Florida Key

by Neil Watson

  But unfortunately for Yushi, Megan was merely being her natural friendly, warm and giving self, showing the youth-hostel guest the hospitality she’d be offering to all her guests, male or female, young or old, single or in a group. In fact, the truth was that she couldn’t wait for her boyfriend to return from work so that she could really get into the party spirit, and properly dance the night away until the early hours. In fact, she was beginning to find Yushi a bit, well, clingy, and she tried to encourage him to chat with some of her neighbours so that she could go off, smoke a few cigarettes and socialise—without her hostel guest constantly at her side.

  Not wishing to appear rude, Megan continued to engage in polite conversation with Yushi, who in turn continued to read the signs wrongly. If she had known what was going on in Yushi’s head, she would have immediately put him straight, but unfortunately, as she’d never been very aware of her effect on the opposite sex—apart from when her boyfriend flattered her—she just carried on regardless.

  Making an excuse about needing to go to the bathroom, the beautiful Megan disappeared inside the hostel, leaving Yushi to chat to some of the other party guests. While he was engaged in conversation, Megan’s boyfriend arrived and went inside to find her. When Yushi later looked across the way, he glimpsed the couple cuddling and kissing on the building’s porch like the happy young lovers that they were. Feeling what seemed to him like a giant punch to the guts, he was devastated. All of a sudden, his good mood changed to one of bitterness and depression. How could she do this to him? he thought. They had been getting on so well together, and he’d been convinced that this night was going to be a very special one indeed. Feeling utterly dejected, he sorrowfully removed himself from the party and decided he should go to bed. Trying to avoid eye contact with Megan so that she wouldn’t detect his sadness, he walked past her and her boyfriend and into the hostel, just managing to utter the word “goodnight” from the side of his mouth. Despite Yushi’s age, he was still an unworldly individual when it came to relationships with girls.

  Feeling happy that this somewhat immature hostel guest wouldn’t be demanding any further small-talk from her, Megan tugged at her boyfriend’s arm to get him to join her in dancing into the small hours. Her infectious smile and love of life made it impossible, despite his two left feet, for her boyfriend to refuse.

  If Yushi hadn’t gone to bed so early, he would have been reacquainted with Police Officer Booth when the patrolman decided to drive miles out of his way, and on his own time, in order to return the small handlebar radio to its owner, after he had discovered it to be still in the patrol car. It wasn’t until the following morning that Yushi came down to breakfast and Megan informed him of the policeman’s kind action: “Beyond the call of duty,” remarked Megan, and Yushi nodded.

  Awkwardly embarrassed at even thinking that Megan might have had affectionate feelings for him, Yushi quickly gathered his things together, re-attached the radio to the bike, loaded his panniers and set off on his way, but not before politely thanking Megan for her kind hospitality and invitation to the street party. He realised it wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t fancied him—it was his fault for being a frustrated idiot. There was no reason to part on anything other than good terms. As he weaved his way determinedly through the morning Cincinnati rush-hour for at least 50 minutes until reaching the outskirts of town, he vowed to forget about girls for a while and concentrate on his cycling.

  As he rode along, he looked up at the cloudy sky. With his head also cloudy, Yushi forgot, for the moment at least, all thoughts about his ambition of meeting someone with whom the prospect of losing his virginity might become a reality. Heavy-hearted, he instead concentrated once more on his beloved grandfather’s ‘Thousand Mile’ theory, as he set off to reach that day’s first 30 miles.

  CHAPTER 7

  (SATURDAY, 11TH APRIL, 1981)

  Sandy’s Invitation

  O n the same morning that Yushi was physically distancing himself from Cincinnati and his unsuccessful liaison with Megan, Sandy was also distancing herself metaphorically from her ill-fated carnal affair with Marc Ozborn. When she awoke in the early dawn hours and looked out of the window to see the sun rising above the cornfields in the distance, she decided she had to tell Ozborn, in no uncertain terms, to leave.

  She woke him roughly and informed him that she’d be going off soon, and that she’d appreciate it if he would leave her house after he’d finished the coffee and the doughnuts she’d thoughtfully bought at Kmart especially for him the previous day. She was polite but firm, and as Ozborn wasn’t yet fully wide awake, he simply rubbed his eyes, grunted and nodded his head. Getting out of bed and stuffing two doughnuts in his mouth, leaving a trail of icing sugar across his stubbled chin and upon the kitchen floor, his head throbbed, and he was in no mood to protest or argue.

  Sandy had all but given up on Ozborn, which was a shame as far as she was concerned, for she still felt an attraction for his rugged physique, but she wasn’t prepared to tolerate any more of his failings. “Let go and move on” was her philosophy, even though she couldn’t deny being more than a little wistful that her thrill-seeking hadn’t been fulfilled. However, now that she’d made her decision, she’d simply have to wait until the next man caught her eye down at The Old Parlor Tavern. Unbeknown to her that morning, it would turn out that she wouldn’t need to go anywhere near the place before she would meet him.

  While Ozborn used her bathroom facilities, Sandy busied herself with preparing for her day ahead, which was to consist of a few hours at work in the afternoon and, before that, a shopping trip combined with a lunch-time meet-up with Cynthia Morton, an old school friend, near Cincinnati. When she was ready to leave the house, she beckoned Ozborn to the front door and held it open for him. He made a few gruff noises, but accepting his fate, he reluctantly walked out and, after a feeble attempt at a kiss on Sandy’s lips that she pulled away from, he climbed into his pickup, turned the ignition key and roared away to a destination unknown. Sandy sighed with disappointment; she still hadn’t lost that craving for the roughness of his attractive body and handsome features.

  For Ozborn, another day of drifting, drinking in bars, maybe smoking a few joints, lay ahead. Aiming his vehicle in any direction, none in particular, he hit the gas, leaned across to grab his whisky bottle from the ledge, and bent down out of sight to take a swig as he veered across the lane. Lucky for him there was no oncoming traffic. Although he had no idea where he was headed, he felt sure he’d be back sometime soon—he still fancied the ass off Sandy and was determined to have his way with her next time.

  Sandy’s meeting with Cynthia went well. They enjoyed lunch at China Palace—a fairly new diner specialising in Asian cuisine just about 80 miles away. After they gorged themselves on a feast of mouth-watering sweet and sour chicken and spring rolls, discussing family, work and the latest fashion in boots, it was time for Sandy to head off back to the dental practice. She mustn’t be late–Mr. Edgar had booked in an appointment with Chase Kimball, a patient of many years standing, for the fitting of a new porcelain crown. Being a lawyer of long-standing, Mr. Kimball wasn’t short of a few dollars, and Mr. Edgar wanted to justify his high charges by making his client feel very special, so Sandy’s full attention was required.

  After hugging her friend farewell, and promising to catch up again “real soon”, Sandy pointed her car back towards Paris, Illinois. As she drove along the long, straight and flat road that stretched miles ahead, her thoughts drifted from her rendezvous with Cynthia and returned to the rendezvous that never actually got properly underway with Ozborn. As she tapped her hands on the steering wheel in sync with the beat emanating from the car radio, she hardly noticed the weather taking a turn for the worse, but sure enough, after a few miles, the dark clouds began offloading their contents.

  Within seconds, huge raindrops danced in the air, feet from the ground, as they splashed heavily against the road surface. Headlights of cars and trucks reflected on th
e road surface as their wheels sent torrents of spray upwards. Up ahead, she could see what seemed like a black object, moving slowly forward. As her own vehicle approached, the object became more clearly defined, and it became apparent that the object was actually a person riding a bicycle, struggling against the elements that were most certainly not being too kind to him or her.

  She slowed down and pulled in front of the rider, and as she did so she pressed the button to lower her window, so that when the cyclist caught up alongside her, she’d be able to engage in conversation without getting too wet herself.

  “Hey there, can I give you and your bike a ride?” Sandy shouted above the noise of the rain, twisting her head around in order to indicate the huge space in the rear of her Volvo. “You must be soaked to the skin.”

  Yushi was indeed already wet through, and was very grateful for the kind offer from this complete stranger. He figured it must be something to do with his national flags flying on his bike that extracted a certain kindness from many people’s characters. And this lady did appear pretty kind, and kind of pretty too. He chuckled under his breath at the way his mind worked, and accepted the lift with gratitude. “That’s very good of you, and thank you for stopping,” he said as he got off his bike and began detaching the quick-release wheel so that it would fit more easily in the woman’s car.

  Once the bike was in the back, Yushi got in the passenger seat and held out his hand to shake the woman’s. “I’m Yushi. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Sandy was naturally curious to discover more about her passenger. “So, what’s a guy like you doing on a cycle with two national flags flying in the wind behind you? Where are you headed? Where did you set off from?”

  Normal pleasantries followed, with exchanges back and forth and explanations about his journey—very similar to his banter the previous night with patrolman Booth, Megan, and the other attendees of the Cincinnati street party. The conversation flowed quite naturally, and Yushi found himself enjoying their chat and talking about his journey. But as the rain persisted, he couldn’t help feeling a slight pang of guilt that he wasn’t actually cycling. At this rate, he could probably hitch across the whole United States by car–but that wasn’t quite his objective, was it? After all, anyone could do that.

  So, as they drove along and the weather cleared as quickly as it had worsened, Yushi asked if he could be dropped off at the next convenient stopping place, so that he could continue under his own pedal power.

  “It looks like the weather’s clearing up now. I guess I should get out and continue by bike,” he said.

  Obligingly, Sandy pulled over, but also slightly reluctantly. She admitted to herself that she found this young lad to be intriguingly attractive. Clearly, he was an interesting character—it wasn’t every day she met someone cycling the breadth of the country solo.

  “That’s a shame, Yushi. I was really interested in hearing more about your story. But I guess a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” she grinned as she turned towards him and gave him an endearing smile.

  There was also something else about him, she thought. He was fit, toned and muscular, and his dark, straight hair blended perfectly with the smooth skin on his face. Although his accent was American through and through, he had an Asian look about him that she found to be quite, well, beautiful, and she didn’t want this to be the last time she saw him. She figured out that his route would take him near her home town. “How about I give you my address in Paris, Yushi? And then when you reach Marshall, you’d only need to make a small detour to the right, and you can call by,” she volunteered. “I’ve always got plenty of food in the refrigerator, and if you need a bed for the night, that would save you the cost of a motel room.”

  Pleasantly surprised by this stranger’s generous invitation, Yushi was very happy with Sandy’s offer, and they said their goodbyes at the roadside. He estimated his arrival time based on his average 10 miles an hour speed. “That’s wonderful, thank you, and I’d love to take you up on it, please. I reckon I’ll probably be arriving by early afternoon tomorrow. Would that suit you?” he asked with enthusiasm. He was thrilled that he’d get another chance to meet his saviour from the deluge, although he reprimanded himself for thinking about anything other than getting a free bed for the night.

  The timing of Yushi’s expected arrival suited Sandy too, as she was only due for a morning shift at the dentist that day. “That’s perfect,” she said, as she scribbled her address on a small sheet of notepaper and handed it to him. “I’ll be home from work by two in the afternoon tomorrow, so come by any time after that. It’ll be nice to see you again.”

  As she drove off, watching Yushi in her rear-view mirror as his strong legs began to power him along the road with ease, she wondered whether he’d ever seen a waterbed like hers before. She also wondered how experienced, or otherwise, he was in the bedroom, judging by the innocent look he had about him. This could be kind of interesting, she thought to herself. All the previous night’s frustration with Marc Ozborn began to disappear into the distance.

  CHAPTER 8

  (SUNDAY, 12TH APRIL, 1981)

  Yushi’s Love Lesson

  T he previous evening, Yushi had checked into the Sunlight Roadside Motel. It was by now becoming routine for him to either phone ahead to a youth hostel and enquire if they had a vacancy, or alternatively just stop at a small town when he was feeling tired, usually by around five o’clock, and call in at whichever hotel or motel he came across. He’d firstly check the price—usually there would be a neon sign outside, but sometimes not. If it were under $20, he would take the room without hesitation. If it were over that sum, he’d continue to another establishment and try there.

  For last night’s accommodation, he didn’t need to look any further than his first destination in town, and after he paid his $18 to the proprietor he pushed his bike into his room, got changed out of his cycling gear, and then went off in search of a burger-and-fries eatery, preferably take-out, so that he could consume his meal in his room while resting up his weary legs on the bed, watching an old episode of Happy Days, followed by Star Trek. He could never get enough of Lieutenant Uhura.

  He soon found a Wendy’s Old Fashioned Hamburgers restaurant on the next block, and a few minutes later was tucking into his meal back at his room. After that, he spread his AAA map on the bed in order to plan his route for the following day, and where exactly he’d be turning off the main road in Marshall for his detour up to Sandy’s place in Paris. He was pleased with himself that his estimation of arriving there by around 3.00p.m. should be easily achievable, given his progress earlier that day. Yushi took a shower, then settled back on the bed to watch still more re-runs of Arthur ‘Fonzie’ Fonzarelli’s antics, followed by more of James T. Kirk and the Starship crew, until drifting towards sleep, wondering how he’d be getting along with his hostess the next evening.

  Was it his imagination, or did he detect a certain electricity between her and him? He liked the idea that perhaps there was, but after feeling so deflated by reading the signals wrongly with Megan last night, he decided not to get his hopes too high this time. How many more good opportunities would he get to get laid on this trip? he thought. He was becoming almost desperate to, in his own words, become a ‘real man’.

  That morning he awoke early, at 6.17a.m. to be precise, according to the small digital clock-radio at his bedside, and after getting out of bed at 7.00a.m. he showered again–after all, he was paying $18 for all the hot water he wanted, inclusive with the room-rate, so why not? Feeling fresh and ready for the day ahead, by eight o’clock he had wheeled his bike outside, returned the room key to the motel office, and then set off on his way out of town and on to the next, where he’d stop for some breakfast. Maybe some waffles and syrup—and definitely much coffee.

  What his examination of the map the previous evening hadn’t made obvious was the almost sudden change of land contour from relative flatness to rolling hills and, to make matters worse, the
light breeze had become much stronger and was blowing completely against him. And so, his estimation of progress soon became way out, and by the time he reached the next town, Yushi’s body was already feeling the strain. By the time he found a diner, he was for sure in need of that breakfast and a welcome sit-down. After quickly padlocking his bike against a down-pipe outside of the café, he staggered toward the entrance, wobbly-legged from the exertion of the previous couple of hours, turning his head round to confirm all was safe and secure with the bike.

  Once inside the building, he was grateful to be ushered by the waitress to a space at the busy counter, where almost instantaneously a mug of hot coffee was placed in front of him. For Yushi, it hadn’t come a moment too soon. As he took his first gulp, he relaxed into the backrest of his cushioned stool and contemplated whether he did want only a waffle, or whether he should treat himself to a full American breakfast instead—including waffles piled high.

  The waitress at the counter leaned across to take his order. The young cyclist failed to take notice of the unshaven man, clearly inebriated even at this early hour of the day, as he lurched between the tables on his way to the exit. If he had paid attention to him, he would have clearly seen that the man was not in a good mood. Marc Ozborn was still feeling pretty angry for having been turfed out by Sandy at some ungodly hour of the morning before he’d had the chance to yet shake off his throbbing headache developed the night before. If Yushi had been sitting any closer to the glass-fronted door, he would have also seen the man walk out into the morning sunshine, put on his shades and walk towards his pickup truck, past the bicycle that was leant against the building’s drainpipe.