35
I’m running a comb through my hair, the blond likely to fade and go darker as winter approaches. I’m wearing a collared, black, short-sleeved shirt, blue jeans and black leather belt. Cleanly shaved and flossing. Flossing! Rare are moments this clean and committed, but tonight I will be taking Rose out and tonight I must be shining. I’m eyeing my jawline and cheekbones. I’ve lost a little weight, Leon was right.
“You’re skinnier by the day, man, I’m telling ya.”
Not enough nourishment. I’ll figure it out. I spit the toothpaste out and let the faucet run cold water into my mouth.
I shut the bathroom light off and head into my bedroom. Beige walls, I keep a clean place for the most part, slightly scattered I suppose. An open window lets in the air through a perfect view of my yard. There are some books tossed about. Salinger and Corso and Cheever. Ginsberg and Hesse on the nightstand. Kerouac’s The Town and the City rests near my pillow. Mr. Michaels, my eighth-grade teacher, and something of a father figure to me, used to assign me all of the greats saying, “You got a shot, Cash. I’m serious.”
He believed in me back then, a kid reading Hemingway and Fitzgerald in the back room of the school library for hours. He’d make me write extra essays eventually pushing me through to accelerated English before he bounced out of town to coach football somewhere else. It broke my heart, but on it goes. All those writers are still my favorites. Kerouac and his longing, so sad but hopeful in his rhythmic language and alcoholism, always searching. Hesse and his clear, sensitive genius. They felt like my ancestors in a way, revealing thoughts and feelings that I also carried in my heart and soul. Would they be proud of me now? Tonight, I’d like to think so.
I grab my wallet off the dresser and walk into the living room past the railing that leads up to my childhood room and go straight through to my kitchen. The whole interior of my home is continuous, high ceilinged and wooden. I scoop up my keys, pocket them and head to my fridge to pull out a Budweiser. I crack the seal and think there are few sounds so grounding. The beer goes down calm and golden and helps keep my heart from racing. Every thought of Rose is making me feel damn near boyish. I don’t remember the last time I felt this way before a date, but all of my most intense hopes of romance are swelling inside of me. I can’t help it. I look out the kitchen window and see a deer sniffing around the salt lick I keep back there. It’s a young doe with the mother behind. And the Budweiser goes down easier by the second.
I’m taking Rose out to dinner at a supper place called Tanglewood on the corner of EE and C. They serve things up pretty elegantly there, and it’s only a place I’d reserve for special occasions. Other than that, I don’t have any elaborate plans. I’m mostly just hoping she’ll wanna see me again after dinner. God, if I get even one clean word out tonight that will be a success. The beer finishes as smooth as it started. The deer moves on from the salt lick. I crunch the can down and throw it in the bin beneath the counter. Clearing my throat, I make my way to the door.
There’s a subtle autumn chill settling in, and these rainy days have helped the grass grow fast in the face of fall. I have my Saturn parked in the middle of the drive and in anticipation, it waits. It knows, oh, it knows!
“Where to, Cash? Where to?”
All polished and fresh and steady. I hop in and turn it on.
Where to, where to, indeed.
This car longs to take me anywhere in vast old America and perhaps one day it will, but for now, it’s only a few miles of shadowing country roads filled with changing life on all sides. I can feel the trees and the wind and the sun, all the animals of my land sending their regards. Each reaching, each calling out, aware that I’m moving and breathing deep into the biggest moment of my whole romantic life. I can feel the energy, the scent in the air you only get when you are somewhere locked in the pocket. What a feeling! And my heart beats so rusty and wild you wouldn’t believe it. In a matter of moments, I’ll be sitting across from all the potential of the world.
I love the faded leather feel of the wheel beneath my hands and the sight of the towering corn in the fields. All throughout sunset those shadows grow bigger, casting long skinny silhouettes of black throughout the countryside. I can sense the river flowing fast and free, though it’s a mile or so down from me. It too, knows, and sends its best wishes. I smile because it’s a wonderful sensation, knowing you’re one with the land. Knowing you’re part of the soil, the wilderness, the air. Knowing it’s all one destiny, one heartbeat, one astonishing limitless canvas.
I’m playing Johnny Cash and singing as low as I can. I’m getting more hopeful by the second. If Johnny got June, then I can get Rose, and we’re all one good straight-step away from a burning passion. I’m imagining Johnny on a stage, drunk and singing desperate songs to the night when he didn’t have June. And it’s true that he knew her, toured with her, and loved her long before she ever loved him back. I sure did go in for a love story like that. Johnny was committed. He knew what he wanted. And like a coyote on the prairie, he howled up at the moon until that big celestial white lamp came tumbling down to his arms to be held. Imagine! On that stage Johnny dreamt they would share many years, June shining like one thousand stars, and him smiling like a man in Heaven. She loved him. What a feeling, what a life. I’m half a mile from Tanglewood and I think that one of these times I’m going to get it all sorted out nice. I’m gonna hit that first step right on stride.