Cold Rain Gotta Fall -2- Pick-up

I never did get the seat belt buckled. In 1964, not every vehicle even had them and especially not pick-up trucks. I hung onto the belt though, while going in and out of consciousness— it kept me from sliding off the seat. We drove for a time, I have no idea how long, and he kept talking. The words washed over me like the cold rain had, and I paid them even less attention. Sitting up and hanging onto the belt was almost more than I could manage.

When we stopped, I started a bit and almost lost my grip. The light in the cab went on, then off, then on again as the passenger side door was opened and a blast of misty rain came in. I could see a street lamp and some porch lights past him. It looked like one of the poorer residential areas in Esau, small row houses built to house mineworkers back when the mines were the big employer in the area.

“Let’s get you out of there and into somewhere warm and dry,” he said in a gruff voice.

I didn’t move, still basically stunned and out of it. I’d even stopped shivering. I would need to warm up some to have the energy to do that and the cold mist had taken what warmth I had recovered in the short trip. I may have made a noise.

“Okay,” my rescuer said, sliding one arm under me and one behind. Then he picked me up without audible effort, pulling me out of the truck cab and slinging me across his arms, pushing the truck door closed with a swing of his hips. The cold rain still fell, but both of us were already soaked.

I wasn’t exactly unconscious when he carried me in from his truck to lay me on a cheap plastic couch, but I wasn’t really awake either. I don’t even know how he got the door open with me in his arms. It was as if when some help arrived, my body no longer had the energy to keep up my struggle— or my mind, the will.

He spoke to me, but I didn’t really hear him. Then he went away for a minute and returned with some big towels which he used to soak up some of the wet from the drenching we had received. He kept talking all this time, and I managed to take in a bit of what he said.

“I’m Dennis Lynch,” he told me. “I mentioned that before but I’m not sure you heard. What did you say your name was, sweetie?”

Sweetie? Did he think I was a girl? Or…? The shitkickers at the bar had not made that mistake. They knew what I was. “Christie,” I murmured. It was the street name I used. No point giving my real name. James Christian O’Connor might as well stay dead.

“Christie, huh? That’s a pretty name,” he said as if he meant it. “And I’m sure you’d be pretty too…whoa!” The last said as I almost fell off the couch. He caught me and put me back on the slippery upholstery. “You’re still like ice!” he exclaimed. “I think I’ve got an idea,” he ended and then hurried through the door that probably led to other rooms.

I looked around, trying to guess more about this man, Dennis. The room seemed to be in an older house and not a large one, fitting with my idea that it was in one of the old mining-company-built neighborhoods. The walls were plain with the only decoration being a framed print of Christ knocking on a door. The light in the L-shaped room came mostly from two bare overhead bulbs, harsh with shadows. The stubbier arm of the L was occupied by a kitchen, with a small refrigerator, a three burner range, a dinky oven, and a sink with a small dark window above it.

A door at one edge of the kitchen separated it from a table and two chairs and a door on the other side seemed to lead to another room— at least, there were no windows in that wall.

Besides the slick vinyl couch, the living room held another chair like the ones sitting beside the table, and a low bookcase with a cheap television set and a turntable on it. The book bindings I could see looked mostly like cheap paperbacks with a Bible and a dictionary at one end. Two windows filled with darkness sat on either side of a heavy-looking door. From the mud on the floor there, it must have been the way we came in.

The floor was cheap asphalt linoleum, but there were curtains on the windows, throw rugs near the doors, and doilies under the television and turntable. The little dining table had a red glass vase sitting in the middle but no blooms or even autumn sprigs. I didn’t think a woman lived here with Dennis, but it was possible one had in the past.

My ankle throbbed and the wound in my groin I had suffered some months before twinged, but I was able to ignore them. I shifted my position on the couch, careful not to slide off again. My shivering had stopped but the room was merely not cold, far from really warm. Still, I felt hugely better and decided that I might be able to plan on living long enough to need to get away from Dennis when he was done with me.

I mused about that for a moment then heard water running. When it was shut off for a bit, I heard someone, probably Dennis, curse. I lost track of things again for a time then Dennis was beside the couch looking down at me.

“Damned hot water heater had gone out, the water is barely warm. I’ve got it re-lit and I’m going to boil some water on the stove to add to the tub. A real bath is what you need to warm you up, and -uh- get you clean.”

I nodded. I couldn’t see past him into the kitchen but I heard the sound of a pot pinging and getting hot. I hadn’t had a real bath in months, not counting rain. I couldn’t even remember a bath since my father left me with…. My mind shied away from that memory and I missed Dennis’s next question. I looked at him blankly and he asked it again.

“Do you think you could manage to take a bath yourself? I could help you, but -uh- that might be embarrassing for both of us.” He said this in such a way that I knew it embarrassed him to even think of it.

I smiled at him. It was an expression I used often, one that said I’m harmless and not a threat. Dennis smiled back.

“The water will be ready soon,” he said. Then he bustled around the kitchen as the pot he’d put on the burner began to hiss and fizz with bubbles. “Hot enough,” he decided and soon disappeared through the interior door again.

I kept smiling. A bath did sound good. I had warmed up enough that I thought I could sit up, though I had to be careful. Whoever imagined vinyl was a good choice for upholstery, anyway? I forgot the ankle for a moment and stopped a slide by putting the wrong foot on the floor. The pain woke me up a bit as I sucked air between my teeth. I hoped it wasn’t too serious. If I needed to run, it would definitely slow me down.

After making sure the water was warm, Dennis came back and helped me to stand, leaning against him to keep my bad foot off the floor. He finally decided to carry me again, “The water will get cold if it has to wait on you, Hopalong Christie,” he joked.

I put my arms around his neck and kept smiling. I’m not a big person and I’ve lost weight in the last year but his easy strength impressed me. I hoped he didn’t want to get rough later. He could easily break me in two without half trying.

He carried me through the interior door to a bedroom and then through another door to a bath. The big old clawfoot tub steamed a bit in the cool air. There were bottles of stuff on the shelf beside the tub, with bar soap, washcloths and towels handy too.

It looked heavenly and I told him so.

He laughed. “You can just leave your clothes on the floor.” He set me down on the closed toilet seat, next to the tub. “I laid out something for you to wear,” he said, gesturing at the shelves beside the door. “I think it will fit, and we can wash your clothes tomorrow.”

“Or burn them,” I said. “If it stops raining.”

We smiled at each other and then he left the room. I started to get undressed but scooched over to look at the clothes he had laid out for me first. Apparently, he did think I was a girl because the cut of the jeans and the shirt were definitely feminine. Where had he gotten them? Apparently there had been a woman sharing his space.

Well, if he found out that I still had male equipment, he might throw me out again, but at least, I would get a warm bath. Even if he beat me up, I thought I would come out ahead.