Keep the Storm Clouds Back

Fall Together

The ashes hanging from the tip of my Marlboro were growing to an obnoxious length. I looked up at the motel clerk, to which he replied with a gentle shaking of his head. The phone lines were still out, just as they had been for the past three hours; and apparently it was impossible to get a signal on any cell phone with any network. The clerk, whose name I learned was Jim, stood up from the cedar bench where he had been sitting since I pulled up to this dump in my car. I watched him as he peeked out the window and turned back to me with a hopeful expression.

“It’s pretty dang cold out there, huh?” I noticed his country-bumpkin accent and nearly gagged. I was in no mood for conversation.

“I’m pretty dang aware.” I spat back, mocking him. I flicked the last of my cigarette into the ashtray.

Jim sat back down. “Y’know, there aren’t any vacant rooms…” He started.

“So you’ve said…three times. There a law against me sitting here until the storm passes?”

Jim chuckled and shook his head. He had to be thirty-five. He had greasy black hair and a thin frame. His face was dominated by a goofy smile that would make anyone, in a mood like the one I was in, want to slap him. “You sure got a mouth on you, young lady.”

“Where’ve I heard that before?”

“Okay, look, this storm’s not gonna be over for…I don’t know…hours.” Jim took a swig of some generic beer and continued. “What’s your name?”

I huffed. I did not want to play let’s-get-to-know-each-other with Jim the pervert. “It’s Sandra, Jim.” I finally said, stating his name.

His eyes narrowed and his voice grew shrill. “How’d you know my name?”

This dude didn’t even realize he was wearing a nametag. I just looked away, too annoyed to even answer him. In the distance of a back room, maybe even an occupied motel room, I could hear the faint familiarity of my favorite band. I could hear Steven Tyler’s voice, just having gone into the final scream, in Dream On. I instantly was a little less put off by Jim. A smile crept across my face and he took notice. “I like this song…they’re my favorite band.” I said when he looked at me like a freak for having suddenly begun smiling like an idiot.

“Oh, who is it? I don’t pay much attention to heavy metal”, Jim said. Yeah, I suppose he listened to folks like Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash, both of whom I’ve got absolutely no problem with; they just aren’t my favorite.

“Aerosmith-they came out in like, ’73. You never heard of ‘em?” I asked, surprised at how just one of their songs had put me in such a good mood.

He nodded. “Yeah, from Boston, right?” He asked. 

“Yep…and they’re actually hard-rock, not heavy metal. Heavy metal would be, say, Metallica.” I stopped myself before I started giving him the run-down on the history of metal and the difference between thrash, black, death, and heavy metal. I knew he’d be less than interested.

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t know” Jim said, smoking a cigarette. “So how old are you, anyway?”

“Nineteen; my birthday was two days ago”.

“Well then, happy birthday” he muttered half-heartedly. “You get anything good?”

I snorted a sort of laugh. “Not really…I kinda ‘ran away’ after my birthday. Fuckin’ sweet situation I got myself into, huh?  I mean, here I am in some shitty motel, no disrespect, with some dude who could rape me in two seconds, no phone service and unable to leave instead of being safe and happy and warm in my parents’ house”