Wet Pavemant

Wet Pavement, you know the smell. It's unmistakable. The smell you smell if you happen to be walking through a parking lot when it begins to rain. It's horrible; it's a smell that only the twentieth century could produce. I used to think that I just hated it because it wouldn't smell like that if the parking lot wasn't there. I used to think that I hated it because it meant even more of the earth was buried under gavel, tar, and white lines. I used to think a lot of things that I thought were right. Of course now I know I was wrong, now I know why that smell makes my stomach churn and my head snap around to glance over my shoulder. Now I know why sometimes I would run to my car even when I didn't mind getting wet. Now I know the truth.

Like I said I've always hated that smell, so you can imagine my surprise when I smelled it in my own room. You know when you smell something real faint somewhere around you, just a whiff? You whip your head around and sniff the air but by then it's too late. The smell is gone or you have become accustomed to the trace amount of the fragrance in the air. Well, after several days of playing "find the smell" I narrowed it down to either the corner of my room or me. I waited until my roommates were gone, locked all the doors, and walked around the house naked and sniffing. I felt ridiculous, and you should have seen me jump when I thought I heard a car door close, but at least I knew it wasn't me generating the smell. So back I went to the corner of the room where my closet was. I could smell it at the bottom of the door so I opened it and inhaled deeply. It was weak but it was there. As I began to, for lack of a better word, flap my door open and closed the smell became stronger. Now my closet has 6 black tee-shirts and 6 white tee-shirts hanging in it and nothing else, so what could be causing the smell? I decided the answer could wait until I got off work the next day.

Did I mention that all this started after my girlfriend died? Of course I didn't. My doctor said things like that can happen to the mind when it can't handle something. But that was not the case in this particular case and I knew it. I wanted you to get what I was saying before I dropped that bit of info on ya. So read it, re-read it, and forget it, put it out of your mind. It was real, a real smell. My buddy has a dog that proved it, right to the corner that dog went, tried to burrow through the carpet. I knew all along, but sometimes you have to prove it to yourself so yourself can prove it to somebody else.

So I get off work the next day and do some things to distract me from my true goal – that closet. So the night goes on and by now I'm even vacuuming but I get to close to that closet and get a whiff of wet pavement. The cat in me comes out and I just can't fight the urge anymore. I step in and close the door. Surprisingly enough it's just a closet, but then… Now I don't have nothing in there in the way of lights but if I didn't see the flash of a fluorescent bulb then my name's not Jeffery Allen Jones. So I wait. The bulb flashes again like it's trying to come on, but it's not the flash of a bulb it's the flash of lighting and it's not coming from above me it's coming from behind me. I turn around and wait again in the inky blackness of a room with no windows. This time when the lighting strikes I see that I'm looking through open elevator doors at the roof level of a parking garage. It's raining and all of a sudden the smell of wet pavement is so strong that I gag just before I turn and jump out of my closet and back into my well lit room. I turn and peer back into the closet but all I see are 6 black tee-shirts, 6 white tee-shirts and the white wall behind them. I leave the door open and jump back in…..nothing. Now I know what you're saying to yourself and I said the same thing to myself after about ten minutes of standing in that closet. I even closed the door again - still nothing. The smell is even gone, unless I'm just used to it at this point. So I crash (wonder what Freud would say about that choice of words?) and dream about Rachel.

So I guess you guys deserve a little bit a back story before we move on. Rachel and I met at the bluegill fishing tournament four years ago, I was immediately infatuated by her and then slowly but surely fell in love. She was with some guy named Scott at the time but we hung out at a lot as friends. Then the day came when I finally got the sack to tell her how I felt. I waited all day (and all night for that matter) and then it got real quiet – and apparent – that there was an elephant in the room. I looked at her but couldn't say anything. I mean, how do you start that sentence? Then she said: What is it Jeff? You can tell me anything. So I told her. She sorta laughed but not in the nervous way, in the mean way and told me that we weren't like that, and that it was "creepy" that I thought of her like that. She wasn't even nice about it. We still hung out every day because I still wanted her. Boyfriends came and went, they all hated me, I guess because they knew. I had a few girls, they all liked Rachel a lot, which says a lot about how she felt. She got a job in Indianapolis and moved away. It was only two hours so when the night came that she asked if I would drive up to visit her I said yes, mostly because of muscle memory I think. Looking back I think she was probably lonely and I was the only thing she still had roots with in a new city, but either way I started driving up there on the regular and we started getting close again, real close. Years of obsession will out weight rational thinking in a heartbeat. Now I honestly don't know if I did it because I really still had feelings for her or if it was because I had wanted her to see something in me for so long.

Well, all that "I honestly don't know" started to catch up with me a few months after we got serious and I started to question every aspect of our relationship. And when I say question I mean brick by brick build a wall between us before I ever said word one to her. At this point I've already decided that it's just not going to work out, but here's the kicker. She really has seen something in me and fallen pretty hard. I'm just not ready to talk about it yet so I make a few weekends worth of excuses while she decides to take her first trip down here. She wants to surprise me her roommate said. And boy was I surprised when her parents called and said she was killed in a five car pileup on I-65. I may have wanted to break up with her, but that doesn't mean I didn't want her to grow old and behalf of one of those eighty five year old couples that still holds hands in waffle house. So, just for the record: I did not want to be with her anymore and now I'm not but it's because she wrecked instead of having a breakdown, she can't cry or beg or yell or go out and have revenge sex or tell her friends I'm hung like a hamster or do any of the things she might have done because she's fucking dead. I can't help feeling like I wished on a monkey's paw for this one. So, for even more record I'm very sad that she has passed but not as devastated as everyone thinks I should be. And that's a horrible feeling. It feels good to finally say that.

Enough of that. I really don't like to talk about stuff like that but I figured you guys should know, you know, just in case. So, I go back to my room the next night and sit and stare at the door for a good hour. Finally, I get up and start sniffing around and sure enough, wet pavement. I grab a flashlight and open the door, tees and walls, so I walk in. It's still tees and walls, so I close the door and clutch that flashlight as if it were some kind of weapon. This time I stay facing the back wall, as my eyes adjust I begin to make a faint light – moonlight. I'm back in the elevator and the doors are open, this time I wait to see if they close but they don't. As my eyes adjust my ears adjust also, and maybe my whole body too. I begin to hear rain and there is no longer carpet under my shoes, but the hollow scrape of dirty ceramic tiles. And the smell is stronger than ever. Lightning strikes; rendering me blind so I try to flip the switch on the flashlight but I'm not holding a flashlight I'm holding the railing inside the elevator. I can see there is an awning and about 5 square feet of dry concrete in front of me. I try to take a step but can't. It was like when you can't move in a nightmare, and it was just a terrifying too. When I could finally move I jumped right out of the closet. The feeling stuck with me the rest of the night.

The next day I met Lucy down town. That may have been a subconscious decision. It was noon so I "had" to park on the top deck of the parking garage. I tried to convince myself that it was just a coincidence and that no matter where I went I would have to park on the roof. So as I'm walking and pretending not to be looking for an awning about 5 square feet in front of the elevator I get this real uneasy feeling, like I'm being watched. I quickly entered the elevator, went down to North Topeka, hung a left on Douglas and popped into Jagers. There's Lucy, cute as a button - making me wanna' do things; like buy her lunch. Inside I'm like just take it slow, don't get too involved, just keep it casual. Outside I'm like "you want to go to Woodward Park tonight and kayak the river?" I suck at arguing with myself, I always lose. I think I must make more semen than other guys; I've got to be full of the stuff. And when you got it, your body tells you to get rid of it. So you starting looking closer at the girls you walk by. I wouldn't be surprised if that's what came out when I sneezed. Or maybe it's more of a comfort thing; maybe you just want to be around a girl because you've been around one for three years. Or maybe it's just because they smell good and laugh at your jokes.

After lunch I walked her back to her car, also a subconscious decision. She was at the parking garage on Emporia. I can't even remember what she was talking about because guess what I saw when the elevator doors opened? An awning about 5 square feet hanging over the elevator. I tried to play it cool but I couldn't focus on what she was saying because I just knew something awful was about to happen. Well something awful did not, in fact, happen. We said our good-byes and see-you-tonights and departed.

I was full of semen and hanging around a girl that smelled great and laughed at my jokes. It was great and I basically floated back to my car. I was completely distracted until I found myself waiting at the stop light at first and Emporia. And the thing about the stop light on first and Emporia is that you don't end up at the stop light on first and Emporia by accident. You have to be going to one of two places, the Via Christi Hospital or the parking deck. I was headed to the parking deck.

As the elevator doors opened, I got goose pimples. Thank God there was no rain and no smell and for now at least, no fear. And yet still I couldn't convince my-self to take even one step out of that elevator. The doors closed again and I snapped out it. I pushed the open button and stepped out onto the pavement. The breeze was cool and smelled like autumn. It was a crisp, a somehow tangible compendium of a life time of October memories. The air was crystal clear, you could see every star, you could see the Milky Way, and you could probably see how much I ached for Lucy to share that moment with me. She was all I could think about. What is it about seeing something beautiful that makes you want to show it to someone beautiful? I went so far as to paint a scene in my mind of what she did after she sat in her car and I walked away. She called friends and relatives to tell them she was going on a date, she texted her roommates to tell them that they would never guess who she was seeing tonight. She blared some song that reminded her of me and tore out of the garage on a pre-date high. I relived the date again picturing how beautiful Lucy looked in the dim moonlight then I stared up into the sky, a picture perfect scattering of clouds were passing the moon. I felt lucky to be seeing it while most people were in there homes watching tv or in a hurry to get somewhere and ignoring the world around them. I headed home still riding on a high. Colors were brighter, songs were better, and the air felt like it gave me power.

I went straight to my bed when I got home. That girl had gotten to me, my house could have been on fire and I would have called Lucy to see if she was okay. I turned off all the lights and pretended to be tired. But as I lay there I begin to realize that something wasn't right. Sitting up I looked around my room, everything seemed to be fine. Or so I thought, everything seemed fine until I saw the lightning flash in the crack under my closet door, I had to. I stepped into the closet and waited for the smell, that awful smell. The elevator doors opened and it was like a slap in the face, I stepped out into the rain without giving myself time to think about it. The rain felt good, like rain from when I was little, like rain on a day when you wanted it to rain, like rain that didn't ruin your plans or make you late and wet for a meeting. I walked out into the rain and began to notice the parking garage, it was full of cars but not a soul in site, I looked to where Lucy had parked and saw a Lincoln I didn't recognize. Then I looked to where I had parked and lo and behold my car was sitting there. Now, here comes the part where I am going to lose a few of you that aren't inclined to believe what they can't measure. As I was walking to my car I heard a voice on the breeze. I couldn't place the location of the sound but it seemed to fluctuate in its volume and distance from me. It said only one word - Jeff. It was Rachel, sure as sunrise. Even if someone is whispering or singing one long note you can still recognize their voice. The rain was suddenly cold, my heart was suddenly pounding, my sense of panic suddenly burnt down the shack my curiosity was staying in. I took off running but almost immediately hit a puddle and fell hard to my knees. Pain can't hold a candle to adrenaline and I was back in the elevator in no time smashing the close button. When I heard her voice again it sounded as close as it had the first time. The doors shut and I waited, I pushed on the back of the elevator but it was just the back of the elevator. The smell began to get to me. Get to me may be an understatement; it felt like the smell was replacing the air and just breathing became a chore. I started to get light headed and my vision started to tunnel with white fireworks. I felt the elevator tipping on its side and I hit the floor in front of my computer desk. It was 4:15am meaning I had spent 5 and a-half hours on the top of that parking garage. I took a double shot of Nyquil and waited for morning.

When I woke up the first thing I felt was pain. The sheets were two smears of blood from touching my knees. I pulled my legs out and stared at the big red puss-filled road rash on each knee. I spent a few hours thinking about how I scraped my knees on a dream and I thought a lot about Rachel, mostly the good stuff: how she had once risked losing her job to get me an X-ray of someone who had lost three of his fingers in an accident and now permanently said up yours with one hand, how she pretended to like fishing, how sometimes after sex she would make me an egg salad sandwich. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. We had once had sex in the back seat of my car on the roof of that parking garage. It was her idea and it was a great one. Both of us were way past the days of having to hide sex, but one of the girls at her work was complaining about bumping uglies in the back seat and Rachael asked me if I wanted to go somewhere and park because she had never done it before. What a great idea, she really was something else. I began to feel all nostalgic and warm inside and those fuzzy feelings apparently lynched my common sense because I wanted to go back into the closet. I would have done anything to talk to Rachel again; I would have sold my boat, I would have crossed oceans. I would have talked to a ghost.

I fixed myself an egg salad sandwich that paled in comparison to the ones she made. I ate it quietly in my bed with a tall glass of half-and-half orange juice and cranberry juice – she called it O-berry and it was the only thing I could make her after sex. I finished the O-berry off and walked, unafraid, to the closet door. It was odorless when I opened it. I stepped inside, sat down and began to remember very specific things about Rachel (now, I have never been to a séance but that just sort of made sense). Slowly, so slowly that I thought that I was just remembering the smell, the scent of wet pavement began to fill the closet.

Lightning struck and thunder shook the ground. Dirty ceramic tiles where under my finger tips. I waited. The doors opened with a bing, I stood and walked into the rain. It was exceptionally cold and it stung my skin. I walked around for a little while and finally, quietly, no more than a whisper, said her name. Maybe I didn't ever say her name but thought I did. Either way I began to smell something else, it was her. Once we had gone camping and she was covered in bug spray, sun block and a two hours hike wroth of sweet: she still smelled better than I did right out of the shower. Closing my eyes, I took as deep a breath as my chest would allow, then I felt a hand on my cheek. My eyes snapped open but all I saw were cars and rain. I looked harder; half expected to see the rain falling off of an invisible figure. I knew it was her, though, her touch was as soft and warm in the rain as any other time she had ever touched me. The other hand began to run through my wet hair. The hand left my cheek and somehow I know she was moving around me. I tried to tell her that I've wanted to talk to her ever sense the wreck, that I've wanted to talk to her about what I was feeling that day, that I've wanted to talk to her because she deserved the truth. I need to tell you something. It all happened so fast it's hard to remember but suddenly I felt pain, a lot of it. The hands that were gently caressing me now yanked me back, by the hair, into an awful position. And I heard tires screeching and the terrible of sound of metal smashing, glass breaking, and the percussion of sheer impact. My head was yanked and I was forced to look at the remains of a car that looked like a wrecking ball hit it, I couldn't see a car that caused the damage but I did have an awful realization. It was Lucy's car and it was parked in the same place it was after our date in the park. The grip on my hair tightened and I still don't know if I really heard the words. It was more like I was remembering her voice, but they were word that she had never spoken: Who is she? My whole body tightened, I got goose pimples and thought I was going to throw up. I tried to lie: who is who? Are you ashamed of Lucy, my implanted memories screeched back at me; are you tiring to hide her? At that moment I knew that Rachel knew everything. How I felt before she died, how I felt about her death, how some small part of me was relieved that I didn't have to break up with her, how I had already distanced myself when I decided to break up with her, and how I had already dealt with her not being a part of my life before she died, how soon I started looking for someone else, how I felt about Lucy. I became terrified and suddenly feared for my life and began to panic; I remember turning my head and the pain increasing tenfold. They say the more adrenalin that runs through you the less you remember, I remember kind of flailing my limbs about and then I remember running toward the elevator and then I remember preparing myself for a collision with the back wall of the elevator but landing hard on the floor of my room. I kicked the door shut and moved my file cabinet in front of it. I laid there for a few moments catching my breath and trying to comprehend what had happened.

Two days of heavy sleeping later I began to write this, you know, just in case. Now here comes the part where I lose even more of you. Two days of rumination told me that I had to go back inside that closet. Like I said I'd do anything to talk to Rachel again. I know she's angry and angry may be an understatement and angry with good reason and an eternity to think about it is a scary combination but at one point she loved me, and I her, and I need to tell her how I felt and feel. I can smell wet pavement even now. It's filling my room. I can smell Rachel too.

Well, you can only practice what you are going to say to someone so many times before their fake responses start sounding the same. So here goes, wish me luck.