Where the Road Goes

by Tim Hass

The Starlight Motor Inn in North Platte, Nebraska was the end of the road for Mister Merriment.

After an evening performance in Cheyenne, the clowns, carnies and contortionists of the Mirthful Miracle Traveling Circus were told that the circus, and their jobs, were coming to an end.

“Too many entertainment options for families these days,” Bossman Bob told them. “We just don’t draw the crowds that we used to.”

So Mister Merriment was no more. He was just Steve Thompson. Poor, depressed, alcoholic, and now unemployed, Steve Thompson. He removed the bright red wig from his head and the thick layer of clown makeup from his face, collected his $500 severance check, and headed east on I-80 into the darkness.

And the Starlight Motor Inn seemed like the perfect place to put an end to it all.

He’d been contemplating it for a while. After losing $200 at blackjack in Reno a few weeks ago, he bought a large bottle of sleeping pills, but ended up drinking himself to sleep before he took them and wound up with nothing more than a pounding headache. After that, the bright lights of circus life and the intoxicating sound of children’s laughter kept him hanging on.

Until now.

Steve checked in at the motel office with $60 cash and took his suitcase and a bottle of Jack Daniels to Room 27. Like most of the roadside motels he’d stayed in, it was a dimly lit dungeon with the faint aroma of wet dog and stale cigarette smoke. A perfect setting for the final act. He poured himself a glass of Jack over ice, lit a cigarette and sat outside his room.

The night was perfectly calm and quiet, with only the occasional hum of a passing semi on the adjacent interstate just over the fence from the empty outdoor pool. In the overhang between the parking lot and Room 28, a group of wasps was busily building a nest under the glow of a flickering fluorescent light. As he warily watched them work, he began scheduling his departure. Maybe he’d see the sun come up, take the pills, and take ‘check out time’ literally. Or, maybe he’d stay another night and spend the rest of his money on a big steak dinner at the Outback up the road. That’s how death row inmates do it, right?

His inner monologue was broken by the sound of a cough coming from Room 26, growing more intense until it was punctuated by wheezing and gasping for air.

He dropped his cigarette and ran to the door, which swung open as soon as he began knocking. Inside, a thin, pale man was desperately struggling to get out of bed to reach an oxygen tank cart and mask that had fallen on the floor. Steve turned the cart upright and put the mask on the man’s face.

“Should I call 9-1-1?”

“No!” the man shouted, causing him to start coughing again.

“OK, calm down. Breathe. Let me get you some water.”

Steve went to the bathroom faucet and filled a plastic cup with tap water. He noticed a vast array of prescription medication on the counter.

“Do you need any of these pills?”

A much calmer ‘no’ emanated from the room. The man’s breathing was slowly getting back to normal.

“OK. Can I get you anything? Something from the machine?” Steve realized what a stupid question that was. Like a pack of Skittles would cure whatever this guy’s got.

The man took off the mask long enough to respond. “No, but thank you. I’m not sure what would have happened had you not come in.”

“No problem. I’m right next door. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

Steve left the room and returned to the chair in the breezeway and lit another cigarette, leaning toward the ‘last sunrise before permanent check out’ option. But just as daylight began to crest the horizon, the man from Room 26 emerged with his oxygen tank and pulled up a chair next to him.

“Thanks again for helping me tonight. You may have saved my life. Not that there’s that much of it left to save.”

Wow. More information than I needed, Steve thought.

“I’m so sorry. Cancer?”

“Yeah. Stage four lung cancer. Doctor says I have a month, maybe two left. Those meds you saw in the bathroom are all about ‘pain management.’

After an awkward pause, he added, “My name’s Jeff, by the way.”

“Steve,” he replied as he rushed to put his cigarette out.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Damage’s been done.”

Steve shook Jeff’s hand and the pair sat in silence for several minutes.

“Did you know the vast majority of wasps are solitary?”

“Huh?” 

Jeff nodded in the direction of the wasp’s nest. “Yeah, I tended to fall down Wikipedia holes when I was in the hospital. Those kind over there are social wasps, but nearly every other wasp species in the world builds a nest only for themselves and their offspring. They’re solitary.”

“I can identify.”

Steve regretted that response. He didn’t mean it as a brush off, but when he looked over at the disappointed expression in Jeff’s face, he knew it was taken that way.

The poor guy just wants some human interaction in his last days. It’s not his fault he picked the wrong human to have it with.

“Can I buy you breakfast? You know, for saving my life?”

Steve agreed and the pair ambled to the 24-hour diner next to the motel.
 

Over eggs, bacon, pancakes and a couple pots of coffee, Steve and Jeff discussed the paths that brought them to the Starlight Motor Inn.

Jeff was born and raised in Columbus, Ohio, received a degree in marketing from Ohio State, had embarked on a successful career with a top-notch advertising firm. He hiked and played tennis in his spare time. About a year ago, he was having trouble catching his breath, so he went to a specialist and got the bad news. He was only 38, and had never smoked a cigarette in his life.

Jesus, he’s younger than me, Steve thought. He looks like he’s 50.

After several rounds of chemotherapy went nowhere, Jeff decided he did not want to spend his last weeks in a hospital bed. He wanted to see the sun set over the Pacific Ocean, so he set out west to make it to California before he died. North Platte was just a stopover.

Jeff recounted all of this without a whiff of sadness or self-pity in his voice.

When it was Steve’s turn, he talked about growing up in a military family that moved around several times in his childhood, and how he felt more connected to the open road than to any schoolwork or friends. However, he had a knack for making people laugh, so the traveling circus seemed like a natural path for him. Until it wasn’t.

Jeff hung on every word, fascinated by the seemingly fun and free-wheeling life of a circus clown.

Of course, Steve omitted his final plan.

When they returned to the motel, Steve retreated to his room and took a long nap. He certainly wasn’t going to kill himself while Jeff was next door. It would be a slap in the face to someone whose life was mercilessly being stolen from him.

The ‘Outback’ plan was now in play.

By the time he awoke, the searing light of the afternoon sun was leaking through the thinning motel curtains. He sat up in bed, straight into his own visage reflected in a full-length mirror. He still looked good for his 40 years, he thought. Relatively trim, full head of dark wavy hair, rough chiseled-but-time-weary features.

Such a shame to waste these looks on such a fucked-up psyche.

Just as he was pouring himself a new drink, there was a knock at the door.

“My car won’t start. And it’s Saturday afternoon. None of the mechanics are open.”

Steve wasn’t sure how this was his problem, but if he could help Jeff get on the road and get on with his own plan, a little elbow grease would be worth it.

“I’ll take a look at it. I had to tune up a lot of rundown circus vehicles in my time.”

After popping the hood of the gold 2017 Accord, it didn’t take long for Steve to spot the issue.

“Could you get me a Coke out of the vending machine, please?” 

Jeff found the request odd, but complied.

Steve opened the cold soda and poured some of the contents onto a partially corroded battery terminal. A few minutes later, he scrubbed the powdery greenish-gold material away with his toothbrush and reattached the cable.

“Try it now.”

Jeff got behind the wheel and started the car almost immediately.

“Oh my God, Thank you! A car mechanic clown… you’re my hero!”

Steve laughed. For the first time in a long time. But he actually felt a little touched by Jeff’s genuine tone of appreciation.

“Let me help get her all tuned up for you so you can head out.” He hoped he didn’t sound like he was trying to get rid of his neighbor. Steve actually enjoyed Jeff’s company, but the sooner his new friend went west the sooner he could get on with his own endgame.

The pair went to the local auto parts store and bought new wiper blades, fresh motor oil, a giant road atlas and a roadside emergency kit. “There are a lot of places between here and California where it’s a long haul between gas stations,” Steve advised as he tuned up the car. “Do you have triple-A?”

“Yessir. I’ve got this. I may be frail now, but the mind is still sharp as a tack. I’m a Buckeye, after all.”

Steve smiled and rolled his eyes. Yes, you are frail, he thought. He was actually a little worried about how well Jeff would fare on a 1,500-mile solo road trip. But he wouldn’t be around to see how it turned out.

“Anyway, looks like I owe you dinner. And a toothbrush. Let’s go have a farewell meal!”

The pair took the short drive over to the Outback and sat down for what turned out to be two hours of dinner and conversation. Jeff was eager to hear more stories of circus life, so Steve regaled him with some beer-soaked stories of trapeze artists who survived falls, Ferris wheels that got stuck for hours with patrons trapped on top, and an elephant that mistook him for a giant peanut and nearly crushed him to death.

He may have embellished that last one for dramatic effect.

When he finished, Steve asked Jeff a question that had been nagging him.

“Why are you doing this trip by yourself? Surely, a guy like you must have friends or family that could have come with you.”

“My family doesn’t know where I am. They wanted me to keep going through chemotherapy, to keep going back to the hospital every time I felt sick, to keep looking for the ‘miracle cure.’ I didn’t want my last days on this earth to be suffering the effects of radiation and staring at hospital walls. We had a huge fight about it. The next morning, I emptied out my savings account and took off.”

Jeff stared down at his plate as Steve sat in silence. Way to go, dude, you just spoiled the mood.

“I’m sure they meant well. They just didn’t want to lose you. That’s a good thing, right?”

“I know, but I’ve got to do this on my own terms. I’ll call them when I get there, I guess.”

Having had several beers, Steve let Jeff drive them back to the motel after a quick stop at the mini mart to buy a new toothbrush.

“I suppose you’ll be leaving in the morning,” Steve said as he shook Jeff’s hand. “Have a safe trip if I don’t see you before then.”

“Thanks, it was great meeting you. And thanks for, you know, saving my life and fixing my car and all that.”

“No problem.”

As Jeff was unlocking his room door, he remembered. “Oh, don’t forget your truck keys.”

Jeff tried to lob them underhand to Steve, but they sailed over his head and made a direct hit on the wasp’s nest near Room 28, sending the angry swarm directly toward them.

Steve started to panic, and fumbled his room key onto the ground.

“Shit, shit, shit! I am super allergic to those things!”

Jeff’s door was already open. “Get in here, then! They’ll calm down after a while.”

Steve dove into Jeff’s room and slammed the door shut. Two wasps had gotten in, but they were easily dispatched with a few swats of the North Platte Yellow Pages.

“Well, I guess we’re even now,” Steve laughed. “You may have just saved my life. I don’t have any EpiPens with me here.”

“Hey, Ohio State is playing on TV tonight. Why don’t you watch it with me?”

Steve figured it was the least he could do on Jeff’s last night, so they watched the Buckeyes cream Northwestern, 48-10. After the game was over and the wasps had gone back to their nest, Steve fetched the bottle of Jack Daniels from his room.

“How about a victory drink?”

“Doc says I’m not supposed to, but what the heck? Life is short. Especially for me!”

What followed was an evening of drinking, casual conversation, and several competitive games of Cribbage.

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed the company of another human being this much. But as the late evening turned into early morning, he noticed Jeff’s mood growing somber as he stared into his empty glass.

“Who am I kidding?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t do this road trip by myself. Heck, I wouldn’t have even survived two nights in this motel without your help. Maybe I’ll just catch a bus back home.”

A dead silence filled the room. Jeff started to sob.

Suddenly, the words burst from Steve’s lips.

“What if I drive you out there?”

It was definitely the alcohol talking, but seeing the look on Jeff’s face suddenly brighten made Steve feel better than he’d felt in years.

“Do you mean it?”

“Sure, it’s not like I have a job to go back to. Go get that road atlas of yours and let’s plan a trip. Is there anything you’d like to see on the way out there?”

“I dunno. Let’s just go where the road goes!”

“I’m in! Now get some sleep. We leave at first light.”

***

Steve held up a picture of Jeff and himself at the edge of the Grand Canyon, with broad smiles on their faces.

“It took us three weeks to get to Los Angeles. Jeff had his good days and bad days. Some days we traveled, some days we stayed in one place. Some days, we made fifty miles and spent the rest of the day enjoying his medical weed gummies. But it was a great trip.

“When we made it to LA, I drove him out to the Santa Monica Pier. We rode the carousel, had a wonderful seafood dinner, and then watched the sun set. I can still see that look on his face, filled with awe and happiness and serenity. It’s hard to describe.

“He called his parents, and they flew out and hung with us for a few days. I gave them a day to themselves, then they went home. By this point, he was fading fast.

“The next day, he got us two side-by-side rooms instead of the usual one room with two beds, which I thought was odd. That Saturday was the big Ohio State-Michigan game, so we got a six pack of Modelo, ordered pizza and wings and watched the game. Jeff was so happy when his team won, and suddenly I became a big Buckeye fan. By the end of the night, he could barely move, but there were tears of joy in his eyes. I gave him a hug and told him I’d see him in the morning. He held on tight, and just said ‘thank you… for everything.’ Then he handed me the title to his car.

“When I woke up the next morning, there was 20 grand in my PayPal account. I rushed over to his room, but he had already passed.”

Steve’s voice trailed off as he bit his lip.

“God, it’s been five years now, but it’s so damn fresh in my mind. I only knew the guy for two months, but I think he may have been the best friend I ever had. No offense.”

“None taken. But I’m still your best man, right?”

Steve cracked a smile.

“Yes, Tommy, you’re my best man. But honestly, I wouldn’t even be here talking to you if it weren’t for that trip. After Jeff died, I got the help I needed, got clean and sober, and landed a job bartending at a comedy club, of all things. I still struggle sometimes, of course, but then I picture that look on Jeff’s face at the pier, watching the sunset, soaking up every minute of it. He gave me this new life, and I feel like I owe it to him to do what I can with it.”

Tommy grabbed his glass of sparkling water.

“To Jeff!”

“To Jeff. And to where the road goes.”

After clinking glasses, Tommy straightened Steve’s bow tie and gave his friend a hug.

“Great. Now let’s go get you married. A whole new road is waiting right through that door.”