I'm writing this down in hopes that one day I'll be able to fully understand my transformation, for good or ill. At the time that these events occurred, reflecting upon them was like trying to see through muddy water; I had only the slightest inklings of my motivations – only feelings without clearly formed thoughts.
After knowing him for almost fifteen years, I married Robert. He was the Big Man On Campus, the pretty boy with the well-to-do parents who was bound to achieve Happiness however he wanted it. In college he could have had any woman he wanted - and he did. He went on to get his MBA, and after working for just a few years, started his own real estate firm that became a tremendous success. I was always somewhat intimidated by him then. We had been friends since we met in school, but I never wanted to become one of his bevy of college women, and after we graduated, I admit I still wanted to keep him at an emotional arms length. As a Chicago public school teacher and writer, my goals and measures of success were much more ambiguous and much less material than his. Being young black professionals, our parents must have instilled in us some of their own yearning for the 'good life' - a greater level of financial security and comfort than they could achieve themselves. He had certainly reached that level. I had not.
Maybe that is partially why, at the age of twenty-nine, I was finally drawn to Robert. He could provide security. Maybe it was because I feared I was only getting older and might end up alone for the rest of my life. Maybe it was because, at the time, I wanted children, and I heard my biological clock ticking. Maybe it was because I had been a friend to Robert for so long, I felt he was safe. In any event, it was a mistake, I know now.
He wanted me too, in his own way. I was attractive enough, an intellectual match for him... and a woman he had never possessed. I had only ever 'had sex' - I still used that term, then – with a few men, and didn't 'fuck' - the term I use now - Robert until after we were engaged.
Perhaps, therein lay the seeds of our destruction as a couple. Because once Robert felt that he had possessed me sexually, he lost interest. If he had ever been as good a lover as his reputation suggested, by the time we married, he was much more interested in the next housing tract and the biggest land development deal he could find. I, on the other hand, had only begun to explore my sexuality, and I found myself increasingly alone on that voyage of discovery.
That was why, five years later, I found myself on the side of an empty mountain road one day, sweltering in the heat, and searching my soul...
"I can't get a signal on my cell anymore," Robert said. He was earnestly poking and prodding at the buttons of the phone, as if some coded sequence would expose all of its secrets. From the moment we left Chicago, Robert had desperately clung to familiar symbols of normalcy and comfort.
"Well, you already called the garage, honey. I guess we just have to be patient," I told him.
"I think we've already been patient enough." His eyes left the phone just long enough to check his watch. "It's been over an hour."
Looking around our convertible, all I saw was pine forest spotted with patches of bright pink rhododendrons. Cicadas buzzed away the morning. We hadn't seen another car on the road since our breakdown. As we were no longer moving, and with the sun almost directly overhead, sweat was beading on the exposed skin on my forehead, my neck, and between my breasts. The white summer dress I wore clung to me, and was becoming translucent in places. I had never been afraid of sweat, though. Years of scholastic sports and regular trips to the gym had cured me of that.
"Maybe we can make the most of our time waiting," I suggested.
Robert glanced at me, and then did a double take as he saw my expression. "Jia, last night would have been a better place for that, don't you think? I mean, we booked four stars in Columbus and Virginia Beach and you want to do it in the middle of a road in - where ever the hell this is?"
"Yes!" I made a face. "It's Elkins, West Virginia. Robert, the purpose of this trip wasn't to stay in fancy hotels. We were supposed to rekindle that romantic spark; just be together. Look around! This place is gorgeous."
"No, this isn't Elkins. Elkins is a town. Elkins is Bumfuck, at least. We're somewhere north of Bumfuck. I should have never left Interstate 79," he muttered, playing with the phone again.
Sighing, I was just about to get out of the car and stretch my legs when I heard a motor.
A 1970's vintage tow truck came around the bend, coughing slightly, like it was getting over the flu. It pulled over on the shoulder ahead of us. A middle aged black man climbed out. He was slightly overweight, and balding, with a mustache. He wore faded denim coveralls over a dirty tan shirt. He eyed our car with an appraising glance, and then gave me the same shrewd look. Robert, impatient as always, practically leapt out of the car to meet him.
"We've been waiting almost two hours," he said. "I thought Elkins was only 15 miles from here."
"'Bout 'right," the man said. "But the guy 'runs the shop you called in Elkins had an engine breakdown. So he called me. Name's Clemson. My place does foreign cars too, so you're in luck."
Apparently, that was good enough for Robert. We got our map and personal things and got in the truck while Clemson hooked the towing apparatus to our Saab.
"At least he's not some redneck," Robert said to me, before Clemson got back in. I sat in the middle of the cab. Sitting between the two men, I became acutely aware of the way the dress I wore clung to my chest. The fabric was darkened slightly with perspiration along my legs. It was short, too, so that almost half of my chestnut colored thighs were exposed when it rode up. I felt almost naked. Although the precariousness of my state was lost on my husband, Clemson seemed to notice. He leaned into me – rather unnecessarily, I thought. He reached into a tray beneath the dashboard and picked up a pipe, brushing my leg in the process. It took him a few minutes to fill the pipe with tobacco, but he didn't light it. He simply stuck it in his mouth. The sweet scent of the tobacco filled my nostrils.
"'Quit a few years back. Mostly I just like the pipe for the feel nowadays." he grinned, pulling back onto the road.
Robert was poring over our atlas. "Where is your garage, then?"
"Junior."
"Junior?" Robert flipped back and forth between a few pages. "That's not even on the map."
"It's only about six, seven miles northwest of Elkins. Closer to Belington, actually." Unable to find Belington, Robert gave up on the atlas altogether and revisited the cell phone problem.
There wasn't much of a town. We passed a gas station and diner before pulling in to Clemson's shop. A pair of huge men, one black and one white, strode out of the shop. The black one was shaven and handsome, with the same dark complexion and facial features as Clemson, who was apparently his father. The white man, had a rather simple, boyish look to him, but was tow-headed with a strong jaw. They both wore coveralls, with nothing but glistening arms and shoulders showing underneath. The black one opened the door for Robert and I. When I slid out, the man offered me a hand. My skirt rode up far enough to expose the gusset of my white panties. I caught his gaze as it fell to the tops of my thighs. Embarrassment and irritation would have been my likely reactions to the looks I was getting from the three men. Today, however, I was craving attention, and found myself getting aroused.
The young men disengaged the tow, set the Saab in neutral, and pushed it into the garage as if it were a go-cart. Clemson followed the two, still mouthing his pipe. Inside, a third, nappy-haired black man lay sprawled on a ratty, burnt orange couch, jumping up when he realized there was work to do. He wore torn cutoff jeans and a muscle shirt. Robert and I stood in the lot while the three men lifted the hood and pored over our car, tinkering with various tools. As an afterthought, walking under the sliding door, Clemson pointed to his employees and introduced them.
"Oh, this here is my son Mirnum, this's Cletus, and the sleepy knucklehead over there, that's Willis." Then he strolled in to join the others.
"If these guys don't try to rob us blind, we still should be in Virginia Beach this afternoon," Robert muttered to me.
My mind was on Willis's sculpted, grease-stained legs at the moment. I wondered if I still wanted to go to Virginia Beach.
Robert must have mistaken my silence for unhappiness. He put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze, asking me about my plans for the next school year. I don't remember what I told him.
Clemson came back out. "Well folks, it looks like the transmission is almost shot. You need a couple'o parts and the good news is, I think I can pick 'em up in Elkins. We can install them and get y'all back on the road by tomorrow morning."
Robert was already shaking his head.
"The estimate is $650."
"That's outrageous!"
"Well, now," Clemson answered "soon as the day is finished, I'd be glad to take y'all into Elkins and you can get a second opinion. The tow's gonna cost extra, though."
"You've got to be kidding." But Robert knew he was out of options. "We'll want the agreement in writing."
"Oh, that reminds me," Clemson said, "that'll have to be cash, 'cuz the charge machine broke."
"Traveler's checks?" I asked.
"Sorry, little lady - don't take 'em."
Robert was livid. I knew we didn't have that much cash. "Do you have a phone?"
Clemson nodded. "Tell you what - I've got my phone in the back room, along with my parts lists. We can both make a few calls, and maybe I can shave off a little of that price. Then, if you want, we'll draw up papers."
"I'll stay out here with the car," I volunteered. Robert hardly seemed to notice, though, as he marched into the back of the garage to the office with Clemson. Obviously he thought he could haggle for a better deal.
