Welcome To Planet Hills (short story)

 Welcome To Planet Hills (a short story)

 I'd been driving across this staggeringly vast country for an uninterrupted length of time when suddenly, I felt the need for a break. The earthy red hue of Sedona's desert dirt still clung to my RV as I pulled off the interstate and into a truck stop of a town a thousand miles away. It was 2:30 in the afternoon and the temperature was 80 degrees and the heat glued itself to my body as I walked across the 120 degree heat of the blacktop parking lot over to the truck stop. There waiting to greet me, a row of local misfits. Some sitting in crack, plastic lawn chairs, others leaning against the red brick, white painted wall, all smoking and trying to beat the heat beneath a two foot overhang of awning. Degenerate gargoyles guarding the entrance of their lives with worn out looks hung haggardly on their faces. I stopped when I reached them and looked down at the door greeter. She sat in one of the broken chairs with her right leg crossed over her left. She wore what appeared to be an old prom dress, plum colored, a size too big for her body. Her bra-less tits fully exposed as she hunched forward, slowly moving her body back and forth in a swaying fashion. Her hair was gussied up and greasy and her black skin glistened with sweat. Her left arm was tucked around her tiny waist which created a ledge, so to speak, for her to prop up the elbow of her smoking arm. She took a drag, blew smoke, and looked up me.

      "Afternoon, mister."

     "It's a hot one, ma'am," I replied with a nod and smile while wiping beads of sweat from my brow.

      "Say, mister, could ya spare a buck or two?" asked a raspy voice from the gentleman standing to my right. I turned and explained that I couldn't right now, but assured the man that I would make change inside the store in order to help a brother out. It was going to take some serious financial shifting on my part to make it happen, seeing how all I have are plastic cards, but I was determined to pay these fine people the entry fee they requested.

 "Much obliged, sir," was all he replied. He went back to smoking his cigarette. I gave an obligatory nod in everyone else' direction and then entered the store. I had been on the road for several days and was in desperate need for a shower and a shave and feared I likely resembled a sinner man standing before the pearly gate.

 After my clean-up, I rejoined the post apocalyptic adventure club out front and claimed an open spot against the wall. I bummed a smoke from the guy who needed two bucks and I gave him a five in return. He became quite excited about it and I implored him not to make a fuss, but he was the fussy type, so I relocated over by the door and bummed a second smoke. I explained how the first smoke is the "get to know you" smoke, but the second smoke, now that one is special. A second smoke opens pathways to deeper conversation and proves to people that you're willing to stick around. Granted, I couldn't stick around, I had things to do, so I asked them about the town I now found myself in.

 "Where am I?" I asked.

      "Welcome to Planet Hills," prom date door queen said without looking up. Her right foot bouncing anxiously while she continued smoking and looking off toward the city skyline. "Over there's where you'll find what you're looking for, mister," she added while pointing with her cigarette. I joined in on her long distant stare and watched as three lanes of traffic lazily made its way into the city sprawled out before me. I counted a dozen skyscraper tops shimmering in the heat haze and estimated the number of people living there to be somewhere in the ballpark of half a million people.

      "Sev'n hunnit thousand, more like it," one of them stated.

 I whistled and bent over to snuff out my smoke.

      "Say, mister, can you lend me a dollar?" the guy to my left asked as I waved and walked away.

      I decided to leave my RV parked where it was and go by foot into the city. No sense in wasting gas trying to find a new place to park and then having to pay for it, so I shoved my heat beater into the front windshield, set my fake surveillance cameras up on the front and rear roof pointing outward, cracked a few windows and locked her up. I waved at the gargoyles still loitering beneath the awning and gave a very white thumbs up as I began my walk across the mile long bridge leading to the city. It was rush hour and the traffic was heavy and loud. Hundreds of vehicles of all shapes, colors and sizes piled up in lines and creeping forward at a walking pace. It was difficult to ignore their presence and the sense of urgency to clear the bridge made me wish I had a horn of my own to honk. On the right, looking down, flowed a massive river. It's murky brown current looked swift and strong as it flowed around the concrete uprights of the train trestle next to it. Directly below, where a jut of land met the water, was a tanker truck refueling station. I stopped walking and watched as a fuel truck approached the electronic gate. The driver set his air brakes, jumped out and punched in a code, and to my surprise the entire gate lifted up into the air and swung high overhead instead of sliding open horizontally, which I mused to be comically ostentatious.

      The driver pulled into the refill station and began his duties. I yelled down and asked him if he liked his job and if it was good pay. Startled, he looked around. I yelled again, this time while waving, and he finally looked up.

 "It's a good paying gig!" he yelled up while cupping his hands around his mouth. "They make me work weekends, though, and I don't like that!"

      I yelled back down and asked if he ever thought about giving everything up and moving to the Philippines.

      "I can't! I got family here!" he yelled before finally ignoring me.

      I continued my walk across the bridge and pondered what it would take to move an entire family to another country. Probably a lot. He was right to feel stuck. We are born into a certain madness to which only a few escape. As we grow older, life grows more tentacles, and it's not until we decide we want to be free, that we finally feel the inescapable squeeze that lasts a lifetime. I reached the end of the bridge and stood for moment, staring at the city. Buildings and busy streets and bustling sidewalks sprawled out before me in every direction. I decided to follow the smell of food and the sound of music and in doing so, I crossed over several major road arteries and eventually landed on a sidewalk that lead straight downtown and was instantly transported into another world. The commercialized outer shell of the city quickly gave way to a frenetic, party-themed core and I found myself being swept up in a current of inebriation. The place was brimming with excitement and it reminded me of a mixture between Mardis Gras and the Vegas Strip. Boat-shaped bicycle bars peddled by, one after another, blasting dance music and supporting teams of drunk party-goers waving their arms happily above their heads and gyrating to hip-hop songs. Pedestrians walking along sidewalks would often get doused by spilled beer, but were rewarded by front row view of the booty shorts and side boob mini-tops.

      Dazzling horse carriages aglow with colorful LED lights clambered along with busy street traffic, carrying drunk lovers too new to know any better. Cars, bicycles, motorcycles, and convertible city buses all helped comprise the late night downtown traffic. Along both stretches of city sidewalk were dozens of open-air bars displaying live bands perched where the store front window would usually be. It was a choose your own adventure of music, alcohol and entertainment. I walked past street corner performance artists who banged plastic drums for money, played harmonica and guitar, or rode a unicycle in circles while playing accordion and singing. Everyone who lived here had their purpose and those who didn't, were here for the fun.

I decided to enter my first bar of the evening and what lured me in was two-fold. The bouncer at the door sat atop a bar stool with his beefy arms crossed over a barreled chest and a romantic smile mistakenly placed on his hard-featured face. Attached to him via leash and collar was a scantily dressed female of tiny proportions. She wore a plaid kilt with rainbow colored see through knee high socks and her top was nothing more than a decorative ribbon tied loosely around her breasts. She hopped cutely about the sidewalk touching people and blowing kisses as they passed by, encouraging everyone to enter the Dueling Dicks piano bar. In the bar front opening was a baby grand piano positioned parallel with the sidewalk. The pianist resembled a character straight from a Victorian/Steampunk graphic novel and the intensity at which he played reminded me of Vietnam heavy machine gunner hopped up on jungle drugs on a mission to kill. I paid the ten dollar cover and the muscle-bound romantic rose from his stool, unhooked the red velvet rope from the stainless steel post and ushered me in. The grinder girl bounced happily next to me, showering me with kisses and smacking my ass as I made my way into the bar.

      The inside of the Dueling Dicks piano bar was exactly as expected. An eclectic collection of paintings and sculptures adorned every wall and the tables and chairs for the patrons were works of art in their own right. The place was drenched in a layer of artistic fat, that if held to a fire, would sizzle and pop a million Mona Lisa's all across the floor. The second dueling pianist was situated directly across the room and was equally impressive as the first. The two Dicks were mad genius' and their style of piano ranged from calm and intoxicating to frenetic and other worldly. I found an empty chair at the far end of the bar and settled in. I ordered a beer and gin & tonic and before my first round was even downed, she showed up.

      "Hi," she said as she sat down at the bar stool to my right. I leaned over and said hello and mentioned that I was just getting started and nodded at my two drinks. She ordered a drink I never heard of before and smiled at me in a way that accented the pianos playing behind us. A melodic loop of sorts, both intimate and intimidating, my heart/brain connection felt as though it were clinking in rhythmic beat with the ice cubes in my drink. I scooted my chair closer to her.

      "These guys are phenomenal," she remarked and pivoted her chair towards the pianos. I agreed and pivoted too. We watched and listened to the Dueling Dicks play several songs while we pounded beers and mixed drinks as though tomorrow was nothing more than a distant 'I don't give a shit' away. The night continued and I found myself being drawn to her. Our chairs united and our legs and knees began to touch beneath see level. I studied her features between drinks. I laughed at her stories and marveled at her captivating eyes and could feel myself being drawn in. I memorized her shoulders in the dress she wore. I imagined her neck and breasts clinging to me like baby monkeys. I felt myself being whisked away to another place and the laughter shared between bar stories was an adhesive I had never felt before. I was falling for a red-headed prismatic princess.

      "Hey, don't fall in love, okay? Just let this head do all the thinking tonight,” she said while grabbing my crotch. She then poked my forehead and continued, “and let this head take a vacation. I have to go to the bathroom and powder my nose, watch my purse and be here when I get back."

I watched her walk away and it was just me and her purse, for what felt like an eternity. Eventually she reappeared beside me carrying a brand new look on her face. I knew the look well, and I smiled, to which she smiled and nodded toward the bathroom. She leaned in close and whispered into my ear, "light up the night, cutie" and slid a small baggie into my hand. 

      In the men's room stood two lovers arguing about a third mystery lover while the sink spigot ran wide open, splashing water near a cell phone that had been laid down. Gauging by the amount of splashed water I'd say they had been going at it for a few minutes.

      "Hey, one of you twinks left your phone on the sink and it’s getting wet," I exclaimed while pointing right at it. They stopped bickering, turned and looked. One shrieked.

      "Christ in cotton, it's all wet!" he cried out in a lispy gay voice as he picked the phone up with two fingers and shook it.

      "Well no shit it's wet, hun, we left the water running!" said the other.

          I laughed and asked if it would be alright if I got high while they made out. They assured me it was fine, and even reinforced the claim by blocking the door with their bodies. The smaller of the two became the doorstop while the larger man pressed hard into him, grinding his crotch and playing with his hair. It was weird the way they liked each other so much. I never liked anyone the way they did, but the night was still young and the coke in the baggie was calling me, so I laid out two fat lines and evened them up using my debit card before snorting them the way a botanist might sniff morning glory. My face erupted and my brain exploded into meaningless pieces as the rush of amphetamine surged through me. I slammed my fist down on the counter and and yelled, “Hot damn!” The two stopped making out and looked over. They had a jealous look, the kind that can't be ignored, and so I motioned for them to come over. Three more lines were placed down and were snorted quicker than a summer storm. They thanked me and fell backwards into a stall together. I laughed and wished them well and left to rejoin my red-headed mystery.

 When she saw me approaching, she jumped from her bar stool and ran to greet me with an explosive embrace. Her hug felt like a tentacle squeeze that would hold forever. I smelled her hair for the first time and my senses were overwhelmed by a delightful mixture of floral sweetness. I was hugging a bouquet of beauty.

 “I missed you,” she whispered in my ear. Her lips hovered there, teasingly touching my earlobe with tiny kisses. An electric shock surged in the base of my skull and traveled down the length of my spine. The coke and the kisses produced enough energy it felt like I had been plugged into the city’s electrical grid. We walked back to the bar and sat down, ordered another round and continued getting to know each other. When the drinks were finished, we paused to assess our level of intoxication and decided it was above average.

 “Let’s get outta here; I feel like walking,” she said while reaching for the bill. I quickly cut her off and intercepted it, then handed the bartender my card. Defeated, she smiled and leaned her head against my shoulder and slipped an arm around my waist. “You’re a quick fella,” she muffled into my shirt. 

I lifted her head up with two fingers beneath her chin, smiled and kissed her. Her body stuttered and shifted into mine and I could feel, for the first time, what it meant to be swept off your feet. This girl was doing it.

Outside, the city streets were alive with the sound of music and public debauchery. Across from them, on the opposite sidewalk, stood a group people singing together while two of them played a guitar and violin. It was a lovely song, in contrast to the chaotic frat party taking place all around them. Their voices, in perfect harmony, carried along the street and echoed off building walls. They were an enchanting group who sang as though their lives depended on it. Holding hands, we decided to cross over and get a closer appreciation of the talented bunch. An open guitar case at their feet was partly filled with money with a little sign attached that read: “Trapp Family Singers. From our house to your street, with love.” There were nine of them in total, ranging from all ages. Their music had a historical nostalgia to it and they looked happier than anything I had ever seen before. We stood there for awhile, arm in arm, listening to them sing and sometimes dance, becoming lost in the secret world they created. It felt as though it was just us standing there, enjoying a show that would never been seen again.

I placed some money into the guitar case and the youngest kid in the group broke away from the rest and circled around us, still singing, but also thanking us with an adorably cute choreographed dance routine. She waved and sang, “So long, farewell, Wiedersehen goodbye” as we started walking away.

“Well, that was real treat,” I said as we slowly made our way down the sidewalk. “What’s your favorite thing about living in a place like this?” I asked her.

“That, right there. What we just saw. I’ve lived and worked here my whole life, and I’ve never seen those singers before. Living here can be a magical surprise of mystery and creative enchantment. Tonight, it’s the Trapp family, tomorrow, who knows,” she replied. “Hey, that reminds me, I need to swing by a friend’s apartment if that’s okay with you? It’s not far. Couple blocks.”

I assured her it didn’t matter where we went, so long as we did it together. I know magic well enough to know it doesn’t usually last longer than 24 hours. Spells are broken. Gimmicks exposed. Hidden strings appear reminding you that life does not levitate. I didn’t want the night to end, but knew it would eventually. So wherever she took me, was the perfect place to be. She led me off the main street and down an alley away from the core party scene. The coke was still surging through our bodies and our walking pace was that of a brisk run. She moved surprisingly fast for wearing a tight fitting dress. Her puffy coat looked like it was trying to swallow her as she deftly navigated dumpsters and alleyway debris. I enjoyed watching her in motion. She ran like a caged creature escaped from captivity on a mission to discover her world for the first time.

As we made our way down the alley, we started hearing what sounded like clicking or snapping sounds coming from somewhere up ahead. We slowed our pace to a crawl and continued forward curiously, but also cautiously. It was definitely a clicking sound, many clicking sounds, and it was getting louder. Uncertain of what we were hearing, we stopped walking so that we could hear clearly without the sound of our footsteps interfering. I looked down and saw the word SHARKS spray painted in large, white letters beneath our feet.

“At least we’ll die together,” I half joked as she squeezed my arm and moved in closer.

“What is it, you think?” she asked while our eyes and ears searched the dimly lit area for the source of the sounds. “Wait.. look over there,” she exclaimed while pointing. An alley lamp mounted high on the brick wall was flickering and casting intermittent shadows beneath it, and in those shadows crouched a group of guys huddled together, snapping their thumbs in unison.

“Uh, what was in that coke you gave me?” I giggled. 

“Just coke, I swear!” she replied. As we stood there watching, the finger snapping grew louder and more aggressive and the guys started standing and slowly stepping out from the shadows. They wore tight jeans and a crew neck shirts and their hair was short and perfectly combed. They looked like preppy, caucasian schoolboys, but acted like first rate weirdos. Just then, we began hearing hissing and whistling sounds coming from the opposite side of the alley. We turned and saw another group of guys stepping from the shadows, dressed similarly as the first group, but with black hair and dark complexions. The two groups numbered around ten to fifteen each and when they assembled in their chosen spots, they practically blocked the entire alley. The hissing and whistling and finger snapping continued, but it did so in a rhythmic cadence that carried a certain beat or tempo. The whole thing seemed choreographed and was pleasing to the brain, albeit oddly unexpected.

After a few minutes of noisy circling and sizing each other up, the first group scattered and started running around as if being chased by bees. I felt my arm get squeezed and turned to her.

“Are they getting ready to fight?” she asked me. I told her I wasn’t sure, but thought it would be a good idea to push our way through just in case they do. We cautiously started walking through the group who had dispersed and were now dancing and performing ballet type jumps and twirls while yelling at the other group who was still bunched together. The second group had become angered by this and started cursing and yelling and pulled out knives. Knives and sticks were being drawn by both sides. The two groups then started singing and dancing wildly as tension began to build. They were all over the place, running and twirling and jumping, doing flips off garbage bins and walls. Every once in a while a knife would slice through the air, dangerously close to a face or torso. If they were trying to kill each other, they were doing it in a skillful and wonderfully acrobatic way. It was a beautiful scene of artistic dance and death. I saw a few bodies hit the ground and decided it wise to quicken our pace.

We managed to make it through the turf war and as we neared the end of the alley, the sounds of the dance fight could still be heard behind us. We stood for a moment, catching our breath. I leaned up against the wall and lit up a smoke. She bummed one. We smoked our cigarettes in silence while trying to comprehend what we just witnessed. I finished me smoke and crushed it with my shoe.

“Okay, so that was nuts,” I said and started laughing. She laughed too, but then suddenly stopped. Her gaze locked onto something behind and above me, so I turned and looked up the side of the brick wall and saw the word JETS spray painted in large letters just above my head. Knowing neither of us had any answers, we shrugged and continued walking to her friends apartment. Before we got there, she pointed to a recessed entryway of a store front that was closed for the night. “Let’s go in there real quick,” she instructed.

We huddled there together, somewhat out of view of anyone who might casually stroll by. The street lamps were far enough away that the spot was relatively dark and unnoticeable. She grabbed the top of my pants and pulled me into her. I reached down and hiked her dress up and grabbed her ass while we made out wildly. The sound of our kissing and heavy breathing felt like a song being sung in the night, a prelude to a west side story written on her side of town. She pulled away and smiled at me and put her hands upon my chest. It was heaving heavily and my lips could still feel hers through separation. She reached into her purse and pulled out the baggie and tapped a small white pile between her breasts. I didn’t need an invitation. I shoved my face in and snorted wildly while grabbing and kissing and licking her hot skin.

We were suddenly interrupted by the “whoop whoop” sound of a siren and a blindingly bright light flooded our little alcove. A loudspeaker squealed.

“You two, step out of there and face the street. No sudden moves!” barked a stern voice from inside the police car. We did as we were told, while tugging and shifting our clothing back to pre-make out conditions. The cop spotlight was extremely bright and a little painful to look at, so we looked down toward the sidewalk and waited for the next command. A door opened and the officer approached us.

“Two of you part of a gang, by chance? We gettin’ a lotta calls tonight,” he asked while stepping in for a closer look at us. When he got near enough to see our faces, he whistled. “Myyyy goodness, ya’ll been partying or what? I ain’t seen a face that white since Halloween.”

It was then that I realized we were fucked. Face covered in blow, baggie in her purse, and my erection was rock hard with no signs of stopping. I could still feel her lips kissing mine and I wanted to finish making our with her in the worst way. I felt bad knowing I got high without her. It didn’t seem right and I wished we could even the score. Just then, her finger reached out and curled with mine and she gave a tiny squeeze that raced like a super charged current of electrons zipping up my arm and exploding everywhere inside my body. I whispered over to her and said, “You’re so hot” to which she double squeezed me. 

Down at the station, we were booked for indecent exposure and minor possession, both which warranted one night in jail and later court date. It was a uni-sex cell block with a long aisle down the middle separating two walls filled with 8 by 8’s. It was late, lights were out, and most of the inmates were either sleeping or being quiet. We were ushered into our cell and the loudness of the metal door closing sounded like a freight train screeching to a halt. The officer’s boots echoed heavily as he walked away and the clop of each step blended with the slow drip of a faucet leaking nearby. When he was gone, a voice opposite us spoke out.

“What are you in for?”

Still surging from my high, I blurted out, “COKE!” and my red-headed love laughed and squeezed me and yelled back, “What are all of YOU in for?”

“Pop” said someone.

“Six” said another.

“Squish”

“Uh-oh”

“Cicero”

“Lipschitz!”

One by one the doors to the cells slid open and female inmates wearing sexy, black lingerie stepped out and began singing and dancing. Stunned and confused, I peered around my own cell and to my surprise, red beauty had stripped her dress off to reveal matching black lingerie. Holding her dress outstretched in both hands, she twirled it into a makeshift rope and hooked it around my neck and guided me from our open cell. Out in the aisle, we met with the other dancers who were singing, “they had it coming, they had it coming” while performing the sexiest Tango dance anyone had ever seen. The dancing continued picking up steam as we made our way out throughout the jail. Other inmates joined in, as well as guards and cooks and janitors. By the time we reached the main entrance leading out of jail, our Cell Block Tango had become a gang. We burst through the doors and spilled out into the city streets where we were met by the Jets and the Sharks who instantly joined in with our singing/dancing cavalcade. Behind us, alarm bells were ringing and blending with the music of our escape while the warden could be seen standing on his balcony wearing pajamas and a big white wig and belting bel canto soprano opera while waving his arms in the air all around him. 

THE END.