Miles from Our Home
"So this is what hell looks like. I didn't think there would be so many cows."
Tommy looked up from his paper and at the fields stretching out before them. "You turned off of the main highway..."
Scott shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, taking a dramatic left turn across a dirt road that sent coffee sloshing over the brim of their chipped Styrofoam cups. "I know a short cut." He stubbornly insisted.
"Short-cut? Remember the last short-cut we took?" Tommy's amusement irked Scott.
"I didn't tell that driver to go left!" He insisted, sending the car through yet another back road, past yet another street of painted colonials. Their muted tones were giving him a headache.
"You did, you were just too stoned to remember," He smirked, expression smug. "I don't think Todd ever found out where Mattapan was."
Scott shook his head, "His fault for not bringing a map." He promptly slammed on the breaks, sending the car to a squealing stop.
In the center of the road was a black-spotted Holstein cow.
"Move!" Scott shouted, slamming his palm down on the horn. The nasally whine did little to disturb the cow, who stood still as a statue in front of them, chewing her cud. "Fuckin' son of a..."
"Oh, calm down." Tommy groaned, rolling his eyes. Scott wasn't the easiest man to get along with, but taking ones anger out on a cow didn't make him look reasonably orderly.
Funny how things like this never happened to them in ECW. Maybe because Paul had them regimented like a bunch of Von Trapps.
The cow wasn't budging and Scott grabbed his tin of Altoids, stuffing one into his mouth. Tommy stepped out of the car, grabbing a handful of wheat from a field and drawing the cow's attention. She looked up, interested, and as he walked into the empty field beside the road she followed. He let her have the treat, jumping back into the car.
Scott, by then, was on his fourth Altoid; the diversionary tactic he employed to keep his body on the straight and narrow had just begun to drive away his stress-based alcohol craving. He opened his eyes, noticed that the cow was gone, and gave Tommy an amazed look.
"Cows like wheat," He shrugged.
***
As they drove on, country roads became suburban roads. There was, however, no sign of a phone booth or shopping center.
"this is bad. This is really bad," Scott glanced at his ever-present watch, "Oh shit, I'm going to miss my booking..."
"But that's OK..." Tommy insisted, "You know I made enough this week. My Rumble bonus just came through and..."
"And I don't want you paying my way." Scott responded, squinting through the sunset-colored haze each street lamp provided him. The slipped into place behind a pickup truck, staring at an ancient red light, waiting for it to turn green. His eyes widened in sudden worry "Damnit, did you see a Truro Street a few miles back?"
"Maybe a town or two back.."
Scott's forehead promptly collided with the steering wheel.
***
At six o'clock they pulled over at a little diner. Tommy ordered a salad, which was presented as a tiny, pre-packaged side salad; he gave in and ordered a burger combo. Scott finally picked up the steak he had been craving for the past two miles, and they ate in the din of a thousand or so truck drivers waiting for a malted.
Tommy absorbed their smoky surroundings; walls plastered in old product advertising signs and posters, waitresses in black tee shirts and tight jeans. Loud patrons in John Deere hats and quilted vests ignoring the heat, buckling down for a summer haul.
Scott stared blankly at his coffee, "They're never going to hire me again." He said sadly.
Tommy squeezed his lover's hand, "Stop that, now."
He laughed, "You have a contract, which means no worries."
"For now." He said, dully. "Nothing is for sure in this line of work."
Or in this line of love. Scott thought to himself.
****
At eight o'clock, with the sun finally setting, Scott found the town's commercial epicenter. Rising as the sun set were a Home Depot, McDonalds, Taco Bell, Burger King, even a Starbucks. Pulling over to use his cell phone, with any hope of reaching their destination dashed, Scott plunked down on a curb outside of the Taco Bell. Tommy, needing a snack, ducked in, bringing them quesadillas.
To his relief, Scott was laughing.
His cell phone was closed, and he was laughing. Handing him a bag of quesadillas, Tommy asked, "What's so funny?"
"No one else could find the show, either." He managed, taking a bite out of the treat, "Five people showed up. They canceled."
Tommy smiled, "So we used up our Saturday on nothing?"
"Not nothing," Scott said, "I still get paid." He wrapped an arm around his lover, "And I've had worse wild goose chases."
NOW he decided to stop taking things seriously? Tommy tried not to laugh.
All around them, the sunset brought in twilight tones of blue, silver, violet, purple. Like bruised organs and strangling tissue.
But then there was a burst of red, orange, and gold: the colors of life and of their love.
Tommy kissing Scott so hard, so abruptly that small pieces of beef entered his chicken-filled mouth.
"What was that for?" Scott managed.
His lover smiled, "Making the chase worth my time."
And the sun went down.