Teenyboppers Delight

The sun was gone, and they still had no clue where the hell they were. Tamara was about fed up with it. Ben tells her they're going on this wonderful road trip to a national park, tells her it would only take about three hours of driving. They started at noon today, and they were still going six hours later.

Asking him if he knew where he was going was fruitless, even to make herself feel more active in the situation, because it had become abundantly clear that he really didn't. That asking it just one more goddamn time would net her little more than a major argument. She wasn't ready for that kind of trial.

Not that he wasn't testing her right now.

Suddenly, he gasps, slams the steering wheel with the balls of his hands and points out of the front window. "There, finally!"

Tamara looked where he was and saw it, outlines of buildings, barely visible in the dark beyond their headlights. She could see a few squat squares and a water tower. Nothing else.

"Why aren't there any lights on?" She asked, and she saw Ben's wide grin falter.

"Everything's probably closed." He answered, his voice low and mush mouthed. His slouching told her all she needed to know. They approach in silence, the only noise in either of their ears being the muffled sound of the car's tires rolling along the highway. Closer now, they could see a sign on the side of the road which read MARVIN.

"Marvin?" Ben asked, though, if the question was directed at Tamara or not, he answered it himself anyway. "Marvin, Wyoming. That's not where we were headed. Shit, where the hell are we?"

"I don't know Ben, maybe you should've charged the GPS before we left." Tamara spoke before she could hesitate, and the look on Ben's face, one that flashed between anger, then to irritation, then to hurt, made her regret talking in the first place.

"You said that earlier," he said. "I'm still sorry about it. I can't do anything else about, Tamara."

"Me neither." She said, pausing before speaking again, her eyes just a little wider than before. "We could find a motel and wait 'til morning, then we can get directions or a map or something."

"Alright, sounds good." Ben said, but his tone was still in that childish sulk that she hated so much. They drove on and she hoped they would find a motel or inn soon.

Over the town line, they could see something immediately.

"Motel." Ben hollered, and there was. On the right of the car was a flat and long building made of wood. When they turned into the small parking lot, the headlights shone on something unusual.

"What kind of ugly ass truck is that?" Tamara asked.

"Looks like a Ford pickup from the 50s."

The Ford was the only other vehicle in that parking lot, so they parked in the furthest spot from it. Conveniently, that spot was also the closest to the reception area, so the two went right in. Inside, it was a small room. There was an old couch with flower print on the cushions, a stubby looking coffee table with a stack of magazines on it, and a dead, browning plant in the corner opposite the front desk. The desk itself was unmanned as Tamara approached.

"Hello? Are you open, we'd like a room."

Silence. Looking behind the counter, she saw that there was no one hiding behind it (Why did she think there was? Of course there wouldn't be. Stop thinking about it.) Looking a little forward, she saw the door behind the polished wooden counter. It was open just a crack, but she could tell it was in utter darkness behind it.

"Anyone home?" She called out, raising her voice enough that Ben, at the couch and coffee table, fumbled the handful of magazines he had been holding, jolting her to turn around quickly.

"Jesus Ben, what are you doing? You scared the crap out of me."

"I was looking at the stuff they got here," he said, sweeping a hand at the magazines he was stooping down to organize. "They all look like they're dated from fucking ages ago. 1950's I think, one of them has Elvis on the cover."

"So?"

"So, isn't that kind of weird?"

"It's a town in-" She turned back, just to be sure no one would hear what she said. "A town in bumfuck Wyoming, I don't expect them to have new shit."

Ben straightened up after putting the magazines on the table again. "Take it easy, Tamara."

"No, Ben," She answered, her voice rising. "I've been on the road with you for six fucking hours already and we aren't even at the fucking national park yet. Why the FUCK should I take it easy right now?!"

"I- Look Tam-"

"No, Ben, I'm not having an argument, I'm telling you the facts; I'm not dealing with anymore shit today. I want to sleep. We'll talk about it in the morning." She marched behind the counter and yanked one of the room keys off the pegboard. Without another word from her and ignoring Ben's protests that they still needed to pay, she left the reception area. Ben followed after.

Contrary to Tamaras stated desire, they did have an argument.

***

Morning light wafted soft through the thin drapes of the motel room. Tamara stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She felt beside her only to remember that Ben had slept in the car. Heaving a sigh, she went about her morning routines- dressing, showering, not brushing her teeth because she left all of her things in the car- before stepping out. The parking lot was still sparse in population, save Ben's car and that ugly red truck from the night before. She would have gone right to the car, right to Ben, possibly to start yet another fight even, but what she saw in the driver's seat of that old Ford stopped her as she passed by the window, heavy with dust.

There was a man in there. He looked like an old picture of her dad, if her dad was a bit greasier and didn't care to shave his mutton chops. That wasn't really the object of interest to her, though, not even the fact that he seemed to be midsip of a silver flask.

It was that he wasn't moving.

She stood there for, she thought, ten seconds even and he had not moved once from his current position. Not even as she started backing away. Not even when she turned and ran to Ben's car. He was asleep in the back when she got there. He was quite awake when she pulled open the door and shook him like a crying newborn.

"Wh-huh? What, What?" He slurred.

"Some guys having a stroke in that red truck." She spoke.

"Seriously? Wait, seriously?!" He was moving now. He scrambled right out of the backseat and broke into a run as she started explaining what she saw to him. When they got there the man was still in the driver's seat, still in midsip. Ben looked at him, looked back to Tamara, then back to him again, tapping the window with his knuckle as he did. He tried the door, but it was locked. He swore and then patted himself. "Left it in the car. Stay with him, try to get the door open or something. Fuck!" He ran off to the car. Tamara watched after him for just a second before turning back to the Drinking Man.

Still nothing.

She got her own phone out. It wouldn't turn on. Did she charge it? How much did she use it yesterday?

Ben slammed into the side of the red truck with a heavy thud, making Tamara scream. "My phones not working!" He was panting now.

"Neither is mine. What do we do?"

Ben looked back in at the Drinking Man. "Shit, I gotta see if the motel's got a phone." He sprinted off before she could speak again. She didn't hear from him again until he started screaming, so she took in the scene before her in the scant time that afforded her. The Drinking Man was still stuck. Was this how strokes actually worked? she wondered. Was this even a real guy, or a mannequin? Was he doing some elaborate joke or some other dumb shit? Who even is he?

She leaned in closer to the truck, and that's when the screaming started. She was gone from the old red Ford in moments, leaving The Drinking Man to himself. All alone again.

**

"How the fuck did you even get that thing stuck in your hand?!" Her voice matched her movements, frantic and frenetic, her one hand white knuckled on the steering wheel while the other gestured sharply at Ben, who was clutching his hand, and embedded in that hand was the motel's desk bell, the little dinger at the top stuck through his palm.

"I was fucking dinging it, obviously!" He yelled. "This never happened to me before, what the fuck?!"

"This wouldn't have happened if you had charged the fucking GPS before we went on this trip!"

"Really, now?! Are you fucking serious Tamara?!"

They were at each other's throats now. There was no civility, no thin veil of wanting to keep the other happy. Every grievance the two had was being aired in this bumfuck Wyoming town, their focus on how he wasn't cordial to her parents or how she was against getting a pet and not on the people frozen in the middle of their walks.

Women in poodle skirts and button-down cardigans and a group of men in leather jackets with their hair greased up to look like Elvis. A shop owner stuck wiping down his counter forever, and a married couple with a pram forever waiting for the crosswalk to light up so they could pass. The modern couple turned a corner, and they still didn't notice the silver Cadillac that was forever stuck in the road.

The crash was swift, but awful. Ben wasn't wearing his seatbelt, and they were going just fast enough for him to burst through the windshield and sprawl on the hood.

Tamara wasn't sure where she was now, her head felt like something was trying to burst out of it, except for the front, which she couldn't feel much of anything in. She reached for the passenger seat, for Ben, and when she didn't find him, she reached further. Where was he? Maybe he got out. Why can't she get her hand around the door handle? Her hand is right there, so why can't she... see...

She just needs to sleep. Her head hurts too much now. She needs to sleep it off. She'll figure everything out in the morning.