writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 

The World’s Full of ŒEm

Ken Pell





��My wife and I were on our way back home to Indianapolis. We’d been on a trip to Florida to visit her parents, and decided to stop in Atlanta at 2 a.m. for coffee. Our waitress at Lindy’s Truckstop was named Trixie. No kidding.
��“Coffee?” she asked, whirling to a stop in front of our table.
��“Please,” I said. “And some cream and sugar.”
��She filled our mugs and reached into a pocket of her apron. “Sorry,” she said, “But this dry cream’s all we got left. There’s sugar on the table.” She smiled and walked away, her apron strings shaking behind her like a happy puppy’s tail.
��My wife had been to the rest room, but she soon returned to the table.
��“Did you order?” she asked.
��“I didn’t know what you wanted.”
��She tore open one of the cream packages and frowned. “Now, Bill,” she said, “I told you in the car that I wanted pancakes. Weren’t you listening?”
��Of course I hadn’t been. “Yeah, I heard you,” I lied, “But I thought maybe you’d want blueberry pancakes.”
��Maggie, my lovely wife, splashed two or three heaping spoons of sugar into her coffee. “You know I just want regular pancakes,” she went on. “I never eat any kind but regular.”
��Shit, I thought. She’d eat anything that even resembled food.
��When Trixie came back to take our order I noticed how she seemed to be smiling, especially at me. And then she seemed to have a seductive tone to her voice when she asked me if I wanted my syrup heated up.
��Bored, and depressed about returning home, I began to take an interest in the girl. She looked like she was in her early twenties, brown hair, freckles, blue eyes, sweet smile, and no wedding ring or tattoos. I wanted to strike up a conversation with her, but not with my wife sitting there. My charming, angelic wife...
��“I’m sleepy,” Maggie said, stretching, after she’d gobbled her griddle cakes like a starved mountain lion. She had syrup all over her mouth. “Are you about ready?”
��I faked a yawn, even though I wasn’t really tired. The coffee and Trixie had helped wake me up. “No,” I said, also stretching, “I think I’m too tired to drive any more tonight. Maybe we’d better just stay here tonight at the motel.”
��I might as well have slapped her. “What do you mean, Œstay here!’ I thought we left Florida a day early so you could get back to work. We were supposed to drive straight through.”
��“I know,” I yawned again, “But it’s not worth having an accident. One night isn’t going to matter. We’ll get a real early start in the morning.”
��Surprisingly, she agreed. It must have been the part about having an accident.
��As soon as we checked into a room, Maggie took the warm shower I suggested and then fell asleep. The room was crummy, the walls paper-thin, but the noise from all of the semi’s outside provided the camouflage I needed to slip out.
��“You again?” Trixie asked as I sat down in a booth. She seemed obviously delighted to see me.
��I grinned brightly. “Yep, I just couldn’t sleep. I had to see YOU again.”
��My God, did I just say that, I thought? The words had slipped out of my mouth so fast.
��Trixie’s blue eyes answered my question. My remark about seeing her again, I realized, had been a question: “Are you interested in me?” And though I already knew, I needed her to tell me. And she did. With a sparkle from her eyes.
��“Where’s your wife?” Trixie asked, and my fantasy began to fall apart.
��I thought fast. Really fast. I knew I had to.
��“You mean that woman who was with me earlier?” I laughed. “That wasn’t my wife. That’s my sister. We’re on our way to Florida to see our father. He’s in a retirement home down there and he’s not well.”
��No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I felt like throwing up. Why did I have to involve my family in the lie, and especially my father? What an awful, cold-hearted, selfish lie. My dad in a retirement home in Florida!
��“Your sister?” Trixie seemed skeptical. “She doesn’t look like you.”
��“We’re both adopted,” I blurted, the lies rolling off my tongue like a wad of spit.
��“Coffee?” she asked, still smiling sweetly.
��“Huh? Oh, okay,” I answered. I hadn’t really thought about ordering anything.
��“Why aren’t you out with your boyfriend tonight?” I asked, the dumbest come-on line in the world. But she didn’t have one, she said. She was on the rebound. Her last boyfriend had been a real creep.
��“Well, the world’s full of Œem,” I said, winking and sipping my coffee. Trixie didn’t seem to be in any big hurry to leave my table, the civilian section of the greasy spoon not being too busy, so I went on. “Why don’t you take a break or something? We could talk?”
��I didn’t know what she’d say, but she spun around, walked away, and then turned to face me again.
��“Back in a flash,” she said.
��I could see the freckles on her nose. Wow, I thought. This is great. She didn’t even ask me any more about my sister. She didn’t even ask me how old I am. She doesn’t know anything about me. For all she knows I could be an axe murderer. I grinned to myself when I thought of Maggie snoring away obliviously in the motel room. She’s made my life a living hell, I thought. Well, here’s where I get something back. If I’m going to live in hell I might as well enjoy it. Trixie. Wow.
��Minutes later Trixie was back and sitting right across from me—bright-eyed, sweet, full of pep, happy—everything Maggie wasn’t. Every word that came from Trixie’s mouth excited me. She had a child-like enthusiasm and was unbearably cute. I felt like a high school senior all over again, trying to think of some way I could talk her into sleeping with me. But I knew I had to approach the subject delicately. We chit chatted for a half hour or so, but I let her do most of the talking. I didn’t want the subject of my “sister” to come up again.
��Finally the conversation began to die down and I knew it was time to move in a different direction. I took a last big gulp of coffee and (telling her my sister was asleep in our motel room) asked Trixie if we could maybe go to her apartment since she’d told me that she lived only a few miles from Lindy’s. My heart raced as I waited for an answer.
��“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her coat and purse. “I’ll just tell Carol I won’t be back tonight. We’re not busy anyway.”
��I almost collapsed. I couldn’t believe it was all happening so easily. I’m almost old enough to be her father, I thought.
��But as we headed to the front door of Lindy’s, something terrible happened.
��“Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” a woman’s hoarse voice yelled out.
��Trixie’s face turned white and so did mine. But it wasn’t Maggie. I’d never seen this woman before. This woman was gross, masculine-looking, a savage expression on her face. Then again, I think I HAVE seen her, I thought. In a movie called AMAZONS FROM PLANET MARS.
��“I asked you where you think you’re going?” the woman said again. She was confrontational, in a stance to pounce and scratch, bite, pull hair, punch. She glared at Trixie.
��“Ignore her,” Trixie said, grabbing my hand.
��“What?” I whispered. “What’s going on? Who is she?”
��“I’ll tell you who I am,” the woman shouted bombastically. People coming in and out were beginning to stare. “I’m Trixie’s woman. Did you tell him that Trix? Did you tell him we’re married.”
��“We are NOT married, and I wish you’d quit telling people that,” Trixie said, tightening the grip on my hand. “Now let’s go.”
��But the terrible woman followed us outside.
��“I ain’t letting no man get a hold of my Trixie,” she said, grabbing Trixie’s arm. She began whispering in Trixie’s ear, quietly, but far from tenderly. “Come on, honey. I thought ya loved me. Why are ya bein’ so mean to me?”
��“You don’t own me, Lydia, so just go away.” Trixie didn’t seem to be embarrassed, she was just angry.
��All I wanted to do, though, was run away. I’ve always tried to keep an open mind when it comes to other people’s sexual preferences, but this was just too weird. I could see myself fighting a lesbian in a truckstop parking lot at three-thirty in the morning and ending up in jail and Maggie having to bail me out and then listening to her bitch all the way home. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be safe in that motel room right now drinking a beer and watching TV, I thought. What in the hell made me decide to do this? Maybe I should have Dr. Jarvis neuter me when we get home.
��
��“Hey, you,” the wicked lesbian grabbed me by the shirt collar. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
��Before I could say anything, Trixie pulled me her way. “Let’s go!” she groaned. “Buzz off, Lydia, we’re leaving. He’s spending the night with me.” She planted a big, wet kiss on my lips and tried to stick her tongue in my mouth, but I wouldn’t let her. Lydia was glaring at me and seemed ready to fight. For all I knew she could have had a knife or a gun.
��Oh, fuck, I thought. I’ve got to get out of here now.
��“Excuse me!” I said firmly. I have to go to the bathroom. Why don’t the two of you talk things over for a few minutes and I’ll be right back.”
��“Yeah, why don’t you COME RIGHT BACK,” Lydia said, her words thick with sarcasm. “I ain’t done with you yet.”
��I half-smiled at Trixie as I let go of her hand and shuffled back inside. Then I quickly exited out a back door and up to the motel room.
��I had to stop before entering, I was so out of breath. Maggie rolled over when I opened the door. “Where you been?” she asked sleepily.
��For the first time in a long while, Maggie’s words were comforting to me.
��“I couldn’t sleep,” I said. “I had to take a walk. All that riding in the car today made me antsy. Plus all that coffee.” I sat down on my end of the bed and began pulling my shoes off.
��Maggie rolled back over and snuggled up in the thin blanket. “A walk?” she mumbled. “Well, you’d better be careful. You’re likely to get mugged in a grimy place like this.”
��I didn’t say anything. I just layed back on the hard mattress and drifted off to sleep next to my trusting, predictable wife, dreaming of the long drive home, and another dull day back at the office.





Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...