Sedona

“That’ll be fifteen eighty-six.”

I passed a crumpled twenty over the counter to the cashier girl, grabbed my cloves, and mumbled under my breath to keep the change. The bell on the door twinkled a goodbye as I left butt-fuck nowhere for good. I saw the girl wave behind my back in the reflection of the glass door, but I didn’t care enough to turn around and return it.

Seventeen miles down the US-50, I pulled off the highway into a small bar. The sun was starting to set over Maryland, and the sky looked like someone spilled orange watercolor across blue paper. I sat in my car in the parking lot just watching the sun sink, listening to the hum of the fucked up engine. I opened the door and clicked the locks, taking my time on the way to the front doors of the Wise Anchor Outpost. Bikers smoking cigarettes outside the door with beers in hand eyed me up and down as I approached. I decided now was as good a time as any to smoke, so I pulled my pack out of my coat pocket and stepped down from the bikers, lighting a match and inhaling the sweet smoke. I smoked it down until I could only smell the burning clove on my fingertips and stubbed it out with my boot. I walked back past the eyeballing bikers and entered the bar. Immediately, the smell of sweat and stale beer hit me in the face. I noticed locals sitting in an awkward pattern at the bar, some with one stool between them and others with three. Locals watched me walk slowly to the bar, unsure of whether or not I was welcome here, and order a beer. The bartender had a scar over his right eye and I wondered about the story behind it. Maybe if I got drunk enough I would ask him. He passed me a bottle that wasn’t quite cold but not quite warm, and I took it in my hand.

“Do you want to start a tab?”

I nodded back to him and he put his fingers to the scar on his head to acknowledge the exchange. I turned away from the bar with my beer and noticed a girl sitting in a corner booth alone. The stained glass lamp above her head washed her in a muted light, making her curly hair look frazzled but her skin glow golden. I sipped my beer and watched her for probably a little too long. She looked up at me and I felt like I should go over and say hello, like some part of me knew her already, but I didn’t. She instead came up to me at the bar.

“Wanna buy me a drink?” Straightforward, and very interesting.

“Whatcha want, little lady?”

“Vodka soda, please.” She said it with a click of her tongue that strangely turned me on.

I ordered her a drink and myself another lukewarm beer even though I was only halfway through the first. I chugged to finish the bottle and passed her the vodka soda.

“Why are you in Ocean City, sir.”

“Just passing through, I guess. I’m not really sure.”

“What are you running away from? Or who, maybe?” She knew how to get attention.

I just shook my head and looked down.

“Too deep, huh?”

“I’m not running away from anything.”

“No? I am.” She winked at me.

“I’m Red.”

“That’s a color, not a name.” I laughed at her observation.

The truth was, I was running towards something that I hadn’t found in Maine. I jumped into my Plymouth K-Wagon and got out onto the road, trying to make it as far west as possible. US-50 runs all the way to Sacramento, and with any luck, I would end up somewhere around there by the time I was done. I didn’t know what I was looking for in Sacramento, but I knew I’d know as soon as I found it. So I quit my job at Burger King and I packed a bag and got out of dodge, putting my guitar in the back and not turning back for anything.

About seven beers and four vodka sodas in, Sedona-- which is what the golden skinned girl told me her name was, and I wondered if she was lying because I couldn’t imagine anyone having a real name as beautiful as Sedona-- was well drunk and I was getting there. She asked me if I wanted to get out of here, but I wanted to get drunk. I told her that and she said she had a plan. She grabbed my hand, pulling me out of Wise Anchor Outpost and into the chill of the night. It was about one in the morning, and the bikers were long gone from the outside, their shiny black bikes nowhere in sight. Our breath formed clouds in front of our faces as it was beginning to shift from fall to winter in Maryland. She was still pulling me behind her down the sidewalk and towards a glowing street lamp. I couldn’t remember if I had paid my tab at the bar and my brain froze for a split second, trying to remember whether or not I had. Either way, the bartender didn’t seem to mind, and I still wondered about the scar above his eye that divided his eyebrow into two parts, not exactly halves. I should have asked him about it. I noticed that Sedona was leading me through a parking lot lit by the dim street lamp and neon letters that read Ocean C-ty Liq-or, as the I and U had burned out. It looked closed and I wondered why she was taking me to it. She started around the back of the store to a large dumpster. She hoisted herself up, using my shoulder to balance herself. She dug around in it for a minute before popping back out with a couple bottles of something that I couldn’t put my finger on. Maybe I was more drunk than I thought I was, as I couldn’t even feel the bite of the air on my nose like I’d usually be able to.

“They throw the damaged bottles back here. You know, tampered seals and stuff.” I wondered how she knew that, but I didn’t ask.

“Interesting.”

“Totally. There’s a little motel right through the woods here if you wanna get a room for the night.”

“I was just planning on sleeping in the Plymouth.”

“That’s fine with me.” She started to walk back to the bar.

“On second thought,” She turned around to face me, “let’s go to the motel.” I wanted to sleep with her, in a real bed.

“It’s not expensive, really cheap actually,” She said in response.

We cut through the woods behind the liquor store and headed out towards the motel. It was called The Seafoam, spelled out in large cursive green letters on the seventies style sign out front. The doors were all painted the same faded green as the sign. We walked into the main office, and it was lit in the ugliest fluorescent lighting that flickered every time the door opened and closed. It painted Sedona in a pale, sallow wash that was so different from the stained glass lamp in the bar. It smelled like cigarettes and floral perfume, a combination that reminded me of home and caused a pang in my chest. There was a handwritten sign on the front desk that said ROOMS FOR $15/NIGHT. She was right, this place was cheap.

“Can we get a room?” Sedona clicked her tongue again as I passed the woman in the green vest and white button up fifteen dollars.

The woman passed us a key and pointed us out the door towards room number sixteen. Upon walking in, the room smelled the same as the office, wildflowers and Marlboro Reds. It was unsettling, but I ignored it. The double bed had a dated green comforter and matching pillow shams. Sedona immediately grabbed the ice bucket and flew out the door, not bothering to say a word. I got the feeling she had been here before. She returned with the ice and filled two glasses off of the dresser with it, pouring whiskey into them. Handing one to me, she downed hers in one gulp, which impressed me. She collapsed onto the bed with a sigh, spreading out like a starfish but barely taking up the whole bed because of her tiny frame. I noticed the slight curves of her body, which was mostly flat, but had slight dips below her breasts and above her hips. She was wearing a white slip with no bra underneath, her nipples hard against the slinky fabric, and a cheetah print fur coat with a fake red leather bag that she had thrown on the chair when she walked in. She had tights with holes in them, which I couldn’t tell if they were intentional or the result of falling too many times. She was thin, and her skin was like dull gold that had been paled but had the slightest glow to it. Her eyes had bags under them, slightly purple in the lighting of the hotel room. I downed my whiskey while I stared at her sprawled out on the bed and then turned to go into the bathroom. I walked in and flipped the lightswitch, the individual bulbs around the mirror lighting up one by one out of order. It looked like a Hollywood dressing room mirror and I thought about making it to Los Angeles if I could. I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans while lifting the toilet seat. While I pissed, I heard footsteps behind me, scaring me out of my aim, getting piss on the edge of the toilet and the floor. Sedona giggled and sat on the edge of the tub.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

“I wanted to watch. I’ve always wondered what it’s like to piss as a guy.”

“Uh.” I scratched the back of my neck, confused.

“I promise I’m not weird.” She pouted.

However weird this situation was, I just laughed it off because she was cute when she pouted. I zipped my jeans back up but she reached over and unzipped them again. I stared at her blankly and she grabbed my hand and pulled me back into the room, sitting me on the edge of the bed. She jerked my jeans down my thighs and got on her knees in front of me. My hands were sweating and I wiped them on the covers. I tangled my fingers in her hair, the curls being softer than they looked. She looked up at me and I couldn’t stop looking at the bags under her eyes and wondering why she looked so tired. I threw my head back and screwed my eyes shut as she made her way back up onto the bed next to me.

“That was quick.” She giggled. Embarrassing.

“Uh, sorry?” My cheeks burned red.

“Don’t apologize, I hate sucking dick anyways.”

I stood up to get us another drink. I handed her the glass, sitting back down next to her and taking my shoes off.

“Well, um… can I return the favor, at least?” She smirked at me.

“No. It makes me anxious.” I looked at her confused, “I just don’t like having that kind of attention on me.”

I nodded, trying to understand the way she works.

“But I’ll fuck you… if you want.” Was she being shy?

I leaned over to her and put my hand under her chin, slamming my lips onto her. We kissed sloppily, spit covering the skin around both of our mouths. I pushed her back onto the bed by her shoulders and ran a hand up her thigh, causing her to shiver. I bit her bottom lip and she let out a soft moan. I ran my hand up even further, feeling the spaces between her ribs with my fingertips. She giggled and claimed that it tickled, to which I laughed and continued doing it until she squirmed in laughter. She sat up, sliding her silky dress up over her arms and head and throwing it across the bed. I stopped and just stared at her, her nipples small and dark. You could see the outline of her ribs and I noticed track marks on her inner elbows. I hadn’t noticed them before and assumed that’s why she looked so tired.

We collapsed next to each other in a sweaty mess on the bed. She groaned and rolled away from me.

“I promised myself I’d stop,” She whispered.

“Stop what?”

“A lot of things. Hooking up with random strangers, drinking, everything.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Hey.”

“What? You don’t have to comfort me. I’m just a random whore in a hotel room with you.”

I sighed and rolled over, covering myself with the ugly green comforter. She wiped her eyes and grabbed her bag off of the chair, running into the bathroom. She was gone for a while so I went to check on her. Something in me told me not to, but another part of me couldn’t stop myself from opening the bathroom door. She sat on the edge of the tub with a syringe in hand and her arm tied off above the elbow. She just looked up at me with a pitiful look on her face.

“You aren’t a whore just for having sex.”

“I told you I was running away. I’m running from myself.”

“I’m running away from everything I’ve ever known. I’m going to be a musician.”

“So you are running,” She whispered, “I can help you. All the big musicians do it.”

I knew what she meant and I held my arm out to her. She tied it off and slid the needle into my veins and I winced. I’ve always been scared of needles. Ever since seeing my grandmother in the hospital, the only person I had to take care of me, going through chemo treatments. I felt tears in my eyes but Sedona pushed the plunger in the syringe down and I felt a burn that distracted me from crying. Within minutes, I felt underwhelmed. I had imagined that heroin would be this euphoric state, but I just felt chilled out. I wondered if this was why it was so addictive, it makes problems disappear.

At some point in the night, we moved from laying in the bathtub while I played with Sedona’s hair and into the bed to go to sleep. I didn’t really remember moving, but it must have happened as I woke up in the bed. Sedona wasn’t next to me when I woke up, but I vaguely remembered holding her during the night while we slept. I noticed her coat still on the chair which meant she hadn’t gone far, and I got up to find her. I thought, on the way to find her, that I might go to Portland and stay for a while. I don’t know why I was thinking of Portland but I think it had something to do with the heroin you can find there, especially in the music scene. I found Sedona outside smoking a cigarette by the door.

“You know, this hotel smells like you probably could’ve just smoked that in the room.” She looked up at me.

“I just needed to watch the cars pass by. I like to wonder why they’re passing through Ocean City instead of stopping to stay a while.”

“Are you glad I stopped to stay a while?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“You just made my life more complicated.”

“How?”

“I don’t know but I just feel complicated right now.”

I turned to walk back into the room and Sedona sat on the top step of the stairway next to the door. I shut the door behind me and grabbed my coat. I walked back out and past Sedona smoking her cigarette, blowing the smoke through her nostrils. Once I was down the stairs, I went into the office to return the key but ended up paying for another night. I asked her to keep the key in the office for Sedona, somehow knowing internally that she’d end up back here for the night. The front desk lady set the key to the side and thanked me for visiting Ocean City, telling me to come back and visit sometime.

I walked past the liquor store parking lot that was now full of cars in the daylight and towards the Wise Anchor. My keys jangled in my pocket as I walked through the midday wind. I still didn’t feel the chill like I normally would, and I figured the smack hadn’t fully worn off yet. I made it back to the Plymouth and unlocked the doors, noticing I had left the front window rolled down. I sat across the back bench seat for a while, just enjoying playing my guitar. I wrote down a few lyrics on a stray piece of paper I found on the floorboard and wrote Sedona at the top of the page, eventually scribbling out the name and crumpling it into a ball and throwing it out the window onto the asphalt. I somehow hoped that she would find it and read it, knowing it was meant for her. I got into the front seat and cranked the car. About three miles down the road, I noticed a napkin laying in the passenger seat.

Color Boy,

Call me when you get where you’re going. 515-8909

XOXO, S

I left it lying on the seat and kept driving. Maybe I would call her, maybe I wouldn’t. Something in me told me I would, though. I just had to get to Portland first.