Where It Leads

© Kim Granholm

He wouldn't have started the bar fight if he knew he was going to lose. Couldn't have been older than twenty-three. So I felt a slight twinge of guilt looking at him, the way his teeth dangled like chandeliers in his purple, pulpy mouth. Young kids like that never know how to throw a punch.

This is how I remember it. I was sitting next to Melissa. She had a few too many to drink and was contemplating the rest of the night with her head in her hands. She was unaware of the faces around her, the perverted faces that stole glances of the spot on her back where her t-shirt and jeans parted. But this one particular kid was eyeing her. I mean really staring, explicitly. The thing that pissed me off was that he knew she was my girl. I had been sitting there with Melissa, telling her in a quiet voice the stories of my days on the road. She understood. She would nod empathetically, in big motions, and I liked how her dark hair would swing around her pale face. I know we weren't intimate, but the way she would brush my leg with her hand when she would adjust her seating in the chair…it wasn't an accident. She was much more forward than that.

So, I started staring back at this guy. When he turned around again and met my eyes, I held the stare. And he held the stare. I made my eyes cold like my father taught me when I was young. I made my lips stiff and my jaw stern. And he just watched, emotionless. I got bored and I turned back around. I'd rather he look at me than her anyway. I turned to Melissa. She must have seen the stares of the guys at the opposite table, because she had slumped over her arm, nose in elbow, embarrassed. I heard her sniffle into her skin. And when I put my arm around her as comfort, she didn't shrug it off.

That's when I heard the scrape of the chair against the wooden floor. Thirty seconds later was when I felt the two taps on my shoulder. I kept my arm around Melissa and squeezed the back of her neckline gently to let her know there was nothing to worry about. I sipped from a glass of water until the cubes rattled at the bottom.

"Hey!"

He tapped again, but this time three times. The third one was punctuated and dug in, right below the clavicle. I tried to apathetically wave the bartender in efforts of appearing undaunted.

"I said, hey you!"

As I took my arm off Melissa, I tried hard to look annoyed, annoyed as I knew Melissa was. I turned around, slowly swiveling myself on the backless barstool, remembering how I had done that as a child while waiting for my father to pay his tab. Again, I stared at him.

"What are you doing with her, man?"

I felt that needed no answer. I was talking to her. I had been watching her through the night and trying building a friendship. I wasn't staring or thinking bad things about what I could do with her like he was. I just wanted a friend and found it in Melissa. I kept quiet and stared because he wouldn't understand. But he kept on standing there, about three inches away from touching me. I decided to say something.

"She's not going home with you," I said. "You can stop staring. She doesn't like it. She's not that kind of girl."

Melissa had turned the other way on the bar to distract herself from the action. Her hand fell to her side and I caught it. I whispered in her ear, asking her if she'd like to leave, get out of here, away from these kind of folk.

I felt his hands on the collar of my shirt struggling pulling me off the stool and to my feet. The bartender paid no attention. I pushed him off me and turned to Melissa, assuring her it would only take a minute.

It took four. I had followed him outside. The fight was quick and inactive. He got one mediocre jab in before I warmed up. There were no spectators. I left him lying on the pavement and kicked him over so he wouldn't choke on his blood. I straightened my shirt and headed back inside.

I shook Melissa softly by the arm. She lifted her head and smiled with a surprise. I told her I had taken care of things. She smiled again and said something incomprehensible, but I knew this meant thank you. I took her by the waist, grabbed her purse, and headed out of the bar.

When we made it to my car, I put Melissa to bed on the back seat of my station wagon. I knew she was exhausted, and in fact, she passed right out as soon as she hit that fabric. I had a thick blanket in the trunk and I layered it tightly across her petite frame. She would be warm and cozy for the drive ahead of us.

Things were going well already. I snapped my fingers excitedly, a nervous habit I'd had since I was a kid. We needed a plan, I decided. I sat behind the wheel with my hands on my lap and tried to be creative. We would drive south until we ran out of gas. And then we would fuel up and drive west. Our exact location couldn't be certain; no, it was where fate wanted us to follow. At nights I would watch the sky turn dark and I would hold Melissa close to my body. Perhaps she would sing me songs and perhaps if we really got along I would tell her about when I was younger. But first we would have to stop by the store to get some supplies. One of the supplies I needed was a bandana. I figured that if Melissa would let me blindfold her, it would be more spontaneous. She might learn to love me for my originality. I ran the plan by Melissa through the rearview mirror. She didn't oppose. I pulled a weathered blue handkerchief from the glove box, got out of the car and, with gentle fingers, tied it around her fragile skull. I made sure her hair didn't get caught in the knot. Then I climbed back in and turned the key in the ignition.

Melissa was still fast asleep when I stopped by the convenience store to get our necessities the next morning. The clerk had given me a bad look when I tried paying. I never understood why it was any of their business to disapprove. Their job wasn't to be a parent. Their job was to ring me up and let me go. He asked if I wanted a bag and I said yes. I put down the cash. He placed my items in the plastic bag and watched me move out the door. I didn't say thank you.

We were on a two-lane road when Melissa woke up. She seemed a bit overwhelmed at first and tried to move the blindfold to see where we were. I tried to cajole her, explaining that she had promised to wear the blindfold. She had promised to let this be a surprise with me. But she wanted to know where she was and I had to pull over. I climbed to the back seat and held her in my arms. I petted her hair to the left side part which she had worn the night before. I reminded her. Melissa, I saved you. I killed a man for you because he wanted you. But he knew you were mine. We're starting a new life, Melissa, you and me. Just you and me.

She calmed herself and I laid her down again on the seat. I grabbed the bag and decided that I would give her a present I picked out earlier. I slipped bracelets over her delicate white wrists, past the blue veins that ran like lines on a map. She would be able to admire them when she woke up again. I imagined her smile she'd give me when she realized how much I liked her. My mother had once told me that men don't care much for presents anymore. Melissa would understand that I was different. I patted her grey lips with my fingertips and combed my fingers through her hair.

We had already started westward on our journey when Melissa awoke again. I heard her groggy mumbles from the back as she started rubbing her blind eyes awake. This time, Melissa was much more composed. It was evening, and I decided it would be a good time for us to pull over and eat some of the snacks I had picked up. I helped Melissa out of the car and to the front seat. She was tired of sitting in the back for so long. Besides, I would enjoy her company up front. I turned on the oldies station when we made it back on the highway. I sang in my muffled tenor while she hummed along softly, shy to sing off-key. I told her I wouldn't mind if she didn't sing well. I explained how when I was younger, I wasn't allowed to sing in the car because it made my father mad. If I sang he would pull over and he would be very mad at me. That's why, I told her, I always sang in the car now. It was important to me, and I wanted her to sing if she wanted to. Instead, Melissa decided to hum louder. This made me laugh and I resolved it was alright if she wanted to hum.

Four days later, we were in New Mexico. Melissa and I were close friends by now. She was a good listener. She would nod like she did at the bar during my stories, which told me she was listening. I told her stories of when I was younger and when I cried, sometimes she would cry too. But most of the time during the trip, we sat in silence. Or should I say, in anticipation. We were both curious about where our road would end. Where were we fated? Mostly, I think Melissa was growing bored of wearing the bandana. I would remind her that she promised, though, and afterwards she would seem apologetic. I wasn't really sure, but I assured her that we were almost there to make her feel better.

That night was the most beautiful night I can remember. The stars were shining and so vivid. I told Melissa it was like someone took the top corner of the American flag and stitched it to the sky. She smiled at me. Underneath the bandana, I was sure her eyes were twinkling. I told her that her eyes shined like the stars, and she politely tried to shrug off the compliment. No, I told her. It was true.

Melissa was falling in love with me, I knew it right there and then. My heart lit up with a kind of desire I hadn't felt in ages. I wanted her close to me, closer than I could hold her or tell her how much I cared. I killed a man for you, Melissa, because I love you and you love me.

Fate was taking too long to reach us, and now it was our turn. Quickly I turned the wheel to the side of the road and slammed my boot on the breaks. The tires squealed underneath us, and I heard Melissa's fright. When we stopped, I put the emergency brake on and pulled her towards me. I could feel her shaking from the sudden stop. I should have warned her and I felt guilty. I apologized to her profusely as I cradled her like a child. I told her why we had stopped. I told her I wanted her close to me. I wanted her to know me like I knew her. I told her my parents were buried in those plains. I wanted her to meet them. I told her that they were buried there underneath the stars and we could only find them when the sky looked that way. I pointed up, out of the windshield. Melissa understood.

I climbed out of the car and went around to the passenger side door. I pulled the handle and helped Melissa to her feet. I explained that I had forgotten a flashlight, but we would find them without one. Actually, I told her, I could hear them calling already. I told Melissa she could probably hear them, too, if she wanted to. So we walked on, past the bushes that huddled near our car and into the stiff dirt arena that swallowed the highway.

Melissa was eager. She broke free from my arm and ran to meet them. She ran and ran and I couldn't keep up with her. Melissa held her hands together in praise, ready to meet my parents. She must have heard them calling to her. She was always a good listener. The desert plants got thick at parts, and I lost Melissa from my sight. There were rocks and boulders and cactus and I felt so bad that I couldn't see her. I called to her, screamed her name. I reminded her we had a promise, to be together, just her and I, but she didn't answer.

I trudged back to the car, covered in dirt. The stars were still shining but I wished they would stop for a minute. I had to think. I wanted Melissa back. I cried in the car for a good minute, feeling stupid, but this time Melissa wasn't there to comfort me. I needed her back. So I started the ignition and made a plan. I needed a plan. I would drive until I found Melissa again. She had escaped before and I would surely be able to find her again. I would drive to the next town, and if fate was kind, she would be there, again, waiting at the bar like all the times before. And maybe this time she would learn to love me, this time learn to stay. There was the plan. I turned my wheel and headed towards town.