Slow Dance in Purgatory

“You know, making-out?” Johnny looked a little sheepish.

“And what’s a thin one? You said the car didn’t cost you a single thin one.”

“A dime. A thin one is a dime. You wanna hear the rest, or are you gonna keep razzin’ me about my vocabulary?” Johnny leaned over and poked her in the ribs.

“Razzin’?” Maggie retorted, straight faced. Then the poke in the ribs became several fingers, and in seconds she was shrieking for mercy.

“Okay, okay, no more tickling,” Maggie gasped. “Please continue.”

Johnny withdrew his hands, and Maggie was almost willing to interrupt again just so he’d put them back. “Bad Maggie,” she scolded herself firmly. Johnny picked up the story where he left off.

“So this guy sees his wife, jumps out of his car, forgets to put it in park or pull the brake, and his brand new car rolls slowly down the hill into the reservoir and sinks like a tub of rocks. Funny thing is, it wasn’t his wife after all.”

Maggie groaned a laugh. “So where do you come in?”

“The couple in the car is nice enough to give this character a ride back to town. He tells them to drop him off at Gene’s. He gets his wife on the horn, but she’s mad and won’t come get him. We were just getting ready to call it a night, and Gene tells me to give the guy a lift home in the tow truck. So I do, and the guy offers to pay me. I refuse, but I ask him about his car. He thinks it’s a total loss, but he tells me if I can get it out of the drink, the car is mine.”

“You got the car out.” Maggie grinned.

“Me, Jimbo, and Carter got the car out,” Johnny answered with a satisfied smirk. “With a little help from Gene’s tow truck and some extra long chains. It rained before we could get to it, and the storm really churned up the mud. The car had crud in every nook and cranny: the engine, the gas tank, the interior, all full of thick, black, greasy mud. Gene let me put it behind his shop, and I ended up taking that car apart, piece by piece. I cleaned each piece, and put it back together. I got it running again – good as new. The man was true to his word and gave me the pink slip.

“That is a very cool story.”

“It was a very cool car.”

“So…what are the odds you can fix this very cool car?” Maggie pointed at Irene’s pink Cadillac hopefully.

“I’d say the odds are pretty darn good.” Johnny grinned at her confidently. Maggie’s heart skipped a few beats as she perused his glowing countenance. He slid his eyes back to his work, and Maggie watched silently, fascinated by his confidence and his expertise. It was obvious that Johnny had been born and raised in a different time; he’d been the man of his house, and he was independent and competent – far more so than the kids she knew.

Another hour passed, and Maggie looked forlornly at the deepening shadows filling the room. She sighed dejectedly. Riding home on her bike meant leaving now, before it was too dark, which meant her time was up. The afternoon had flown by, and it had been one of the most pleasant she had ever spent.





10


“ENDLESS SLEEP”

Jody Reynolds - 1958





That night Maggie dreamed of floating alongside Johnny in a sunny haze. She was drowsy, and the brightness of nowhere made colors whirl beneath her closed eyelids. There was no sound, and she was weightless, surrounded by endless white. She reached for him then, wanting to pull him close, but her arms passed through him. She tried to call to him, but was unable to speak. He began to float away, his eyes closed, his body drifting on a current of heat and light. She tried to swim through the air, desperate to follow him, but her limbs got increasingly heavier and heavier, and she realized she could no longer float. She began to plummet through space, tumbling head over heels, the white swiftly smearing into deepening grey, until she was surrounded by a darkness so absolute she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. And still she fell, plunging into a never-ending black hole. She attempted to brace herself, to cover her head, preparing for the inevitable collision with the end, only to discover she had no form. She reached with phantom hands, searching for her face, for her shoulders, for her body. She was gone…but not gone; for she remained her self… aware, alive, and alone.

***

She awoke way too early feeling sad and out of sorts, the dream lingering to chaff and irritate her raw emotions. Her eyes were shadowed and tired, and she grumped to herself as she studied her reflection. So much for beauty sleep.