Crawl(5)

“Do you blame me?” She decided to settle into the memories. It was a welcome reprieve from the dark times behind them.

“Naw,” he chuckled, “I don’t blame you one bit. I remember what you wore that night, too. A yellow turtleneck and a pair of acid wash jeans. I didn’t think they even made acid wash anything anymore. But there you were, a closet full of eighties relics. I’m surprised you didn’t have your bangs swooshed up, and held in place with a gallon of Aqua Net.”

“I was going to, but you were sick. You wouldn’t have been able to handle my full-on epicosity.”

“Epicosity? Is that a word?”

“It is now. Phone Merriam-Webster and tell ’em I have a last minute addition.”

“We went to see a movie that night. You remember what it was?”

“Do you?”

“Yep. Dawn of the Dead, the first remake in, like, forever, that didn’t suck monkey balls.”

Juliet allowed a smile to grace her lips. “You didn’t want to go because you loved the original so much. Kept on saying they were only going to ruin Romero’s classic. I told you no one could ever ruin the original because it would always be what it was. It’s frozen in time, golden… untouchable.”

Colton laughed. “I really didn’t want to see that movie.”

“But you went anyway. Sick and all. Even when I wouldn’t kiss you, you went.”

“I did it because I loved you.” His tone grew somber. “And I still love you, Julie. I would go to the end of the earth for you.”

His words brought back the anger. It had never really left, not really. It had only hid in the shadows cast by fond recollections.

“Just don’t sleep with anyone on the way there.”

“Julie, please, I’m trying here.”

“Then maybe you should stop trying.” And, just like that, they were back on track. “I know you’re hearkening back to the early days of The Colt and Julie Show, but I don’t need that right now. I need space. I need you to not be around me for a while. Because the more I think about the good times, the more I think about that skank scampering across the carpet, trying to find her damn clothes.”

“Can I do anything? I’m feeling kinda helpless here.”

“No, Colt, you did enough.”

Her mother’s house, only thirty miles away now, had never seemed so close yet so far away.

Juliet prayed for the first time since she was a fragile girl of ten in Sunday school.

God, shut him up before I throw myself from a speeding car.

The Mercury’s bumper flashed in her mind.

JXSAVES … I DO NOT

She could only imagine how many Americans had requested JCSAVES, or some variation of such, since the invention of the vanity plate. Had the Mercury’s driver decided on JX, using the X in place of a C? Juliet wondered if the X in JXSAVES stood for the Greek-to-English translation of Christ, like when someone used Xmas instead of Christmas. The common misconception was that the X was meant to take Jesus out of the holiday. She wondered where she’d come across that information. Perhaps that long ago day in Bible school, listening to the bright lady with the neon-pink hair (whose name evaded her at the moment) tell horror stories concerning the stoning of whores, and Christ’s crucifixion and subsequent zombie-like rise from the grave three days later. Sweet baby Hey-Zeus, church had been a scary place for a ten-year-old.





3.


The second time they ran across the Mercury with the JXSAVES plate was at a Waffle House in Columbus. Neither Colton nor she was hungry, but he needed coffee, and she had to pee.

The Merc had been parked at the back of the restaurant, beside the dumpster’s enclosure. White exhaust puffed from the tail pipe, and the headlights highlighted the steel doors that hid the trash area. As the Subaru’s lights washed over the driver’s side of the Merc, Juliet could see that even the side windows had been tinted. Given the creepy message made when the vanity plate and the bumper sticker were combined—

(JXSAVES… I DO NOT)

—Juliet doubted that a benevolent individual owned that relic of a bygone age. A time when a cup of java and a gallon of gas would have run you about the same price, and twenty bucks bought enough groceries for a fortnight. She kept expecting the Merc’s door to pop open and Satan to step forth into the parking lot—the asphalt smoldering under his cloven hooves. All those thoughts of Sunday school had her imagination running in religious circles. Her mind needed better company. She averted her eyes and focused on the empty booths inside the Waffle House as Colton pulled into a spot directly in front of the entrance.

Both hopped out. He held the door open for her then followed. Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places” played over the speakers while the cook at the grill sang a high-pitched backup. The heavy-bosomed lady twirled a spatula like a drumstick as she crooned. She nodded at Juliet and winked at Colton.

“Down, boy,” Juliet chided.

“As if,” Colton said, before grabbing a stool at the bar, looking not unlike a cowboy saddling up to a saloon in preparation for a night of drunken abandon. He dropped a quick “Hello” on the cook as Juliet made for the restrooms.

As she passed the men’s room, the door swung open and a man stepped into her. His momentum pushed her into the opposite wall. Her arms came up in a defensive reaction.