“So when are you coming home?” Her voice sounds a bit more anxious than before. Arthur leans forward towards his arm, straddling the top of the phone in the booth. His brow glistens from the non-existent breeze in this self-made cave of glass. He pulls the booth door close even though no one else is there to listen, and even though New Mexico’s temperature is still in the triple digits. He can think better this way.
Arthur sighs a reply, “I don’t know, ma.” I guess when my feet get tired. He thinks he hears a sniff on the other end. His words probably don’t make sense, although they were most likely expected. This is the first phone call home he has made in over two weeks.
“Well, don’t worry about anything here. The kids are doing just fine. They’ve taken on caring for the chickens and bossing old Red when he tries to lick them to death or knocks them over with his tail. You know how he gets around them. One thing is for sure, they have plenty of eyes and ears looking after them.” Her voice grows stronger with every word, and somehow the worry seems to ease in him, too.
Arthur wipes his brow, clears his throat, and swallows hard. Flashes of black clothes, solemn organ music not quite right, with the smiling, framed portrait facing the pews next to the large, colorful bouquet of flowers, force themselves through his mind like black-and-white images from an old-time movie scream in his head, replaying themselves over and over again.
“You know, nineteen years of marriage wasn’t a lifetime,” he blankly states.
Her voice replies, “I know it, I just know.”
“Thanks, ma,” he muscles out the words and finally wipes his brow.
“We’ll see you when we see you,” she finally says.
Arthur slowly pulls the black phone away from his head, as if analyzing its purpose, form, and structure, before gently resting it on the silver receiver and watching the phone’s weight pull it down into place, and hears the quarter drop.
He looks at his old, tried-and-true brown truck. It’ll take him anywhere, back home to his hollow house, where echoes of her voice taunt him in his sleep, or?
He slips into the seat of his truck, feels the fabric as he glides his hand across it. They hold memories of two young lovers discovering each other for the first time. He laughs, recalling his awkward hands exploring her. He smiles at the happy memory and lets himself go there.
But, soon, the heat and shimmering asphalt call him to make a choice. Turn left and drive home into the sunset, or turn right and go deeper into the desert. His job will take him back, and school will start again in just a few weeks.
He sighs anxiously before noticing the flicker of a light. On, off, on, on, on, off seems to be trying a hand at Morse Code. “Vacancy”, it says, before dimming once again. Right next to it is a restaurant called “Ma’s House.” He smiles, puts the car in drive, and crosses the intersection straight ahead.
To his left, the sun is just beginning to spread across the skyline, its light turning warm orange. He recognizes this is the first time he’s seen color since she left him. No, was taken from him.
The warm glow burns bright like fire, electric in its way, spreading closer and closer to him as if on cue.
He opens the door to “Ma’s House,” notices the dining area up front and the bar at the back of the restaurant, and heads to the back. The server asks what he’ll have, and he says, “A cold one on tap, surprise me.” It’s not that he needed a drink or anything like that. This drive did more for his soul than any amount of beer could ever do. It’s just that he wants to see how well he could do at, you know, doing normal talk and all.
“You sure do get some mighty pretty sunsets around here,” he says, giving “normal talk” a try while wiping his dark, damp hair from his face, blue eyes looking hopeful.
The bartender doesn’t miss a beat, “You aren’t from around here, are ya?” He wipes the bottom of his glass of ice-cold beer before handing it his way.
“Nope.” Arthur now turns his attention to the beer.
The bartender goes on to say, “Well, around here we call this about 7 pm.” He smiles and tips his hat in a greeting.
Arthur smiles awkwardly, thinking in baseball terms that was a foul ball, not exactly a strike. He gives it another shot, “Well, other than your sent-from-heaven sunsets, what else draws people here?”
The bartender pauses for more than a second while reaching for a shot glass, “Well, wonder, I guess. Sometimes it’s just recreation or just miles on a map, but a lot of ’em are just looking.”
Arthur’s attention is piqued. “Looking? Looking for what?”
“Well, from what I gather, and mind you, I don’t know ‘em all, I think it’s them looking for a reason. Like, whether there’s more than there seems. Some come from cities and have never heard the sound of a grasshopper,” he laughs before reaching for the bottle of tequila.
Arthur watches the bartender pour a shot of tequila and hand it to a lady sitting with a man at the other end of the bar, who appears to be on a first or second date, given their nervous laughter.
The bartender returns and asks, “You gonna drink that beer, or just look at it?” Arthur remembers he’s at a bar, smiles, and takes his first sip. Almost a strike. He begins to worry now. “Nah, you’re ok,” the bartender shrugs, “You didn’t come here for a beer. You’re a lookn’ too, I figure.”
“I don’t know about that,” Arthur plays cool.
“No, you got that faraway look in your eyes. You know you ain’t quite here or there. Wherever there is.” The bartender motions with his hand.
“I suppose you’re right,” Arthur replies, taking another sip of beer. The bartender looks on. The bar is slow, as is normal for a Tuesday. The night would drag on into eternity if it weren’t for road-thirsty travelers.
“You can’t run forever,” Arthur tries to sound smart.
“You ain’t running. You’re just plain lost, son.” The bartender leans in closer to Arthur. Arthur’s eyes raise into a question mark.
Lost?
“But you’re almost found too,” he says reassuringly.
Whew, got a piece of that fastball and safe on first!
Arthur takes a long sip of beer, noticing for the first time that he tastes hops and the fizz dancing in his mouth. He takes a second taste and sighs deeply, notices the jukebox playing old country, the couple now laughing at a joke she just told him, a child’s voice in the dining area asking for more fries, “please.”
Arthur smiles and realizes he can hear again for the first time.
