Hideaway

When I unfolded the Georgia/Florida map, it filled the front seat of my Dodge Omni 024, overwhelming me with thin wiggly lines and intersections, so I folded my route from Waynesboro to Pensacola into a long rectangle and highlighted an orange path through Midville, Hawkinsville and Albany, Georgia and on into Florida to my final destination, Pensacola, Florida and the Gulf of Mexico. I paid $60 for weed, $20 that was stolen when I bought the pot, $40 for gas, $3 sandwich, $1 chips, $1 Mr. Pibb and $1 for a map. Daddy slipped me $600 in Vidette and 15 miles later, I had $474 left and a book of bad checks.

There’s no room for a sinner and degenerate like me in Burke County. In fact, there’s no room in the whole state of Georgia so I headed to the Gulf of Mexico without telling a soul. Mama and Daddy have three children but their oldest is an abomination and must be cast out - for the sake of Daddy’s business and our “family reputation”, I drove twenty-four miles down Highway 56 to Midville. Right after passing the Hideaway Bar and crossing the Ogeechee River Bridge, my tire … TTTHHHHUUuuummPPppp tha tha bbbbbbbbblewwwwww Shit. Fuck. It was 12:45 and I was thirty-nine miles from Vidette.

My Dodge Omni 024 hatchback was packed with everything I own and the spare was somewhere underneath all that. I could walk back to a pay phone and check the phone book for a tire shop. But, that bar was closer. Goddamit. I have a flat tire, $474 and I’m only in Midville. I swallowed tears, looked back over the bridge to the white cinder block establishment. I think I know how to get a little help. I’ve learned how to use this girlish exterior to get over. It’s like I’m watching it all happen from the outside/inside. So strange and difficult to describe this kind of existence/coexistence. I have to ask myself in these times, what would she do?

My secret is, I am not exactly she and she is not exactly me, but the most intimate correlation to me, more a he than a she, more a we than a he. To be or not to we. What is the question?

I’m not unprepared. Mama tried to teach me how to catch a man. She would say, “Make the man come to you. Make him chase you. That’s how I got your Daddy. He asked me out three times before I said yes. Accentuate your best features like those rose bud lips. Hold your shoulders back. Don’t be ashamed to show off your figure. You hide the beautiful body God gave you under all those baggy clothes. And no boy wants a clown or a girl who’s smarter than he is.” What Mama meant was, “Be quiet, dress fem and stick out your boobs.” I want to obliterate everything she insists on spotlighting.

I don’t often need to catch a man but this was an exception. They’ve kicked me out of Georgia but I’m having the hardest time leaving. Georgia doesn’t want me to go anymore than I want to leave. I’d dreamed of getting out of here all my life but not this way. Mama hopes for an ending like the return of the Prodigal Son. I guess they figure if it’s God will, I’ll apologize and come home, saved and ungay now, I would be a conservative woman and a pillar of our community. Perhaps I’d join the Garden Club. I would marry a Christian man from a good family, raise three children, start a prayer circle and get my hair done in town. Of course, none of that would come to be and on this day, I was up Briar Creek without a canoe. All the money I had was in the left front pocket of my blue jean cutoffs.

This situation was not ideal and I was kinda freaking out but I had a few things going for me walking into that bar. I was only eighteen, but I’m tall and a good liar, so the fake I.D. always worked. My hair was huge and sprayed hard like a helmet. I rolled wild cherry lip gloss across my rose bud lips and tied my Georgia Southern tshirt into a knot above my belly button. Armored and lipsticked, I hiked back over the bridge to the Hideaway Bar BQ.

It was one o’clock in the afternoon and there was a bronze Pacer, two pickups and a motorcycle in the parking lot. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark paneled interior. Over the bar was a red neon Coors sign and ZZ Top was on the juke box. A man in his thirties with greasy blond hair was hunched over a pint of beer as he talked to an older man wearing overalls, a John Deere cap and dusty boots. The bartender smiled and waved me over to an empty stool.

Before I sat down, a woman’s smokey voice said, “Hey honey, shouldn’t you be in school?” She was about Mama’s age and sat near the end of the bar, smoking a Virginia Slim, drinking a Tom Collins and waving a ten dollar bill at the bartender. “Gimme another one, Bubba and check this gal’s ID.” She looked back down at her TV Guide, licked her middle finger and turned the page. I recon she’s having a cocktail and planning her evening.

“Alright, Connie. Another Tom Collins. Coming up.” Bubba finished wiping the bar and tossed my welcome coaster. I held back my shoulders, stuck out my boobs and smiled my most charming smile, handing him the faux ID.” He hardly inspected it, winked and handed it back.

“What can I get you, young lady? $2 drafts until 4:00.” Bubba was almost cute with a gap toothed grin, dark hair and narrow blue eyes.

“Thank you. A Michelob, please.” I figured this was a sophisticated choice for a twenty-four-year-old woman, quenching her thirst after having a little car trouble down the road.

I swallowed half the beer and blotted my lips with a napkin. “Mercy. It’s hot out. Glad ya’ll got the AC turned up.”

Connie smirked and rolled her eyes “Yesterday was hotter.”

“Yes, mam. It was.” I grinned in her direction, feeling the need to win her over.

Connie points in my direction, holding the Virginia Slim between her fingers like a smoking wand. “Don’t you mam me. I’m not old enough for that shit.” She crushed the cigarette in the bean bag ashtray and polished off her Tom Collins.

“You certainly are not old. I say sir and mam to everyone. It’s a stupid habit.” I wasn’t fooling Connie but she appreciated the attempt. I swallowed the rest of my beer.

“Damn, girl. You put that away.” Connie smiled, removing the umbrella from her fresh Tom Collins.

“This has been a shit day.” Luckily, I knew the magic potion. One beer and I felt better. One more I might feel fine. Nobody’s kicking me out of Georgia. I’m leaving on my own. This is a celebration. I’m getting the fuck out. I’m on an adventure.

I looked over my shoulder to see a guy in his late twenties walk out of the bathroom buckling his Wranglers. He smiled, tucked his hair behind his ears and sat next to me.

“Hey man. Can I get a Bud and quarters for the pool table?” He slapped $4 on the bar and turned toward me. “Wanna play?” He took his beer and walked to the pool table, confident that I would follow. Mama would want me to say no, but there’s no time to play hard-to-get. I needed help getting a new tire. Then I noticed his motorcycle helmet. I needed someone with a car or truck.

“I’d play but this is my last beer. I had a flat tire and I need to figure that out.” I pushed my empty glass away from me.

“Another one?” Bubba pulled another beer without waiting for my answer. “If you need help with that tire, one of these boys will help you out.”

“What? You got a flat, gal?” The older man asked.

“Yes, sir, I do. Just over the bridge. I need to get it plugged or maybe get a retread? Is there a tire shop close by where I can get it fixed?” I took my beer and moved closer to the men.

“Floyd’s Garage is bout half a mile back. He’ll give you a retread for $20. Buy me a beer and I’ll put it on.”

“Thank you so much. That’s a good deal.” I said, reaching in my pocket for my wad of cash.

“No, no, no. We’re just teasin you. Lemme me finish this and I’ll get that tire fixed. Stay here and finish your beer. Bubba let me pay my tab and put this gal’s beer on mine.”

“No, sir. I can’t let you do all that.” Yes, I can let him do all that but I was raised right. This is the polite reply in this particular situation. I pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “Bubba, please let me pay … “

“Listen here. If my daughter broke down on the side of the road, I’d hope some feller would stop and help her out. I’m Otis Sykes. I have the farm down the road. My fertilizer spreader broke down so I’m done for the day. I bet I can get that tire changed before you finish your next beer.”

I was finishing my third beer when Mr. Sykes returned. He insisted on paying for the tire, too and had me back on the road by 3:30. Connie said goodbye but it felt more like good riddance. She seemed real happy to have Otis all to herself. When I left the Hideaway, Connie had kicked off her pink Payless pumps and perched on the bar stool next to Otis, a tiny cocktail umbrella perfectly accessorizing her bleached blonde Bouffant.

Around eight o’clock I stopped in Albany for gas. I had a headache and the Hideaway beers made me tired, so I washed my face in the McDonald’s bathroom and bought a fish filet sandwich, french fries and a large Coca-Cola. I didn’t want to pay for a hotel so I went next door to 7-11 where I paid $3.40 for NoDoz, sunflower seeds, a Snickers and Sweet Tarts. I rolled down my window, popped a couple NoDoz, put ACDC Back in Black in the 8-track and lit a dirt weed doobie.

It was after midnight when I drove over the Three-Mile Bridge connecting Pensacola and Gulf Breeze. Driving miles over an ocean is unsettling. What if I’d had the flat out here? What if the bridge collapses? There could be whales and sharks in all that liquid darkness. I’m basically driving over certain death, if you think about it. I tried not to think about it. I took a deep breath of wet, salty air. Rick James’ Super Freak was on the radio when I got to the beach. I parked in a sandy parking lot next to 7-11 and changed out of my Stan Smith tennis shoes and slipped into flip flops. I cleared a spot in the hatchback for my sleeping bag, grabbed my toothbrush, soap and a towel and walked across the street to the ocean. No one was around so I peed and washed up in the showers on the beach. When I got back to my car, I crawled into the back and changed into my bikini, shorts and a tshirt. When the sun comes up, I’ll go to the beach and pretend I’m on vacation. I’ll figure out how to find a job later. I’ve made it to the Gulf of Mexico. I’m on my own. I can do whatever I want and I want to have an adventure.