Hit and Miss

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The sweat fills the groove between my breasts and soaks the waistband of my jeans.  The heat makes the road shimmer ahead and I steer through it as I test the AC.  No magic fix; it still blows out hot air.  The driver of the Jeep blares his horn as I drift into his lane.  The noise wakes me from my stupor and I wave in apology.  He whips into my lane, right behind me, and I decide I need a drink.  At the next exit, I pull off the highway and half notice the Jeep follows.

I drive to the first bar I see.  The neon sign is not lit but the yellow signboard brags of, "WARM BEER AND LOUSY FOOD" and one "E" is hanging crookedly.

The Jeep parks at the far end of the lot and this I do notice.  I walk quickly, aware of the deserted area and this damned Jeep.  The bar is dark and cool.  I gratefully swallow half a beer in one chug and set the bottle on the counter.  A man in faded and worn Levi button flies, dusty boots and nothing else sits one stool away.

"A woman drinking Corona from the bottle."

He says this as a statement; no hint of a question in his voice.  I don't know how to respond so I say nothing.  Instead, I move my beer around, creating a pattern of the wet rings.  The oddity of the situation gets to me and I start to laugh.  I feel like I wandered onto a movie set but forgot to read the script.

"Are you headed anywhere in particular?" he asks and, in doing so, he shifts so we are looking full into each other's face.  My temperature shoots up again and I wonder how it is I hadn't recognized his voice, even with the drawl.  I try to stay calm but I feel out of control, like I'm floating over the bar, watching my body act without my mind's permission.  My hand, unbidden, is flat on his bare chest, wiggling the curls of hair around my long, unpainted fingernails.  I love the dampness and feel flattered by his quickened heartbeat.  Neither of us moves, we both just stare at my hand.  Then I finish off my beer, remove my hand from his chest and walk away.  At the door, I pause with my hand resting on the wrought iron rail.  I watch him as he picks up my empty bottle and holds it to his chest.  I watch a tear wander down his face, mixing with the sweat and dust and ending up in three day stubble.  I walk back to my car, get in and peel out.  I don't look back.