Miriam Toews - The Flying Troutmans

Yeah, they must have been really mad, said Logan. Are there photos in that book?

No, said Thebes, only maps.

Did the Pamela Lee Anderson thing coincide with the expanding liquid explosion thing? he asked.

It doesn’t say, said Thebes. I don’t think so.

There was something about Thebes not twigging to Logan’s dirty joking that made me want to cry, made me think of Min and me as kids and made me want to travel backwards but not exactly back to where we’d come from.

And did you know, she said, that Kingman is called the Heart of Historic Route 66? The longest original stretch of Route 66 runs right through downtown Kingman. It’s called the Mother Road. Thebes liked that. The Mother Road. But she didn’t know what Route 66 was. Neither did Logan, really.

Don’t you guys know the song? I asked them. You know, “Get your kicks on Route 66…”?

Drawing a blank, said Logan.

Kicks? said Thebes, do you mean, like, shoes?

WE WERE SITTING IN A NAUGAHYDE BOOTH in a restaurant in Kingman. I ordered a large pot of coffee for myself and the kids played Hangman while we waited for our food. Our waitress told us this was her last shift because later that day she was going to get on a plane for the very first time and fly all the way over to North Carolina to hook up with a guy she’d met online. Her friends had all told her she was crazy to do it but she didn’t care, she hadn’t even purchased cancellation insurance for the flight. She’d given up her apartment.

So, then, do you think you’ll stay there forever? I asked her.

If all goes according to plan, yeah, she said.

And this’ll be the first time you meet him in person? I asked.

Yeah, she said. Do you want to see a picture of him? She took a tiny photo out of her apron pocket and handed it to me.

Oh, he’s really cute, I said. And he seems nice? I passed the photo to Logan, who didn’t look at it, just passed it to Thebes, who stared at it.

Oh, yeah! said the waitress. Real nice. I’m so excited I keep spilling things, I’m sorry.

Hey, no problem, I said. It’s understandable. I hope it all works out.

Yeah, thanks, she said. It just…really has to this time.

Thebes handed the waitress her photo. What do you mean this time? she said. What happened last time? Do you want to sit down?

Logan astrally projected himself out of there and I gave Thebes a tiny kick under the table.

No, said the waitress, thanks, but I have to keep working.

Yeah, but, said Thebes, why didn’t your last relationship work out?

Oh, you know, said the waitress.

No, said Thebes.

Oh, well, you know, she said, there were certain things that he wanted that I just couldn’t give him.

The waitress looked at me and asked me if she could tell Thebes something straight up.

Yeah, of course, I said. I was waiting for the worst type of confession, something that would send Thebes racing to her dictionary to look up fist-fucking or dirty sanchez.

He really wanted a baby, she said.

And you didn’t? said Thebes.

No, she said, I really did too, but my Fallopian tubes were scarred from an abortion I had when I was eighteen and now I can’t get pregnant.

Oh, I said, that’s too bad, I’m sorry.

Yeah, that blows, said Thebes.

Yeah, said the waitress. But, so, now, this new guy? He doesn’t care about babies. He doesn’t want them. He just wants me.

Oh, that’s so sweet, I said. You’re lucky. Sounds like he’s—

Yeah, but, said Thebes, so what happens if you do, somehow, end up getting pregnant with this new guy and then you have this baby and the new guy still doesn’t want one?

Thebes, I said. That’s not—

Yeah, no, said the waitress. She was smiling. I won’t get pregnant, she said. I don’t have a uterus any more.

What! said Thebes. Why not?

Logan had by now asphyxiated himself with his hood. The waitress told us about her hysterectomy and then said she had to go, she was getting dirty looks from her boss.

Yeah, but, said Thebes, he’s only gonna be your boss for five more minutes or something, who cares? Let’s talk. She slapped her hands down on the table, palms up, like, go ahead, fill me up with your stories of reckless gynecology, and I caught a glimpse of the faint, so-called meaningless scratches on the inside of her wrists.

No, the waitress had to go. I said good luck in North Carolina. Thebes got up and gave her a hug and told her to keep it real. Keep it strong. She hoped the guy turned out to be as sweet as he looked in his photo and would never want to have a baby.

I decided to call Marc. I’d been trying in countless futile ways to disengage, to detach and drift away from him, from thoughts of him, but I was having moments, like this one now, where he managed to slip back in and wrap himself around my brain and there was nothing I could do about it. I thought I loved him. I think I did love him. I wanted him to love me, I knew that. But that may not be the definition of love, wanting someone else to love you and then deciding whether you love them back. Logan and Thebes were racing backwards in the ditch. They had let Rajbeer out of the steaming hot van and tied him up to the bumper so he could lie in the shade. Seniors were roaming around the parking lot in slow-moving packs, propping each other up and taking tiny, tiny steps like they were walking on tightropes.

Marc?

Yeah. Hey…hey! How are you? Wow!

Fine. How are you?

I’ve been trying to reach you, he said.

What? Oh! You mean telepathically?

Yeah!

Really? I didn’t…

You didn’t sense it?

Um, not really, I don’t think so…What were you saying?

I was saying I really miss you, you know?

Really? No, I…no, I wasn’t getting that at all…but, really? You do?

Yeah.

Well, and…hmm…

Are you at your sister’s? he asked.

No, I’m in Arizona, I said.

Why?

Because it’s on the way to California.

An old man tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I’d be much longer on the phone. I shook my head and held up two fingers. The man nodded but didn’t move.

Are you going to California? said Marc.

Yes, yeah, sort of…I miss you too. I smiled at the old guy and he patted my shoulder and smiled back at me again, a little sadly, maybe with some turn-of-the-century memory he couldn’t shake, like of a World War I candystriper. Or maybe he just really wanted to use the phone.

What are you doing in California? asked Marc.

The old guy puckered his lips and blew me a kiss and nodded knowingly and pointed at the phone. I smiled again and shook my head.

Oh, nothing, I said. Well, some things. Just…checking it out. Mining for gold. What are you doing?

So Marc’s new relationship had worked out and then it had stopped working out and now he wanted me back. He wanted me to return to Paris and we’d start fresh, with less weirdness and more honesty. This was the perfect opportunity for a homeless woman with low self-esteem and mild addiction issues. He did tell me he loved me and I told him that I appreciated that, as though he had offered to carry my grocery bags out to the car. He asked me if I loved him too, and I told him I didn’t really know. I wanted to say yes but I wasn’t sure. He considered that for a few seconds and then he asked me if I thought that maybe, in time, I would love him again, because hadn’t I loved him once and wasn’t that proof that it could reoccur. I told him I wasn’t sure that he was the one I was supposed to be loving at the moment and he said that love didn’t work that way, we didn’t choose who to love or when to love. I told him he was probably right, ninety-nine per cent. We left it at that, more or less. He asked me to call him again when I got a chance and I told him I’d try to. He asked me what I wanted him to do with all my psychology textbooks if I decided I wasn’t coming back. Well, you could read them, I told him. Or give them away. I didn’t care. I was planning to develop my own form of psychotherapy, like Freud or Jung. Marc was skeptical. He reminded me that I had no formal training in the field of psychiatry. I know, I said. That’s true. I told him I was planning to save my sister’s life, but that I needed a bit more time to figure out just how. Is she dying? he asked me. Yes, I said. He said he was very sorry but that I was sounding a little crazy and should probably leave her care in the hands of medical professionals. I know, I said, that’s a very rational and time-proven theory, but I don’t think it’s going to work this time.