On the ride back from the sightseeing boat we were both drunk and he decided we should spend the night with some people he knew along the route. Actually it was a good decision because he may have crashed the car otherwise. It was after nine and totally dark. His driving had become wobbly. He kept asking me to go down on him which I refused. Under the circumstances who wouldn’t? An orgasm while weaving 65 mph was the last thing we needed.
His so-called friends along the route eyed us suspiciously as we stood on their front steps under a single yellow light. They had this small ranch-style house, kind of poor in terms of the landscaping. I didn’t notice any foundation plantings, or leafy trees along the curb.
Inside, the living room furniture and carpet were brown and basic and looked second hand. But they had an extra bedroom so I just smiled and kept very still. I practically crept in the direction of where the wife pointed out we would sleep. The whole place on one level, I figured they’d be sleeping fairly close to us.
It was only the next morning when I awakened too early in the blue extra room with no window shades, just these filmy café curtains like from curtain outlets, the sun killing me, that I took in the poor look of the maple bureau, unmatched night table, bed without a headboard. A flouncy white ruffle around an old dressing table was the only sign of any sort of decorating attempt.
Not that I was screamingly rich by any stretch. My soon to be ex-husband made sure by tying up our account. Two jobs to make the rent on my bachelorette apartment was knocking me to shit. At least my stuff had a touch of the exotica. I stared up at this ordinary blank ceiling, picturing the paper Japanese umbrella that hung from my ceiling by fishing line, swaying in the breeze with its scenes of maidens in gardens. A Chinese blue and white foot bath and ceramic Fu Dog plant stand, crowned by a leafy fern, classed up my humble abode. These people had no idea.
The liquor worn off, I realized the error of my ways. What could have been on my mind to travel this distance with an almost complete stranger? Sure I knew him from working my primary job, yet before this date we never even shared a cup of coffee. My oncoming divorce and new poverty level had shaken me a lot. I found myself saying and doing things outside my normal comfort zone.
Sliding out of the cramped double bed, I pulled on my jeans and t-shirt. About ten feet away, the wife was in the kitchen frying bacon. I could smell it. I paused saying good morning and she barely nodded. I asked if I could take a shower. Again she barely moved her head.
The pink bathroom had mold in some of the tile grout. But it also had a shower and soap. Using the wife’s scrunchie on the door knob, I tied my hair in a ponytail and took a really quick shower. Leaving the bathroom, I almost expected the wife would ask me for room and board. The husband was nowhere, he must’ve left for work.
As I passed by her, she called out offering breakfast. Surprised, I stopped there; smiley-faced; saying we’d get something on the road. She seemed not to care. In daylight her face had this leather quality. A toddler wearing its diaper sat in a scratched, white high-chair, the type people used years and years ago. Bits of food on the metal tray jumped when he slammed his fists down. I told the wife he was a strong little fellow. She said his name was Jennifer.
In the blue spare room I sat at the edge of the bed poking his shoulder. Said I thought we’d overstayed our welcome. He was slow getting up. Sniffing, he asked if I took a shower. Said he could smell fresh soap.
I asked was he showering, too. No. He’d take care of it back at his place. That was fine by me. I just wanted out. The whole house was sad and there wasn’t much you could do to freshen it into a liveliness. In my experience houses will tell you what they need and don’t need. Like the wife, this one was pretty much shot.
We thanked her for their hospitality. Well, he did mainly. I smiled and tried looking refreshed. She didn’t seem to like him which led me to believe he’d been a bastard to his wife he recently divorced. Maybe this woman had sided with the wife. Those things play out during a divorce. When he patted the toddler goodbye on the head the wife didn’t take to it.
We hit the road with the sun high. After about ten minutes of driving he started asking me to go down on him. Last night I’d thought it was a result of all the drink. No. It’s who he was. A man I hardly knew who wanted to be blown on the open road. A trucker passed us by giving the thumbs up. Was that some sort of man blow code? When I declined, we didn’t speak the rest of the way. At least sixty miles. Fortunately it was a pretty part of the highway. Grassy embankments, lots of trees. The car windows were wide open and the breeze felt fresh on my dry eyes. I decided then and there to swear off men until my brain was clear of my almost-ex.
We parted amicably enough. I got into my own car which was parked outside his townhouse. I was happy to be back in familiar surroundings. Even though my huge old Buick had once belonged to the father of my almost-ex. Still. That teabag on the console for months on end, well, it made me happy just seeing it there.
Susan Tepper is a twenty year writer and the author of six published books of fiction and poetry. Her stories, poems, interviews and essays have been published in the hundreds worldwide. Recently, she co-wrote a full length play with poet Dennis Mahagin. Prior to becoming a writer, Tepper worked as an actress, singer, flight attendant, Television Producer, Interior Decorator, rescue worker and more. www.susantepper.com
–Foreground Photography by Jon Damaschke
–Background Photography by Ed Wojtaszek