Border Town
Border Town
by Sam Ford
postcard "Del Rio, Texas" by anonymous
***
Linus couldn’t remember her name. Carolina. Or Catalina. Or Carmilla. Somethin’. He couldn’t get it right. He blamed himself for it. Sure, it coulda’ been her lack of teeth or her busted English. Maybe her Spanish was sorta’ generally muffled. None of it mattered. He blamed himself. His ears were worn from engine hum. His sense of sound was too selective. He liked the banjo but he didn’t like the mandolin. He liked owls but he didn’t like crickets.
She stood in front of the mirror combing her long hair, pin straight and black as a crow. She was soft in the stomach, arms slightly flabby, her cheeks like a new cloud. And her skin was the color of freshly fired clay. She had full lips, and Linus could still feel them on him.
***
He’d picked her up in a cantina on Main Street. Red and yellow Christmas lights hung across the joint, casting a fiery plastic glow throughout. Freddy Fender was living it down on the jukebox. Linus's company wore handmade cowboy boots, slugged cervezas, and shot freezing eyes his way. But one thing he liked about Mexicans was that they mostly kept to themselves; they were never out to start any shit. It was always the drunk fuckin' gringo who felt the need to spit some snide comment that drew the knives out. Linus was a drunk but he was the quiet type. He didn’t even talk to himself.
He closed the place. Soused on mescal and flat beer. The bartender gave no words, just flipped the house lights on. Linus laid some bills on the bar. He pulled his Stetson over his brow and saw her sitting alone at a table. She smiled at him. Linus wanted to believe she was lonesome. He wanted to believe that she’d come there to find him. To be with him. He invested in that belief enough to put a hand on his hat and tilt it gently in her direction. She smiled again. Linus decided he’d seen her before. He decided they’d been in love once and that he was a soldier and that he’d left this border town to go fight some hard and distant war and that now he was back and he was ready. He was ready to be a good man to her.
He walked over to the table, an old horse's shuffle, his legs so used to heavy boozing that they moved worse without it. He sat down across from her. She kept that smile on the whole time. Occasionally she’d pause a moment to reset it, but then it would reappear, lovely and genuine. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
Linus heard the cash register open behind him, and he decided he liked that sound. It meant a little more time.
“I thought of you every night while I was away,” Linus said, his voice soft and soothing, a western Santa Claus.
She blushed slightly and then tried to smile it off. There really weren’t too many teeth there, but Linus was resting in her eyes, too peaceful to see any imperfections.
“Were you afraid I wouldn’t come back?” he asked.
She shook her head gently.
“No intiendes,” she said, timid and withdrawn.
“I always knew I’d be back. Knew I had to get back to you.”
Linus reached out a freckled paw and placed it on her right hand. It was desert warm. He imagined her palm on his chest. He imagined her leg wrapped around his leg. He imagined her burrowing against him, looking up at him, not saying anything. Just looking at him. Then he touched her finger.
“Why aren’t you wearin’ yer ring?” he asked with a coy grin.
“No se,” she said.
She touched his face. Linus felt her fingertip trace the wrinkles in his cheeks, his brow. He felt her thumb brush over his jawbone. His heart skipped suddenly, and then a quiet set of tears swelled across his eyelids.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
“Si,” she said.
Linus got up, still holding her hand, and led her out of there.
***
As they walked to the motel he moved her arm inside his. He chuckled.
“I believe this is how old folks do it.”
“Carolina,” she whispered.
It almost took him out of it, almost broke the cool drifting dream of it. It must have been her name. It was her name. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to know it. It was that he had to believe he already knew it. And he did know it. She had a last name too and he knew that as well. And he’d met her father and gotten his blessing before he married her. And her mother was an incredible cook, in the kitchen for days on end, making mole poblano from scratch. And she had a brother who didn’t approve of the two of them but changed his mind when he and Linus went out shooting prairie dogs with a pair of 30-30’s and a six-pack of Tecate. And she had a sister almost as beautiful as she, and Linus knew her sister always sort of fancied him but she’d kept quiet about it. Occasionally he’d steal a look from her, a longing in her face that she wouldn’t dare express in words or actions. But Linus knew, and he’d often throw an understanding back at her that seemed to suffice. He knew Carolina’s family and he loved all of them. They were his family as well.
He looked at her.
“I know, silly,” he said beaming.
***
He had trouble opening the door to Room 12. The key was slightly bent and rusted, but he got it through, turned it, and they were inside. Inside smelled like stale tobacco and dollar store air fresheners. It was familiar to both of them for different reasons. Linus pretended it was the same reason.
Carolina had a small faded black denim jacket and she quickly took it off. A pink and navy blue striped tank-top was underneath, tight against her pudgy frame. Linus moved to her. She looked up at him, gazing like a child. He had a good eight inches on her. He remembered that. He remembered being so much taller than her and how it felt to have her tucked inside his embrace. So he pulled her to him. They stood there holding each other, holding each other, and Linus felt things settle deep within him. The white lines that shot at him when his eyes closed turned to feathers and Linus fell back into them. The coffee and t-bone steaks and mashed potatoes and cigarettes and amphetamines were someone else’s habits. He’d never been to a truck-stop before, let alone showered in one. He was a kid. Not anybody’s son, but a kid nonetheless. He held her tight and dared not let go. He would never let go. He would never leave her again.
She put her hand on his crotch. Linus kept his eyes closed. He stood there and shivered. He dreamt fast. He saw her sitting by a fireplace in a cabin as the winter fell all around them. He saw her dancing on a sun soaked beach with the ocean like a million sapphires tickling at her feet. He saw her smiling, smiling. He saw her smiling everywhere in the world.
On the bed she undid the button of his jeans, slowly worked the zipper south. The images continued to saturate him. He saw her riding a horse. He saw her painting. He saw her giving birth. “I love you,” he heard her say. “I love you.”
He was in her mouth. She moved across him. She whispered, “te quiero, papa. Te quiero.”
Linus shook. He felt his stomach tighten. His chest-plate burned to hold his heart inside.
“Fuck, oh God,” he cried out. His eyes tore open and the ceiling was there and it was off-white and dripping with brown and grey smoke-stains.
Linus came in her mouth and that was all he did.
***
He sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, watching her. She brushed her hair mechanically. Linus watched the dandruff flakes spring from it like a snow-globe. He couldn’t remember her name and it was making him sick. It was making him sick because it didn’t matter. And he wanted it to matter so bad for a moment he thought he might set the room on fire.
She turned to him with a smile. That original smile. Linus tried to smile back. It bothered him when he was successful. She slid up over him on the bed. He felt the weight of her body like a vice on his old bones. She kissed the tip of his nose and he smelled her perfume for the first time. Roses and urine. He winced and touched her hair as gently as he could muster. She breathed into it, put the palm of her hand on his chest. It was ice cold.
***
Linus laid $50 American on the dresser. She took it and slid it in her little vinyl shoulder-bag.
“Gracias, amor,” she cooed.
“Yer welcome,” he said.
“I have fun,” she said.
“Me too,” he said.
She slipped out of Room 12, leaving the door open. Linus heard her heels click across the patio. He liked that sound. He decided he liked that sound. He liked her. Carolina. He remembered her name, and he laid back on the bed and said it to himself. He said it again and again. Carolina. He could still hear the sound of her shoes popping through the night. Softer and softer until they were gone.
Then he heard crickets.
Brooklyn, NY (1/19/06)
She stood in front of the mirror combing her long hair, pin straight and black as a crow. She was soft in the stomach, arms slightly flabby, her cheeks like a new cloud. And her skin was the color of freshly fired clay. She had full lips, and Linus could still feel them on him.
***
He’d picked her up in a cantina on Main Street. Red and yellow Christmas lights hung across the joint, casting a fiery plastic glow throughout. Freddy Fender was living it down on the jukebox. Linus's company wore handmade cowboy boots, slugged cervezas, and shot freezing eyes his way. But one thing he liked about Mexicans was that they mostly kept to themselves; they were never out to start any shit. It was always the drunk fuckin' gringo who felt the need to spit some snide comment that drew the knives out. Linus was a drunk but he was the quiet type. He didn’t even talk to himself.
He closed the place. Soused on mescal and flat beer. The bartender gave no words, just flipped the house lights on. Linus laid some bills on the bar. He pulled his Stetson over his brow and saw her sitting alone at a table. She smiled at him. Linus wanted to believe she was lonesome. He wanted to believe that she’d come there to find him. To be with him. He invested in that belief enough to put a hand on his hat and tilt it gently in her direction. She smiled again. Linus decided he’d seen her before. He decided they’d been in love once and that he was a soldier and that he’d left this border town to go fight some hard and distant war and that now he was back and he was ready. He was ready to be a good man to her.
He walked over to the table, an old horse's shuffle, his legs so used to heavy boozing that they moved worse without it. He sat down across from her. She kept that smile on the whole time. Occasionally she’d pause a moment to reset it, but then it would reappear, lovely and genuine. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
Linus heard the cash register open behind him, and he decided he liked that sound. It meant a little more time.
“I thought of you every night while I was away,” Linus said, his voice soft and soothing, a western Santa Claus.
She blushed slightly and then tried to smile it off. There really weren’t too many teeth there, but Linus was resting in her eyes, too peaceful to see any imperfections.
“Were you afraid I wouldn’t come back?” he asked.
She shook her head gently.
“No intiendes,” she said, timid and withdrawn.
“I always knew I’d be back. Knew I had to get back to you.”
Linus reached out a freckled paw and placed it on her right hand. It was desert warm. He imagined her palm on his chest. He imagined her leg wrapped around his leg. He imagined her burrowing against him, looking up at him, not saying anything. Just looking at him. Then he touched her finger.
“Why aren’t you wearin’ yer ring?” he asked with a coy grin.
“No se,” she said.
She touched his face. Linus felt her fingertip trace the wrinkles in his cheeks, his brow. He felt her thumb brush over his jawbone. His heart skipped suddenly, and then a quiet set of tears swelled across his eyelids.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
“Si,” she said.
Linus got up, still holding her hand, and led her out of there.
***
As they walked to the motel he moved her arm inside his. He chuckled.
“I believe this is how old folks do it.”
“Carolina,” she whispered.
It almost took him out of it, almost broke the cool drifting dream of it. It must have been her name. It was her name. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to know it. It was that he had to believe he already knew it. And he did know it. She had a last name too and he knew that as well. And he’d met her father and gotten his blessing before he married her. And her mother was an incredible cook, in the kitchen for days on end, making mole poblano from scratch. And she had a brother who didn’t approve of the two of them but changed his mind when he and Linus went out shooting prairie dogs with a pair of 30-30’s and a six-pack of Tecate. And she had a sister almost as beautiful as she, and Linus knew her sister always sort of fancied him but she’d kept quiet about it. Occasionally he’d steal a look from her, a longing in her face that she wouldn’t dare express in words or actions. But Linus knew, and he’d often throw an understanding back at her that seemed to suffice. He knew Carolina’s family and he loved all of them. They were his family as well.
He looked at her.
“I know, silly,” he said beaming.
***
He had trouble opening the door to Room 12. The key was slightly bent and rusted, but he got it through, turned it, and they were inside. Inside smelled like stale tobacco and dollar store air fresheners. It was familiar to both of them for different reasons. Linus pretended it was the same reason.
Carolina had a small faded black denim jacket and she quickly took it off. A pink and navy blue striped tank-top was underneath, tight against her pudgy frame. Linus moved to her. She looked up at him, gazing like a child. He had a good eight inches on her. He remembered that. He remembered being so much taller than her and how it felt to have her tucked inside his embrace. So he pulled her to him. They stood there holding each other, holding each other, and Linus felt things settle deep within him. The white lines that shot at him when his eyes closed turned to feathers and Linus fell back into them. The coffee and t-bone steaks and mashed potatoes and cigarettes and amphetamines were someone else’s habits. He’d never been to a truck-stop before, let alone showered in one. He was a kid. Not anybody’s son, but a kid nonetheless. He held her tight and dared not let go. He would never let go. He would never leave her again.
She put her hand on his crotch. Linus kept his eyes closed. He stood there and shivered. He dreamt fast. He saw her sitting by a fireplace in a cabin as the winter fell all around them. He saw her dancing on a sun soaked beach with the ocean like a million sapphires tickling at her feet. He saw her smiling, smiling. He saw her smiling everywhere in the world.
On the bed she undid the button of his jeans, slowly worked the zipper south. The images continued to saturate him. He saw her riding a horse. He saw her painting. He saw her giving birth. “I love you,” he heard her say. “I love you.”
He was in her mouth. She moved across him. She whispered, “te quiero, papa. Te quiero.”
Linus shook. He felt his stomach tighten. His chest-plate burned to hold his heart inside.
“Fuck, oh God,” he cried out. His eyes tore open and the ceiling was there and it was off-white and dripping with brown and grey smoke-stains.
Linus came in her mouth and that was all he did.
***
He sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, watching her. She brushed her hair mechanically. Linus watched the dandruff flakes spring from it like a snow-globe. He couldn’t remember her name and it was making him sick. It was making him sick because it didn’t matter. And he wanted it to matter so bad for a moment he thought he might set the room on fire.
She turned to him with a smile. That original smile. Linus tried to smile back. It bothered him when he was successful. She slid up over him on the bed. He felt the weight of her body like a vice on his old bones. She kissed the tip of his nose and he smelled her perfume for the first time. Roses and urine. He winced and touched her hair as gently as he could muster. She breathed into it, put the palm of her hand on his chest. It was ice cold.
***
Linus laid $50 American on the dresser. She took it and slid it in her little vinyl shoulder-bag.
“Gracias, amor,” she cooed.
“Yer welcome,” he said.
“I have fun,” she said.
“Me too,” he said.
She slipped out of Room 12, leaving the door open. Linus heard her heels click across the patio. He liked that sound. He decided he liked that sound. He liked her. Carolina. He remembered her name, and he laid back on the bed and said it to himself. He said it again and again. Carolina. He could still hear the sound of her shoes popping through the night. Softer and softer until they were gone.
Then he heard crickets.
Brooklyn, NY (1/19/06)
Apologies for the subversive nature of this first Tin & Spit tale (it was a late evening/early morning in ice cold NY). Del Rio's truly a lovely town. Wish I could've been there longer.
Thanks to all who read and post their thoughts.
More to follow...
S.R.
posted by Sam Ford | 1:03 AM
|
7 comments
