Snapshots of Modern Love (20 page)

Debbie and Cash

The Geo is pointed south, past Pueblo, in the slow lane. Every time a fat SUV or a truck flies by, the little car gets buffeted by the wind swirls. Debbie is not in a hurry because where she is going, which she hasn' t decided yet, there will be nobody waiting for her. That' s the way it has always been. Ernie is asleep on the passenger seat. The CD is playing Johnny Cash' s
The Man Comes Around
. She never liked the Man in Black but this CD somehow strikes a soft mood in her with its simple arrangements and pointed lyrics. Debbie realizes she is getting mellower as the years go by. Since she left Denver a couple of hours before sunrise the CD has been playing. Debbie wonders about Mr. Cash, with all his money and fame, and still having to deal with his addictions and life' s bad tricks. Well, Debbie muses, hard times don' t care how deep you pockets are or how well known your mug is; shitty times are for everybody.

Money doesn' t buy happiness but it buys options. Her detox program had been going cold turkey at the jail house. She shivers at the memories. Cash probably went to a fancy rehab center and his friends and family were behind him. That must be nice, Debbie thinks, to have people willing to give their support just because they love you. Debbie tries to imagine what that feeling must be like, to have somebody waiting when one comes out of jail, out of the hospital, somebody who comes running to one’ s side when things turn for the worse. Debbie looks to her right. She has a cat. She used to have another one but God took it away because she didn’ t deserve two.

Her fingers grip the steering wheel with anger but she exhales and the tension in her hand eases as her breath comes out of her lips. Thinking stuff like that does no good, she decides; it’ s bad Karma.

Dumb and Dumber

If standing on a bridge looking down on I-25 for hours is dumb, riding down the highway chasing after what may not be there is dumber. At ten o' clock I gave up my watch and walked to the convenience store in the corner, took a long overdue piss, bought a burrito and coffee and took off in my truck, chewing and drinking and thinking what a fool I was.

My plan, if it can be called that, is to drive southbound all the way to Santa Fe with the hope that I may overtake her. What if she is driving to California instead? or to the east coast? Or if she decided to leave later during the day? My chances are nil, I know, but driving and searching are better than sitting on my butt and letting her slip away. I feel like I' m wading in a lake up to my waist in water trying to catch a small fish. I don' t know if it is behind me, or in front of me, or if it took off in other direction. The lake is full of fish, but none of them is the one I want; maybe it is not in this lake anymore. Still, splashing in the water and searching with clumsy steps and cold hands is better than sitting on the shore crying about my loss. It is a mighty big lake, but I have no choice.

The only thing I might get out of this is a speeding ticket, but I don' t care. What if she pulled off the highway to eat or to take a leak? Is she a McDonald' s person? A Burger King person? I don' t know if she still eats hamburgers. Here I' m, chasing after her because I feel my life depends on it, and I don' t know her; I don' t know the simplest of things about her, what she likes or dislikes. The absurdity of the chase is obvious to anybody with two fingers of fore head. I put my hand over my eyebrows and I measure a comfortable five fingers. I seem to have the space for enough brain matter to understand the futility of my quest but I cannot stop. I pass cars that are not hers and look forward as far as my eyes can see, searching for what I know will not be there, but search I must because that' s all I have and I don' t want to give up without a good fight.

I drive by rest stops and I get off the big exits, like in Pueblo, and search up and down main drags and truck stops. At times I think these side trips increase the distance between us but I want to make sure I didn' t leave her behind in my southbound rush. Perhaps she is behind me and then these side trips close the gap but the truth is that I don' t have a clue. I just search and drive and my head swivels atop my shoulders so much that I know I will have a neck pain before the day is over.

Raton pass is coming up. That Geo of hers will have to crawl up the pass so maybe I can catch up with her. If she already went over the top, then I will have to chase her down into New Mexico. But I don' t know if she is even in front of me. I' m chasing a dream that exists only in my head.

Crossroads for the Second Time

Raton Mesa is majestic by its shear size and its bands of colors and vegetation that rise against the deep and bright blue sky. To Debbie, though, it is just a big rock, impressive, but a big rock nevertheless. Her mind is preoccupied with other things and she cannot enjoy the view. She sits on a guardrail of the Raton Passover look with her back to the parking lot, and she is cold. The hood of the Geo behind her is open and hissing noises spill over the fenders at the same time that a lime green and smoky liquid drips through the front wheels on the black top. Ernie is on her lap, unworried by Debbie' s problem.

The old car overheated on its way up the pass. Debbie waits for it to cool down. She plans to drive it downhill to a shop where somebody can take a look at it. She hopes that the car can at least make it downhill because she doesn' t want to spend the money to get a wrecker up the pass and then down into Raton again.

Resignation is the only virtue Debbie can hold on to. Getting mad at the piece of shit car won' t make her feel better. Coursing God and anybody who crosses her path will do no good either so resignation is the only thing left; being stoic is her way of dealing with bad things. Still, there have been so many times that Debbie has felt like blowing up and throwing a kicking and screaming tantrum and cussing God and everybody in heaven and hell. Why can' t things ever work out for her? She doesn' t want much; she can live with the crumbs that others throw away but even those crumbs are denied to her.

Running away from Denver: She had killed a man to prove that she was going to stand her ground but then runs away from Ken, and that, Debbie tells herself, was the motive for this trip from hell. Now she' s stuck atop a frigging mountain with a broken down car, a cat, a little bit of cash, and the clothes on her back. Had she stayed in Denver, everything would still be the same except the part about being stranded on a mountain. Debbie laughs at herself; what a loser she is. Ken is in her mind but she thinks she did the right thing by leaving. She has been many things in her life but she is not a home wrecker and she doesn' t want to become a wedge between Ken and his lovely fat wife. Debbie has enough problems of her own; she doesn’ t need new ones from others.

Regrets are many, what if' s are infinite as are the possible paths that could have been but never were. In another time, in another reincarnation, perhaps she and Ken could have been together. There is that unspoken desire between them; she knows it is so for Ken too because he was the one seeking her, and that night at the bar, by the sink, that had felt real, but it wasn' t because reality is another thing; Ken is a square peg and she is a round hole. They may dream about getting together but it just cannot work, ever. Like that big ass mountain in front of her, some things cannot be changed.

Debbie hears a vehicle park next to her and a door opens and slams shut. She turns her head and there is Ken, standing next to her car with a look of disbelief in his eyes.

"Debbie?"

"Ken?" Debbie stands and faces him from the other side of the guardrail. The disbelief on her face matches his. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asks.

"I was looking for you, for hours, since yesterday."

Debbie doesn' t know what to say. What can she say? She is holding Ernie against her chest and his warmth comfort sher. Her heart beats faster and the rush of blood to her head make sher dizzy.
Wait!
Debbie says to herself, this is not real, the whole thing is a big mistake and Ken must go back to his wife, to his life.

"I have been watching traffic go by for hours in Colorado Springs, hoping to see your car go by," says Ken. "When that didn' t work, I drove south with the hope of catching up with you, if you were indeed going south."

Ken smiles from ear to ear, pulls the wool hat off his head and throws it up in the air and shouts in elation," I can' t fucking believe it! I found you!"

"How did you know I was heading this way?" Debbie voice is soft and shaky.

"Glyn told me. He gave me your cell number too but it is obvious you don' t turn the damned thing on."

"No," says Debbie. Ernie struggles and wants to be put on the ground. "I don' t." She bends over the handrail and puts Ernie on the blacktop. She raises and Ken can see fear and doubt in her eyes, but fear of what? What doubts are there?

"What you want from me, Ken?" asks Debbie with both arms akimbo. Her face is expressionless, at least that is what she is trying to show, a poker player face.

Ken wants to answer but there are no words that can express or explain why he chased after her. Saliva dries up in his mouth. This is it and all he can do is stand in front of her like a moron. What the hell, Ken reassures himself, just open your mouth and let your gut talk because it is obvious your brain is locked.

"I want you. I don' t want to leave you behind like I did that day in Dallas over twenty years ago."The words came out fast and they felt like a hurricane blowing through his throat. "I want you and I' m not leaving without you."

Ken' s heart beats one rev below red line. Debbie' s is not far behind. She steadies herself by putting a hand on the handrail.

"Ken ..." She tries to speak. "Don' t be a fool. You' re a married man with a family."

"Was, the lawyers are already taking care of it. The ex gets the house and I get my life back, and I want you in it."

"You moron! You fucking idiot!" shouts Debbie and stars crying. "You don' t know what you' re talking about!"

Ken smiles disappears but he' s telling himself that he is not turning back alone unless Debbie' s kicks him in the ass and sends him on his miserable way. Debbie steps over the guardrail, stops and starts unzipping her pants. They come down to her knees. Ken' s jaw has dropped down to his chest,
what the hell?
He cannot avoid gawking at her tiny panties and the curves underneath.

"Look, you dumb ass!" says Debbie while pulling her pants down to her ankles. For a moment Ken doesn’ t understand what Debbie is trying to show him,
that one of her socks is longer than the other one?

"Look!" says Debbie. "I' m a one legged bitch!"The prosthesis now registers in Ken' s mind.

"And these teeth?" Debbie points to her mouth. "The yain' t real either. I got no teeth!"

Ken says nothing. The sight of Debbie with her pants down to her ankles in a parking lot makes him feel like he is having a bizarre dream, and the cat sitting next to her looking at him with fixed and expressionless eyes adds to that feeling.

"And you know why I lost one leg and my teeth? You know why?"shouts Debbie. Ken shakes his head.

"Cause I ran my car into a mother of two and killed her! That' s why!" Debbie cries hard and starts to pull her pants up but She is having a difficult time doing so. She wobbles and Ken rushes forward but Debbie manages to stand up again, holding her pants with her hands.

They are facing each other now. Ken can see the fat tears on her face and Debbie can not see Ken too well because her eyes are watery.

"Go away," says Debbie almost in a whisper. "Don' t get involved in my messed up life." She turns her face away from him, buttons her pants and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

"Too late for that." Ken speaks in a normal tone of voice. For once, he knows what he wants to say, and how to say it. "We got involved over twenty years ago and have always been involved, and there is nothing that you or I can do about it."

Debbie sobs and turns to look at him.

"I' m sorry," she says.

"There is nothing to be sorry about. I have never stopped thinking about you. Have you stopped thinking about me?"

Debbie shakes her head and her face turns into pure embarrassment.

"Listen," says Ken. "You have done fucked up things, and I have done my share of fucked up things too. All I ask for is for a chance to try to get our lives together. I make no promises and I know we are taking our chances, but that' s what we have always being doing anyway. Let' s do it together and see how far we can go."

"You' re nuts."

"Am I? So what? We have nothing to lose and everything to win. I say, let' s take the chance of our lives and run with it."

Ken places his hand on Debbie' s shoulder and the touch makes him shiver. There is a tumultuous rush of memories, of sensations reincarnated and feelings resuscitated that comes through his fingertips and jolts him from the inside. He thinks he' s going to faint. Debbie feels Ken' s strong hand on her shoulder and for once in her life she doesn' t feel alone. It is just not the mere presence of a body next to her, but of a sincere strength that comes from knowing that somebody cares, no matter how flawed she may be.

"Come back with me, to the Springs," asks Ken. "We can start a life together. We have waited long enough"

Debbie nods, and why not? She has nowhere to go, nobody she can calla friend, and Ken has been in her mind for the last twenty years. Call it fate, destiny or plain luck but now they are standing facing each other and their lives crossing paths to become one seems as natural as the sun rising every morning. Ken pulls her towards him and embraces her. Her legs turn to rubber and a sudden tiredness of over twenty years catches up with her and makes her hang onto Ken like if she were a boneless creature, weakened by years of walking paths that lead nowhere but now she has found something worth hanging on to and she won' t let go. Her tears soak Ken' s shoulder and he just holds her like a delicate thing he is afraid to crush.

Mé jico Lindo

The cliché says that everybody deserves a second chance. Debbie and I went to the Humane Society to get her a new kitten. I offered to buy her a new one, a pretty one from a pet store but she said she wanted a thrown away mutt who needed its second chance. I don' t have a problem with that, but I still don' t understand why she had to pick the ugliest cat in the joint.

"How do you like him?" she asked, holding up a scrawny black cat with terrorized yellow eyes. His fur looked like steel wool.

"Is that a cat or a wet possum?"

"Stop it! I think he' s cute."

"We can name him Double Ugly."

Debbie pierced me with her you-smart-ass look, turned to the Humane Society lady and told her," we are taking this one."

We named him Felix, like Felix the Cat character, another black cat with big eyes. I have to admit that the ugly critter has fattened up and is looking a lot better than when we brought him home, and he has shown to be a smart and loyal pet. I cannot say that everybody who gets a second chance will turn out OK, but it is nice to know that there are cases where the second chance bit works.

Our life together has been challenging, rewarding and has had its up sand downs like anybody else' s but dull is not an adjective that I can use to describe it. We had to readjust to each other and our quirks. I think Debbie is a tight wad and a cheapskate. Her idea of dining out is going to Wendy' s. She is the coupon queen of the Springs. Somehow she knows who has the best deals and she always carries a wad of coupons in a fat envelope in her purse. I' m embarrassed when we goto the grocery store and she pulls out that fat thing and starts passing out coupons for everything in the shopping basket. She reminds me of those old ladies who pay with pennies out of a jar.

"Can' t you, you know, like just pay for the damned groceries and be done with?" I told her once. She looked at me with thats quint of hers that I have come to dread.

"I' m saving money," she said and had sounded like Clint Eastwood ready to pull a gun on some scumbag.

"Yeah, I know, but sometimes it' s just easier to pay and go."

"Money doesn' t grow on trees," she said. "At least not where I came from." And she had been pissed at me all day after that so I have learn to keep my mouth shut when it comes to her coupons and the jars of pennies and lose change she treats like they were full of gold coins. Even that piece of shit Geo she drives, she won' t let go of it.

"Honey, let me get you something better."

"What' s wrong with my car?" and there goes that squint again.

"It' s a piece of junk."

"It' s paid for and it runs. I don' t need another car."

I took me days to convince her to at least let me buy her new tires and a two hundred dollar paint job. Now the clunker is all blue with new threads, but she was as happy as if I had bought her a brand new Lexus.

I' m sure that she sees me as reckless with my money but I' m sure that we will either come to a common ground or learn to live with each other' s idiosyncrasies. It is fun to watch her getting used to her new life with me. We live in a small old house on the foothills of Cheyenne Canyon. She thinks it is some sort of palace and cannot believe how big the rooms are. I myself think the rooms are kind of smallish and that the house is cute but not much to look at. But that is the first house she can call home and I imagine that for that reason alone it looks far better to her than anywhere else she has ever lived before.

We behave like stupid children with a sugar overdose. I suppose it can be called middle age love, or overdue love. I don' t know what you call it or what it is but I like the way it feels, we both do. For the first time in years I enjoy the company of a woman. I rush from work to be next to her and she waits for me to come back from work.

I don' t know how long this bliss will last. I don' t know what the future has reserved for us. She doesn' t either. For the moment, we try to enjoy what we have like there will be no tomorrow.

We are in Isla Mujeres. I' m standing on the sandy beach waiting for Debbie to get her prosthesis off. She sits on a beach chair taking the thing off. When she is done she wraps it on a clean towel so the sand won' t get in it.

"I' m ready," she tells me. I scoop her off the chair and carry her in my arms into the warm and clear surf. She kisses me on the neck and says to me," you didn' t have to do it."

She is referring to our wedding yesterday.

I dragged her into the civil registry office in Can cú n and I told the guy in charge that we wanted to get married. Debbie gasped when I said that.

"Señ or," said the man. "This is not Las Vegas. Getting a divorce in Mé jico is not easy and it can take a longtime to go through the courts."

"We are not planning on getting a divorce," I said, and I meant it. Debbie just squeezed my arm. A cop and a clerk acted as witnesses to our impromptu wedding and now we have a Mexican marriage certificate hanging on the wall of our room, and it is signed, dated, sealed and as good as anything done in the States. I will see to it when I get back to Denver.

I' m now waist deep into the ocean and I let Debbie down. She stands next to me on her one good leg and puts her arm around my ample soft waist. I put mine over her narrow shoulders. The waves crash against us but united we stand against their foaming power.

It took us over twenty years to be back, but here we are. At the crossroad we met and now we walk the same path.

THE END