Sunday, July 12, 2015

On the road: Texas

On the road features short stories written by me which seem to connect with the places in my head, visions, dreams.

“Are you sure that it’s the right way?” I say with my eyes wide open, searching for the right turn.
“Baby, I am sure. I am sure. I am sure.” He answers, quite obviously nervously, because he isn’t sure at all.
He takes a turn to the left where a bright red motel sign is inviting us to stay. The first letter isn’t working, but “otel” is enough. The clock says that it’s 3AM.
“Let’s stop at that motel over there, I am tired and my back hurts”
He quietly pulls up the car. We get out. I can finally arch my back and stretch my legs. I crack my knuckles.

A sleepy lady with a magazine meets us at the lobby. Her hair seems dull, in a tired shade of wheat. Her twitching smile gives us room 5 , we leave the lobby and her behind. He is walking besides me. Our hands touch by accident as we are travelling to our room, I feel electrified. My eyes hurt, my heart is beating so loud that I can hear it. Or maybe it’s just the silence between us and my heart is not even that loud. Maybe it’s the silence. God knows. He twists the key and we step into our airless room. He doesn’t turn on the light but nor do I. He just stands there. I am behind him. What now? I wrap my hands around him from behind and deeply breathe out the air. I smile to his back. I know he feels it. He could’ve probably heard the sound that lips make when you are in process of making a smile. He just stands still. As if I am some bag that he cannot wait to put down. One minute of this one-sided affection.
“I am going to the shower.” He announces.
I let my arms down. The light is still off.  The silence is making me shiver. I hear the water running in the bathroom.
“Are you coming or not?” His low, tired voice asks.
I take off my clothes and leave them on the floor, just by the door which I leave open. The bathroom is all pink. Pinkish lights, pink shower curtains, pink tiles. He is washing his hair curled up in a ball. He is too tall, his 6 feet 3 inch frame is too big for this motel. I stand up next to him and he moves to the other side, giving me space under the water. I feel him bending down a little from behind and putting his arms on my waist, his head on my right shoulder. I feel connected to him again. I continue to wash my face and then turn around. He straightens his back up and looks at me from above, taking my head into his palms. Silence again. Just the sound of running water. I press my head onto his chest and we just stand under the shower for a moment. After a kiss to my forehead, he steps out and walks out to the bedroom. I turn off the water and follow him.

The bed smells of cheap cologne and the pillows are as thin as it gets, but couple hours of sleep are enough to make me able to cope through the day. I open my eyes and see him – he sits in the bed, his legs are covered with bed sheets. Dreamingly smoking a cigarette, the blue sky in the window behind him looks sad, heavy and suffocating. What I am seeing right now - him – would look good in a movie or at least a photo. He notices that I’ve woken up and puts his fingers in my hair, while rubbing my cheek with his thumb. He gives me a side smile and looks away. I hear a car passing by.

We take back the key to the woman, “it’s 7AM” the television programme behind her informs us. I take his hand as we are walking to the car and look up to him with a smile, a true elated smile. He looks back at me. His hand slips out of mine as he is walking to the next side of our car. It’s and old, black 1969 Mustang. We sit down and I start singing the song on the radio. I put my feet out of the window and we are on the road again.

All I see is road and desert-like scenery. The sun is setting. Sun sets in the west. That’s where we are going. His hand is on my knee, the nearest civilisation isn’t near at all and I feel like this is the moment where I don’t need anything anymore. The horizon is coloured in burnt red gradually evolving into flax blossom blue. Take it easy, baby. Take my hand.

Pictures from movie by Wim Wenders "Paris, Texas"

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