MODERN LIVES - On the Road in Texas with Kevin - A Dreamscapes Story

KEVIN IN CLAUDE or A REMIND ME • Casey Haymes

'There was nothing but nothing. The desert fields soaked up my momentum, I wanted to give up...'

The summer before my second year of college my mother moved our family base from suburbia, Texas, to an old adobe house in the mountains outside of northern New Mexico; my brother, sister, and me at her side, lifting boxes and celebrating the change. My celebration was mostly for them, because at the end of the summer I was returning to college in Texas.

We hiked, played guitar on the porch, watched stars flash across the sky, discovered sage and its fragrant effect when burned, and made daily trips to the post office in search of mail from friends we had left behind. Our mother got a job cutting hair. She didn’t have many clients at first, which encouraged my brother and me to look for work. There was none, so we fished the Rio Grande for dinner. July was hot, the river dried, and the fish vanished. Fortunately, my mother found more clients and came home with food.

I planned to leave for school by mid-August. I hadn’t worked a day over the summer, had lost my bank account from overdraft charges and made my way onto a bad credit list, but I had a school loan waiting for me in Texas. I just had to get there. My mother offered her Fina gas card. "It’s still good, but don’t overuse it."

I got letters from my friend Rosemary telling me that my paintings were safe in her garage, Daniel asking me if Rosemary was single, and a letter from the dean of my university telling me that I was on his list. We celebrated with fruit from our orchard, fried fish, and polka dancing at the pub in town.

A letter from Anne arrived, asking me if she could visit, exciting me after a summer devoid of romance. Anne was a girl I tried to date before college and had recovered communication with just before the summer. She looked like a youthful Lauren Bacall. She jumped on a bus and came over for the last week of my summer, planning to drive back to Texas with me. My family thought she was rude because she took long showers during the drought season against our wishes and always changed the subject when asked a question.
"But look at her eyes," I said.
"Yeah, she’s pretty," my brother said.
"So what?" my sister said.
We were all invited to a party by a local guy who had carved caves inside a mountain and filled them with ambient spa music and honey-scented candles. We were hesitant to go in. Anne and I went outside where tanned nude bathers on the riverbank urged us to take off our clothes. We declined, went to the caves and played hide and seek. Anne and I found some drums next to a bed and chose to lie down. I tried to nap with her, but she just giggled, leaning over the bed, tapping on a drum.
"What’s funny?" I asked.
"You."
During the rest of her visit we explored the surrounding areas, finding a natural hot springs spa in the mountains. Kind of pricey, so we headed to a free hot springs that the receptionist had whispered about. We crossed a rushing river on a log, climbed a steep hill and found the springs on a cliff overlooking the river. Bathers urged us to take off our clothes again. We climbed in wearing shorts and shirts, enjoying the mountain-people conversations about inner children and how so and so is half Native American. We ate chili and pasole, attended a Pow Wow, and watched the setting sun turn the hills red. A welcome change from malls, chlorinated hot tubs, fast food burritos, and techno dance clubs. I was happy that Anne was there and loosening up. I wanted to kiss her.

It was morning, I was returning to Texas. My car was stuffed with art supplies, clothes, plants, and some dishes donated by my mother for my first house out of the dorm. I highlighted the route on the map so Anne could give me directions along the way. My family woke up to said good-bye. My car left a dust trail until we hit pavement on the highway. I couldn’t believe summer was over.

A few hours later, still in New Mexico, I became concerned because I hadn’t seen any Fina stations. I wondered if they were only located in Texas, told myself they were and kept driving. Anne had her hand out the window, surfing the wind. She had a bigger smile from when she had first arrived. It was good to see the change.
Her CD player batteries died at the Texas state line.
"Don’t worry, we’ll get some at the Fina."
"Are there any Fina gas stations?"
"I hope."
"Do you have any money if not?" she asked.
"I have the card."
"That’s it?"
"That’s right."
"Why didn’t your mother give you money?"
"Because she doesn’t have any!"
She stared at me as if I had just told her that we were driving into the mouth of a volcano. I tuned the radio for an interesting distraction, found some commentary about guns, aliens, cow-slicing tactics, and the weather. I played a Talking Heads tape that carried her out of my mind and provided a good rhythm for driving. I found the mountains I had been surrounded by all summer in my rearview mirror. I thought about taking pictures, but was worried about the effect that stopping and starting the motor would have on gas consumption. When I found a Fina, I’d take in the scenery.

We passed the infamous Cadillac Ranch and entered Amarillo with less than an eighth of a tank of gas. I was certain we would find a Fina on the side of the highway. We drove through town, turning our heads left to right like we were watching a tennis match between gas companies. Not a single Fina sign or billboard. I sweated heavily, my hands slipping around the wheel.
"Just in case we—"
"I don’t have any money," Anne said.
"Nothing?"
She giggled. I thought maybe I was being funny again.
"What are we going to do?" I asked.
She gasped, playing a victim, then scrunched against the window, looking at scenery that whispered freedom. I would’ve offered her the back of the car, she seemed so uncomfortable next to me, but it was full.
I needed to think, but didn’t want to stop. There might have been a gas station ahead that I could’ve reached with the gas I had. Heavy lunch hour traffic surrounded us. I was hungry beyond hunger. Fast food odors smoked the side of the road, traffic slowed us down and wasted gas. Anne checked out, twirling her hair and singing quietly to herself.
Twenty minutes outside of Amarillo I saw a Fina sign down a dirt road. I took an exit and cut through weeds. We bounced, forcing Anne to look alive. I wanted her to giggle.
"There’s a Fina," I said.
"Where?"
It wasn’t a Fina. It wasn’t a sign nor was it related to gasoline at all. There was nothing but nothing. The desert fields soaked up my momentum, I wanted to give up.
Back on the road, a couple miles east, the empty light on my gas gauge clicked on as soon as we hit Claude, Texas. I knew we weren’t going to make it out and decided to stop at a gas station that was painted the same colors as Fina. Maybe there was a secret connection.
The clerk laughed at me when I tried to use my Fina card. Then he returned to watching sports on TV.
"Can you call management and ask them?" I said.
"Leave," he said without missing a moment of TV.
I left.
Anne was leaning back in the passenger seat, drinking water with her legs draped out the open door of my car. I approached an old man walking the side of the road, carrying a bag of toilet paper. "Any Fina gas stations?"
"Maybe," he said.
"Maybe what?" Did he want something?
"No hay baños."
I couldn’t speak Spanish, nodded instead. He kept walking.

I found another gas station across the highway that wasn’t a Fina. We parked the car in front of a pump. I sipped water to clear my throat. Inside, surrounded by windows viewing flat horizons and dust weed decorating the wind, I turned to a man in a clean uniform and asked, "Would you try my gas card?"
"Of course."
I handed him the card and he stared at it, scratching his head, thinking of how he would tell me the news.
"No Fina here in Claude," he said.
"It’s the only card I have. I know it’s not yours, but please—"
"No cash?"
"Not until I get to school. Can you try my card?"
He swiped it and waited. The machine’s beeping at me felt like the last ticks of a clock before the alarm. Then the alarm, and he handed my card back and apologized. He shook his head sincerely, hands in his pockets, rattling keys. He looked around the room as if there might be a spare credit card lying around that I could use.
"Thanks for trying," I said and went outside. I grabbed a map and the water bottle from the car—empty. I wanted to complain, but Anne was napping. I went to the restroom, filled the bottle, and poured some water down my neck. The hot wind slapped my face.
I leaned against one of the glass walls of the office and took in the view, imagining it as my new hometown. I found Claude on the map—about nine hours from my school.
Then a knock from inside. The man in the uniform looked around his office, then waved me inside. Maybe he had food or would let me use the phone, or maybe he remembered a nearby Fina gas station.
He punched some keys on his register, the drawer bell rang, the money came out. He handed me ten dollars. I didn’t know what to say. My hunger vanished, the heat faded, the flatness of Claude seemed romantic. I couldn’t stop thanking him.
"Look at the gas pump," he said.
Pump 1 had been turned on. I wanted to run inside and hug him. When I approached he waved me away. He was flipping his keys in the air, catching them. I tapped my feet as I pumped gas. He signaled through the window for me to fill up. I offered the ten dollars back, he refused it without hesitation.
Inside the car, with the motor running, Anne smiled again.
"He’s an angel," she said.
I wanted to spend the rest of the day getting to know him, thank him by cleaning his house, paint his portrait, pump gas for customers. Anything. At the edge of the station lot, I turned the car around and drove up to his door.
"Give me your address so I can pay you back."
"No thank you."
"What can I do?" I asked.
He stood in the doorway and peeled loose chips of paint off the hinges with his fingernails. "You don’t have to do anything."

A few hours outside of Claude, Fina gas stations were everywhere. Plenty of food and drinks the rest of our trip.
I was planning to spend the night with Anne because we were going to an all-day concert in the morning. She asked me to stop at the gas station by her house. She went inside—I thought—for an emergency piss. She passed the restrooms and asked the clerk for cigarettes, pointing behind him at the pack she wanted. He gave her a red pack; she slapped it against her palm, then reached in her pocket and gave him a twenty. Change—lots of it—filled her pockets. She got in the car and was silent. I was too confused to say anything. I understood that it was her money and she could spend it however she wanted, but how could she allow both of us to be stranded? I didn’t even know she smoked. Maybe it was her idea of a joke, the cigarettes the punch line.
I drove calmly to her house. She got out, opened the back hatch and got her bags. She waited for me to follow.
"Come on," she said.
I got out and helped carry her bags to the front door, left mine in the car. I wanted to tell her how I felt, but wasn’t sure how I felt. Or maybe I was just tired.
I went inside and fell asleep on the couch before conversation could start. I woke up and it was dark. I found Anne in her room, asleep. I was mad at her, so I left. I drove past the bright-light streets and perfect lawns to the highway. I drove west an hour until I hit the first rest area. The night sky was full of stars. I watched and listened to a bus heading west on the highway.

© Casey Haymes revised November 2004

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