Holed Up in Tucumcari

Other than the fact that I was racing with the moon, I had no clear idea where I was going. It did seem that something wild in my soul wanted to get out of town, though. Wanted to awaken in some unknown place in the morning. It was a little past midnight with the full moon just rising. Its cold light just beginning to peer through the dark woods, as I threw my bag into the trunk, and got in behind the wheel. It was an hour later when I glanced back at the dark city in my rear view mirror getting smaller and smaller. Then, swallowed by the night. I felt a certain lightness, as though I had just soared away from the gravitational pull of my own past, and jettisoned away the spent fuel container that was once a suffocating job. The moon looked down over my left shoulder, seemingly motionless but yet, keeping up with me as I barreled west at 70 miles per hour. By morning I found myself in a strange land. I was somewhere between Amarillo and Tucumcari by then.

Gone were the noisy crickets and the frogs tuning their instruments in the night down by the pond tucked back in the Tennessee hollow. Gone were the rolling hills and woods, and the wild thick blackberry brambles. Gone was every person I had ever known. In the place of a Tennessee night, I was making my way now into a New Mexico morning. There was now, the lack of everything unfolding in front of my eyes. A barren vista, broken by occasional arroyos. The arroyos gave me some hope that, in all this desert, there is the occasional rain. That is when I had the realization that I was starting to get thirsty.

I pulled off the interstate clammy with sweat. Yet, it was evaporating out of my shirt as fast I could sweat it out. My shoes seemed to be dying too. My toes were curling up and stretching, tired of their tight grip. This is all I can take. It is time to stop for a rest, or maybe for the rest of my life. I drove slowly into the town of Tucumcari. The whole stretch of this portion of Rt. 66, seemed like a lost story of some kind. Of forgotten yesterdays. A good place to sit and forget about all kinds of things. A place where you could, in fact, forget your entire past.

I had to get some sleep, and make a plan. It was mid-morning, as I slowly drove down the empty main street, I wasn't sure anyone had even awakened yet. It seemed like an abandoned place. It was a stretch of road full of aging motels, a couple of gas stations, a donut shop, and a greasy spoon. And a dark and aging bar on the corner at each end of the town. I drove it from one end to the other, and circled back around. I saw a motel called "The Safari Motel". A big neon sign was blinking and buzzing overhead, but most of the neon wasn't working any more. The 'S' lit up on Safari, and the 'ari' part. As for the word Motel, only the M and the O lit up, but they looked flickering, and about to fail. There were only a few cars parked along the long adobe colored wall of several dozen turquoise painted doors. I decided to pull in. Besides, they had a pool. I had already rented my room before I noticed, there was no water in the pool. My room was dark and stuffy. The window air conditioner didn't work. It turns out that it costs an additional two dollars a day, if you want the a/c plugged in. I didn't know that until the next day when I complained at the motel desk. But, in that moment, just stepping into my room, I was too tired to think about it. I sat down on the side of the bed and fell wearily back across it.

When I awoke, the sun had just set, and the sky over Tucumcari had turned red. I ran a tub of lukewarm water, and stripped. I almost fell asleep again, the tepid water relaxing my body. I stared at my dripping wet feet propped up on the other end of the tub. I wiggled my toes. They were happy now. Ready to go again. Time to stroll about town and see what this niche in nowhere had to offer. It seems the main thing happening in Tucumcari on a Friday night, was down at the little bar on the corner. It had a blinking green neon iguana sign hanging out over it. It was called The Lizard's Lounge. There was a sign in the window saying 'Kareoke Tonight!'. When I walked in, I felt somewhat out of place, not having a white straw cowboy hat. They seemed to be all over the place. Dressed up cowboys on a Friday night. Girls, in their fanciest cowboy boots and tight jeans,hung around the pool table nursing beers and watching the boys play. The cowboys at the table each had their own calculated cool about chalking their sticks, and eying the balls sprawled out across the felt. They had their ways of sizing up the shot, pacing again, and re-chalking. A pile of bills sat stacked along the rail, so every shot counted. It was a night like this that made their rough and tumble real cowboy work, Monday through Friday, all worth while. Hell, if a man can't blow his hard-earned dough on beer, pool, and cowgirls, what's this world coming to? In the other room I could hear the heavy buzz of amplifiers warming up, and the sound of someone tapping on a microphone. Kareoke night was beginning.

"Testing....testing......Lady cowgirls, and Cowpoke gentlemen, welcome to Kareoke Friday at The Lizard's Lounge. Sign up to sing, and get a free beer on the house." I watched the lady cowgirls, and cowpoke gentlemen strolling over to the bar. There was a grand prize worth one hundred dollars worth of alcohol at The Lizard's Lounge, and there seemed to be no shortage of people signing up. I thought about signing up myself, but without a cowboy hat of my own, it felt intimidating. I sat down at the bar, getting ready to watch the show. The girl behind the counter brought me a fresh beer, then pushed a shot of tequila up next to it.
"Welcome to town, cowboy" she said. I felt suddenly a new confidence, people here are nice to strangers. And better yet, I could be a cowboy, even if I didn't have a hat. I slammed the shot, then spun around on my stool to watch the show. As it turns out, the music was all about Hank Williams and Patsy Cline. I always had a fondness for Hank Williams. As a child, I recall my dad singing along with Hank Williams on the radio, as he drove us around from one town to the next, in search of a place to make a life. He could make his voice crack just like Hank's. Dad was cool, that way. A cute cowgirl stepped up to the mike. She chose one of Patsy's songs. One of those songs where, if you don't fall to pieces listening to it, then you have not known the ache of love, and love lost. The song was, of course, 'I Fall to Pieces'. I remember long ago, hearing Patsy sing it. And since then, I have heard countless impersonations, attempts to re-capture every nuance of Patsy's delivery. Just as there are people who try to re-capture the magic of Judy Garland, and 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow. The cowgirl at the mike was knocking off a pretty nice Patsy. Hitting the notes, and dramatic pauses quite well. I complimented her later, and bought her a beer.

"I don't know what comes over me sometimes," she said tipping her bottle over to mine. Clink. "I just feel sometimes like I am channeling Patsy. Like she is still trying to keep on singing." I nodded, and would have tipped my hat, if I had one.
"Maybe you are," I said. I went on to tell her about the day Patsy and Cowboy Copas went down in a small plane over the Tennessee hills. How I joined one of the search parties scouring the woods, trying to find her, but hoping I wouldn't be the one. All that was true, except the part about where I personally pulled Patsy's body out of the wreckage. That was tequila talking. You'll make up all kinds of things when you have a girl's attention.

She told me to come by her place in the morning, and she would give me a free treat, a free donut and coffee at the donut place across the highway, 'Dotty's Donuts'. And it turned out she was Dotty, herself. She had a store front selling donuts and a few
other goodies, and she lived in a small apartment just above it. Surely, you can guess what I had for breakfast the next morning.

The next morning, bright and early, I took a stroll down the highway, toward the pink blinking "Dottie's Donut" sign. Below it hung a neon green blinking arrow, flashing even more urgently. It pointed to the donut shop over and over and over. I guess when people are zipping up and down Highway 66, you've got to do something to try to slow them down. Make some kind of little light bulb go off in their heads, "Oh! That's what I need! A donut!" I don't know if that sign was working in that sense or not, or if it was just too early yet. The sun had just hit the horizon, big and red. As I approached, I peered into the front window. The place was empty except for Dotty who was wiping down a light green formica counter top. Buffing its chrome border, and wiping off the pink naugahyde seats of the stools. She looked cute, and I could see she had a glass case on the counter, full of fresh donuts. As I walked in, the air smelled sugary sweet, and yeasty, and there was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee cutting through it.

Dotty turned and smiled. "Howdy, cowboy." she said. I walked over to the counter trying to look somehow cowboyish, and said, "Well, howdy, Miss Dotty!" I sat down at one of the stools, as she brought me a small glass of ice water.
"Well, cowboy, whatcha been up to lately?" she asked, as she poured me a cup of coffee. "You been out on the lonesome prairie, ropin' doggies, an' singin' cowboy songs, and stuff like that?" she asked, as she leaned forward, putting her elbow on the counter and her chin in her hand. I looked at her looking at me, and burst out laughing. I tried to put on a Texas drawl, and said,
"Well Miss Dotty, I reckon I oughta be ashamed of myself, cuz' I done went and lost my lasso." She stood and shook her head. "Well, cowboy, I reckon yer cowboy days is over."

She walked over to the glass case and placed two chocolate glazed donuts on a saucer, and returned.
"You aren't really from around here are you?" she asked, as she sat the donuts down in front of me.
"Uh,uh," I replied, reaching out to pick up one up. "You aren't from around here either, are you?" I asked, as I took a bite. "Mmm, you make a mean donut, Miss Dotty" Dotty shook her head,
"Naw, but I've been here awhile. I like it alright, but everything gets old after awhile." I took a sip of coffee, as I watched her wipe the counter again, even though it was spotless. You know how sometimes you get the feeling you just stumbled onto something, or someone extraordinary? That's what I was thinking as I finished off my donut, and watched Dotty.
"Is your name really Dotty?" I asked her. She shook her head.
"Uh, uh... It's Angela. I just decided to call myself Dotty when I took over this store, seeing as how it already had a sign on it. It wasn't even my idea to be Dotty. People just started calling me that when they came in."
"That's sorta funny," I said, "I wonder who Dotty was?" Angela shrugged.
"I don't know, really. People around here don't talk much."

I was getting that feeling again. That feeling I had when looking at Dotty, and now, that feeling I was having as I looked at Angela.
"How did you wind up here in Tucumcari, Angela?" I asked, as she refilled my coffee cup. What she said next, clinched it, that feeling I was having. She sat the coffee pot down, rested both hands on the counter, and looked out the window to the highway.

"Well," she said, in an absent-minded way, squinting her eyes a little, as though thinking back in time. " Other than the fact that I was racing with the moon, I had no clear idea where I was going. It did seem that something wild in my soul wanted to get out of town, though. Wanted to awaken in some unknown place in the morning. It was a little past midnight with the full moon just rising. Its cold light just beginning to peer through the dark woods, as I threw my bag into the trunk, and got in behind the wheel." She paused to look at me. "Why are you looking at me funny?" she asked. I shook my head, as though trying to regain my senses.
"Angela, I know you may find this hard to believe, but I've been sorta writing this story about leaving home, and the very words you said, was how my story had begun." Angela threw her head back and began laughing.
"Oh, that's a good one, cowboy. I bet you use that one on all the girls."

I dug down into a shoulder bag I had carried with me, the one I kept my camera and my notebook in.
"Look, Angela," I said flipping through the pages of my notebook. I laid it open in front of her. "Read right here," I said, pointing to the opening of my story. She picked it up and was silent for a minute.
"Well, I'll be damned!" she said, as she began to walk about behind the counter, reading what I had written so far. She laid it down again in front of me. "It ends with last night." she said. I nodded,
"That's as far as I've gotten, so far."
"How do you think it will end?" she said quietly. I shrugged my shoulders. I looked up into her eyes while a long silence passed. Finally, I mustered up the next line of the story.
"Do you wanna get the hell out of here, Angela?" She nodded. She closed the store for the day, and we went up to her apartment. We left Tucumcari on the full moon. She put a 'Closed for Vacation' sign on the door of Dotty's Donuts, and we drove away into the night.

I'm working on a new story now. I don't know what to call it. But it begins like this: "Other than the fact that we were racing with the moon, we had no clear idea of where we were going."



The End

Note: My characterization of the Safari Motel is a fiction. The real Safari Motel in Tucumcari is a pristine, vintage, and economical place to stay. I stay there every time I pass through.