En Route
(Image by @lymmerik)
The drifters came upon the dusty Oklahoma town off Route 66 on a gray October afternoon. They were hungry and tired, and were just barely managing to put one foot in front of the other. Jed hoped to find work so they could earn a little money and buy some food.
He worried about Emily. They had slept too many nights in their sleeping bags in truck stops. Her head cold was getting worse, and the shorter days and cooler nights didn’t help. He saw grit in all the creases on her face, and her eyes had taken on the same dull gray as the endless road.
She looked left and right down an empty street lined with businesses. “There’s no one about, Jed. I don’t like the look of this place.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge.”
“But look. That store is dead dark. The windows are shot out. Even if we could find a way to make money, there’s no food to buy here.”
Jed had to admit he hadn’t seen a soul since they had come upon the place. “These old towns. Some of them survived when they built I-40, but it looks like this one didn’t.”
They had started out on this trip as an adventure. The plan was to work odd jobs all the way from Chicago to Los Angeles, with nothing but some meager supplies on their backs and a few bucks in their pockets. A Jack Kerouac life. But they hadn’t bargained for the blisters and relentless hunger, or the fact that dust would line their nostrils and make their hair feel like hay. And they certainly hadn’t planned for desperately needing warmth, food, and a place to sleep, and finding a ghost town instead.
Emily pulled the map from her dusty brown pack and opened it out. “The next town isn’t for 75 miles. Let’s go back to the highway and hitch a ride, okay?”
Jed had never been this tired. He just wanted to lie down and not get up again for a while. And yet he couldn’t fail her now. “Okay.”
But as he turned to go, something caught his eye. He walked toward the abandoned movie theater. Here too, all the windows were gone and the place was dark and still. A breeze had spun up a collection of dead leaves and left them in a heap next to the building like a carcass.
Emily coughed hoarsely. “Come on, honey. This place is spooky.”
“But… don’t you see that?”
Emily looked, but she obviously wasn’t seeing what he saw.
“The building is all deteriorated, except the ticket kiosk. It looks new.” He walked closer. Something fluttered just inside the pristine glass of the ticket window. He reached in, and lifted up a stone, under which were two printed tickets.
Emily looked over his shoulder as he read aloud, “Midnight Cowboy. October 17th, 1969.” He turned the tickets over in his hands. “Impossible. That’s twenty years ago.”
Compelled, they opened the rickety door to the theater and entered. Emily gasped as lights came up. The theater’s downtrodden appearance transformed and the place came to life, with theatergoers everywhere and couples arm-in-arm. Frank Sinatra played on a tinny sound system.
Jed looked at Emily. She was smiling. It was a Christmas morning smile, as if believing was all it took to create magic.
They stepped into the dark theater to find a packed house, with only two seats left, on the aisle of the middle section. Brilliant red curtains covered the screen, and on the stage a pianist in a suit played a wurlitzer.
Emily seemed as mesmerized as he was by everything they saw. The aroma of popcorn wafted through the room as two women in white mini skirt uniforms began strolling the aisles with carrying cases strapped to their shoulders. They called out to the patrons, offering popcorn, peanuts, hot dogs and Cokes.
Emily gripped his arm and inhaled sharply. Jed bit his lip. They had no money. Not one red cent. But the aroma of popcorn and hot dogs was intoxicating.
The concession woman who stood next to him had a kind smile on her perfect red lips. He shrugged. “I’m sorry. We don’t have any money.” He squeezed Emily’s hand. He had never felt so inadequate in his life.
“Oh honey, that’s okay,” the woman said in a rich Oklahoma accent. “It’s free night!” She handed each of them a hot dog, a greasy bag of popcorn stapled closed at the top, and a cold bottle of Coca Cola.
“Thank you.” Jed’s stomach did somersaults. “Thank you very much. But… um?”
The woman smiled at him patiently.
“Could we maybe have the peanuts too? If it’s not too much.”
“Of course, honey. You’ve come so far. You must be terribly hungry.”
Jed nodded and accepted the two bags of peanuts offered to him. He put them in his jacket pocket for later.
The man and the wurlitzer descended into the stage floor, as he played a finale tune with a flourish and everyone clapped and cheered. Then the red curtains parted and the house lights dimmed. The opening credits announced the movie -- Midnight Cowboy, starring Dustin Hoffman as Ratso Rizzo and introducing John Voight as Joe Buck.
“I can’t believe I’ve never seen this movie,” Jed whispered.
Emily laughed with a rattling cough. “That’s because it just came out!”
The movie was as devastating as Jed had always known it would be. Ratso Rizzo scrabbled his way through existence, moving from one sad, seedy experience to the next, never seeming to understand that he was his own worst enemy.
Sick and shivering on a bus bound from New York City to Miami, Ratso suddenly sat up and looked out into the theater audience with sickly eyes. He scanned the faces looking for something. Then his eyes met Jed’s. “Ah, there you are.”
Jed looked around. Everyone in the theater, including Emily, was frozen. The movie scene was frozen too, with Joe Buck still as a statue and looking out the window at the palm trees.
Ratso spoke to him again. “I’m on my way out, man. Don’t you see? I could have done things so differently.”
Jed nodded. But no, in fact, he didn’t see. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. This was an unthinkably unusual situation.
Ratso looked ashen. He was fading. He coughed and seemed to struggle to breathe. But he had a few more words in him. “Get up, man. Get on with your life. And… take care of your girl. Don’t let this to happen to her.” He stared out from sunken eyes, and seemed to be waiting for Jed to say something.
“But, what about our dreams? We set out on an adventure. I can’t just fold.”
“Every day is an adventure, my friend.” Ratso coughed raggedly again. “Don’t kill yourself trying to find it.” Then he leaned back again and collapsed into the seat, his face turning a lifeless gray hue. The movie continued and there was the stirring and rustling of people in the theater.
On the screen, Joe Buck looked at his friend, and realized Ratso was dead. He began to cry.
Jed found himself crying too as he watched Joe put his arm around Ratso and hold his dead friend.
The credits rolled and they rose from their seats and filed out with the others. As they emerged onto the street, the people faded away and Jed and Emily were once again in an empty town.
Emily coughed as a cool autumn breeze whipped at their clothing. “What next?” There was a look of expectation in her eyes.
“We need to get someplace warm, and get you taken care of.” Soon they were back on the highway. Jed wrapped his arms around her to keep her warm. After a while, a couple driving an RV picked them up.
The woman introduced herself and her husband as Pearl and Pete. They were on a tour of Route 66, and their next stop was Tulsa. When Pearl heard Emily’s cough, she made her some tea and issued an order for her to get into bed.
Jed sat at a dinette with Pearl. Pete looked at him in the rearview mirror. “So, where are you two headed? If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like you’ve been rode hard.”
“Yes. We’re tuckered out.” How to tell someone that you chose this -- the vast open spaces, tumbleweeds and dead towns, and the idea that being on the way to somewhere was enough… until it wasn’t. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know where we’re going. Maybe Tulsa. We might set up there for a bit.”
The miles passed pleasantly enough. He played a few games of gin with Pearl, as he thought about their lives, and their future. It was time to make plans. Time to get somewhere. Time to be somebody.
Thank you for reading my story. I hope you enjoyed it.
I had so much fun writing this piece. Art prompts are a wonderful way to fuel the imagination. Thank you @gmuxx and @thewritersblock for putting on this awesome contest, and thank you for the wonderful editorial help, friends at The Writers' Block. And great job with the art prompt, @lymmerik.
