Austin and Emily

by Frank Turner Hollon

  “Shut up, devil dog,” Austin whispered.

  The bedroom door swung open, the light came on, and Austin McAdoo’s mother stood in her bedroom doorway smoking a cigarette. She wore a cream-white robe reaching down nearly to her bare feet.

  “My boy is home,” she said in a flat, hoarse voice. “And Lord, what do we have here? A girl? Austin, you better call the police and turn yourself in immediately. Kidnapping is a felony.” She turned to Emily and added, “Honey, he didn’t mean any harm. He’s just confused.”

  Emily explained, “No, no. We’re together. We’re travelin’ together.”

  Austin’s mother laughed. “Thank you, Jesus. My strange little boy found himself a girlfriend.” She raised her arms to the sky.

  “Please, Mother,” Austin begged. With bags in hands, he took a step forward and slipped on a faded, four-year-old motorcycle magazine. He lost his balance and fell butt first to the floor, still holding the luggage. Lafitte seized the opportunity to mount Austin’s leg, humping wildly for all he was worth.

  Austin bellowed, “Off of me you disgusting little Frenchman.”

  Austin’s mother, with smoke rolling from her nose, said, “I believe he missed you.”

  Austin mustered the strength to roll over on all fours as a prelude to eventually standing. Lafitte altered his position without missing a thrust, front paws firmly holding Austin’s trousers.

  “Help,” Austin said. “Help me.”

  Emily circled Austin and the luggage and grabbed Lafitte in her free arm. The dog and Ulysses were eye to eye, but both were preoccupied with separate bodily necessities.

  Austin finally arrived upright. He straightened his pants.

  “Mother, this is Emily. Emily, this is my mother. Please don’t ask her anything or she will tell you far more than you wish to know.

  “Mother, we shall stay the night, Emily in my bedroom, I on the couch. We will leave in the morning for the Grand Canyon, and perhaps beyond.”

  Austin’s mother studied the situation. She began to laugh for no apparent reason, a genuine enjoyable laugh. Out of nervousness, Emily laughed also. Austin looked back and forth at the two women.

  Emily said finally, “Mrs. McAdoo, I was hoping we could spend some time getting to know each other. I’m not sure how I measure up to Austin’s old girlfriends, but I think your son’s a special person, and I believe we have a future together.”

  The ash on the mother’s cigarette had grown long. She stared at Emily like the whole thing could be a joke. “Honey,” she said, “are you on some type of medication?”

  “No, ma’am,” Emily answered.

  Austin inhaled deeply and sighed. “This distasteful event appears unavoidable. I shall take a long shower.”

  The mother said, “Don’t use the luffa-sponge. I found it yesterday in Lafitte’s secret place.”

  Austin rolled his eyes and left the room.

  The two ladies sat and talked amongst the cluttered living room. Glenn was well-hidden. Lafitte and Ulysses smelled each other. As Austin warned, Lila McAdoo kept no secrets. Emily liked her.

  Austin entered the living room to hear his mother say, “I’ve been married six times, honey. That’s because I’m a wildcat in the bedroom. That’s all they give a damn about anyway. The best way to a man’s heart ain’t through his stomach, it’s through his zipper.”

  Austin said, “Lord, Mother, no one desires to hear of your sexual dysfunction.”

  Lila McAdoo countered, “Aren’t you the one, on your sixth birthday, who declared you were anti-sexual and promised to marry a tree?”

  “A tree?” Emily repeated.

  “Yes, my dear,” Lila said. “A tree. Not just any tree, but a pretty little cypress in the Toliver’s yard.”

  Austin left the room again.

  The two women talked deep into the night. They laughed and bonded, but Lila McAdoo, for the life of her, could not figure why such an attractive young woman would attach to her unusual son. It certainly wasn’t for the money.

  “He’s my only child, and he’s been different since the day he was born. He’s never moved out. His father worked for the circus. I considered his father’s impotence a challenge.”

  Emily shook her head. Lila lit another cigarette. She was younger than she looked, but not by much. The next morning she got up early to fix breakfast, waffles and grilled onions.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever had this before,” Emily said. She sat at the kitchen table with Austin.

  “Oh, honey, I just thought of something,” Lila spoke. “You said y’all were gonna hike that Grand Canyon, I got some great walkin’ shoes. Our feet are about the same size. They’re brand spankin’ new, never been worn before.”

  “Oh my God,” Emily yelled. “The fortune, Austin, the fortune. Remember? Shoes?”

  “How could I forget,” he said as he rubbed his impressive belly.

  Emily continued, “This is a sign. This is definitely a good sign.”

  Lafitte pulled himself into the kitchen by his front feet, dragging his ass along the linoleum floor like dogs sometimes do. His back legs were cocked forward, not touching the ground, and his rear end felt the coolness of the floor. All three of the people in the kitchen stopped and watched the dirty white medium-sized poodle.

  Austin broke the silence. “Is that a sign?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily answered. “I don’t think so.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Austin’s mother, cigarette in hand, stood at her front door next to Lafitte and waved goodbye to her son, his pretty girlfriend, two cats, and the little red car full of ham. She started to say something out loud to herself and then stopped. Lila McAdoo smiled and shook her head. For a moment, a tiny moment, she remembered what it was like to be young, and free, with so many places to go, but nowhere to be. She had never thought her son would ever know such a feeling, but now she stood and waved goodbye as he drove off down the street.

  It hadn’t been particularly easy raising Austin. He was smart and peculiar. His rolls of fat became walls, barriers, and sometimes excuses between himself and the rest of the world. Lila had to give Austin a swift kick in the ass occasionally to move him forward. She knew he needed a strong male influence. Hell, she could have used one herself, but for some reason, or a list of reasons, Lila McAdoo attracted extremely large men prone to long periods of laziness and lack of self-esteem. She promised herself upon the birth of her only child that she would not allow Austin P. McAdoo to become such a man.

  She had him awake ready for school every day, rain or shine. When kids made fun of Austin, she had him memorize comeback lines like, “Is that a pimple, or did your face explode?” and “Is that your I.Q. or your shoe size, because your feet don’t look that small?”

  He didn’t want to work at the Coca-Cola company that summer. All his other jobs had been inside in the cool air-conditioning. Lila virtually dragged the huge man-child out of his bed like a whale in the surf. She whipped, cussed, begged, and bribed, and wouldn’t you know it, Austin got fired for destroying the fancy hedges around the parking lot. She knew damned well he didn’t do it on purpose, mostly because Austin had a roaring bark, followed by no bite at all. Lila ended up giving Mr. Triola a cussin’ like he’d probably never heard, but when it was done she was left with the best-case scenario that her son had fallen asleep on a riding lawnmower in the middle of the morning and failed to awaken until he had obliterated a seven-foot hedgerow.

  He was a man now, at least legally. Austin was almost thirty years old, and although he never got a place of his own, or stayed with the same employer more than six months, he managed to explore the world outside his room. This was different though. Lila McAdoo felt a twinge of pride in her chest. Her boy was going out for his own grand and glorious adventure. He would have a journey, his own journey, and maybe one day Austin McAdoo would stand in his doorway and wave goodbye to his own child.

  Lafitte spotted a large dead toad in the roadway. He shot like a fl
ash to the spot and rolled with enthusiasm in the remains. When finished, Lafitte popped to his feet and pranced proudly back to the house. It might not have been the grandest house in the world, but by God, it was his territory, and he’d lay claim any way necessary.

  Austin said, “In the glove box you will find a map.” They drove along with the windows halfway down.

  Emily was tired from staying up so late the night before. She was accustomed to staying up to all hours, but she was also accustomed to sleeping late. Emily unfolded the map and stared at the page. It was a hodgepodge of colors and lines, dots and names. It might as well have been hieroglyphics.

  “I can’t read a map,” she said.

  Austin was unsure if he heard her correctly. “Excuse me?”

  “I can’t read a map,” Emily repeated.

  Austin explained, “It’s not a foreign language, it’s a map. Everyone over the age of five has the ability to read a map. Now, what route do you wish to take through Texas?”

  They were on the verge of their first real fight. Austin had little to no experience with the concept of a woman. He still believed arguments could be won, and right was right.

  Emily turned her head and looked Austin in the face. “I told you I can’t read a map, and I don’t wanna learn.”

  Austin gripped the steering wheel with his black driving gloves. “We call it ‘reading’ a map, but it’s not actually ‘reading.’ It’s more like ‘deciphering.’“

  Emily suddenly hurled the map out the open window. Austin got a quick glance as the paper hit the face of the wind, and then he took a look in the rearview mirror to see the open map flying through interstate traffic, over a small white sports car and then under the wheels of a big truck.

  They rode in silence. Austin was less angry than he was perplexed. Emily was less perplexed than she was tired. After a short while, she fell asleep, the wind from the half-open window swirling her light brown hair. Austin had never watched a beautiful woman sleep. He found himself looking at her freely, allowing himself to take in her knees, and then up to her thighs, at the very edge of the skirt. And her hands, small and thin, resting in her lap. Emily’s face was smooth and tan, with just the tiniest of white hairs on her lip, something Austin had never imagined before. And her ears, hair tucked behind, decorated with little light-blue earrings.

  It was an amazing thing. Austin struggled to keep his eyes on the road and his mind out of the gutter of lust. To be allowed to watch her sleep was more important than he had known, and then Emily began to snore lightly. It started as a peaceful breathing, in and out, a sign of deep rest, but it slowly built to something more. Emily reached full snore, loud like Curly on The Three Stooges, a sucking grunt, the inhale being the loudest, and then the exhale a flapping sound. It was hard for Austin to believe such a noise could come from this beautiful creature, but come it did, over and over, until he could stand it no more, and slammed on the brakes as part of an elaborate plan to avoid hitting a non-existent dog crossing the highway.

  Emily awoke in a fright, her body whiplashed forward. Austin released the brakes and exclaimed, “That was close.”

  “What happened?” Emily asked. Her heart raced.

  “We nearly hit a dog.”

  “Oh God, what kind of dog?” she asked.

  Austin’s plan lacked details. He said the first thing that came to his mind, “A basset hound, I think.”

  Emily looked back through the rearview mirror. “You hardly ever see basset hounds on the interstate.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Austin replied. And then the blaring sound of a siren filled the air.

  Austin looked in his rearview mirror. Beyond the cats he saw an Alabama highway patrol vehicle. The blue lights spun round and round on the top.

  Austin stuck his tree-trunk arm out the window and waved the trooper around. “Certainly,” he said, “he must be pursuing a fugitive up ahead.” He squinted into the distance for any sign of a speeding car weaving in and out of traffic, but the trooper didn’t go around, so Austin waved again.

  “I think he wants you to pull over,” Emily said.

  “Surely not.”

  “I think so,” she said.

  Austin eased the car into the emergency lane and slowed to a stop. As Emily had suspected, the state trooper stopped behind them. They watched as the tall, crew-cut man walked from his vehicle, wearing black boots and sunglasses just like the movies. Austin felt the flutter of anxiety in his belly.

  “May I see your license and registration, sir?”

  Austin’s license was in his wallet, and his wallet was in his back pants pocket. Without exiting the vehicle, removing his wallet would require great energy and mathematical precision.

  “What’s the problem, officer?”

  “What’s the problem? I’ll tell you the problem. You nearly caused a pile-up on the interstate. That’s the problem. You slammed on your brakes in heavy traffic.”

  Austin glanced at Emily. She came to his defense. “He was trying to keep from hitting a dog. We love animals. See?” she said, and pointed to the cats in the back window.

  The officer looked inside the car. His trained eye scanned for contraband and drug paraphernalia among the canned hams and other items in the backseat.

  “I didn’t see a dog, ma’am,” the trooper said.

  “Oh, yes,” Emily shot back, “a basset hound. We barely missed it.”

  The trooper seemed to size up the situation. “Sir, I’ll need you to step out of the vehicle and walk back with me to the patrol unit.”

  Austin opened the door and started the process. Cars whizzed by at what appeared to be incredible speeds. Finally Austin was out. He followed the trooper back to his car, removing his wallet and license on the way. The police officer sat in the driver’s seat as Austin maneuvered into the passenger side, leaving the door ajar to accommodate his right leg.

  The trooper looked at the license.

  “Mr. McAdoo, you caused a dangerous situation. Your actions were reckless. I have no choice but to issue a citation.”

  Austin calmly countered, “I must tell you, if necessary, I shall contact the American Humane Society. I’m not so sure you wish to tangle with those people, if you know what I mean?”

  The trooper once again seemed to take a moment to size up the situation. He slowly removed his sunglasses and looked Austin directly in the eyes. His face had become flushed and his nostrils dilated.

  “Is that a threat?”

  Austin swallowed. He looked at his car parked ahead and saw Glenn watching his every move. That’s when he heard a strange sound, almost like a tiny snort, a gurgling throatal sound. He turned to see the Alabama state trooper’s eyes roll up into his head, and then his chin drop to his chest. There was quiet in the car.

  Austin stared at the man for some time. He looked for any twitches of movement. Nothing. He bent down to look into the closed eyes. Nothing again.

  “Hello,” Austin whispered. No response.

  “Hello,” he said again. “Is this some type of trick?”

  The police radio blared something about a broken-down motorist at mile marker 27.

  Austin touched the trooper’s leg with his index finger, pressing slightly, then harder, and still harder, to induce a reaction of some sort. The man was dead. There was no reaction, no breathing sounds, no twitches of movement. Nothing.

  Finally, Austin McAdoo was left alone in a patrol car with a dead Alabama state trooper on the side of Interstate 20 outside of Tuscaloosa, Alabama. He pondered his options, and then panicked anyway. Austin got out of the car, closed the door gently, and hurried up to his little car as inconspicuously as possible.

  Emily asked, “What happened?”

  Austin took a long, deep breath, and said, “He just issued me a warning.”

  Emily smiled, “Well, that was nice of him.”

  Austin took another deep breath. “Yes, it was.”

  He started the car and merged into t
raffic. Approximately two miles down the road Austin remembered something horrible. His driver’s license. It was in the police car, somewhere. It must have fallen out of the man’s hand onto the floorboard. It must have dropped as the trooper lost consciousness and slipped into the abyss.

  Austin’s head spun. There could be an investigation. How would he explain his departure? Why hadn’t he rendered assistance or used the police radio? But the man was dead, a victim of natural causes, God’s will. Why wait around and risk being issued a reckless driving ticket, or cause delay to the journey, or get detained as a material witness, and wait for some idiot to finish the autopsy?

  There was a road sign. “Highway 82 - Columbus.” He took the exit.

  Emily asked, “Do we need gas?”

  “No,” Austin said. “I just thought, if we are traveling the country, why not take the back highways? Interstates are the same wherever you go, but small highways criss-cross through small towns, farms. We should enjoy the flavor of America.”

  Emily smiled again. “That’s a good idea.”

  The next sign said, “Columbus - 44 miles.”

  Austin felt sweat on his brow, and his horse-sized heart beat wildly within his chest. They should be discovering the dead man about now, he thought. Had the officer called in the license plate before they sat in the car together? And then Austin thought to himself, how strange it is that the man died when and where he died, but then again, with more than six billion people on the planet, and very few of us deciding when and where to die, perhaps it’s more strange we don’t see someone die around us each and every day.

  “Look,” Emily yelled, pointing to a sign up ahead.

  The sign was white, with a huge rust-colored chicken painted in the middle. At the bottom it said, “SEE THE WORLD’S LARGEST CHICKEN— 2 MILES WEST OF REFORM, ALABAMA—YOU WON’T BELIEVE YOUR FREAKIN’ EYES.”