On my way back to town, I decide the back roads are going to be my friend. I can keep the top down on the Wrangler and not have to worry about traffic and exhaust from other cars ruining my fun. Except the dingy bar on the side of the road, the one I shouldn’t stop at, is calling my name. I pull off, into the dirt parking lot and park. I don’t hesitate, and grab my wallet and phone, and head into the place.
Grimy, it’s not, but it’s not a three-star joint either. Soft music plays in the dimly lit bar. The female bartender tells me to pick a seat, which is easy because there are only two other people in here. I opt for the fifth stool and tell her I’ll take whatever she has on tap and place my credit card on the bar. She slides a pint in front of me and tells me she’ll start a tab. It’s like she knows I’m not here for one beer, but many.
After I empty the first, I get up and head to the bathroom, where my impression of this place plummets from a low three to a negative ten. There are flies buzzing around my head and it looks like someone had the most explosive situations ever. I have no choice but to hold my breath while I take a piss.
As my luck would have it, as soon as I undue my zipper, my phone falls out of my shorts. I make an ill-fated attempt at trying to catch it—midstream—my little buddy starts flying in every which direction, my hands are fumbling with my device, and I’m trying not to move because who know what the hell I’m going to step in. And just like that, as if my universe is moving in slow motion, my phone flips through the air, mocking the fuck out of me, and lands into the toilet bowl, which looks like it hasn’t been flushed in years. The water is deep dark brown, with caked on . . . no I don’t want to think it. I scream no, but my voice comes out more as an echo, and when it splashes, I use my hands to shield my face, but it’s too late. I’m contaminated.
“What the mother fucking hell!” My phone bobs up and down in a shit infested ceramic bowl. It would seem there are two choices: reach in and grab it or say fuck it and buy a new one. I’m totally saying fuck it.
Except “fuck it” doesn’t describe my entire shituation . . . yep, I’m covered in shit. It’s the only way I can describe whatever the hell is speckled all over my clothes. I look at my fingers and find one that looks clean and stuff my dick back into my pants and leave the disgusting bathroom. I storm back into the bar and demand my tab be closed.
“You know, you might want to have someone clean the bathroom,” I say snarkily as I scribble my name onto the receipt for my three-dollar pint.
The bartender stares at me like I’m an idiot. “You might want to read the ‘out of order’ sign before you enter a bathroom.” Yep, I’m an idiot. Just my fucking luck.
My hand stills but I recover quickly and grab my card. I don’t bother putting in my pocket because right now it’s the only clean thing I have on me. I head outside and riffle through my truck looking for some useable clothing. I find a pair of board shorts, stiff from dried sea salt and drop the shorts and boxers I’m wearing to the ground. No sooner, do I put one foot into my other pair, do I hear sirens.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
As soon as I hear the car door slam, I know I’m in for it. Can my day get any worse? I’m sure it can but I don’t fucking care, and swap out my shirt as well.
“Excuse me,” the officer says.
“Hey, officer.”
He stands next to my Jeep and looks inside, probably hoping to find drugs or something, anything to explain why I just showed my bare ass to everyone passing by.
“Are you aware the state of North Carolina has a strict indecent exposure law?”
“No, but I wouldn’t doubt it. I really wasn’t exposing anyone. I had a mishap in the bathroom and needed to get out of my clothes.”
“Why not change in the bathroom?”
“Have you seen the bathroom in this place?” I point toward the door. “It’s why I’m out here changing. I probably have hepatitis or some other disease from the infestation growing inside.”
“Used the wrong bathroom, huh?”
I sigh heavily. “Why not lock the door?”
The officer chuckles. “I’m going to need your driver’s license.”
“Of course.” I bend over and pick up my shorts, flip them upside down and shake the legs until my wallet falls out. I spy it warily while it sits on the dirt ground, looking for any wet spots which might indicate someone’s fecal matter. I use the toe of my shoe to flip it onto its side and repeat my process. Still, I’m not confident it’s clean and search for a rag from the back of my car. After some maneuvering, I finally fish my license out and hand it to the officer, only he doesn’t take it.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Tanner Hayes.”
“Address?”
I give him my new address and tell him I moved back from California. He nods, writes everything down and leaves me there, holding my ID between my fingers through the rag. Even he doesn’t want to touch it.
When he comes back, he tells me to have a good day after reminding me not to change my clothes in public again. He also gives me a handful of disinfecting wipes, which makes me want to hug him, but I refrain. After wiping everything down, I’m finally on my way back to town. I drive right to the phone store to get my replacement, but of course, it’s closed. I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at the door, willing the manager to come out and tell me they’re open, but long enough to know I’m losing my freaking mind . . . all over a woman.
11
Sophie
The afternoon turned into night, and the night into morning. Tanner never called back which hurt my heart more than I could’ve ever imagined. Guess that’s my answer from him. I look in my rearview mirror and no amount of makeup can hide my true feelings. I haven’t talked to Ellie yet, but her car is already in the parking lot. It’s time to get to work. I’ll just drown myself in extractions, fillings, and the occasional emergency tooth ache visits.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slow and get out of my car. My patients will start arriving soon and I have to look professional. I walk in through the back door and a couple of my hygienists say their good mornings to me. I say it in return, plastering on a big smile like I always do.
Ellie is in her office when I turn the corner, dressed in the same royal blue scrubs as me, and her eyes widen when she gets a good look at my face. She slides her chair back and stands. “Has he not called you?”
I shake my head. “Has he called you?” I counter.
Her brows furrow. “No. I figured you two made up last night after I left.” She looks down at her phone. “Strange. Usually, he calls me back. I hope he’s okay.”
Now she has me worried. What if something happened to him? The front desk buzzes in my first patient so I back up toward my office which is right beside Ellie’s. “Keep calling him Ellie. I have to know he’s okay.”
She nods and I can see the concern on her face. “I will.”
I try to be optimistic about things, but I really am worried for Tanner. Please let him be okay. Once in my office, I put on a clean lab coat and wrap my ponytail into a neat bun. I look at the schedule on the computer and the day is full. My first patient is Marjorie Thatcher. She’s here for a temporary crown and is known to have a severe gag reflex.