Free HBO

​

“How was your ride here?” Molly asked as I switched the floor-unit to Max AC.

 

“There were ants inside my motorcycle helmet,” I said. “They were spilling down my face and burrowing into my ears. I had to pull over.”

 

“I’m just glad you wore a helmet,” Molly said, pulling off her sandals.

 

I unwrapped a plastic hotel cup, dropped a few ice cubes and filled it to the brim with drug-store whisky.

 

It was just the two of  us in a motel off the interstate; the kind of place that advertises “Free HBO” on their signage.

 

Molly insisted we remove the floral-patterned comforter from the bed because “they don’t wash them.”

​

I wasn’t working at that time and Molly’s kids were in daycare. So we could do this sort of thing.

 

“You gotta catch up,” I said to Molly, readying a drink for her.

 

It was 10 am and I was already half-in-the-bag,  having had a few with breakfast.

 

“It’s so dark in here,” Molly said.

 

As soon as we’d entered the room I'd insisted on drawing the black-out curtains. I wanted to draw a line, a separation between the ‘in here’ and ‘out there."

​

For just this hour, I wanted her to be mine.

​

We sat down on the bed, cross legged,  just looking at each other.

 

Molly was wearing a sundress, held up by two slender straps across her freckled shoulders. I could see her collar bone and her dangling earrings. Her dirty-blonde hair was tied into a loose bun.

 

“They said this was a smoke free room,” Molly said, “but it reeks of smoke.”

 

"I can’t smell anything,” I said.

 

“The smell reminds me of my grandmothers house.”

 

Molly was looking around, not meeting my gaze. She had her hands in her lap, clasped, holding them tightly together as if she were afraid that they may float away.

​

"I hope you don't mind this place,” Molly said.

​

Her fingernails and toenails were painted a cute teal color.

 

“This is great, just splendid, Molly,” I said.

 

“This place takes cash,” Molly said, letting her hair down. “I can’t use the card because Doug does all the money.”

 

I touched her face and thought of the way we’d met.

 

We were strangers once. It had happened unexpectedly, when opportunity and desire met.

 

“This place is perfect," I said, "There’s a liquor store down the street and there's an ice machine in the office,” I said. “These amenities,” I continued, “are vital, really vital for what we’re trying to do here.”

 

“I’m just glad it’s OK,” Molly said.

 

"You're with me now, and that's all I need."

 

“Well, for a bit anyway. Before I’ve gotta go back to my real life.”

 

“This is your real life.” I said.

 

“No, this is easy. This is just kind of an intermission, the space between.”

 

Her face was side-lit by the brass bedside lamp, her hazel eyes, her full lips.

 

There was a painting of sea gulls on the yellowed wall behind her.

 

“I wonder what’s the weirdest thing that’s ever happened in this room?” I asked.

 

The sheet rock was patched in several places. I imagined angry fists going through the wall.

 

“I feel like someone’s probably shot a porno in here,” Molly said. “And that’s why we don’t sit on the comforter.”

 

I stood up and shuffled to the bucket of mostly-melted ice.

 

“Do you hear that,” I asked.

 

“Yes. I think someone is crying,” Molly said. “I wonder if she’s OK?”

 

I walked towards the wall and put my ear to it.

 

"Hello, there," I shouted through the wall. "Greetings to you my fellow traveler,” I continued.

 

The crying stopped.

 

“Would you like a drink," I shouted. “We have plenty, why don’t you come over and make yourself a drink.”

 

After a moment of silence, I heard the TV turn on. I recognized the swelling music; the John William's score to Jurassic Park.

 

“That’s a great movie,” I shouted. “What channel’s it on?”

 

“HBO,” a woman’s muffled voice said through the wall.

​

"Nice, it sounds like you caught it right at the beginning."

 

“Please don’t shout at me though the wall," the woman in the adjacent room said.

 

“Babe, don’t talk through the wall,” Molly reiterated.

​

“Well, I’m just trying to be diplomatic,” I replied.

 

I looked at molly and she looked at me. I leaned over and kissed Molly on the forehead without setting my drink down.

 

“I love your skull, your skeleton, your brain,” I said, “every piece of you.”

 

I noticed for the first time, that she was wearing contact lenses. I could make out the edges floating in her eyes.

 

"Sit," she said, pulling me towards her.

 

I dropped onto the bed beside her.

 

"I want to feel your heart beat,” I said, reaching for her left side.

 

“Where's s this going,” Molly asked. “What is it that you want?”

 

She uncrossed her legs and leaned over, putting her head in my lap.

 

“Tell me what you want.”

 

I inhaled and said:

 

"All I've ever wanted was to be so good at something that people would excuse my drinking."

 

“No, no,” she said. “What is it that you want from this, from me and you?”

​

I knew we needed to talk but this wasn’t the time or place.

 

“I think I’m in love with you,” I said.

 

I felt all warm inside, buoyed by the liquor. She sat up and looked off into the darkened room.

​

“You’re just drunk,” she said.

 

I put my hand on her shoulder.

 

“No, really, Molly. It’s true.”

 

“You’re drunk, you really are and I know it."

 

“Trust me. I can be drunk and in love at the same time. Trust me, I can tell the two apart.”

 

“I don’t know that you can,” Molly said, as if from a great distance. “For god’s sake's," she continued, "open the curtains, I am tired of this darkness, everywhere we go, just darkness,” Molly said standing up.

 

I hesitated for a moment. I didn’t want to part the curtains, not just yet, as if the sun may evaporate all of this. I watched her straighten her dress. I marveled at her legs and marvelous bare feet.

 

“I can’t stand this dark, I need light, something, anything that might feel hopeful.”

 

I watched her march towards the window.

 

“Just a second,” I said, rising.

 

“What do you want from me?” she said, turning her shoulders, her body tense.

 

“I just want to look at you one last time,” I said.

 

“Well, I’m here,” she said.

 

“I know.”

​

Then as she reached for the curtains, I tried to commit all of this to memory, her standing there, the shape of her breasts, the nape of her neck.

 

This was something I needed to remember because, somehow, I just knew, that in the sunlight all of this would feel much, much different.