The Last trip Version 2

The Last Trip

Roger fumbled with the loose dial, trying to find a station that would tune in fully. Everything was coming in as static but he knew eventually he would find a solid signal. He had never bothered to buy tapes, and now, God knew, they were almost impossible to come by, kept from total obsolescence only by car stereos. With tapes, no matter how good each song was, you always knew what to expect and after one listen you were condemned to live an endless loop. Roger preferred the hopefulness of the radio. It was mostly all terrible but you never knew what was going to come on next and sometimes, if you listened long enough, you were rewarded by that one perfect foot stomping, thigh slapping, stick in your head nostalgia ride song.. It was the same reason he loved his job driving truck. No matter how shitty each town or truck stop was, there was always the possibility that the next one would be better, that the coffee would be hotter, the people friendlier. Without movement, hope died. Finally, the shoo-bop of some ‘50s doo-wop group filled the cab and Roger put both hands back on the wheel.
The rain came down heavily and the sweep of the wipers against the blackness of the night road was starting to hypnotize him. It had been straight highway for a while with little traffic. It was time to pull off before he fell asleep at the wheel and kept driving forever. Roger spotted a green exit sign, blurry in the heavy rain, and cranked the wheel to the right. His shoulder howled in protest, a reminder that as much as he loved driving, his imminent retirement was long overdue. He dreaded the prospect. The cab of his truck was more of a home than the dismal apartment he rented over the hardware store, but the company had forced his hand. This was his last haul for them.
The truck stop was small, not one of the chains, but familiar nonetheless. He had stopped here before on a few runs. Even on the radio it was inevitable that eventually you’d hear the same song twice. He pulled the truck into an empty space and hopped out to stretch. His whole body creaked and groaned. He glanced at the diner. Coffee would be good but then he wouldn’t sleep for hours. Maybe pie. He shook the rain out of his graying hair and pushed open the glass door. “Hey hun,” the woman called perfunctorily as he plopped himself at the counter. “What can I get for you?”
Roger looked at the deflated pie in the case, leaking gelatinous grey filling that he guessed must be apple. “Just coffee,” he sighed. She filled the white cup to the mustard yellow line, a line he had seen a thousand times in a thousand other diners. The coffee was hot but bitter. Even the three spoons of sugar he added didn’t help .
There was a paper on the counter and Roger scanned it idly. He didn’t bother checking the date; the news was much the same every day and in every city. It was always equally irrelevant but comforting, a constant marker on the endless roads. He yawned. He yawned, thinking he might be able to sleep despite the coffee. The sounds of the rain would help. He threw some change down on the counter, figuring it had to be more than enough for one shitty cup of joe, and headed back to his home on the road.
Back in the cab, he stuck the keys back in the ignition and turned them half way so he could listen to the radio. He peeled off his damp faded jeans right in the passenger seat, hoping no one walked past as he wrestled them down his bony hips. His shoulder groaned again. The music cut out and an announcer’s voice filled the air, thanking the listeners for tuning in to some combination of letters and numbers. Roger reached over to change the station when the announcer’s voice was replaced by a staticky silence. There was a hum and then another voice, deep and raspy, filled the airwaves. “Suffering from aches and pains? No longer able to move like you once were? Trust the power of Hathway mineral springs. Come visit us off the I 23.” Roger shook his head. His ex Sheryl had been big on this new age bullshit but he could never take it seriously, part of the reason they’d never been able to make a proper go of it. You’re not willing to believe in anything you can’t see, including feelings, she’d complained. He hadn’t argued. He turned off the radio and climbed into the sleeper.
In the morning, he woke as stiff as the bed slats. It took him a few minutes and several curses just to haul himself out of the narrow bunk. He fried up some eggs and bacon on the electric griddle, filling the cab with the smell of grease. He ate breakfast right off the griddle. It tasted better that way and with the size of the cab it made sense to keep stuff to a minimum. When you got right down to it, there wasn’t too much you needed to get by, but thing always seemed to accumulate. Roger sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to the clutter of stationary life. He wiped his greasy lips with the back of his sleeve, enjoying the lingering taste of eggs and bacon. Thank goodness cholesterol isn’t visible to the naked eye, he thought and then had a momentary twinge of guilt. Sheryl had always been nagging him to take better care of himself and sometimes he still heard her voice.
Back on the road, the station changed from sugary ‘50s hits to a country station without too much distortion in the process. Roger hadn’t been a fan of country music until he’d started driving truck. Somehow there was something so right about flying down the road listening to Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson. He didn’t care too much for the new crop of pop country but fortunately this station didn’t seem to play too much of that.
Roger’s shoulders were sore and he had to piss. Sometimes he just used a bottle he kept especially for that purpose. He’d gotten pretty skilled at holding it while driving one handed, but lately between the stiffness of his body and the temperament of his prostate, it had proven messier than he cared to experience. It wasn’t always to find a place, with 18 wheels under you, you couldn’t just pull off the side of the road and take a leak on the shoulder. The pressure in his bladder was getting worse. With great relief he spotted an exit sign and pulled off, cringing as his shoulder sang out in pain.
The rest area was deserted save for a family who were eating a packed lunch at one of the picnic tables. Roger wondered if this was their final destination or if they were on their way somewhere more exciting. He hoped for the latter. The rest area was a pretty depressing place for a family trip. With a deep sigh he emptied his bladder into the urinal and shook the last few drops free, not caring where they landed.
When he got back to his truck, there was a folded flyer tucked under the wipers. He looked around, wondering who could have left it. The family was still deep in their egg salad and watermelon slices. The parking lot was vacant. He pulled it out, ready to toss it aside, but the bold letters caught his eye. It was an advert for Hathway springs, the same place he’d heard advertised on the radio the night before. He supposed it wasn’t that strange of a coincidence but still he was compelled to unfold the yellow paper. He chuckled, thinking of Sheryl watching over his shoulder. The flyer had a small map of the area with a star indicating the location of the spa. There was a bunch of mumbo jumbo about healing properties but the word FREE in capital letters caught his attention. He thought of his stiff body. Magical healing properties or not, a soak in a hot spring would be nice. He glanced at the log book on the dash. Fuck it. He was on his own time now. After all, this was his last trip, so what were they going to do, fire him?
Having made the decision to go, Roger was strangely gleeful. It wasn’t the thought of the spa, he had no expectations of miracles, but the prospect of shirking his responsibilities, something he had never done in his 35 years as a driver. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of the giant star on the map. At the first turn off, he pulled on to a dirt road and realized there was no way his truck was going to make it there. He looked at the map again. It seemed stupid but now that he had decided to go he was unwilling to give up the plan. If the map on the flyer was to scale, the spa might be within walking distance. He contemplated a moment, letting the engine idle. He would walk for thirty minutes, he decided, and if he was not yet at the spa or at least visibly near, he would head back to the truck. With some difficulty, he maneuvered his truck to the side of the dirt road. He would have to back up on to the main road on the way back but he would worry about that later. Besides, he knew how to handle his rig.
The ground was still damp from the night before but the air was warm and smelled of spring. Birds chirped. A squirrel darted across the road, which was becoming narrower by the step. Roger grinned. He had forgotten how peaceful it could be without the soft roar of wheels turning underneath. The way was flat and he was able to relax and take in his surroundings. He paused every few minutes to consult the map and his watch. Thirty minutes passed and still only the forest was visible. The trees were denser here and they blocked out most of the sun’s heat and light. Five more minutes and then I turn around. A minute later Roger almost tripped over a small wooden sign. It was covered in lichen and shaped like an arrow. It pointed to a smaller path and read “Hathway Springs”. Roger chuckled. Looks like it’s meant to be.
It was even darker on the narrower path. The air smelled of rich earth and decaying wood. It was colder here too and Roger shivered under his light jacket. Soon though the trees opened up again and he reached a clearing. In the near distance stood a well-maintained cabin that looked intentionally rustic. He shook his head. Got to play the part I suppose. There didn’t appear to be anyone around. He hadn’t seen any cars at the foot of the path and there didn’t seem to be any access point here. Maybe they’re closed for the season but then why the flyer?
Roger climbed up the steps onto the wrap-around veranda. He was really cold now and was feeling a bit queasy. He had a strong urge to quietly step off the verandah, slip back into the woods unnoticed and return to the comfort of his truck. The muscles in his back clenched in the cold air. Don’t be ridiculous. A soak, a free soak, is just what you need. Without knocking, he opened the front door.
Inside was a high wooden front desk of the sort often found in quaint hotels. He peered around the darkened space. “Hello, anybody here?” he called.
A back door opened and a beautiful raven haired woman carrying a load of towels appeared. “Hello,” she said without any inflection. Even in the dim light Roger was struck by the intensity of her gold-green eyes and the sharpness of her dark cheekbones. “I’m glad you could make it,” she finished as if he were a guest arriving late to a party. Roger shuffled in from where he was hovering in the doorway. “Can I offer you a list of our services?” she asked, adopting a more professional tone.
“I was just mostly hoping to soak in the springs,” Roger answered. “I got this flyer on my windshield. Says the first time’s free.”
She smiled but it was forced. Probably disappointed I’m not going to be a paying customer. “Course I’d be happy to take a look at your other services.”
She smiled again, more warmly this time and handed him a glossy brochure. “I recommend the massage’” she said.
Roger glanced at the price list. Definitely out of his budget. He looked back up. She was staring right at him. Her eyes bore into him. He dropped his gaze. It landed on her breasts. They were phenomenal. “Sure, I’ll take an uhhh half hour…” he looked at her breasts again “uh make that an hour massage.” Her smile became almost genuine and she clapped her hands. “Wonderful. I just need to set up the room. Go ahead and take a soak in the springs, they’re just out the back, and I’ll come find you when everything is ready.”
Roger cleared his throat. “I uh…didn’t pack any swimming trunks.”
“Well, seeing as you’re our only guest at the moment, feel free to wear as little as you like. There are robes available to cover yourself as you get in and out.” Roger nodded his head, hoping the water would be cloudy enough to mask his wrinkled body. He was aroused but also nervous at the thought of this intimidating woman manipulating his body.
The view from the springs was astonishing. Mountains in one direction, forest in the other and everything bathed in an eerie green light and silence. As he eased himself into the hot water, Roger imagined that perhaps he had fallen asleep at the wheel and this whole place was a nothing but a dream that would end when he slammed into the highway median. Leaning back on the smooth rock walls, Roger was amazed by how weightless he felt. He rotated his shoulders. There was a dull ache, but it was far away and impotent. He sighed with pleasure and slid down even further into the water.
He must have really fallen asleep because he was awoken by the sounds of footsteps. “The room’s ready,” a voice called and he turned to see the beauty from the front desk standing behind him, holding a robe open. “I promise I won’t look” she said turning her head.
“Nothing but old man to see anyway” he replied a bit wistfully as he stepped out of the spring. She led him to a hut behind the main cabin. Inside, a massage table was set up. On the walls and counters around the table were an assortment of incense holders, crystals, candles, and stones. Just the sort of stuff Sheryl would have liked, he thought with more tenderness than he had felt in a while. “I’m going to leave the room for a moment,” the woman said, “and you’re going to arrange yourself face down under the sheets. Make yourself nice and comfortable.” He nodded. “But before you do that,” she continued “You need to do something really important.” She handed him a small dark blue bottle with a stopper on top. “You need to put a few drops of this under your nose and inhale deeply” she said very seriously. “This part is really important. It’s a powerful essential oil. Really helps you relax so please promise you’ll do that first.”
“I promise,” he said. He didn’t believe in that aromatherapy garbage but he couldn’t imagine disobeying this woman.
Alone in the room, Roger dropped his robe and hauled himself onto the table still clutching the bottle. He eased the rubber stopper out with. It made a satisfying popping sound. He raised the small bottle to his nose and inhaled. It smelled like rust and old ice with a hint of something acrid. He heard Sheryl’s voice in his head. What, a girl with nice breasts smiles at you and suddenly you’re buying into this stuff? And then everything dimmed and Roger felt himself falling forward into a hole of silence and darkness.
* * *
The police found Roger naked and incoherent in the cab of his truck. They had been alerted by the trucking company when Roger failed to make his last delivery and had been able to retrace his route with then help of the company’s records, though it had taken a long time because of the detour. By the time they found Roger, he was dehydrated and delusional. He didn’t know who he was or where he was. He kept muttering about natural springs and a beautiful woman. The cops searched the area, hoping to find some clue as to what had happened but they found nothing, not even Roger’s clothes. They closed the case quickly. After talking to Roger’s ex-wife, they figured the poor guy just couldn’t face retirement and had had some sort of a breakdown. It was strange, but they’d seen stranger.
* * *
White. Everything was white. His hands were white. They were amazing. The walls too. How were they so clean? The voices sounded white too. He looked to his right. They were white. The two women all in white. What were they saying?
“Poor soul can’t remember a thing. But he seems happy enough. Everything surprises him. He’ll marvel at a pencil all day long if you let him.”
Poor guy, he thought. He looked at the wall again. Really it was so very white. You could put anything you wanted on that wall; it was so very full of hope.