Joe, driving through the night
Joe was tired. He’d been driving all night and he still didn’t seem to be any closer to his destination. He’d taken the weekend off work for this trip but he had to be back on Monday morning for a meeting. At this rate, he’d reach the house and have to turn straight around again to make it back in time.
He couldn’t figure out if he’d made a wrong turn, or several even, but his navigation system had never told him if he had. Other cars rushed by him on either side, blasting air against the side of his car, causing it to waver a little.
How long had it been since he last stopped for a break? Time seemed to roll into one continuous drone whenever he was on the road. His eyes were growing ever heavier and his legs ached from controlling the pedals beneath his feet. Perhaps it would be a good time to stop, just for a bit. Focusing on his new goal, he scanned the landscape for a service station, hoping for a strong cup of coffee and a flushable toilet.
He’d left his wife, still sleeping in the bed they shared; he hoped to be back before she next awakened. Sliding the keys off their hook by the front door, he grabbed his prepared bag from the under stairs cupboard and flinging it over his shoulder, he stepped out into the darkness.
***
Finally, in the distance, a sign emerged. Rain began a soft pattering against the windshield as he steered the car off to the left. The sign read: Feeling tired? Why not take a break? Joe rubbed his eyes, uncertain as to whether they were playing tricks on him, but the mirage was real. Behind the sign was a small wooden cabin, porch lights glimmering with promise. As the rain grew heavier, Joe grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and stepped under the shelter of the portico. Another sign, fading painted roses on either side, greeted him: WELCOME BACK.
The house looked occupied, despite there being nothing for miles in either direction, and no other vehicles in sight. It seemed best to knock first, in case they weren’t expecting visitors at whatever hour of the night this even was. His hands hurt from gripping the wheel for so long in the same position. Flexing them back and forth by his sides, as though playing an imaginary piano, he lifted his left arm and rapped his knuckles against the thin windowpane. It rattled, bouncing back against his skin repeatedly, making him think of the way wrecking balls tangoed with buildings. There was no answer, so he knocked again. This time, he heard shuffling from inside, a door squeaking open and shut somewhere, a chair in a scuffle with the floor.
A face appeared in the window, and the door opened slowly.
“Come in! You’re more than welcome, my friend. Welcome back, welcome back!”
A shaggy-haired old man grinned a gappy smile at him from the doorway. The welcoming glow behind him softened what would have normally been a somewhat unforgiving face, weathered by time and experience, or possibly just rotten weather.
Shaking the damp from his bones, Joe extended an arm to greet the man in a formal manner. The man forewent the seriousness of the situation and pulled him in for a close hug. “Welcome back, welcome back!” he continued to mutter. Joe’s chin rested lightly against the man’s shoulder as they embraced, and he took the opportunity to examine the interior closer, as the rain behind him grew even heavier.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess I’m afraid, it’s been a while since we had visitors and we weren’t expecting you so soon, truth be told!” the man explained, shambling back inside with Joe under his arm.
Joe was confident he had never met this man before, but he didn’t have the heart to explain this to him. The old guy looked so delighted to have company, it would be rude to shatter his joyfulness. An explanation could wait, Joe thought.
Inside, the cabin was wall to wall with frames, some empty, some containing photographs and paintings. The paintings looked strange, as though they had been created by someone using their ‘wrong’ hand. A fire crackled in the corner, and an implausibly comfortable-looking set of chairs faced its warmth gratefully. After driving for so many hours in a cramped condition with nothing but the car’s fans for heat, Joe couldn’t believe how picture-perfect this new setting was. He blinked for longer than a human should normally need to blink for, signaling his fatigue. By the time he opened his eyes again, he was sat in one of the armchairs, his face toasting in the fire’s balmy climate. The man seemed to have been talking to him for some time, though he couldn’t tell just how long. He was in the middle of a very in-depth anecdote about something or other and Joe felt bad that he hadn’t been listening, given his overwhelming hospitality.
The man paused. “You look tired, sir. Let me direct you to your room.” Joe tried to mumble an appreciative response, but only muffled sounds came out. Sleep was winning now.
***
Joe awoke early to the sounds of macaws screeching from down the hallway. It was such a stark contrast to the usual sounds that filled his mornings that it stirred him in an oddly reassuring way. Standing on two feet, he felt taller than before. He tried to retrace his steps, unable to remember how he had made it into bed. Something had changed about the cabin. Perhaps it was merely the daylight shining through paper-thin curtains, but things felt different altogether.
He tried to play back conversations with the old man from the night before, but his addled brain had been unable to focus long enough to take much in. The next logical step was to head through to the front room, where he had almost fallen asleep by that glorious fire. Hoping to find the man there, he would thank him, get in his car, and be on his way.
There was no sign of the man. The only company was a television set, blaring loudly at him from where he thought the fireplace had been previously. Technicolour feathers flashed from the screen and a voice boomed out into the room, reverberating into the kitchen and bouncing off cupboard doors and hanging saucepans…Although much has been attempted in terms of conservation of the wild macaw, most are now endangered and nearing extinction. Deforestation and illegal trapping has ultimately led to their decline…
With a hazy mind, Joe placed himself in front of the television. Mesmerised by the scenes of nature that flickered before his eyes, his thoughts wandered to a calm and distant place. A delicious smell wafted from the kitchen, saccharine and enticing. Sensing a presence in the room, he turned his head to the doorway, and saw a young woman; apron bunched up around her waist. In her hands, a tray of freshly baked muffins, wispy trails of warmth floating from their centres and up to the ceiling.
“Good morning darling, how did you sleep?” The woman’s voice drifted as sweetly towards him as the smells of baking that now occupied the room.
“Well, I think…thank you”, he replied. He didn’t feel as though he recognised her, and yet she seemed so familiar to him. Resting the baking tray on a side table, she approached him, and gently kissed him on the top of his head. Returning towards the kitchen, she looked back and smiled lovingly at him as he whispered her name: Madeleine. The name toppled out naturally, as though he had been saying it for years. A warm, instinctive feeling in his gut signaled to him his fondness for her. Unfazed, he returned to his nature programme, settling further into the armchair.
***
He must have drifted off to sleep again, because he woke to monochrome credits rolling across the screen, indicating the end of a black and white movie. Stretching his limbs, he walked over to the windows to peer outside at the afternoon sun. The bad weather from the night before was all but imagined now. Light refracted against the intricate glass ornaments on the windowsill, dappling rainbows across the cabin’s timber interior. A welcome breeze filtered through slight gaps in the front door, as though gesturing him outside. Obliging, Joe unhooked the door’s latch and stepped out on to the porch, sun beating down against his skin. There was Madeleine, in a chair, sleeping peacefully. A large brimmed hat was pulled down, sheltering her face from the heat.
She stirred as he stared out at the endless rows of brilliant yellow flowers surrounding the cabin.
“I had a strange dream”, she muttered drowsily. “You were driving down a long road at night in the worst weather I’ve ever known. I was watching you from somewhere else, though I’m not sure where. I was worried you might fall asleep and crash your car. But you didn’t, you found your way back here to me, unharmed.” She lifted her hat and gazed lovingly into his eyes, her brown flecks meeting his blue and yellow fragments.
“I’m going to stretch my legs. Is the town far from here?” Joe asked, feeling disorientated.
“You always ask me the way to go, Joe. It’s so funny. I honestly don’t know how you don’t get lost between the bedroom and the living room sometimes”, Madeleine replied cheerily, pointing to the horizon on their left. “Can you pick up some fresh fruit for us to eat after dinner?”
***
“Hi, Joe!”, a stranger exclaimed, waving from across the street. “How’s Madeleine feeling today? Any better?”
“She’s doing fine, thank you”, Joe found himself replying. Well, it wasn’t a lie, she seemed just great. Beautiful, statuesque, and with the kindest of eyes.
“Glad to hear it buddy!”, another passer-by chimed in, overhearing their exchange.
Everywhere he turned, friendly faces grinned at him, or tipped their caps and nodded knowingly. The true surrealness of the day’s events was setting in now and Joe felt exhausted, despite having barely done more than sleep off and on all day. Heading back across the butter-yellow fields, he swung a bag of apples back and forth in time with his pacing. The shoes on his feet looked worn, as though a rogue toe might burst forth any moment.
Wearily, he brushed through the final rows of florae in front of the cabin and settled down on the front stoop. His gaze followed the wind scraping through the flowers before him, and it began to spit with rain. Growing steadily heavier, a sudden orchestra of clouds gathered above. Rapidly and all around him, small puddles formed. And there it was, his own face, on the ground below him. The youthful complexion he remembered owning was gone, a greying tussock of hair rested on top of a confused and wrinkled expression. Wiry eyebrow hairs poked out of his brow in all directions, chaotically. Shocked, he clutched at his aged skin, the mirrored version echoing him. This face that was now his, also belonged to another: the man who had kindly welcomed him the night before, into this sanctuary from the burgeoning storm.
The door behind him swung open, and Madeleine came into view in the expanding puddle at his feet.
“Oh Joseph, you silly old thing! You’ll catch a cold out here in this weather! Come inside and dry off.”
But Joe remained still, staring unflinchingly at the watery scene playing out before him, a kind-eyed old woman miming Madeleine’s words, her salt-and-pepper hair rippling back and forth against her face as the wind grew ever stronger.
© Laura Lamb 2016
This story has been published in On the Water anthology, by Solent Press, available for purchase here: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/on-the-water-book-poetry#/
