SE Wilson ~ Hot Air

A trop­i­cal storm had formed some­where off the coast and was fore­cast­ed to turn into a hur­ri­cane, so we cut our vaca­tion short and drove home in silence. My wife Kate caught me hav­ing eyes for oth­er women at the beach. I had for­got­ten my sun­glass­es like an idiot and the beach is usu­al­ly a bright place. So Kate didn’t want to talk to me, and when she did, she made com­ments like, “I’m sor­ry I ruined my body so you could be a dad.” I didn’t respond and just watched the road fall under us, lis­ten­ing to the man on the radio talk about fore­cast­ed wind speeds and storm surges, and I was glad we were head­ing inland, to safe­ty. We had to stop halfway, at an old, long-ago shut­tered ser­vice sta­tion with gas prices from the nineties and knee-high weeds so she could feed Jack. The clouds were soft pink hues and there was a gen­tle breeze and chirp­ing birds. It was hard to imag­ine a storm was on the horizon.

But the storm made land­fall the next day. The winds blew the rain side­ways.  A neighbor’s patio umbrel­la flew down the mid­dle of the street. I was wor­ried about leaks in the roof. Kate stayed in the nurs­ery, pro­tect­ing our son from the storm. When he cried, I heard her go “shh­hh.” The lights flick­ered and I held my breath. Then the lights went out and I let out a sigh.  It would soon be dark so I grabbed the can­dles and lantern and sat at the kitchen table, look­ing out the kitchen win­dow, at the trees hang­ing on for dear life. I could hear wood splintering.

After Kate put Jack to sleep, we had cold canned ravi­o­li for din­ner while we lis­tened to the winds howl. Kate went to bed and I fell asleep on the couch, hold­ing a pil­low, close to the edge.

Morning brought sun­light and calm winds and bird calls, but not the pow­er. It was not even nine and already eighty degrees. I picked up bro­ken branch­es in the yard and waved at neigh­bors who were sur­vey­ing their homes. There was a dead squir­rel in the dri­ve­way. By noon it was nine­ty and we were sweat­ing. Jack was fuss­ing. We tried to cool him with a bath but he only fussed more, scream­ing and kick­ing, his face red and wet. It was like we were try­ing to drown a cat.

What do we do?” Kate asked. “We need to do something.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, think­ing, sweat sting­ing my eyes. Then an idea hit me.

How about we take a dri­ve? We can turn on the AC.”

Okay,” she said.

We got Jack into the car and cranked the AC as cold as it would go. I backed the car out of the grav­el dri­ve­way and left the neigh­bor­hood, where our neigh­bors were still pick­ing up their yards or sit­ting on their porch­es. I was glad to be where I was, where there was cold air.

Our house was in the coun­try and the roads were long and straight, with farms cut into the woods, reveal­ing the rolling land. The sky was bright blue and cloud­less. The rem­nants of the storm lit­tered the streets. We passed the pow­er com­pa­ny inspect­ing a downed line. I slowed and rolled down my window.

Howdy, any idea when the pow­er might be back on?”

A man with a big, round face cleared some phlegm and spit.

Not sure. Got a few lines down ‘round here.”

He took off his hel­met and wiped the sweat off his fore­head with a rag.

I nod­ded and rolled up the win­dow and con­tin­ued dri­ving. We took roads I had nev­er dri­ven. We passed a farm where cows grazed in the sun. One of the cows lay on its side near a creek and it looked dead. Some large, dark birds were fly­ing above. In the rearview mir­ror I saw my son sleep­ing. My wife wore dark glass­es and I couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or shut.

Kate?”

Yes,” she said.

Nothing,” I said.

I looked down at the gas gauge and saw the tank was low, so I decid­ed to stop at the first gas sta­tion I saw. I looked back over at Kate and she was rest­ing her head against the door. Just a few years ago I would’ve put my hand on her thigh, but I no longer felt the desire. If it wasn’t for our son, I doubt we would’ve still been togeth­er. A wave of anx­i­ety rip­pled through my stom­ach and made my mouth dry.

Nothing defin­i­tive­ly marked the point in our rela­tion­ship that my feel­ings toward my wife began to change. It was almost as if it just hap­pened overnight, but I know that isn’t true. It was months, maybe even longer. More and more things about her began to irri­tate me, things I had nev­er noticed before all of a sud­den became things that were impos­si­ble to ignore. It was how she breathed through her mouth and how she walked with her feet point­ing out­ward like a duck. It was her clumps of hair in the show­er drain which began to gross me out. It was as if the hair belonged to a stranger. Sex was hap­pen­ing less and less, and that made her preg­nan­cy even more of a shock. She want­ed to keep it and that was nev­er a ques­tion. And I thought it would maybe bring us back togeth­er. Maybe.

The sun was harsh through the driver’s side win­dow. It was blind­ing. Even though my wife was beside me and my son behind me, I felt alone and dis­tant. I drove like there was some­where I had to get to, the speedome­ter crept up and I took the turns tight and fast. Suddenly there was a sput­ter­ing then noth­ing and we were dead in the road, going nowhere and with­out cold air. When I looked at my phone, I saw I didn’t have service.

Kate sat up, confused.

What’s going on?”

I think I ran out of gas,” I said.

Where are we?”

She lift­ed her sun­glass­es to the top of her head.

I don’t know. Somewhere near Yanceyville, I think. I don’t have cell service.”

I looked in the side mir­ror and saw noth­ing behind us. There was noth­ing in front of us. My mouth was dry and my hands began to sweat.

Jesus. We’re in the mid­dle of nowhere,” she said, look­ing around us, then back at our son who was still sleeping.

I’m sure some­one will come by soon and I can ask for a ride to a gas sta­tion,” I said.

She said noth­ing and leaned her seat back. It began to get hot so I rolled down the win­dows. There was a light breeze. It felt good on my damp skin. When the breeze died, the heat was suf­fo­cat­ing. Our son woke up and began to cry, his face red and streaked with tears.  Kate got him out of his car seat and tried to feed him but he wouldn’t eat. It must’ve been near­ly 100 degrees and humid, the heat heavy like wet wool blankets.

We have to do some­thing,” Kate said. “We just can’t stay here.”

I stood in the mid­dle of the road but saw nothing—no homes, no cars, no life. Everything was death­ly still and qui­et. Not even the birds sang.

I’m going to walk,” I said. “Go sit under that tree in the shade and I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

So I began walk­ing, sweat pour­ing out of me, look­ing back at my car in the road and my fam­i­ly beneath the tree, waver­ing in the heat which rose from the asphalt. Soon they were out of sight and it was just me. The heat was dizzy­ing. I began to run.

~

SE Wilson lives in North Carolina. His work has appeared or is forth­com­ing in The Blotter Magazine, Chiron Review, and Streetlight Magazine.