Sucker

Much like the parting clouds, the tension dissipated between us. Timmy had a post coital glowing halo and zipped up his pants. I did the same, feeling deflated but couldn't help but admire his expertise.

He flipped down his visor and retrieved a CD and asked if I liked R&B music. Normally, no, but this was The Timmy Show, and my element was mutable, the passenger, here to see the world a car ride at a time, and yes Timmy, today R&B seems fitting somehow. The stereo interface lit up in a blue light show when he slid in the Seal CD. It was an interesting sound track as Timmy pursed his lips, trying to look cute as he flung his mock timid glances.

After inserting the CD he rested his hand on my knee, but that was too much. I threatened to snake bite, and though he insisted that he wouldn't try to grab my cock, there was something about the hand on my knee that felt more degrading than the blow job. I wasn't this cock sucker's bitch. Timmy stuck out his lip and frowned, the temperamental five year old again, but he wasn't as needy, and after all, we had struck a deal. The hand on my knee was not in our verbal contract. We were bound for Spokane, so a snake bite would be a penalty or simply part of the touchy-touch game.  I was glad Timmy had no inclination toward masochism where I would have no recourse. 

The very thought of his intimate touches made me squeamish. If I tried to go a layer deeper, I knew it was fear.  There was no wall that crumbled, no heterosexual tendency broken, but I had a glimpse (a glorious one) into what I might be missing out on. But he was Timmy and not some bearded trucker.  If that had been the case, I would have braved a stormy night on the pass rather than letting facial whiskers brush my shaft. The thought made me shiver. And why was that? The Socratic onion peeling of conscious perspective was something Gabriel urged me to do in Hawaii.  If hell was out of the equation and life was predetermined (which he showed me was the case) my walk about this spinning rock should be as fear free as possible, so I pondered the irritation that threatened to heat into genuine anger at the pressure of his warm hand on my knee, his finger tapping to the beat on my patella.

With the exception of my girlfriend, physical contact had never been something I initiated or felt comfortable engaged in. The whole touchy feely thing, or even the arm around the shoulder bro hug always seemed awkward. The personal space bubble that had just been popped was beginning to form again, back to homeostasis and I was straight. 

We passed Mt. Stewart, the most majestic of the Eastern Washington peaks. It jutted up like Paramount and was surrounded by clouds just turning pink as the sun crept behind the range. Ponderosa pines were unevenly spaced on the yellow grass, a signature of the drier climate. The interstate winded like a wisteria vine down the mountains, and I listened to Seal and Timmy's contrasting notes as they sang in tandem to the swanky melody.

The rain fizzled out and the road was dry as we rolled by Cleelum, and though I felt a little hungry, I knew there was a Subway in Ellensburg. It was worth the wait, a half an hour or so down the road. I was in no mood to sit across a table from Timmy at some cowboy diner. What if Timmy was full and insisted on a motel—just for the night Jasper, I promise I'll take you all the way in the morning. I knew his childlike tantrums, or lust or any other unforeseen facet of his volatile personality could cut the ride short. We were already going to get there after dark as it was, and the last thing I wanted to do was argue with a tired Timmy.

Dusk was settling when we arrived at Subway. The air was still warm and permeated with the pungent aroma of cow manure from the surrounding ranches. There was an uneasy tone in Timmy's voice when he asked if I wanted to stay in the car while he ordered us subs. Maybe he didn't want to be seen with me, or maybe it was an attempt at being chivalrous, but he seemed nervous.

“Sure, I'll wait here, just get me a sub with every kind of meat and pepper jack cheese, all the toppings and extra jalapenos.”

He frowned.

“It's easy, all the meat, pepper jack, and all the toppings,” I said, then added, “Oh yeah, and just a strip of mustard... I hate it when they hose down the bread with condiments.” His uncomprehending eyes made me consider writing the order for a moment, but I came up with a better plan.
.

“Tell you what Timmy, what if I go in and grab us a sub? Or hey, better yet, who gives a fuck, let yourself be seen in public with the dirty hippie.” It was meant as a joke, but it was apparent that this was troubling him. Adjusting the rear view mirror, he looked at himself, and then around in the parking lot.   

“Dude, you are the strangest guy I've ever met,” I chuckled, “But I can get us a sub, and I don't know if you're scared of these cowboys or being seen with me or what, but you can hide in the car and I'll get us sandwiches.” He let out a big sigh of relief, and a cowboy in tight Wranglers, the stereotypical hat, boots, down to the big shiny belt buckle swung open the Subway door and strutted to his truck. 

“Just hand me the keys so I know you won't roll off with my back pack in your trunk, deal?”

“Kay,” his voice was meek. Timid Timmy pulled the keys out of the ignition and handed them over.

“Whaddya want?” I asked.

“I no go Subway before,” he said, “What you get is good, yes?”

“Well I think it is, but I get extra jalapenos, you know, the hot peppers, spicy,” I said fanning my mouth, “and you might not--”

“Yes I know jalapeno, I not stupid Jasper!”

“Alright Timmy, you like em hot, so you got some cash?” He handed me a twenty.

Walking back to the car, I could see Venus shining in the violet sky. Spokane was somewhere below it in the east. I tried to calculate how long the ride with Timmy would be, and wondered if he was up to it. He seemed in a sour mood, but I couldn't help but feel optimistic as I saw him waving his hand, and like a little lap dog, the bright smile on his face was a little too excited after such a brief separation. Such a strange mood morphing man.

When we opened our paper wraps, jalapenos tumbled out of the subs that were packed too full to completely close. The guy behind the counter had hooked it up when I asked for a quadruple helping of jalapenos--at least three hand fulls--and even though I knew it was ridiculous, I loved them and was confident that $20 would cover everything for two deluxe subs. I'll admit a bit of my motivation was to challenge Timmy. He braved a bite but ended up scooping most of the jalapenos out, and I shook my head and feigned disappointment.  More for me.

“Well some like it hot, but I like fire and brimstone,” I said.

The flat terrain of eastern Washington is yellow, brown and treeless. It stretches on like a pancake, scraped flat with by an ancient glacier, but the sky was clear and Timmy was in high spirits as he sang along with his R&B. The stars were bright overhead as we wound down into the Columbia River gorge, ascending the other side I pointed to the ridge, and though it was dark, the silhouettes of running horses could be seen on the horizon. Timmy gazed out in amazement until he realized the statues were inanimate.

After the river the straight interstate was monotonous. Time was slipping by at a snails pace and it seemed our car was doing the same, but every minute another mile marker showed progress. Timmy drove without expression, all his animated excitement drained out and flattened like the surrounding terrain.

After hours of R&B and boredom, we arrived in Medical Lake a few miles outside of Spokane where my dad lived.

“Well Timmy, I would invite you in, but my dad is a republican,” I said avoiding the word homophobic.

“What republican?”

“A conservative. A Christian,” I said and he put two and two together.

“Oh he no like gays.” he said and nodded.  Timmy must have tasted a helping of homophbic insults served with a side bitter ignorance.  He understood what "no like gays" could mean.  It was like riding with a black man during the days of Jim Crow, well, apart from the blow job.  

“But hey, thanks for the ride and have a safe drive back.”

I shouldered my pack and got out into the warm night air. My dad's apartment was dark and there was no response when I knocked on the door. I stood on the porch for a moment before knocking again. Nothing.  I walked into the parking lot and didn't find his car.  No dad.

I walked through the town under the street lights looking for a place out of site to camp and decided that the trail surrounding the lake would be my best bet. There was only a sliver of moonlight illuminating the paved path and I found a flat piece of ground under a pine tree. It was a couple hundred feet off the trail with soft mat of layered needles. The long ride had drained me and I was looking forward to a night out under the stars. I unpacked my sleeping bag and arranged my extra clothes inside the pack to be used as a pillow. In minutes my mind began to drift into dreamland. I thought about Timmy on his drive back.  It would be early in the morning when he arrived if he pushed through. Images swirled and changed form as I began to disappear, but a shrill whine brought me back. 

The mosquitoes had found me. At first I tried to ignore the high pitch noise of their wings as they circled my face. Just sleep now--but it was intolerable as I felt the mosquito, like a tiny feather land on my lip.  I spit out and waved my arm in circles.  This can't be happening, not now. I took off my bandanna and covered my face, but my warm breath and night air was smothering and a claustrophobic cloud was billowing. I ripped it off. Hours passed as I tried to will myself to sleep but the insistent buzz, and occasional nips, made sleep impossible. Many times I sat up, clapping my hands in the dark in a futile attempt to kill them all. As if drawn in by my frustration, the mosquito army grew and even in the dim moonlight I could see the outline hideous blood suckers.

Finally after hours of restlessness, noise, and itching I got out of my bag on the verge of tears. Why hadn't I brought a piece of screen or at least some insect repellent? Stuffing my bag into my pack in short cathartic bursts rage I got up. I looked out over the black water and decided that the lakeside was no place to camp.

I walked an itchy mile back into town and considered sleeping on the side of some sort of office building with a hedge around it. The hedge would provide a visual barrier, but after examining the beauty bark I noticed black sprinkler heads poking up like gophers. Being sprayed into consciousness at 4am was a mistake I had made before. With heavy eyelids and leaden feet I trudged onward. The crescent moon was creeping toward the horizon and the small town was asleep, and the fluorescent lights cast a dismal glow as I walked down the road toward the freeway feeling grim, a slight lump hanging like a bitter pill in my throat.

A half mile out of town I bent between a barbed wire fence. Fuck! One of the barbs tore a small rip in my cargo shorts which wasn't so bad, but sleep deprived, the fence seemed merciless and intentionally cruel. The field had a few pine trees looming up black in the darkness, and I spotted one that looked far enough away from the road not to be visible and alert early morning commuters. The last thing I wanted was to be awakened by a cop and receive a ticket for vagrancy. As I waded through the tall grass and headed toward the Ponderosa, I thought about the ludicrous law that prevents sleep. It's okay to walk around homeless, but to sleep in public is unlawful. Should we all be on meth, tweaked out of our minds wandering about like vampires in the night? Sleep is sacred and to make it illegal is truly criminal.

Under the dark tree I unpacked my bag and spread it on a relatively flat spot between the roots. At last!

Right before I drifted off I heard the piercing whine of mosquito wings slicing through the night air. Go away! I tried to listen to my mind as it conjured a dream full of mysterious voices and unseen characters, but the interrupting hum was insistent, malevolent. Bite me already, get your pound of flesh and fuck off! I accepted the pin prick on my cheek and didn't slap. I saw a flash of blue and heard the snickering of Gabriel.

Just let it suck.

The voice brought me fully awake. The metaphor struck me and I saw it for what it was. A lesson. The implications were undeniable as I considered what the day had brought me. Just let it suck, of course! Sleep was just another destination and I had to negotiate my terms. The lake, my dad's empty apartment was all part of the stage. After filling up on my blood the mosquito flew off, full and contented. Only the serenading cricket chirping was heard now. Perhaps the single mosquito had clung to my clothing for the ride out of town. Perhaps.

Sleep now shithead.

I smiled at my friend who gave me an indigo wink and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.