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Road trips are so much fun. I remember when we were
just dating and we used to just hop in the car and drive. I don’t know how or why,
but those days just seem like they were perfect. That was back when we didn’t really
fight at all. Maybe that’s just memory acting up, though.
I look over and see you sitting there sort of contemplative like
you’re thinking about something. I know you better, though. You’re trying to
decide if you want to fall asleep here or hold off a little longer. It’s funny how
you get to know someone after a while.
I was just thinking about that first time we ever went for a road
trip. I think we’d been dating for about a month, maybe a little less. It was in
July, and it was hot. Rather than going to some swimming pool or whatever we thought
we’d go for a road trip and let the wind keep us cool. We had a great time listening
to music and watching the world roll by. You had the worst sunburn I had ever seen that
night.
I think we’re somewhere near Drumheller by now. I
haven’t really been paying attention to the when and the where, just the basic
direction. Follow the sun, and follow your stomach. But I think this is near Drumheller,
because we’re into the Badlands now. There’s something sort of romantic about
that isn’t there? I mean, just the word Badlands alone is enough to conjure a story
out of thin air. There’s a sense of urgency, of danger, of antiquity. It’s a
great word.
It’s also the best possible word to describe the terrain. I
love it out here. You can see for miles and everything is strange. For city people it sure
is strange to see hoodoos and valleys and those plants that look like they belong in the
desert.
I’m glad I thought to bring water along on this trip. I
didn’t think it would be this hot, so I’ve been drinking a fair bit of water to
keep my mouth from getting slimy. I know how you hate that.
The sky seems like it goes on forever, doesn’t it? They say
that there are billions of things up in space, and they might be right about that, but I
don’t think I care so very much. I’ll never even see everything there is to see
here on earth, let alone travelling in space. Besides, you spend so much time getting
there, and the getting there doesn’t give you much to look at.
I’m sorry I yelled at you yesterday. I know I haven’t
really been so good to you lately, and I know it’s not your fault. That’s why I
wanted to get you out here today. We need to clear the air a bit, and I thought that might
be easier out here on the open road.
The words always come out wrong when you want to apologize,
don’t they? I mean I always feel like I’m an abusive husband. “Come on,
baby. You know I love you and that I’d never hurt you. Here, have a car.”
There’s no excuse for the way I’ve been acting, and I’m not looking for
vindication. I just want to clear the air so that you understand.
That water stays nice and cold. Thank God, there’s
nothing worse than warm water on a hot day.
Anyway, the big thing that you need to understand is that I know
about you. I found out a few weeks ago. I was supposed to go out for an evening of
drinking with the lads, but I just didn’t feel right. Well, I guess it was more that
something didn’t feel right. After I saw the two of you I went to the store and
bought myself one of those big old Coke’s. I don’t really know why.
I sat at the park and tried to piece it together. I knew that you
weren’t really happy with me. I’ve always been a bit of a child, and while you
always said that was endearing I knew that at times it really got to you. Was it because I
was just not grown up enough for you, or maybe because I didn’t listen to your needs?
I don’t really know what I was doing, my mind didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
I remember buying a Cosmo to take a test and find out if my mate was cheating. You
weren’t.
It’s so beautiful out here. What is it Jim Morrison used to
say? “Out here on the perimeter there are no stars. Out here we is stoned –
immaculate.” I know it’s tacky, but that’s what it feels like, driving here
with you under the big blue sky. I love the trees we pass, the ones that look sort of
gnarled. It’s hard to remember that we’re in Alberta when you see things like
that. It feels more like some alien landscape. Back to space travel, I suppose.
Anyway, I sat in that park with my Cosmo and my Coke. I read the
articles. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think I was trying to avoid
thinking about anything. I think that at that time the only thing that was interesting to
my mind was how to give a good hand job. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but
the things our minds do never seem to. Remember that time when someone asked you at a
party what would go through your mind if you were jumping out of a window, and you said,
“God I want a pizza.” It’s the same sort of thing. When your mind
can’t possibly take everything in, it improvises.
So I sat there and read my Cosmo and drank that whole Coke. When
I was done I was covered in dew, my back hurt like crazy, and I had to piss like you
wouldn’t believe. I pissed on the slide at the park. I don’t think it was being
malicious, I just really had to go.
I realized that you’d expect me to be drunk when I got home.
I didn’t know if I wanted to fight with you, leave you, or cry, but I knew that I
probably wasn’t ready to make that decision yet so it was better to go with the
status quo. You’d figure I’d be drunk, and I didn’t smell like alcohol.
This is something I am quite proud of, in retrospect. To throw you off I made myself puke.
I’ve never been good at forcing myself to puke, but sometimes you do what you have
to. It was surprisingly easy after all that Coke. I think the Cosmo had a helping hand
too.
I puked on the slide. I’m pretty sure that was being
malicious. Afterwards I threw gravel on it so that it wouldn’t be obvious what
I’d done. I suppose clumps of gravel stuck to a slide might draw the occasional
raised eyebrow. I wasn’t thinking straight.
I went home and curled up next to you and hated myself for it.
You smelt my breath, gave me crap for drinking too much, rolled over, and went back to
sleep. I watched you for a while and tried to remember if you looked this peaceful after
we had sex. I hate to brag, but I think I won that little battle.
So now you know that I know. I think it probably goes a long way
to explaining why I’ve been as tense as I’ve seemed lately. Did I do a good job
hiding it?
I’m not mad. I needed that time to get things into
perspective. This drive helped a lot, too. I love you. We’ve been together for so
long that it just seems right to me now. I can’t imagine what my life would be like
without you. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have gone to school, I
wouldn’t be at my job, and I would probably be spending way too much time drinking
with my friends and not enough doing anything useful.
What I’m saying is that I think we can still make
things work. I’m not mad at you, I figure that I probably drove you to it at least to
some extent. I want to get things straight between us. I hope you want the same.
You’re quiet, but that’s ok. I can tell by the
look you’re wearing on your face that we’re going to turn things around.
It’s funny how you get to know someone after a while.
I sit back and enjoy the drive. You wouldn’t
believe how much better I feel now. I’ve got to remember to talk to you like this
instead of yelling. This feels better, and it works a whole lot better too. Do you think
that maybe I’m growing up?
Growing up.
Maybe I’ve gone too far this time. It’s one thing
to remember, it’s another to imagine. Have I gone too far? Can’t think about
that.
I remember another time we went driving. We were in your car and
the roof was down and it started raining. All of our stuff was ruined, but it was so
great. We just pulled over and sat in the rain and kissed until the storm blew over. That
was so wonderful. You were always a great kisser. I lean over and give you a kiss. Your
lips are warm and dry, and I almost forget that you’ve been dead for three hours.
It’s such a nice day for a drive. When I pull over the sun
is shining high. Plenty of time to get the hole dug properly. I know that this isn’t
the best place to put you, what with the dinosaur expeditions that are always going on in
the area, but it seemed like as good a place as any, and I really wanted to take the time
to talk with you. I do love you. You know that, right?
God I’m so hot. The day is a scorcher. I wish I was driving
again, but I need to do this right. You deserve the best even in death. I stop for some
water. Still nice and cold.
I’m going to miss these drives with you, but I know
you’ll always be with me. It’s not really Romeo and Juliet. I’m not going
to take my own life. And now that I think of it, you didn’t cross a star, you crossed
me. I hope you understand not to do that now. Well, does it really matter? I think that
wherever you are you understand, and you know that we’re even. I couldn’t live
like that, knowing that you were screwing him.
When the sun sets I put you in the pit. God, it sounds funny but
you’ve never looked prettier. I climb down next to you and put your head on my chest
like we used to sleep. But now you’re cold and a little blue, and no matter how
beautiful you look I can’t pretend any more. You’re gone now. You left me when I
hit you and I don’t know where you went. They won’t believe me at first, but
they won’t find you and they won’t know what happened with us. I didn’t
tell anyone. If they ever find your body I might be in trouble, but they’ll have a
hard time pinning anything on me. And who knows, by then I might not even be around.
It’s a funny world, a funny universe. I might be anywhere.
© July 31, 2000 Jim Martin
Jim Martin is a writer, systems analyst,
father, husband, and musician living in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. He works as a contractor
through Klay Information Management Consulting Ltd. (http://www.kimc.com), spends some of
his free time working as a webmaster and assistant editor for 3 A.M. Magazine
(http://www.3ampublishing.com), and dreams of life as a political activist and public
speaker. He has been published in several periodicals, both in print
and electronic format.
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