Nefarious Muse

He liked the town, so small, barely an exit off the highway, it was hidden from what he knew, was perfect.  He checked into the Coltrane hotel because it had a restaurant attached, having pulled up in the predawn minutes and needing a cup of coffee.  It was good so he got a room.  Twenty-seven.  He didn’t even lie about his name to the clerk, just told him he would be there for a week.  The hotel bed was comfortable, the window had a view of rolling tobacco fields, there was a decent bar within walking distance.  He knew of no reason to leave.

In the mornings he would go downstairs and buy a paper, which he would read sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee, every article no matter how mundane.  Once finished he would return to his room and get to work, filling up the pages of his notebook until his stomach urged him back downstairs.  On sunny days he would keep the curtains closed.  He found a jazz station that came in and out of frequency depending on how the wind was blowing, the clouds in the sky.  He didn’t smoke that whole first week.  The room phone never rang, and he never picked it up.  He kept his cellular in his bags at the foot of the bed.

At the restaurant, he occasionally talked to the waitresses, his favorite a big woman named Maddy.  She talked about her former husband who spent time working the fields until a stroke fell him one day in the middle of a brutal summer twenty years prior.  She never remarried, but went to the unaffiliated church a mile off the interstate.  She invited him every week, but he didn’t take her up on it until she told him about a revival they were having.  He sat in the back and tried to not move in the heat.  He stood when everyone else stood, didn’t sing but let those songs come over him, and some people came down with the Spirit and he envied them.  Maddy never charged him for coffee.

He didn’t drink much, but walked to the bar every other night to be around people, even though the only people he talked to were the bartenders.  He would have a couple, three beers and pay his tab and walk back to his room, sit on the bed and drink water from the bathroom sink and watch the small television, simply turning it on and not noticing what was being broadcast.  One night a man a decade older offered to buy him some drinks if he told his story, and after a moment of thought he relented.  The man asked if he was Irish, and he told him probably.  The man showed him the shamrock tattoo on his chest he wore honorably.  He had a wife who was in South Carolina because her mother just died.  He met her, his wife, on the internet and was having second thoughts.  He liked the man, though he couldn’t remember his name, simply called him Irish.  Three drinks in Irish noticed two women at the end of the bar who were drinking wine and smoking, talking in quick words, and Irish dragged him down to them.  Both were in their thirties, same as Irish, one with dark hair and a barely noticeable black eye, the other a redhead with a nice ass.  Irish started talking to the redhead.  To the brunette he apologized.  She would not break eye contact and that made him uncomfortable, so he told Irish he needed to get home and left without buying the woman a drink.  Halfway on his walk home, he noticed he was tipsy, and by the time he got back to the room he calculated he had had three beers and three shots and it made him sad that was enough to do him in.  He tried to sleep but couldn’t.  He turned on the television to a low volume but that old trick didn’t work.  He found a channel broadcasting a preacher from Texas with perfect hair and an annoying smile, bright teeth.  They showed views of the audience, the place the size of a football stadium completely full to capacity.  The preacher talked about love, how he couldn’t live without his beautiful wife who they showed in all her plastic glory.  The preacher loved his wife and thanked God every day for her, and that coupled with the drink drove him to get out of bed and get his cellular from his bags and turn it on for the first time in close to two weeks.  The last time he did so it had been silenced for three days.  He had many missed calls from a handful of people, several voicemails and texts and he knew it was unwise but he listened to, read them all.  She missed him, he learned from four people before her own voice came on.  She was sorry.  Then his roommate Shirley started talking.  She missed him, too.  People had been asking about him.  She wasn’t worried about the bills, he’d left her more than enough money for those, plenty extra for her and her young son.  Neither she nor the boy were his, but he loved them like they were and that was all.  She said his girlfriend kept calling, and he didn’t even whisper “ex”.  When she got back in town she came directly to their apartment looking for him.  She was in tears, and Shirley let her stay in his bed, crying.  Shirley made her tea and tried to console her.  He turned the television off and turned on the jazz station.  It came in and out.  He called Shirley, who picked up on the fourth ring, saying hello in a deep, sleep filled voice, having not even checked to see who was calling.

“Hey Shirley.”

“Clay?  Christ, where are you?”

He told her, not realizing he shouldn’t until later.  He told her he liked the place, was getting lots of work done.  She sounded glad to hear from him, and he was grateful for her acting abilities.

“Sorry, I woke you,” he said after a few minutes.

“It’s more than okay.”

“Sorry to bug you.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

“Are you doing alright?”

“Drunk, I reckon, but I guess alright enough.”  The radio played Peace by Coleman.

“I’ve been worried about you.  We all have.”

“No need for that.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Not sure.”

“You are, though.  Right?”

“Probably.”  She was silent, and that was too much for him.  “How’s Bud?”

“He’s good.  Been reading a lot lately.”

“Good.”

“He misses you.”

“Tell him I said ‘hey’, will you?”

“Of course.”

“It’s late.”

“Not too late.”

“I should let you go.”

“It’s okay.”

“Thinking I needed to talk to someone.  I hate to bug you.”

“You’re not bugging me.  Never have.”

“Liar.”  He could tell she was smiling, a sad one on her beautiful lips.  He refused to think further on that.

“Thinking I can sleep now.   Couldn’t sleep earlier.”

“Okay.”

“Sorry to bug you.”

“Stop it.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“Call me soon, alright.”

“Alright.”  He pressed the end button.  The song playing faded briefly to static before coming back strong right as Coleman started to hit his stride.  He turned the phone off and put it back in the bag.  When he woke the next morning he didn’t remember laying back down.  It was a day later before he regretted calling Shirley.  The knocking at this door a spell after seven confused him, and he looked around the room for something to defend himself with, but nothing was adequate for such a task, so he pulled on his pants and answered the door to see her standing there in wrinkled, designer jeans and a white tank top, her shoulder length hair not perfect as it usually was.  He didn’t return her fading smile.  He stood there at the threshold, shirtless, watching her squirm, for several beats before she spoke, a hesitant “Hello.”

“Hey,” he replied.

“Shirley told me where you were.”

“Figured as much.”

“I needed to see you.”

“Did you?”

“You haven’t been returning my calls.”

“Phone hasn’t been on.”

“Oh.”  No words passed for a few more rough beats.  “Can we talk?”

“It’s early.”

“I know.   I’m sorry.”  He was sure she didn’t mean about the hour.

“Look, why don’t you go down to the café.  Tell Maddy you’re with me and I’ll be down after I take a shower.”

Softly, she acquiesced.  He closed the door as she walked towards the stairs.  He didn’t even watch her ass as she went.  He took his time showering, the water nice and hot.  He didn’t get out until he stopped shaking.  In the restaurant, Maddy gave him a soft smile and pointed to a table in the corner where she sat clutching a cup of hot tea.  He gave her a kiss on the cheek before walking over and taking his seat.  Maddy brought him a cup of black coffee.  He didn’t wait for it to cool before taking a sip.  It was too early.

“I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”  He didn’t respond.  “So, why this place?” she asked, deflecting the silence.

“It felt right.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a nice town.  And this place has good coffee.”

“I wish you wouldn’t have left so soon.”

“There’s a nice Mexican place down the way.  Authentic.”

“I wanted to explain in person.”

“They have great huevos rancheros.  Cheap beer, too.”

“I wanted a chance to explain what happened.”

“Maddy took me to a revival.”

“I know I’m in the wrong.”

“They sang these songs that made me feel light.”

“I know that I made a mistake.”

“Like a bird, almost.”

“I want things to go back to the way they were.”

“Those songs made me feel like I was flying over the countryside.”

“You have every right to be angry.”

“Made me feel like I was above everything.”

“You didn’t even yell.”

“Like I was in the clouds.”

“That was the worst.  You didn’t yell.”

“Made me think He’s really up there.”

“Why didn’t you yell?”

“Made me think He really cares about us.

“It was so horrible.  You didn’t even raise your voice.  Just talking on the phone.  ‘That’s it, then.  I’ll leave your key on the counter.’”

“He might even love us.”

          “You left town before I could get back, before I could explain.  I know it was a mistake.  I hate myself for it.”

“How can we deserve that?”

“I miss you.”

“How can we deserve His love like that?”

“I miss us.”

“After all he did for us, all that work and all that sacrifice, how can we deserve His love.”

“I’m sorry.”

“People ask why He lets bad things happen.  Why, if He loves us so, does He let horrible and tragic things happen to people who don’t deserve them?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“He lets them happen because they have too.”

“I love you.”

“He lets them happen because that’s the only way they can be.  It can only be the way things are.”

“Please.”

“Don’t worry about the check.  Maddy doesn’t charge me for coffee.  I’ll get your tea.”

“Do you still love me?”

“It’s too early for me to eat.”

“Clay?”

“Have some food, and tell Maddy I’ll pay for it.”

“Clay.”

“I’ve got to get to work.”

“Clay?”

“Goodbye.”

“Please.”

“Goodbye.”