Previously: I’m trying to reach Millie Boones … I got the shoes, classic Chucks … No, I’m sorry, this is still the wrong number … Ana Riviera is that kind of name … I tried to speak of manly things … This kid needs help.
fernweh (fern-way) n.
1. An ache for distant places
2. Being homesick for anywhere but home
We rolled up to the motel at two in the morning. My back was sore and my ass was numb and sweaty. We shared a room with a queen bed, the cheapest option available. We dropped our bags on the floor and while I was untying my shoes Ana called dibs on the shower, grabbed some clean clothes, and went for the bathroom. I had to piss so I leapt from my crouched, shoe-untying position, like a sprinter out of the blocks, and got to the door first.
“Bastard, I called it.”
“I am going to piss my pants if I don’t go right now.”
I’d put away a lot of coffee on the road, and releasing it back into the wild was taking too long, I guess, because while my stream was still strong and true, Ana walked in and said, “Dude, you’re taking forever.”
In my haste I had neglected to lock the door behind me, but who the fuck walks in while someone is pissing?
“What the hell?”
“Chill out, I didn’t see your penis. Anyways, what do you care, I’ve seen it before.”
“Not my pissing penis. You couldn’t wait two minutes?”
“It’s late, I’m tired.”
I finished, shook off, zipped up, flushed, and moved to the sink. “You slept the whole fucking time, how can you be tired?”
She undressed as we spoke. As I dried my hands, I watched her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She reached her hands behind her back and undid her bra.
“I did not sleep the whole time.”
After Ana took off her bra, she pulled her underwear down. She had no clothes on and, having gone and washed, I had no good reason to still be in the bathroom.
“You’re right, you slept ninety-six percent of the time.”
America, I ask you, what man, what heterosexual man — what young, heterosexual man with blood in his veins, could stand in the same room as a beautiful, naked woman and not look directly at her nipples, move to the space between her breasts, slide down to her belly button and then follow the faint river of hairs down to her delta? Not a man who had been driving for seven hours, a man who was tired, a man who was certain he loved the woman in front of him, even though he was certain she would break his heart because she had always broken his heart. She turned on the water, bent just so to check the temperature, and stepped behind the curtain.
Did she see me watching? Of course. What did she think? How can I know? What I do know: She walked in the bathroom. She undressed in front of me. She looked at me looking at her. She didn’t ask me to leave.
“Hey, don’t take forever. I want a shower before bed, too.”
“What?”
“I said, I’m tired.”
I took off my socks, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep before she finished. That night I had a dream about a boat.
The two of us were sitting back to back. The boat was still in the water. I leaned over the edge of the boat. I wanted to touch the water but it was so far away. I could not reach the surface. I was scared that if I leaned over too far I would fall. I sat back down. I leaned against Ana. She was wet and shivering. I tried to turn to face her but could not. She shivered and started to cry. I wanted to give her the towel that was at my feet but I could not reach it. When I tried to reach it the boat would rock. I was afraid of falling out. She cried harder. My heart raced. I had to save her. I tried to stand and slipped. I saw whales leaping from the black water, high in the air, rolling belly to the sky and falling back to the water. I was scared we would be crushed. Some splashed the boat. I was scared we would sink. I realized Ana wasn’t crying, she was laughing
When I woke up, Ana was gone already, down the hall, working on her continental breakfast. Our plan was to eat until it hurt and not eat again until we got to Erie. I had to move, because it was 9:45 and breakfast closed at 10.
“Hey, you’re going to miss the waffles if you don’t get one now.”
“I thought you’d have one waiting for me. Wasn’t that the deal?”
“You took too long. I sold it for drugs.”
“Damn you, Riviera. There’s a bucket of meth in the car.”
“I couldn’t wait and you have the keys, anyway.”
“Seriously, where do I make these waffles?”
Ana gestured with her face. “Just around there, behind where you get the milk.”
I made two waffles and covered them with maple syrup (or the equivalent thereof), grabbed two bananas, a wad of bacon, two containers of yogurt, a bowl of cereal, and a large cup of coffee.
“Goddamn!”
I put my tray on the table. “I’m telling you, Riviera, we’re not stopping ‘til we get to Erie.”
“You’ll have to stop at least three times, Pissy.”
“But that’s just in and out, focused, no waiting for food. Five minutes total for all three stops.” I made quick stabbing motions with an open hand to punctuate my point.
“Gas?”
“We fill up before we get on the highway. A full tank will get us there, Riviera.”
“Are we playing sports? Why Riviera?”
I sat down, ready to teach. “It’s a road trip, an adventure, last names only, that’s the rule.”
“It’s the rule?”
“You don’t know these things because you never learned to drive. It’s part of the standard drivers’ ed curriculum.”
“Wow, Hoffman, I had no idea.”
“Yeah. And speaking of sports, I feel creepy being in a town named Sandusky.” I opened one of the yogurts. “I know it has nothing to do with the other Sandusky, but they should think about changing the name or something.”
Ana shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“Sandusky. This is Sandusky, Ohio. Like Jerry Sandusky. No connection, really, but same name.”
“Who’s Jerry Sandusky?’
Now I shook mine. “What the hell, Who’s Jerry Sandusky? The fucker that raped boys in the locker room at Penn State.”
She set her fork down. “Okay, yeah, I read about that.” She leaned forward, her chin over her plate. “You’re making a joke about that?”
“No, but,” I took a bite of yogurt and I stuck to the facts, “the guy’s name is Sandusky. We are in Sandusky. I’m allowed to make that observation.”
She dropped her napkin on her waffle and pointed her fingers at me like they were guns.
“You think it’s funny.”
I stared into each barrel. “I don’t think it’s funny. I wasn’t making a joke.”
“Boys get raped while grown men watch and you think it’s funny.”
It was my turn to put down my fork and lean towards her. “No, Ana, I don’t. And fuck you for saying so.”
We looked at each other and let the fuck yous bounce back and forth. Ana looked down first and leaned back.
“Let’s just get in the car.”
I took another bite of yogurt. “After I finish my breakfast.”
Thank you for reading. Next week starts like this:
She walked into English 212 and sat two rows up and three rows to the left.
Then we learn more about when Jackson first met Ana.