The Hyundai Sonata glides across rain-soaked asphalt, passing farms and roadside wonders. The sky in the United States seemed big, bigger than in Europe, everything in 70mm, super Panavision. There was a sense of scale here unlike anywhere else I’ve been to, though I hadn’t been to many places. From the desert of Texas up to the woodlands of Minesota, the United States seemed gigantic compared to the feeble hills and traffic choked motorways of merry old England. I often imagined being a 17th century farmhand, riding in a covered wagon across the untouched American countryside, unmapped, unknown. It must have been terrifying.
I visit the SPAM Museum in Austin, (Minnesota), feeling myself pick up psychic damage from the processed meat exhibitions. There were times when you’d visit a place because its kitsch, ironically visiting a tourist attraction then upon arriving, you’d question your decision. After ten minutes I’ve had enough, I walk up 4th Avenue and see Tendermaid Hamburgers, a sandwich joint with red and white striped awning outside. I grab myself a burger. I talk to the waitress, she’s going to study Freakonomics up at Minneapolis, I wish her luck. Pass through a car park, go and look out at Mill Pond behind the library. There are no stones to skim across its surface. An old couple come and talk to me for a while about the city, recommending I go and visit the SPAM Museum. I make a joke that I get enough spam in my email account.
“Are you being a wiseass?” says the old man. I hit the vape and start doing a Joker impression, licking my lips.
“Tell meee….Commissioner Gordon. If a place is a museum of spam, is that not JUST a yahoo accounT?”
“Huh?”
“Why so seriou-s?” I say, lowering my head slightly, beginning to do an evil laugh. A teenager rides past on a hoverboard, slapping the back of my head.
I had hoped to make the drive up to Minneapolis, instead deciding
to take the night off. I book myself in a 1 star room at the Sterling Motel,
dump my stuff all over the bed, take a walk. There’s a giant fibreglass cow by
an empty sports ground, I walk through some nearby suburbs, taking in the tree
lined avenues, white picket fenced porches outside each house. As a child I’d
watch American movies, fascinated by the suburbs, fantasising about living in
one of those wooden houses that seemed enormous but the characters would
complain about being too small. It was nearly the end of July, summer had
crested, beginning its slow descent into the death of the year. I’m the only
pedestrian. I keep walking, crossing a bridge over a low river, its bank
revealing rocks and sand buzzing with flies beneath the sagging branches of the
trees. I walk with no direction, cutting across lawns, turning at junctions,
finally finding myself outside a bar called Bobee Jo’s. It reminded me of how
little social interaction I’d had over the last few weeks, a part of me wanting
to be amongst people, to make a connection however temporary. I went in.
A couple of hours later I was sat at a table with a half dozen Americans, laughing and talking loudly about nothing. One thing about Americans was that they were always welcoming, asking you questions, whistling when you told them how far you had travelled, offering to buy you one of their American beer-flavoured waters. Their chatter was as nostalgic to me as the suburbs from earlier, everyone had straight teeth and talked about sports teams I had never heard of. This was the true American experience, a stranger amongst friends, shooting the shit and putting the world to rights. I pretended I was driving up from Missouri to go visit my sister over in Milwaukee. I showed them a picture in my pocket of a woman and a baby I claimed were my family, but I had stolen it from a picture frame at a photo place, one of those stock photos meant to show you what was normal. My friends for the evening all worked together at L&M Boiler Systems round the corner, they’d known each other since high school and now all their kids played together in little league. It’s a nice, normal evening, a welcome break from the usual. In the light of the neon sign behind the bar, I feel a warm glow inside my heart. Human connection, spontaneous conversation, the brief pat on the back or slap on the shoulder, I soak it up like a sponge, revelling in the endorphin rush of contact. I realised for the last two months the loneliness that had laid over me, speaking to the skull of Walt Disney for some form of social contact, yet never having a response.
The night ticked on. The bartender shouted for last orders, we got a round of drinks and then started to make our way out. One of the women hung behind, waiting for me to finish saying goodbye to Chet, Leroy and Fantasia.
“You leaving town tomorrow?” Christine says.
“I sure am. Better hit the ol’…bed. Was nice meeting you.”
“I was wondering if you wanted some company tonight, before you head off?” she says. I look up the road and see the group of friends watching. We laugh, I rub the back of my neck.
“Sure. Why not?” I say. The uber arrives and we drive back to the Sterling Motel. We haven’t spoken since leaving the bar, it takes me a minute to remember which room I was staying in. I flick the light on, remembering all my stuff that had been thrown around the room, kicking it to the corner.
“Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting any visitors, heh.” I say. When I turn back to Christine, she’s looking at me intently. She pulls her shirt off over her head, takes a step close to me so we’re almost touching. There’s a loose curl of hair over her face, which I brush behind her ear. We kiss. I fumble with the buckle of my belt, though her hands go down to it, pushing the loop of leather, sliding it out, pulling it open so she can undo the button of my jeans.
“Wait a second.” I say. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Is that a second or a minute?” she says, laughing. We kiss again and I go to the bathroom, leaving her sat on the motel bed in her bra and jeans, looking out of the window. A moment passes.
“Don’t keep me waiting too long!” she calls to me.
“Almost finished!” I call back. I crack open the bathroom door, watching her look at my luggage strewn around the room. My heart is beating fast, it anticipates. I exit the bathroom, white face paint applied thickly over my head and bare chest, lipstick drawn across my face.
"Introduce a little anarchy. Upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos. I'm an agent of chaos." I say. She is confused, so I do another quote, licking my lips again.
“Why, so, serious?”
“Oh...right. You like the joker?”
"What doesn't kill you simply makes you stranger!" I say, doing a high pitched laugh afterwards. She walks over to me.
“Maybe I can get into this.” She says, running a finger down my chest.
“All it takes is a little push.” I say, forgetting to do the Heath Ledger voice. She runs her hands across my head slowly, grabbing fistfuls of hair and throws me towards the bed. I start doing another quote from the Dark Knight, but she holds a hand over my mouth.
“No more talking.”
