dugindeep | Wandering Lost: Part 10

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DAY TEN
New York City

Jensen wakes up to the afternoon sun hot on his back and the loud clanking of machinery. When he blinks himself to some form of consciousness, he realizes he’s back in his own bed. Instead of the smell of pancakes and bacon, he dealing with the sour stench of garbage. Right outside his window and a few floors down, a garbage truck bangs the dumpsters together for the Chinese restaurant as they’re emptied.

He faintly remembers a time when the city was charming. The mess of traffic horns and screeching brakes mixing with people’s loud voices as they traipse up and down the neighborhood. People always on the go, the energy of living your life out loud. Even the salty, foul smell of the Chinese restaurant would make him crave Crab Rangoon and orange chicken. He used to thank the stars he had so many food options close to his doorstep. And as much as he appreciates the firmness of his own mattress and the softness of his comforter, there’s a deep longing for the firm, unforgiving bed back at the Red Sky Inn.

Once he’s up and making coffee, there’s the draw of the daily crosswords he raced Briana to finish, or the bottomless cups of coffee she never charged him for. Hell, he even misses that damn squirrel that followed him everywhere. It kept him company before he found comfort in Paradise.

In front of the bathroom mirror, a tiny thing with rust spots all along the sides, he wonders about shaving. After a week of forgoing the blade, there is an impressive layer of scruff covering up the bottom half of his face. Maybe it’s a battle scar to wear for now. A way to avoid looking himself clear in the face and thinking about what transpired over the last nine days, and why he still cares.

For fifteen years, bottling up his emotions has been an easy task. Suddenly, it feels like too much effort. So does a shower.

It takes another cup of coffee for Jensen to do more than drag his feet along the weathered floorboards of his tiny studio apartment. A little more effort, and Jensen can drive the damned Ford upstate and get paid for his long travels.

There wasn’t much time for sleep in the last twenty-four hours, driving straight through the night from Paradise, fueled by energy drinks, beef jerky, and Mrs. G’s offerings.

It’s a bit disorienting that his phone is fully functional again, uninterrupted Wi-Fi everywhere he goes. Yet, it remains silent. He has no reason to believe anyone back in Paradise would bother contacting him, let alone figure out how.

Still, he allows himself the cold realization of wishing someone would. If only to remind him that it wasn’t all a dream.

***

Beaver is happy to see the truck, and gives her praises far beyond any bit of emotion he grants Jensen. He has all sorts of questions about what took him so long and is suspicious as to why she looks so clean, inside and out.

The old man sighs. “I guess I can’t complain when she’s here all in one piece.”

Jensen nods in agreement, otherwise staying silent.

“You have a good time drivin’ her?” Beaver asks. “Fun trip?”

He can’t touch on what happened in Paradise, can’t let on that there was any hiccup with the truck. He considers talking about it using vague concepts, about places he could have stayed in between legs of driving. Decides it’s best to keep quiet and avoid the buried feelings while he has other things to focus on.

Beaver runs a palm over the front quarter panel like touching a lover. “You know, when I met my wife, she was driving this car.”

“This exact car?” Jensen suddenly fears if the sentimental value has been lost with the rehabilitated fuel pump.

“No, you idjit.”

There’s a pain in his chest as Jensen thinks about Kim and her colorful insults.

“We crashed that thing right after I asked her to marry me … funny story, really. I asked. She screamed. Then I ran us right off the road.”

Jensen attempts to smile at the image, yet is struck with guilt as he thinks about how this truck stuttered off onto the shoulder back in Nebraska.

“I always said I’d get that truck back for her. It was her first love after all.”

“Kinda puts a damper on the marriage,” Jensen jokes before he can stop himself.

Instead of complaining, Beaver rubs his salt-and-cinnamon beard and nods. “It could. It really could. But I learned long ago that there are all sorts of loves in our lives. Just gotta find the right one to ride shotgun as you drive off into the sunset.”

It’s like a punch to the gut, as images of Jensen sitting beside Jared in the tow truck whip by him. It strikes him so deep, it rattles him down to his core and stays with him for the rest of the day.

Back at his apartment, he sifts through the thousands of photos he took in Paradise and begins the crusade to piece his last week together. He knows it’s one hell of a story.

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