Jordan Aubry Robison

Stranded on the side of the road Jimmy had decided he had enough.
His car was dead. Nothing was going to save it now. The engine was shot and dark clouds of smoke rose up from underneath the hood. In fact, it would cost just as much to fix it as it would to buy a new damned car. So, what did he do? He did the best he could do at a situation for someone raised Catholic. He did the sign of the cross, gave the car its last rites and threw his cigarette at the front windshield. Ashes to ashes. He then turned away from his car and never looked back.
Jimmy hadn’t walked but five feet from his now deceased car before pulling out a new cigarette. The sweet smell of the nicotine was just the drug he needed to calm him momentarily. He pulled out his trusty lighter and lit that baby up. Damn car, he thought to himself.
He walked the busy highway doing his best to ignore the insults and curses of from people in passing cars. He was really good at ignoring other people in these kind of situations. For a moment he fancied himself a sort of modern Jack Kerouac. I’m on the road looking for some angel-headed hipsters, he thought to himself.
The pressure of the day was enough to make his blood boil. He already had a falling out with his boss at the restaurant. What he wouldn’t give to be back in Peru dancing to some Latin music and drinking rum. Anything would be better than bankrupt USA. The dream was dead in America, but no one was willing to admit. The time would soon be coming when everyone will climb over each other to learn Chinese. Chinese was the ancient language of the future. The new langua franca. What’s an American do to? The spoils of a lazy society were finally coming to light. Good night sweet princes. Our story is finally over. America will go down as a great legend one day. Or be forgotten as quickly as was the British Empire.
What sort of world will it be when China takes over everything? Will we be running to Africa to help them search for oil? Pissing ourselves to beat the Mexicans to work in their rice fields? Man! I’m truly going over the edge here, Jimmy thought.
As the sun beat down on his neck he realized his only hope and salvation was Marisol. A sexy Latina who was born with the exact spice Jimmy didn’t even know he was looking for. She will always go down as one of life’s great mysteries. He was never a ladies man. He was always a man who got tongue tied with the ladies. Most women didn’t have time to deal with a hopeless case such as Jimmy. However, Marisol saw through his awkwardness. She had a keen ability of being able to size people right away. When she met Jimmy she immediately recognized his potential.
She came into his life late one night when was hung over eating waffles. She looked too sexy for words in her Waffle House uniform. In fact, she was the only good looking girl working that night. Which sometimes made Jimmy wonder is she was some sort of guardian angel sent down to him from heaven.

What are you doing? He remembered her asking him. He was hunched over writing feverishly in his trusty notebook. It was one of his epic poems that would begin in pretty language like Frost , then maneuver to a feeling of hopelessness T.S. Eliot poem, and finally finish off into a rant like Allen Ginsberg. He wondered how Ginsberg got away with writing such bullshit sometimes. But, mostly Ginsberg seemed obsessed with jamming as many thoughts and ideas into one poem. Ginsberg wasn’t a man of style. He was more of a tabloid journalist than a poet.
Writing a poem, he politely answered her.
She smiled and didn’t say anything at first as she refilled his cup of coffee.
So late to be writing poetry. Do you want anything else?
Yes, one more waffle.
Just one more? Why just one?
Because all I want is just one more. By the way what’s your name?
Marisol. You’ve already forgotten?
No. Just wanted to make sure I heard you right the first time. And now that I know your name I can finish my poem.
From that moment forward she was hooked. Jimmy was never short on looks. Marisol immediately took notice of his attractiveness, as did most women. She was confused at first of his obliviousness to the women around him. She thought for a moment he was gay. Then, she realized he was just shy—shy and troubled. Troubled like James Dean, maybe. A trouble she thought she could help and maybe even change for the better.
Marisol had a big heart. Her heart was probably bigger than the average person. At one time Marisol considered training at a convent. When she was little she wanted to be a saint and read everything she could about Mother Teresa and religion. Then one day, she came upon a biography in the library about Sor Juana de al Cruz. Sor Juana was a Baroque literary figure from early Mexico. She was an early feminist before women were even considered intellectually equal to men. However, Juana was also a nun. She lived in a convent which was the only place a woman in Mexico at the time could receive any sort of education save from how to be a good wife. Some argue the Juana was eventually silenced when one day she wrote a letter claiming she was the worse sinner of all. From that day forward Juana lived the rest of her life a devout and obedient nun and never spoke out again.
Sor Juana’s tragic life touched Marisol. It also convinced her that perhaps the church wasn’t the best answer or place for someone as such a big heart as herself. She became rebellious for a while. She tried to rebel against her natural tendency to help people. Then one day her father, an old man, grew ill. When Marisol was born her father was already in his late forties. By the time she was twenty he was already a very old man. She watched him slowly die in pain and agony. Each time she and her family took him to the hospital she took note of how the nurses cared for him.
On the day her father died he promised Marisol that she would meet a prince one day. He told her the same dream he had for her when she was a young girl. When she closed his eyes after he exhaled his last breath she concluded her life would be best served as a nurse. And so then, she began her nursing studies.
Marisol temporarily rescued Jimmy from oblivion. Ever since he tried to do right by her, but once you’re troubled you’re always troubled.

Jimmy stuck his finger out trying to hitch a ride. It wasn’t but a half-hour of walking and smoking cigarettes did someone decide to give him a chance. A Good Samaritan.
The car pulled in front of him. Jimmy walked up, bent down and looked in. Inside the car sat a large older man in forties at the wheel. He looked rough. He looked like he could take anyone in a bar fight. Even his smile was a little creepy. But, Jimmy was faced with two choices: Keep on walking until Marisol’s evening classes here over and call her to pick him up. Or get in with Hannibal Lector’s second cousin and risk being his next meal. Jimmy decided to risk being a main course. His legs were tired anyway from all the walking.
The smell of sweat from underpaid work filled the car. Billy quickly rolled down the window and breathed through his mouth. But, the old creep driving the car was already ahead of him. He breathed heavily through his mouth while snorting unseen mucus in his stuffy nose.
Name’s Norm, said Hannibal Lector.
Jimmy.
Where you heading, Jimmy?
Nearest bar, he joked.
Funny, that’s where I was heading also.
Sounds good.
Somehow in those few words a friendship was formed.
Norm took the next exit. He began talking about the meaning of magic. Jimmy pretended to listen. He started to think that Norm really was crazy. But, then again maybe that was a good thing. Jimmy was a little crazy himself.  Crazy because he was a dreamer. Crazy because he was madly in love with a woman he probably didn’t deserve.  Crazy because he wanted to be a writer, but didn’t have the patience to put up with the bullshit it takes to get there. Crazy because sometimes he didn’t give a damn when sometimes he knew he should.
Norm was so convincing sometimes in his argument about magic it reminded Jimmy the days when his evangelical friends tried to convince him to convert from Catholicism over to their fanatical version of Christianity. Luckily Jimmy was armed with a good wit. He always answered them: Well, since I’m Catholic I’m already guilty of something. So, there’ s no point really. They promised him they could save him. He didn’t want to be saved though he just wanted to be left alone.
Jimmy thoughts drifted back toward Marisol. He imagined wrapping his arms around her in bed and kissing her from her ear, her mouth and then her neck. Thinking of this calmed him but also excited him. He stopped himself from thinking anymore of Marisol fearing his excitement would catch Norm’s eye. He definitely didn’t want to give his Good Samaritan the wrong impression. Then again, what if Norm liked to see excited men. Shit! I’m in a car with a crazy homo-rapist. Bad decision Jimmy.
The car pulled into a parking deck. Both men got out and walked toward a college bar called Fish Bait. Jimmy took a gander at the neon sign of a cartoon fish and a fishhook. What kind of name is Fish Bait for a bar? Jimmy thought.
Once inside Jimmy took a look around the marine-themed bar and liked what he saw. The bar was fully employed with sexy women. The men were kept at the ID checkpoint. And the big uglys were kept hiding in the kitchen. Good decision, Jimmy thought. Of course, it was still early. It was still a few hours before the place would fill up with college kiddies ready to overfill the joint.
Both men took a seat at the bar. Norm ordered a Guinness and a double shot of Jagermeister. Jimmy ordered a glass of coke and Captain Morgan’s. The sexy bartender smiled at Norm and winked at Jimmy. Jimmy was momentarily in love. Norm ignored it all. He had given up a long time ago one women.
So, you a film buff, Norm?
I’ve seen a few in my lifetime.
What do you think of Romero.
Genius.
And what about Demme?
One hit wonder.
I’m impressed.
Jimmy lit another cigarette considering Norm’s answers.
I take it you like movies?
I love movies man. I fucking love them, answered Jimmy.

I love movies, Jimmy announced again.
(END OF PART ONE’S REVISION)

Stranded on the side of the road Billy had enough.
His car was dead. Nothing was going to save it now. The engine was shot. He didn’t have enough money to fix it. In fact, it would cost just as much to fix it as it would to buy a new car. So, he did the sign of the cross, gave the car its last rites and threw his cigarette at the front windshield. He turned and never looked back.

Billy hadn’t walked five feet from his car before he had already pulled out another cigarette, lit it, and exhaled a good stream of nicotine smoke. Damn car, he thought to himself.

He thought about Marisol. A sexy Latina who had the right kind of spice he didn’t know he was looking for. She came into his life late one night when he was hung over eating waffles. She looked too sexy for words in her Waffle House get-up.

What are you doing? He remembered her asking him.

Writing a poem.

She smiled and didn’t say anything at first.

Want more coffee?

Yes, and another Waffle? Just one.

Another Waffle? Why just one more?

Because all I want is just one more. So, what’s your name, again?

Marisol.

Beautiful name. Now I can finish my poem.

From that moment forward she was hooked. Billy wasn’t short on looks, but his awkward nature and inability to express himself to women handicapped him from most. But, Marisol saw through his shyness and went after him. Billy was lucky and he knew it. She was the best thing that could or would ever happen to him.

He stuck his finger out trying to hitch a ride, but instead was honked out. Some yelled insults. Some called him crazy. He was walking on the side of the highway where only three feet of space was available and then a cement wall.

It wasn’t but a half-hour of walking and smoking cigarettes did someone decide to give him a helping hand. A Good Samaritan.

The car pulled in front of him. Billy walked up, bent down and looked in. A large older man in his forties sat at the wheel. He looked rough. He looked like he could take anyone in a bar fight. Even his smile was a little creepy, but Billy had two choices: keep on walking until the next day and maybe make it home; or get in with Hannibal Lector’s second cousin and risk being his next meal. He decided to take the risk. It was better than walking and he was tired anyway.

When he got in the car the smell of sweat from underpaid work filled the car. Billy rolled down the window and breathed through his mouth but the driver was already ahead of him. He breathed heavily through his mouth while snorting unseen mucus in his stuffy nose.

Name’s Norm.

Billy.

Where you heading, Billy?

Nearest bar.

Funny, that what I had planned.

Sounds good.

And with that a friendship was formed.

Norm took the next exit. He began talking about the meaning of magic. Billy pretended to listen. He started to think that Norm was crazy. But, then again maybe that was good thing. Billy was crazy himself. Crazy because he was a dreamer. Crazy because he was madly in love. Crazy because he wanted to be a writer. Crazy because he didn’t give a damn when he should.

As Norm talked about magic Billy thought about Marisol. He imagined wrapping his arms around her in bed and kissing her from her mouth to her ear to her neck. It calmed him, but also excited him a little so he stopped thinking of Marisol fearing that he would embarrass himself. He didn’t want to give Norm the wrong idea. What if Norm liked to see excited men? Shit! I’m in a car with a crazy homo-rapist. Bad decision Billy.

The car pulled into a parking deck. Both men got out and walked toward a college bar. Billy took a gander at the bar before they walked in. Fish Food. What kind of name is Fish Food? he thought.

Once inside Billy took a look and liked what he saw. It was big. It was roomy. It was quiet. The bar was full of sexy women. Good decision. Of course, it was still early. They had a few hours before the place would fill up with college kiddies ready to overfill the joint.

Let’s sit and talk awhile, but not about magic, okay? Billy told him.

Fine. What do you want to talk about?

They ordered their drinks from one of the sexy bartenders. She winked at Billy. Billy was momentarily in love. Norm ignored it all. He had given up a long time ago.

Let’s talk about movies. Romero and Demme.

Norm smiled. Sure, we got a few hours. Lets.

(END OF PART ONE)