West of You

by Christina Metcalf

  So far this road trip had been a bust. No one understood my anger at being left because they were convinced M would never do this to herself. I felt like a delusional, home-wrecker, from the wrong side of the tracks, who had a pointless job, and kids who tolerated me at best. I was adrift and while Walsey was offering me a place to moor my boat, I knew how that would end and I wasn’t sure it was really worth it.

  I figured it was about time to call Mike and listen to his news. My life, after all, couldn’t get any more pathetic. Might as well do all my bottom hitting at once and get it out of the way. And I was only 2,636 miles from Cape Disappointment.

  I turned to the baggie on my passenger seat.

  “M, put your seatbelt on. We’ve got a long drive and we’re not stopping at any more friends’ houses. Hotels all the way from here on out...after we go see Luke, of course.”

  ✽✽✽

  #281, no wait. #381?

  She’ll never experience that empty feeling of an ex letting you down. She’ll never drive away alone from the scene of the heartbreak. She’ll never realize she can’t go back, no matter how much her lack of pride wants her to in order to feel his mouth on her just one last time.

  ✽✽✽

  How many nevers was that?

  In a Big Country everyday is like sunday

  On our drive across Mississippi, Cash lingered on my mind. Or more the memory of his mouth, really. And the fact that I would never feel it against me again. Not that I wanted to exactly. I mean his mouth specifically. But I wondered if I would ever feel anyone’s mouth against mine. Not a stranger’s mouth like the mancub from the nostalgia shop. You could have a stranger’s mouth pressed against you any time you wanted if you didn’t mind going to a bar just before last call.

  No, I mean the kind of mouth that has mapped your body time and time again but has yet to grow bored with it. The one that begs to taste you every night, the kind you don’t pretend to be asleep for. I wondered if I would ever feel that again. I doubted it.

  How would I meet someone? School, for me, is over. That’s the easiest way. My friends are all married or practically so. I don’t go to bars. I work at home sculpting. When I sell pieces it’s online or at a studio run by a gay man. Maddie is too old for me to drive her places and even if there was a nice single dad at a sporting event or a school activity, he’s more likely to be attracted to her than to me.

  Henry still needs transportation but any man who would be brave enough to flirt in front of a preteen son, was sure to get dirty looks and crude comments. Not to mention plenty of “eww grosses.”

  There aren’t many possibilities for love when you’re on the downhill slide of life. Unless you’re a man. Because as long as there are families breaking up, you can find some young girl out there with a daddy complex willing to let you help her through it. Why aren’t there any boys with a mommy complex? The very thought of that sounded weird. I decided to take my bitter pills all at the same time and call Mike.

  But even if I could find love, even if this Walsey thing worked out, maybe I was just too old. I like to get up late. I don’t want anyone talking to me in the morning until I have my first bottle of Mountain Dew or Pepsi. I like to sit out on my back deck and look at my postage stamp-sized yard and curse myself for not having mowed the three strips of grass in my yard. I don’t always wash the dishes in my sink the first day they arrive and sometimes not even the second day. I like to fool myself and mask my laziness by soaking them, sometimes until they stink. A man would never want a woman who lived that way.

  “Hey, mom.”

  “Maddie, hey honey. I thought I called dad.”

  “You did. He left his phone here by accident.”

  “Oh. Well, how are you?”

  “Fine. Travis and I are going out tonight.”

  “Good for you. What about Marcus?”

  “Marcus is no longer in the picture. He wanted to have sex. Little worm.”

  “Maddie, I love you.”

  I was proud of my daughter for not being afraid to decline an offer she wasn’t interested in.

  “What? No comment about the sex?”

  “No, honey. I think it’s wonderful you told him no.”

  “No, I didn’t tell him no. I totally did it. I’m saying he had a little worm.”

  I could almost hear M’s guffaw as my mouth went dry. My daughter a slut and penis expert at 17.

  “Mom...mom...totally kidding. Marcus just seemed kinda dumb. I just wasn’t that into him but God that was too funny. I totally wish we were on Facetime. Holy shit. I bet I could’ve posted your reaction on Insta and it woulda gone viral. Classic.”

  “Glad you think my having a heart attack is funny.”

  “You’re not having a heart attack mom...a panic attack, maybe.”

  ”Very funny. There’s a reason I don’t call your phone, ya know.”

  “Totally. Where ya headed?”

  “Crossing over into Texas.”

  “Wow, thought you’d be closer than that by now.”

  “I’ve taken the long way.”

  “Clearly. I’ll tell dad you called. Everything okay mama?”

  She hadn’t called me that in a decade.

  “Sure honey. Just tired.”

  I wasn’t tired. Not of driving. I was tired of being old.

  “Take care, mama.”

  “You too, baby. Love you. Have a good time tonight.”

  “I always do.”

  I clicked off the phone and stared at the highway ahead of me.

  “I always thought our first road trip post college would be more fun.” I said as if she can hear me.

  “Are you talking to me now? Thought you said you’d never talk to me again if I ever offed myself.”

  I could almost hear M say to me. At least I hadn’t forgotten her voice yet.

  “I don’t want to but how can I never talk to my bestie again?”

  The road suddenly filled with water or maybe those were just my eyes. I knew she wasn’t there but I needed someone and she had always been that person.

  And it was life-ending hot in Texas.

  “Why did you off yourself? How could you?”

  “We’re not talking about that.”

  It wasn’t that M didn’t know how she killed herself or that M didn’t want to tell me. It’s simply that my brain had no idea and so this M-like creation of my imagination couldn’t hold up that part of the conversation, I guess. I was still sane enough to know this.

  “Maybe I had a bad day.” she said stretching her arm out the window and watching it fly against the wind, lifting up, then diving back down again.

  “I thought we weren’t talking about this.” I remind her/me.

  “I’m just tryin’ to help you, kid. You seem so bothered by the whole thing.”

  She was suddenly wearing Audrey Hepburn-style sunglasses and tossing her golden curls back over the head rest.

  “The whole thing? You’re dead for chrissakes! You didn’t just stop being my friend. You stopped being altogether.”

  “Clearly not. I’m here.”

  “But you’re not. I’m probably asleep about to plow into an 18-wheeler.”

  “Nope, not yet. You have lots of death and abandonment issues, ever notice that? You always go straight to death. Probably your mom’s fault don’t you think?”

  “See? That’s how I know you’re me. You wouldn’t be that much of an ass over my death issues. Then again, you did off yourself.”

  “Did I?”

  “Did you what?” I asked.

  “Off myself?” she pretended to file her nails.

  “You know you did even though you knew I had death issues.”

  “Did I?”

  “For as long as you have known me. You just said so.” I reminded the heat-induced hallucination of M.

  “I thought you had abandonment issues.”

  “What do you think death is?”

  “You’re going to say I abandoned you like y
our mom but I didn’t. This may come as a surprise but it’s not about you or my family.”

  “Yeah, not our fault. Just our problem.”

  “Do they still make Big Macs?”

  “How long do you think you’ve been gone? Of course they do.”

  “Long enough for you to turn into a self-centered slut. Just kidding. Can we stop at McDonalds? They still sell Coke not Pepsi, right? I could sure use a Mountain Dew.”

  “Shut up Sara.” I said to my M-like hologram. “M would never say that.”

  “Right. Can we stop for a kombucha?”

  “I don’t think they sell those in this part of Texas.”

  “We’’ stop at the next town M demands that I let her out.

  “I can’t see Luke right now. I’ll catch you after.”

  I did as I was told but she was gone before I made the stop. I was feeling a bit like Holden Caulfield meets Jack Kerouac. It was like all of my high school summer reading requirements were catching up to me in some sort of disconcerting mental break. I looked at the real M. The grayer, less fleshy version. She wasn’t nearly as fun.

  Today’s a day of mine that will tear us apart

  There’s something about driving through Hill Country in September in a 2001 Toyota Corolla that lost functioning air conditioning 6,000 miles ago that makes one want to off oneself. I’m not sure why I thought driving through oppressive heat in a car that hasn’t had air conditioning since my daughter still enjoyed spending time with me would be a good thing.

  The sweat had long ceased dripping down my face. I don’t think I had any liquids left in my body. I looked like that long-dead armadillo on the side of the road in front of the mailbox to Lucky Ranch. There’s a ton of irony there...and a Texas flag. It’s unbelievable how many ranches fly this one-starred symbol of statehood. I kept glancing at baggie M, sure she would combust at any moment.

  I pulled into Hyram, Texas population 10,883. It’s known for two things: being uncomfortably close to Fort Bliss and being home to the state 2A champions in high school football twelve years ago. Those are big stakes in Texas from what Luke would tell me shortly, although not as big as 3A, 4A, 5A, or 6A logic would suggest. Hyram also ranks first in railroad car collisions but that’s not on the glossy chamber of commerce materials.

  ✽✽✽

  # #$%: She’ll never smile at a high school football player only to realize she’s old enough to have given birth to him and his English teacher.

  #556 (I’m just making up numbers now) After said smile, she will never have to hear him call her ma’am.

  ✽✽✽

  I decided to put off meeting with Luke one more day and I coasted on fumes into the Sandman Inn parking lot. I selected it by the faded sign that looked like it might be the type of neon that buzzed and flickered in many horror movies. The sandman himself looked like he was carrying around a vat of acid and not sweet dreams. I guessed we’d just have to see.

  I debated whether I should leave M in the car or bring her in but I figured there’s a good chance I would leave her there the following morning if I brought her in. Plus, she wouldn’t get too hot in the car and I doubted anyone would steal her. It’s not like she looks green and leafy. Maybe if she were whiter I’d have something to worry about.

  I inquired about a room with a front desk clerk who didn’t seem to believe my name was Sara. He eyed me suspiciously and asked if I was alone. I wasn’t sure how to answer a question like that so I cleared my throat in a non-committal way that seemed to make him more suspicious. I wondered if he really wanted business or perhaps he feared he’d have one less room to rent by the hour. Either way, he reluctantly handed over the key.

  It’s still the summer of love in my room according to the decor and it fittingly looked out onto the parking lot of a dive bar. I sat on the air conditioner and watched people filing in for the night. It’s still early so I imagined some shift somewhere just let out.

  What’s it like to live in Hyram? To have spent your whole life here. To look around your kindergarten class and know that your first and second husband are probably sitting next to you at mat time.

  A woman who looked a lot like Barbara Bush from behind staggered into the front bumper of an old Caddy. But when she turned around, I assure you it was not the former first lady. In fact, it might not have even been a lady except for I was pretty certain that dudes dressing up as women in the Lonestar state would have a tough time of it.

  I waited as she righted herself. She dug around her gold lamé purse as if she lost her youth in it somewhere. I should have her look for mine while she’s at it. I expect her to pull out keys and promptly drop them on the ground but it’s her cigarettes she wrestles out of her purse with a triumphant smirk.

  She parked her behind on the front fender of the Caddy. I found myself saying I hoped it was hers and then changed my mind. For the excitement of the evening, I hoped it wasn’t. Her choice of seats also saved me from the moral dilemma of whether I should call the cops on her for being too drunk to drive. I’ve never been a big fan of rescuing people from themselves.

  It was strange I hadn’t heard from Mike. Maybe he too had given up on me. Ever since Henry told me about the ring, I’ve been trying out the idea that I am no longer of any importance to him. When we were first divorced, I was still the mother of his kids and he needed me for that role. Soon, I will simply be his “first” wife, the marriage that didn’t work out. The one he learned from but no longer felt any obligation to or desire toward. If you’re wondering what that feels like, it feels like becoming a crone in a society that values fertility. I wished I could bum a cigarette off of Barbara Bush.

  ✽✽✽

  #582 she’ll never look into the mirror, happy with what she sees, only to turn half an inch and be disgusted by the wrinkle, gray hair, or wiry black hair she sees in some location it shouldn’t be.

  #1283 she will never feel alone again. She likely won’t feel anything at all. I wished that for me too.

  ✽✽✽

  I wanted to talk to someone but putting forth the effort to engage them in conversation seemed like too much work. One-sided pleasure from conversation was all I wanted. To know I’m not alone and maybe I’m loved or desired in some way as a person, whether it be someone I knew or didn’t. But I didn’t feel up to reciprocating. I guess I just wanted some emotional masturbation. If only there was a dildo that did that.

  I wanna be just like honey

  I had left M in the car but had brought her diary. She had decoupaged the outside of it with little bits of her life: a grocery receipt, a fair ticket, a picture of a happy family that looked like it had been pulled out of a frame you’d buy at a drugstore. Why did these things matter to her? They looked like a compilation someone had constructed of a life that didn’t exist, like the backdrop in a movie, charming at first glance but shattered by the realization that none of these things actually happened.

  I opened the diary to the last page and looked at the song lyrics again. Was Total Eclipse a love song or a cry for help? I had always assumed it was about desperately wanting someone. Did she just love this song or was this a clue to the reason behind her actions later that day?

  I paged backwards, past the cartoon she had drawn of me. I thought about ripping it out but I imagined people would think I was hiding something, especially since I was the only one who was convinced she had done this on purpose.

  Why was everyone so sure I was wrong? If she had been walking on the tracks, you could argue she was disoriented but she drove along them and I wasn’t even sure how one would do that. Were railroad tracks wide enough?

  “Do you mind getting me out of the car? It’s really not very polite of you to leave me in there. This is Texas. The baggie could melt you know.” M sat on my bed dragging on a cigarette that although I could see clearly, it gave off no smell of smoke.

  I reached out to her hoping for a drag and she shook her head. Friends always share cigarettes.

  “I�
�m not getting you out of the car because I don’t want to leave you here.”

  “So write a reminder on your hand or set one in your phone. You’re going to my place tomorrow anyway aren’t you? You could always come back if you left me behind.”

  Even though this M was clearly a figment of my imagination, she seemed to have all the answers I lacked.

  “Did your tires pop?”

  “When?” she asked looking at her flame red nails.

  “When you were driving on the tracks planning to off yourself.”

  “Did I?”

  “Did you what?”

  “Plan to off myself? Has this been established?”

  “By me.”

  “But not by anyone else?”

  “What are you saying M? You drove down the tracks a mile in the wrong direction. You knew those trains and their schedule.”

  “What if I was just feeling bored? What if I wanted a thrill? What if my tires popped after I pulled onto the tracks and was driving? What if my fun turned into a nightmare and the last thing on my mind was how I just killed our dog? Then what?”

  She looked at me straight lipped, a challenge to a closed mind.

  “I know you did it on purpose.”

  “Such a lonely conviction.”

  We were both right.

  I flipped through her diary ignoring her.

  “It’s not in there. If I did it on purpose and if I had a reason.”

  “I’m not listening to you. You’re not you. You’re me.”

  I looked out the window for Barbara Bush. She and the caddie were gone. I silently hoped someone had come out of the bar to drive her home. Meaningless sex seemed better than falling down drunk driving.

  I flipped to a page with a blue circle slashed by a big red x.

  “My new logo. Do you like it?” she now stood over my shoulder.