(5)
— Originally publshed in The MacGuffin, Spring 2004
Continued from page (4)
They zipped up and down the roller coaster road cut into the cliffs over
the sea. The wind in his face, her hair flying, the giddy scare of turning a
corner and staring into empty space above the roiling water—it all made his
pulse race. He’d forgotten what it was like not to be alone.
They left the MG at the foot of the irregular sawed-tree-trunk stairs. As
they wound their way single file up through the maze of firs and rocks, he
watched her. Nice body. A little pudgy but full of life. They got a table on the
rear deck. Beyond the redwood rail and feathered conifer branches, birds
flitted and scolded. Hundreds of feet below the blue-and-white water
seethed. He ordered a glass of local wine. She had a Budweiser.
Sissy had sat across from him. It had been overcast, the sky gray, the
sea grayer. As they finished their coffee, large raindrops had splashed over
her high cheekbones and spotted her pale blue halter. When she turned to
him, water ran down her face like tears.
“You’re all chatter today,” Roxie said.
He blinked. The sun sharpened colors. Roxie’s eyes were an intense
blue, her hair too red. She had freckles on her bare shoulders and her chest
as far down as he could see. Her nose reminded him of a conical candle
snuffer.
She surveyed the ocean. “What was her name?”
“Clarissa.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Beautiful.”
She nodded, her eyebrows knit. “Chuck wasn’t. Just a pretzels-and-beer motorcycle nut with a banged-up guitar. Lots of fun, not very reliable.
We separated before Archie was born. He was living with someone else.”
They ate beans and rice with salsa, sour cream, and guacamole, and
drank sangria.
She pushed her plate away. “You’re military, right? The skinhead
haircut . . . Hate to tell you this, but I go to the antiwar rallies when I don’t
have to work and can get someone to look after Archie.”
“I protested, too, after Sissy and I were married. When you see what
happens to a human body in combat . . . My job is to put the pieces back
where they belong. Hard to do when the places they belong aren’t there any
more, there’s only—”
She snapped her eyes shut and turned her head away. “Please.”
TOM'S TALES