Jose Rodriguez - Snapshots of Modern Love

Her fingers grip the steering wheel with anger but she exhales and the tension in her hand eases as her breath comes out of her lips. Thinking stuff like that does no good, she decides; it’ s bad Karma.

If standing on a bridge looking down on I-25 for hours is dumb, riding down the highway chasing after what may not be there is dumber. At ten o' clock I gave up my watch and walked to the convenience store in the corner, took a long overdue piss, bought a burrito and coffee and took off in my truck, chewing and drinking and thinking what a fool I was.

My plan, if it can be called that, is to drive southbound all the way to Santa Fe with the hope that I may overtake her. What if she is driving to California instead? or to the east coast? Or if she decided to leave later during the day? My chances are nil, I know, but driving and searching are better than sitting on my butt and letting her slip away. I feel like I' m wading in a lake up to my waist in water trying to catch a small fish. I don' t know if it is behind me, or in front of me, or if it took off in other direction. The lake is full of fish, but none of them is the one I want; maybe it is not in this lake anymore. Still, splashing in the water and searching with clumsy steps and cold hands is better than sitting on the shore crying about my loss. It is a mighty big lake, but I have no choice.

The only thing I might get out of this is a speeding ticket, but I don' t care. What if she pulled off the highway to eat or to take a leak? Is she a McDonald' s person? A Burger King person? I don' t know if she still eats hamburgers. Here I' m, chasing after her because I feel my life depends on it, and I don' t know her; I don' t know the simplest of things about her, what she likes or dislikes. The absurdity of the chase is obvious to anybody with two fingers of fore head. I put my hand over my eyebrows and I measure a comfortable five fingers. I seem to have the space for enough brain matter to understand the futility of my quest but I cannot stop. I pass cars that are not hers and look forward as far as my eyes can see, searching for what I know will not be there, but search I must because that' s all I have and I don' t want to give up without a good fight.

I drive by rest stops and I get off the big exits, like in Pueblo, and search up and down main drags and truck stops. At times I think these side trips increase the distance between us but I want to make sure I didn' t leave her behind in my southbound rush. Perhaps she is behind me and then these side trips close the gap but the truth is that I don' t have a clue. I just search and drive and my head swivels atop my shoulders so much that I know I will have a neck pain before the day is over.

Raton pass is coming up. That Geo of hers will have to crawl up the pass so maybe I can catch up with her. If she already went over the top, then I will have to chase her down into New Mexico. But I don' t know if she is even in front of me. I' m chasing a dream that exists only in my head.

Raton Mesa is majestic by its shear size and its bands of colors and vegetation that rise against the deep and bright blue sky. To Debbie, though, it is just a big rock, impressive, but a big rock nevertheless. Her mind is preoccupied with other things and she cannot enjoy the view. She sits on a guardrail of the Raton Passover look with her back to the parking lot, and she is cold. The hood of the Geo behind her is open and hissing noises spill over the fenders at the same time that a lime green and smoky liquid drips through the front wheels on the black top. Ernie is on her lap, unworried by Debbie' s problem.

The old car overheated on its way up the pass. Debbie waits for it to cool down. She plans to drive it downhill to a shop where somebody can take a look at it. She hopes that the car can at least make it downhill because she doesn' t want to spend the money to get a wrecker up the pass and then down into Raton again.

Resignation is the only virtue Debbie can hold on to. Getting mad at the piece of shit car won' t make her feel better. Coursing God and anybody who crosses her path will do no good either so resignation is the only thing left; being stoic is her way of dealing with bad things. Still, there have been so many times that Debbie has felt like blowing up and throwing a kicking and screaming tantrum and cussing God and everybody in heaven and hell. Why can' t things ever work out for her? She doesn' t want much; she can live with the crumbs that others throw away but even those crumbs are denied to her.

Running away from Denver: She had killed a man to prove that she was going to stand her ground but then runs away from Ken, and that, Debbie tells herself, was the motive for this trip from hell. Now she' s stuck atop a frigging mountain with a broken down car, a cat, a little bit of cash, and the clothes on her back. Had she stayed in Denver, everything would still be the same except the part about being stranded on a mountain. Debbie laughs at herself; what a loser she is. Ken is in her mind but she thinks she did the right thing by leaving. She has been many things in her life but she is not a home wrecker and she doesn' t want to become a wedge between Ken and his lovely fat wife. Debbie has enough problems of her own; she doesn’ t need new ones from others.

Regrets are many, what if' s are infinite as are the possible paths that could have been but never were. In another time, in another reincarnation, perhaps she and Ken could have been together. There is that unspoken desire between them; she knows it is so for Ken too because he was the one seeking her, and that night at the bar, by the sink, that had felt real, but it wasn' t because reality is another thing; Ken is a square peg and she is a round hole. They may dream about getting together but it just cannot work, ever. Like that big ass mountain in front of her, some things cannot be changed.

Debbie hears a vehicle park next to her and a door opens and slams shut. She turns her head and there is Ken, standing next to her car with a look of disbelief in his eyes.

"Debbie?"

"Ken?" Debbie stands and faces him from the other side of the guardrail. The disbelief on her face matches his. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asks.

"I was looking for you, for hours, since yesterday."

Debbie doesn' t know what to say. What can she say? She is holding Ernie against her chest and his warmth comfort sher. Her heart beats faster and the rush of blood to her head make sher dizzy. Wait! Debbie says to herself, this is not real, the whole thing is a big mistake and Ken must go back to his wife, to his life.

"I have been watching traffic go by for hours in Colorado Springs, hoping to see your car go by," says Ken. "When that didn' t work, I drove south with the hope of catching up with you, if you were indeed going south."

Ken smiles from ear to ear, pulls the wool hat off his head and throws it up in the air and shouts in elation," I can' t fucking believe it! I found you!"

"How did you know I was heading this way?" Debbie voice is soft and shaky.

"Glyn told me. He gave me your cell number too but it is obvious you don' t turn the damned thing on."

"No," says Debbie. Ernie struggles and wants to be put on the ground. "I don' t." She bends over the handrail and puts Ernie on the blacktop. She raises and Ken can see fear and doubt in her eyes, but fear of what? What doubts are there?

"What you want from me, Ken?" asks Debbie with both arms akimbo. Her face is expressionless, at least that is what she is trying to show, a poker player face.

Ken wants to answer but there are no words that can express or explain why he chased after her. Saliva dries up in his mouth. This is it and all he can do is stand in front of her like a moron. What the hell, Ken reassures himself, just open your mouth and let your gut talk because it is obvious your brain is locked.