by Ora Wilde
We drove past the streets I was familiar with, southwards to Interstate 395, until we left Susanville behind us.
“Where are we going?” I wanted to know.
“Somewhere nice,” he answered.
We didn’t talk much during the two hour drive that followed, but his smile never waned... and neither did mine. I looked at the sights that we passed by... long stretches of barren land, gas stations that looked lonely along the lengthy stretches of idle roads, a tavern that seemingly sprouted out of nowhere, a long convoy of vehicles filled with college kids on their way to Vegas via Reno, and a couple of motels that were surprisingly showing no vacancy signs despite their almost empty parking lots.
For any other person, it would’ve been a boring ride. On any other day, it would’ve been a boring ride, even for me.
But not then. Not when I was with him.
We turned right at Route 46 until we reached a congregation of cars parked at the entrance of Lake Tahoe State Park.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“No, not yet,” I replied excitedly. I could see the lake from where we were. It was beautiful! The surface of the water perfectly reflected the blue sky. Even the clouds appeared crystal clear across the lake.
We parked and went out of his SUV. He grabbed a duffel bag from the trunk. We walked for a few minutes until we reached the ticket booth. He paid for the fees and then we proceeded inside.
There was a trail that went around the lake. It was a long trek that would’ve spanned close to six miles. We didn’t go that far. He knew where we were headed, a nice spot just a hundred meters or so from the entrance. It was quiet there, away from the attention of tourists who visited the park, yet it still provided a great view of the reservoir.
He opened his bag and pulled out a blanket. He laid it out over the grassy ground. He beckoned for me to sit down, and I did. He reached for more things from his bag... some chips, cans of soda, and chocolate bars.
“Hope you’re not on a diet,” he said.
“Actually, I was expecting wine and cheese,” I kidded.
He sat down beside me. And we talked. About my childhood and his. About the path he took that led him to where he was, and the decisions I made that landed me my job as a kindergarten teacher. About his earliest recollections of his mother, and my memories of my dad. About the sacrifices he had to make, and the beliefs I had to compromise.
We talked about everything we could think of.
Except my upcoming wedding, and how he truly felt about it.
The afternoon flew so quickly. I didn’t want it to end. But the sun has set and the park was closing. The rangers were walking around the grounds, informing visitors that it was time to leave the premises.
He looked at me and saw the disappointment on my face.
“You haven’t gone out of Susanville that much, huh?” he commented.
“Nope. Only when I had to leave for college.”
“I see.”
A park ranger walked by the path a few feet away from us. I was about to stand up, but he held my hand, stopping me from doing so.
“Con... why?” I asked, surprised.
“Quiet,” he replied with a confident grin.
The park ranger left our sight. He didn’t see us.
“But the park is closing soon...” I reminded him.
“We can stay here longer,” he told me, almost pleadingly. “We can just say that we fell asleep.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“What’s the worst thing that can happen?”
“That we’ll be sent to jail?”
“At least we’ll be together.”
I snickered. He laughed. Our gaze focused on the moon that was beginning its ascent. The park emptied really fast. The stillness of the lake was enchantingly quiet. A cool breeze started to embrace our bodies. Everything was so magical.
Then he pulled out the rubber band ring once again.
“I didn’t intend to put you on the spot,” he confessed. “I just wanted to... do something that he should’ve done for you.”
It was an honest statement, but somehow, I felt a semblance of disappointment with his words.
He noticed.
“That doesn’t mean that, you know, I don’t want to marry you,” he hastily added.
My eyes widened in shock.
“I just... want to have this day, Margaret,” he continued. “I want it to last forever... but I know that would be too selfish. But at least... with this day... with you... I can have something that I’ll always look back to, whenever anger and hatred and fear would threaten to take over me, whenever I would feel lost and finding my way would seem hopeless... and whenever I would miss you, and wake up to the nightmare that you’re with another man...”
His words and the sincerity behind them made me teary-eyed. With joy? Yes, but not quite. It was more because of despair... and self-condemnation... because I felt the same way. I didn’t want the day to end. I didn’t want us, no matter how illusionary it was, to end.
I extended my hand, and with a smile of absolute contentment, he inserted his make-do ring on my finger.
We talked and talked and talked until the moon shone directly above us.
If it weren’t for the thought that my folks - and his - would be worried about us, we could’ve stayed there the whole night.
But the day... his day... our day... was at an end, and it was time to go home... to how things really were... to the life we have chosen to live, away from each other’s heart.
There was sadness in our every step as we made the trek towards his vehicle. I felt that we were trudging, our feet made heavy by the sorrow in our souls. I didn’t even want that agonizing walk to end.
But we reached his SUV and he began to drive back to Susanville.
He gave me a day that I will never forget.
And it made me wonder...
Would I be happier if everyday was like that? With him?
Chapter Thirty-Three
CONNER
It was almost a perfect day.
Almost.
But the stupid car had to break down. In the middle of nowhere along Route 49.
“What’s the problem?” she asked as she peeked out the window to get a glimpse of me under the hood.
“Carburetor's fried,” I answered. “No wonder the damn thing wouldn’t start.” I kicked the front of the SUV in frustration.
She giggled.
“Relax, Con,” she said. “I’m sure we passed by a gas station less than a minute before we stopped. Maybe there’s someone there who can help us.”
I agreed.
I decided to walk to the said gas station and asked her to stay and keep the doors locked. She went out and insisted that she’d come with me. I reminded her that she wasn’t dressed for the long walk, what with her blue dress that extended to her ankles as well as her pair of white heels. No problem, she said, as she removed her heels and left them in the car. I just looked at her in disbelief. She slapped my arm and motioned for me to start walking.
It took us thirty minutes to get there. An old man greeted us at the counter. We told him about our problem, and he offered to send over a mechanic.
“But he’d only be able to fix it in the morning, sonny,” he said.
“Shit!” I said. “We need to get back to Susanville tonight.”
“Well, cabs don’t service this area, unfortunately, and the last bus had its trip two hours ago,” the old man explained. “You can start walking to Susanville, but you’ll get there at around noon... and with blisters on your feet,” he added with a chuckle as he pointed at Margaret’s lack of footwear.
I apologized to her, and she was quick to say that it was alright.
“There’s a motel five minutes away from here,” the old man suggested. “You and your wife can spend the night there.”
Margaret and I were both shocked by his assumption. I think we gulped at the same time.
“W
e... We’re not...” I began to say.
“I don’t think there’s a vacancy, sir,” Margaret interrupted me before I could finish.
“Oh, you saw it?” the old man asked. “That no vacancy sign’s always on... but only because it’s broken. They always have a free room. Folks don’t usually frequent this place for a stopover.”
We fell silent. We didn’t know what to do. I had to bring her home, but that has become an impossibility.
We thanked the old man and made arrangements for the mechanic to fix the car come the morning.
Then our feet just move... southwards... towards the motel.
We didn’t say a single word to each other. There was a highly uncomfortable awkwardness between us as we journeyed to the inn. It was like our legs just moved by themselves, and our bodies surrendered.
It was a exhausting day, what with everything we did.
Maybe that was it. We were just tired, and our instincts were compelling us to seek out a bed.
A bed.
Singular.
Fuck!
“We can get two rooms,” I told her, even if she never intimated anything about the matter.
“Sure,” she answered with a smile.
The plan was set. Once we rent two rooms, she could just call her mom and tell her that she got stuck somewhere.
But, of course, as with every unfortunate incident, hapless moments are almost always followed by another.
“We got two available rooms,” the guy behind the reception desk said, rather inhospitably. “One at regular rate, the other at fifty percent off.”
“Why is the other one discounted that much?” Margaret asked her.
“Pest control... or the lack thereof,” the guy answered. “They said they’d be solving the problem last month... but they haven’t. I doubt they will ever visit this joint.”
“What do you mean?” I questioned worryingly. “Why does the room need pest control?”
“Nothing major,” he assured us. “Just cockroaches infesting the place.”
“C-Cockroaches?” I mumbled.
Shit!
I fucking hate bugs! I’d rather have head bashed in by a legitimate super heavyweight than be touched by a motherfucking bug!
I heard her laughing at me. She knew my extreme dislike of bugs. She remembered that time when we shared each other’s phobias. She found mine funny back then. She still found it funny at that instance.
“We’ll just take one room,” she told the receptionist.
“Which one?” he asked.
“The one without the cockroaches,” she clarified while covering her mouth to keep her chortling in check.
The receptionist gave us the key and we proceeded to the second floor of the motel, where the room was located. I sensed her sudden discomfort as we were climbing the stairs. She probably didn’t realize the repercussions of sharing a room with me when she made her suggestion earlier.
“I’ll take the couch” I said, to allay her worries.
“Okay,” was her simple reply. It wasn’t enough to make her uneasiness go away.
“I don’t even have to sleep,” I continued. “Just a couple more hours and it’ll be daybreak. I can just meet up with the mechanic and we’d fix the car together. Then I could just pick you up here so you won’t have to walk far.”
“Thanks.” Her continued usage of one word replies was causing me more concerns.
We arrived at the room. It was quite small - a bed with creased sheets that could accommodate two people, and that was being gracious; a fridge that was smaller than three shoeboxes stacked on top of each other; purple wallpaper with floral patterns which shared the same tone as the carpet; and the smell of dry and musty air.
“Fifty bucks for this crap hole?!” I remarked.
She gave me a sharp stare. She asked me to watch my language. I slipped and she made me know that it didn’t escape her attention. I smiled. I was relieved that her trepidation wasn’t enough to make her forget about my promise.
She sat by the side of the bed and sighed. We had a great day, but a very tiring one. It was made even more enervating by the long walk we had from the SUV to the gas station, and from the gas station to the motel.
“Want something to drink?” I offered, thinking that she was thirsty.
“Are you going to get me drunk?” she asked with a mean gaze. It was adorable.
“No, I’m not,” I refuted her insinuation with a chuckle. “I mean... would you like a soda, or a bottle of water?”
“Oh. No. Thank you,” she replied. “Come here. Sit beside me.”
Without even thinking twice about it, I did.
She held my hand.
“Con... thank you for today,” she said with all sincerity and joy. “It was... is... the best day of my life so far.”
“You know, I can give you more days like this,” I kidded her. Or at least, I wanted her to think that I was just joking. The truth was sadder, though. There was no humor in my intent. I really wanted to give her more days like the one we’re having... for the rest of my life if things could go my way. But I knew that was wishful thinking.
She laughed. A hesitant laugh. I guess we have become so close that day, so much so that she knew when I was speaking the truth... and when I was merely fabricating a truth to hide the pain.
I stood up, withdrawing my hand from hers. I needed to say something... do something... to prevent the situation from escalating into some heavy, drama-laden shit.
I proceeded to the TV - a small, box-type contraption from the eighties - and turned it on.
“I’m gonna miss Oprah,” I tried to lighten up the conversation.
“Oprah’s been off the air for years,” she enlightened me. She giggled... an expression that was completely devoid of the anxiety that plagued her earlier laughter.
I smiled. Finally, the awkwardness was gone.
Then the sound from the television blared, followed by the deep voice of a man... a voice I have heard once before...
“...of one man’s journey to find himself... so that he can find what it takes to claim what he believes is his destiny...”
Oh fucking shit!
“Con... they’re showing the docu!” she exclaimed. “They’re showing your docu! Wow! I thought it wasn’t scheduled until after a few more days?”
“Maybe they decided to air it earlier,” I said. The hell would I know? I didn’t care about that ridiculous production. I actually wished they wouldn’t show it.
“Why are they airing it so late?”
“Probably a replay.”
“Probably.”
Her eyes were glued to the minuscule screen. She was like a child watching her favorite cartoon show. It seemed like nothing - and no one - would be able to disturb her from her viewing.
Her mouth was open throughout the first few minutes of the telecast, occasionally curling into a smile. I was afraid that the show would offend her, what with its portrayal of me as a lovelorn freak... something which wasn’t exactly far from the truth.
But she didn’t. She laughed at those scenes which were overly exaggerated to make my admiration seem absurd, if not downright psychotic. Like when they arranged a sequence where they made me appear to be looking, lasciviously, at her breasts. And the editing of that day when she visited me at the training room, where the production team made sure to insert a shot of her after every single pushup I did. Those scenes about me and her were ludicrous. I was expecting the worst... a realistic portrayal of a highly fictionalized plot. But what they broadcasted was a cartoonish montage about an out-of-this-world angle.
And that’s how she took them.
I laughed as she laughed... and halfway through the episode, our bellies were aching so much but we still couldn’t stop laughing.
Until they showed the mugging incident.
The footage was shot from afar and it was dark. No one would be able to identify my assailants... except for Lucas with his damn ugly blonde hair.
<
br /> Margaret covered his mouth in shock as the thugs ganged up on me. I felt sad when I saw her. All the while, I was so preoccupied about how embarrassing it would be that I had my butt kicked on national TV. I was selfish. I never even thought about how she would feel once she saw the love of her life ordering a group of hoodlums to beat the crap out of me.
