hotel
would appreciate the spoiled food in the
basement parking lot.
“ I don’t want
to open it,” Alex stated, parking Maude at the back of a group of
shops where the re were some
dumpsters.
“ Well, I’m
not. I’m still sick, remember ? I can’t
afford to get a whiff of that.” My excuse was lame and he knew it
as much as I did.
“Wait here. Open all the windows and the back
door. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Where are you going?” I yelled after him,
but he just waved and jogged down the street.
He returned fifteen minutes later with a
plastic shopping bag.
“ Here, put
this on,” he said, handing me one of those cheap face masks you see
painters wearing. He put one on also and
started pulling out disinfectant, Febreze, and a multitude of other
cleaning products, including gloves.
After
we put the
rubber gloves on, Alex started with the instructions. “Okay, when I
open the fridge, you pull everything out and put it in the bag.
I’ll tie it off and throw it in the dumpster.” Alex’s voice was
muffled behind the mask, and I stifled a laugh. We were two grown
men, afraid of a little stink.
Alex
stood at the side door, holding the now
empty bag open, waiting for my okay.
“ Okay.” Alex lifted the fridge
lid, which was a little stuck because it hadn’t been running for a
week, and the smell burned my eyes.
“ Holy shit,” I said, my voice just as muffled as
Alex’s had been.
“Hurry the fuck up, I can smell it from
here.”
“ How do you
think I’m doing, then, if you can smell it?”
“ Cut the whining and hurry up.”
“How’d I get this job, anyway? I’m the one
who’s sick.”
“Skill.” Alex winked.
I threw the
last of the fridge’s contents —green,
slimy bacon—into the bag and slammed the lid shut. I watched Alex
tie the bag with the fingers of a ninja and hurl it into the
dumpster.
I rolled onto
the mattress and laughed so hard my ribs ached. Alex stood at the
back of Maude , far away from the smell,
and eyed me for a second before doubling over. “Next time you’re
sick,” he said between big gulps of air, “you’re on your
own.”
His planned abandonment in my time of need
made us laugh harder.
AFTER
THE fridge debacle, Alex and I slipped
back into friend mode and things became normal once more, but the
hand-holding/finger-touching had come to an end. We shared laughs
by the campfire—snarky and sarcastic comments flying—sometimes with
fellow travelers, but mostly just the two of us. Alex kept checking
the books. It looked like he was trying to figure out something, but he
never asked me for help or advice—which was fine, he was the
economics major. We stopped at Starbucks, not only for coffee but
to use their free WiFi and to charge the phones and
laptop.
We never missed a chance to charge the
fridge.
Alex eventually told me what he was thinking when he looked over
our account.
“We can afford one night in a cheapish motel
once a week until we get home. Possibly with pizza,” he
finished.
“Seriously?”
“ No ,” he quipped
sarcastically.
“ We’ll be
able to shower without spiders and the threat of snakes, and sleep
in a real bed?” This excited me more than it should.
I only hoped that the motels we stopped at had one
bed as I couldn’t imagine not sleeping next to Alex.
CHAPTER SIX
October 22nd
Bastendorf Beach, near Charleston,
Oregon
WE TOOK our time
making our way south through Washington before heading east and
spending a couple of weeks in Idaho. We eventually ventured west
again into Oregon. Our friendship remained firm and as strong as
ever, and although we weren’t touching anymore, there was an
underlying intimacy between us that I didn’t understand. But as
long as we were still friends and there was no weirdness between
us, I could put those other feelings aside.
We were heading toward the California state line
along 101 and we stopped for the night in a secluded parking lot
overlooking the ocean. The
would appreciate the spoiled food in the
basement parking lot.
“ I don’t want
to open it,” Alex stated, parking Maude at the back of a group of
shops where the re were some
dumpsters.
“ Well, I’m
not. I’m still sick, remember ? I can’t
afford to get a whiff of that.” My excuse was lame and he knew it
as much as I did.
“Wait here. Open all the windows and the back
door. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Where are you going?” I yelled after him,
but he just waved and jogged down the street.
He returned fifteen minutes later with a
plastic shopping bag.
“ Here, put
this on,” he said, handing me one of those cheap face masks you see
painters wearing. He put one on also and
started pulling out disinfectant, Febreze, and a multitude of other
cleaning products, including gloves.
After
we put the
rubber gloves on, Alex started with the instructions. “Okay, when I
open the fridge, you pull everything out and put it in the bag.
I’ll tie it off and throw it in the dumpster.” Alex’s voice was
muffled behind the mask, and I stifled a laugh. We were two grown
men, afraid of a little stink.
Alex
stood at the side door, holding the now
empty bag open, waiting for my okay.
“ Okay.” Alex lifted the fridge
lid, which was a little stuck because it hadn’t been running for a
week, and the smell burned my eyes.
“ Holy shit,” I said, my voice just as muffled as
Alex’s had been.
“Hurry the fuck up, I can smell it from
here.”
“ How do you
think I’m doing, then, if you can smell it?”
“ Cut the whining and hurry up.”
“How’d I get this job, anyway? I’m the one
who’s sick.”
“Skill.” Alex winked.
I threw the
last of the fridge’s contents —green,
slimy bacon—into the bag and slammed the lid shut. I watched Alex
tie the bag with the fingers of a ninja and hurl it into the
dumpster.
I rolled onto
the mattress and laughed so hard my ribs ached. Alex stood at the
back of Maude , far away from the smell,
and eyed me for a second before doubling over. “Next time you’re
sick,” he said between big gulps of air, “you’re on your
own.”
His planned abandonment in my time of need
made us laugh harder.
AFTER
THE fridge debacle, Alex and I slipped
back into friend mode and things became normal once more, but the
hand-holding/finger-touching had come to an end. We shared laughs
by the campfire—snarky and sarcastic comments flying—sometimes with
fellow travelers, but mostly just the two of us. Alex kept checking
the books. It looked like he was trying to figure out something, but he
never asked me for help or advice—which was fine, he was the
economics major. We stopped at Starbucks, not only for coffee but
to use their free WiFi and to charge the phones and
laptop.
We never missed a chance to charge the
fridge.
Alex eventually told me what he was thinking when he looked over
our account.
“We can afford one night in a cheapish motel
once a week until we get home. Possibly with pizza,” he
finished.
“Seriously?”
“ No ,” he quipped
sarcastically.
“ We’ll be
able to shower without spiders and the threat of snakes, and sleep
in a real bed?” This excited me more than it should.
I only hoped that the motels we stopped at had one
bed as I couldn’t imagine not sleeping next to Alex.
CHAPTER SIX
October 22nd
Bastendorf Beach, near Charleston,
Oregon
WE TOOK our time
making our way south through Washington before heading east and
spending a couple of weeks in Idaho. We eventually ventured west
again into Oregon. Our friendship remained firm and as strong as
ever, and although we weren’t touching anymore, there was an
underlying intimacy between us that I didn’t understand. But as
long as we were still friends and there was no weirdness between
us, I could put those other feelings aside.
We were heading toward the California state line
along 101 and we stopped for the night in a secluded parking lot
overlooking the ocean. The
Similar Books
