lady, it’s almost…cute.

She snorts and a snot rockets flies out of her nose. Scratch that, it’s gross, no matter who does it. Snot is not transferably cute amongst the ages.

“Sex craze?” Marley encourages. I could probably do without the story the old bird is about to tell, but looks like I will be hearing it.

“My Alan and I used to come to the pond all the time in the seventies when it really became a popular destination. I’m not going to lie to you two, marijuana was consumed back then like it was air. If there wasn’t a joint sticking out of your mouth, then you weren’t living life. But just because I smoked like a woman’s burning loins in a porn movie, doesn’t mean you two can smoke. Do you hear me?” She points her finger as us, the look of death in her eyes.

I throw my hands up in defense. “Didn’t even think of doing that? Not my style.”

“Good.” She sticks her finger up her nose again, digging around for what I can only assume is her denture cream, since her teeth are one sneeze away from falling out of her mouth and clattering on the table. As she continues to talk, her voice has a nasal undertone, thanks to the finger to the nostril. “We were high back then. High enough that I thought I once saw a black president. At the time, I thought I was hallucinating, but I was actually predicting the future. Too bad the man I saw was Gary Coleman and not Barack Obama, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“We were all high back then and orgies were a regular thing. Late night skinny dipping at the blue whale was popular amongst the locals. We used to play games like whose dick is in my mouth and name that boob. It was a good time.”

I turn toward Marley in disgust and mouth, “Whose dick is in my mouth?”

She snorts, covering her nose.

“Women were getting pregnant left and right. Love babies sprouted everywhere and were named after popular movies back then because, let’s face it, we were all high and didn’t know any better. We had a lot of Han Solos, some Chewies, quite a few Lionel Richies, since he was our god of love making back then. The pond became a hot bed for semen and sexual fluids, to the point that it became so thick, it was hard to swim in.”

Yeah, did your gag reflex just kick in too?

She continues, playing with her ribbon spool earing. “I think what really did everyone in was the multiple births that took place in the pond. There is no solid way of cleaning out floating placentas, well unless you use a fish net. After the fourth placenta was found dried up on shore, we called it quits. No one wanted to go swimming in a lake full of semen and loins.”

“Can’t say that I blame them,” I add, tamping down the bile that is running up the back of my throat.

She sighs and looks at the pond. “Still, I can’t seem to forget the times I was multiply penetrated in that lake. Some of the best days of my life.”

What do you really say to something like that? I’m speechless and confused. All I can think about is a whale’s dick probing this old lady while her spools of ribbon get flipped around in ecstasy. If she wanted to scar me for life, she did a fan-fucking-tastic job of it.

“Look at you two, eyes wide and scarred looks on your faces. Don’t worry, I think all the fluids have cleared out by now, so if you came here to skinny dip, feel free to do so, but as a word of advice, use a condom. Trying to swim with man fluid dripping out of you will just ruin the experience.”

“Umm, thank you for the advice,” Marley says.

“Anytime, sweetheart.” She pats the table and then looks at her watch. “Oh, mercy me, time to go prepare dinner for the nuns down at the sanctuary. You would think they wouldn’t care if their food was served on time, but those penguin bitches get awfully angry if they aren’t fed when they stop dry humping their hands together and show up at the dinner table. You two have a lovely time on your trip.” She pinches my cheek and gets right in my face, her teeth wobbling about in her mouth. “Such a strapping man. I would have chosen you to impale me in the pond back in the day. Keep that in mind if you’re ever back here and you’ve kicked the old bag next to you to the curb.”

I swallow hard. “I will.”

She salutes us and then takes off, hopping into a rusty green and orange Volkswagen bus, and pulls away.

I stare out at the whale, Bernie and Paul still talking about what the blueprints must read like for the whale to stand tall.

Without looking at Marley, I say, “Pretty sure my dick shriveled up and ate itself.”

“Yeah, my vagina sewed itself shut.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

She leans her head on my shoulder, and instinctively, my head rests on hers. She holds her Polaroid out in front of us and snaps a picture. When the white film pops out, I wait patiently to see how it came out.

Like I thought, we both look content, happy, as if we belong together. If only that were truly the case.

**MARLEY**

“Where’s the candy? All I see is Smartfood Popcorn. Please tell me you got candy,” Paul complains, while rummaging through the grocery bag full of movie snacks. “I swear to God, if you didn’t get candy, I’m going to start kicking things.”

“Hey, psycho, calm the eff down. The candy is in the other bag by Porter.”

We stopped off at a gas station on our way to the Route 66 Drive-in Theatre. Paul was sleeping at the time when we went in to purchase half the convenience store, but he gave us strict instructions before he napped about needing Red Vines, not Twizzlers.

I believe his exact words were Twizzlers were the equivalent to a needle dick. No one likes them, but they’ll tolerate them because sometimes you just can’t be picky. Why my brother decided to compare Twizzlers to settling for a needle dick is something I find massively disturbing, and frankly don’t want to think about.

“You got Red Vines?” He dives his head into the bag, throwing candy around frantically.

“Yes, Paul. We got Red Vines. Cool your freaking cucumber,” I say.

“I’m not going to sit on the roof of Tacy. I’m not very comfortable with heights.”

“You were in the Army,” Porter points out.

With a victorious smile and fist pump, Paul holds the Red Vines up in the air. “Yessss! And I know I was in the Army, but that’s why I was on a computer instead of the front lines.”

My dad shifts on the dining table and gives me a sorrowful look. “I won’t be sitting on the roof either, Buttons. I don’t think my ass will be able to get up there.”

“What? Come on! We used to go on the roof all the time for fireworks and shows. Mom would be so disappointed in you.”

Yup, I pulled the Mom card. We are on the tail end of our stay in Oklahoma and we are visiting an iconic drive-in, one that’s been open on Route 66 for years. It’s tradition to sit on the roof of the vehicle; it would be sacrilege to not sit on the roof.

“Porter will join you,” Paul says casually, stroking his Red Vines.

I look over at Porter, who fidgets in his seat. Sitting up on the roof, just me and Porter, yeah, I could do that.

But to play it cool, I say, “It wouldn’t be the same.” I add a little whine in my voice to make it sound like I’m really disappointed, but honestly, I couldn’t have picked a better scenario. Well, that’s not true, if I could, I would pick a different movie to watch, but it was either
Terminator
or
Finding Nemo
. I enjoy a good Disney movie, but the three men I’m sharing an RV with had a different idea.

That’s why we are parked in front of the
Terminator
screen while concession stand advertisements dance across the white wall until the main attraction shows. It’s a little chilly out, so we are waiting until the last minute to sit outside.

“You saying I’m not good enough to sit on the roof with you?” Porter jokes.

I give him the once over and shake my head. “Not even close.” My comment is meant to be funny, but by the hurt look in his eyes, I can tell he took it seriously.

“The movie is starting,” Paul squeals. “Dad, I’ll get the lawn chairs. I’ve got the Red Vines, grab the drinks and the blankets. Porter, Marley, you’re on your own.”

Scurrying around like a squirrel looking for his damn nut, Paul grabs all his items and bolts out of the RV, setting up the chairs in front of Tacy.

My dad opens up one of the cabinets and pulls out a bunch of blankets “Are you going to want something to keep you warm?”

“Yeah, I’ll take some. I’m also taking the popcorn, since it apparently is offensive to Paul.”

My dad laughs and turns to Porter. “Make sure she doesn’t fall off the roof. I didn’t account for hospital time in our schedule.”

“So pushing her off isn’t a good idea?”

My dad thinks about it for a second. “If she deserves it, then give her the boot.”

“Dad!”

Laughing, he kisses me on the head and takes off to join Paul.

Since we will be getting to the campsite late, we all changed into lounge clothes so we’re comfortable while watching the movie. Paul is wearing his ridiculous smiley face pajama shorts that have shrunk to only reach his ankles – he looks like a total asshat. My dad went with a pair of plaid pants and his favorite Americana flannel jacket. And then there is Porter.

Have you ever thought sweats were attractive? Like, oh sweet Jesus, let me stick my hand in those cotton comfies kind of attractive? Yeah, me either, that was until Porter changed into a pair of navy blue Abercrombie and Fitch sweatpants and a grey Henley T-shirt. I was a little shocked to see the name brand on Porter, since he’s not a name brand kind of guy, but hell, I’m not complaining because the sweatpants frame his ass, riding just low enough that I can see the waistband of his boxer briefs when he bends over. And that shirt, yup, I think he painted it on in the bathroom. I didn’t know Porter was into arts and crafts…

“Ready, Marbles?”

His arms are stacked with blankets and treats, his hair is hidden under his red hat, and he’s waiting, just for me.

“Ready,” I squeak out under his gaze.

The movie has started so we have to climb the back of Tacy with only the movie light to guide us. I go up first, making sure to give Porter a good look at my ass, and situate a blanket on the roof with some pillows, not wanting to sit on the cold surface. Porter follows close behind with the other blankets and sits down right next to me, spilling our treats in front of us.

“How is this going to work? Do we sit here like this?”

I hold in a giggle as he sits cross legged, knees at eye level, clearly not flexible at all, despite the yoga he claims to do every morning.

“We lay down facing the screen and use the pillows to prop our heads up. Have you never watched a movie before?”

“You don’t always have to be a smart ass. You can hurt people’s feelings, you know?” His sentiment is light, but for some reason, I feel like he’s not kidding.

“Hey, did I insult you back there about not wanting you to watch the movie up here with me?”

“Please, I’m not a girl.”

Not looking at me, he adjusts his pillow, tosses the food in the very front of his pillow and lays down on his stomach. His back muscles ripple under his movements, his butt is tight and tapered, and it’s taking everything inside of me not to rip his pants down and bite his ass.

That’s a weird comment, I know. I’m not an ass eater or anything like that. The anus is not something I dabble in, I’m sure to some people, taking a dip in the black hole can be pleasing to them, but I keep my distance. It just seems like I don’t want to stick my mouth near something that excretes broken down sloppy joe meat and corn.

But, if I had to bite the cheek of a butt, like it was a bun fresh out of the oven, I would flick it, lick it, and bite the hell out of it!

“Are you going to lay down or just stare at my ass all night?”

I tear my eyes away from him and huff. “I wasn’t staring at your ass, I was…” What was I doing? I just love it when my mind goes blank in times like this, doesn’t make me look like an idiot at all. “Umm…why are you wearing Abercrombie sweatpants?”

Good one.

Nonchalantly, he shrugs. “Some girl gave them to me.”