On the Run (Blogophilia 8.13)

The diner could have been anywhere. This one was found while driving around East Jesus, New York. At least that's what this town seemed like to her. Thirty miles to go on the road trip from Hell. Traffic had been light on the overnight run.  Hot coffee wouldn’t hurt. Crossing the border during the busy part of the day was her plan, the guards wouldn’t ask questions. Debbie stumbled out of the car, dragging food wrappers along the way. The place was like the scarier areas in the desert, except colder. The parking lot was almost empty. A puddle reflected the snow-laden sky and the motel vacancy sign. Shivering, she pulled her jacket tighter and stepped in the door.

Pink and white decorations dotted the counters, the remains of a Valentine party the night before. An ancient Wurlitzer jukebox played caterwauling country tunes. Bacon, and the promise of more, tickled her nose. A big-haired waitress chewing gum nodded toward a line of stools against the front window. She went to the last one. Maybe no one will notes.

The waitress wandered over.

“Hey, Hon.” Debbie cringed. Smacking gum made her skin crawl. “What’ll it be?”

“Just Coffee, Thanks.” and Debbie ran to the restroom.

A real toilet greeted her. It was better than the bottle she used in Ohio. She needed to be alone for a minute and the stall was perfect. She nearly didn’t make it. At least it was all she needed to do. The image from her compact was better than she expected, puffy eyes and a couple of splotches of makeup. Not bad for four days without sleep. The aroma of sweat and blood filled her nose. She needed a shower. Pulling off her hairband, she shook out the dirty hair. It could use a good brushing, but she needed to get back. Somebody might wonder.

Big-hair came back just as she sat back down.

“Here you go, Hon.”

“Thanks.” She accepted the cup. The warmth felt good in her hands.

Steam framed her hard drawn face while a sob pressed and stuck in her throat. A newspaper sat on the counter next to her and the headline caught her eye: “Watertown: Drunkest City in the World”. It was filled with stats on how many DWI’s and public drunk arrests compared to other places. Her eyes went down the list. What do you know? Tucson is sixth.

The next piece was better. “Local Man Convicted of Rape” in dramatic letters. A youngish man was caught naked with an underaged girl in a city park. That’s a cheery Valentine's story for you. Probably boyfriend and girlfriend and Daddy found out. He fries. She skates. It was the way of the world. De sartagine ad ignem: From the frying pan into the fire. The thought was as sour as her mood.

A song about an angel flying away seeped into her consciousness. Michael was sweet and romantic at first, lots of flowers and really good sex. It wasn't him really, though. She was in love with being in love. Everything changed after the wedding. Adoration morphed from amusement to fear. He was a mean drunk, hitting her and playing. The latest target was named Maritza, a tiny Mexican girl who worked at the liquor store. She’d known about it for a while. It was only a matter of time before one or the other one was going to be dead.

Monday had been Valentine's. Debbie had left work early. When she got home, she found the bitch's car in the driveway. A  celebration was being held without her. Through the window, she saw roses and wine on the coffee table. Mariza was wearing a pink lace top with a dark lacy bra underneath. They were dancing to a song on the radio. His hand lifted the shirt up and over. She was as flat as a twelve-year-old. Debbie wondered if she was as bare as one, too.

She walked back to the car. The gun was in the center console. Michael bought it but never took it out of the box. Saturday, she did. The guy at the range was patient as he showed her how to rack and shoot. His hands were soft, and he smelled like he’d just come from the barbershop. Briefly, she imagined them elsewhere on her body as each shot came closer to the center of the target. Too bad he was as old as her father. The final three shots landed in the center ring.

She didn’t hide it as she went back to the house.

Debbie walked up humming a cheesy Englebert Humperdinck tune. Maritza’s dark hair was brushing his chest as she rode him. She was a screamer. Women in labor aren’t that loud. Their eyes were closed, savoring the moment. Debbie wanted to join. No, she wanted to push him away To taste the dark cotton candy lips and feel her soft hands where they shouldn’t be.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lowered the barrel and squeezed. Blood sprayed fast and hot out of their entwined mouths. It was the ultimate sharing of the wine.

Exhaustion took over as she stripped off the stained clothes and packed her suitcase. Nothing mattered anymore, not looks, not love, not even life itself. Everything she knew was gone.  She showed the same amount of respect they showed her. I could kill myself instead and they would cheer at the funeral. She locked the door behind her.

Tossing the gun and clothes in the grease pit of a restaurant on the way out of town, she made her way east. She’d been fascinated with Montreal since her Dad took her on a business trip when she was little. Nobody knew her there, which would make tracing her a lot harder. Now after three long days she’s looking out at a sign saying thirty miles to the border with $200 left in her purse.

Cigarettes and stale body odor interrupted her thoughts. A man dressed in a security uniform sat a couple of seats upwind. Big-hair put a steaming cup down in front of the little man. Tipping the sugar jar into it, he mumbled “the usual”. With a defeated sigh, he took off his cap and placed it between them on the counter. The ginger comb-over was a hideous mess like it hadn’t been washed in days. The walking definition of a loser who bought condoms off the clearance rack. She looked down at her cup, hoping he wouldn’t say anything.

Somehow, Debbie entered his vision. Stirring the cup slowly, he stared at her like she was an alien, a product to be used.

“Hey Baby.” His breath could peel paint. “What’s your sign?”

Her face turned warm.

“I’m not ‘Baby’.” She spoke into her cup. “My name is Debbie Claussen... and I am a Capricorn”

The little man put a finger against his nose and looked down at his plate, surprised at the response. It took almost a minute to get his voice back.

“Chuck Pearson”, He extended his hand. “I’m a Gemini.”

She stopped just before grabbing his hand, and he withdrew it. There was kindness in the face. If she can get past the smell maybe Chuck would be good for something.

“I’m just tired and...” The next words didn’t sound like they were from her. “Oh, who am I kidding. I’ve been on the road for days and it’s getting to me.”

His order, single egg and sausage, came. He took a sip of coffee and looked into her eyes.

“So, where are you from?”

“Tucson.”

The eyes lost their squint. “Huh.” He slipped a finger under his glasses and rubbed. “Most people around here fly south for the winter.”

“So, where are you going?”

“Not sure. Maybe Ottawa.” A little lie never hurt. “My sister lives there.”

The reply took a while to come.

“Never have been across the border,” Chuck said. “Really, never have left town. I got rejected by the military for my hearing, but I still ended up working civilian over at the base.”

“No girlfriends?” She asked with a smirk. She picked up the stained cap and ran a finger down his nose.

“Aw, it couldn’t be that bad.” She kept going after the tip, tracing his lips and chin.

His face flushed a bit. “Most girls want a guy with money. Why should a pretty lady like you be sad?”

“I caught my husband with a bitch on Valentine’s Day.” She looked at the stained cap. “I packed up and left.”

Looking into his eyes, Debbie knew he had taken the bait.

“ I heard once things just don’t happen, they are made to happen. Whether it’s true or not, I’m not sure. Anyways, the bastard will regret losing such a rare gift as you.”

Oh, he was going to be fun. Maybe he’ll be alive when they got finished.

“You know it's O.K. if you want me to go with you until your next shift. I'm lonely and loving someone is a better way to be.”

Chuck put a twenty on the table and they left.

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Topic-Dave Coon

Pic-Dahlia Ramone

Pic guesses: Romantic (in blog) Happy, O2, London, Hip couple, Wheels