Gary's Rest

Gary’s Rest
By Ray Engle

Gary sat on the toilet in a desolate rest area just outside of Louisville, Kentucky, he listened as the click-scuff-click of work boots fill the silent lavatory. Thud and scuff, the boots moved across the crusty, uncared for linoleum floor. With a pleasurable zip, the waterfall began. Deep bellows of relief filled the room and echoed in the stall, where Gary rested. The man, apparently, had no idea that he was being monitored, as he continued his vocalization. Gary chuckled, trying to keep his laughter inside, but was failing miserably.
He knew what it was like being on the road for hours and trying hold off the stop, because you just wanted to get a little farther. You know, the old stereotype that men will not stop for anything once they are consumed by the blacktop hypnosis. Gary had held his bowel for quite a while, and he understood the pleasurable feeling of relief. However, this guy was enjoying himself a little too much.
As the man ended his tinkle, Gary heard a flush followed by the spraying of sink water. At least this guy is keeping himself clean, Gary thought with a slight smile. Next came the punching and crackling of the paper towel holder. The man used a considerable amount of paper. Had he enjoyed himself so much that he had gotten a little on his leg? Gary didn’t know. Nor did really he care. Then the work boots scuffed their way to the front of Gary’s stall. The man stood there silent for a moment. Like an ambush, paper towels, soggy and wrinkled, bombarded Gary’s head. The man laughed whole-heartedly and screamed, “Fuck you later, asshole. That’ll teach you to snicker at me, you little bitch!”
Shocked and bewildered, Gary listened as the man exited the restroom with a resounding thud. The door squealing like a pre-slaughtered pig as it swung to a close. Sitting there angered and humiliated, Gary stood to finish his business. Shaking, he slowly made his way out of the stall looking about and making sure that some silent bystander hadn’t witnessed the humiliating attack. It was okay that he had laughed at the pissman, but Gary didn’t like when the tables were turned.
No one was there.
Apparently, the man had some fun with in the sink as well. Soap and towels covered the entire hand-washing area, and the urinal he had so much pleasure in was cover in mud and grease. Gary washed his hands, minding the janitorial nightmare that surrounded him. What an redneck asshole, Gary thought to himself. How fuckin’ ignorant does one have to be? Using the one or two towels that were left in the holder, Gary attempted to get his hands dry. Not much success, seeing how the state of Kentucky stocks its public restrooms with “Anti-Brawny” hand towels. This place needs a quicker-picker-upper, Gary thought.
With a shake and a rub on the old jeans, Gary headed toward the car, and forgot about his small ordeal. His thoughts were once again on his family. Cristina was going to be eight years old tomorrow. If he didn’t make it back by morning there would be hell to pay, by his daughter and the misses. Melissa had planned a special day for Cristina, and Gary wasn’t about to let some drunk redneck asshole or the company fuck it up.
Of course, as an advertising executive for Thompson’s Advertising Co., Gary encountered this problem a number of times in his eight-year career. He had been called by his boss three days before. It seemed that the associates in Philadelphia needed to see a presentation of the new digital camera that his company was to be marketing the coming fall. This was a huge deal and the company needed the Philadelphian’s support, in order to profit you see.
“Why can’t Roger or Fred go?” Melissa said angrily, “You’re always doing the traveling.”
“I know, I’m sorry, but I’m the company bitch and I don’t have a choice.”
So reluctantly, Gary set out on the fourteen hour trip—he drove because of his nerve-exhausting fear of flying—and promised Melissa that he’d be for the big day. He met with the Philadelphia associates early Thursday morning. The plans went over with much success and Gary was looking forward to getting back home for his daughter’s birthday on Saturday.
Easier said than done.
Calling his boss to tell him the good news, he ordered that he take the associates out for lunch the next day.
It seemed that there was another meeting taking place. As an added distraction, the Philadelphia people were partnered with another business partner in Cincinnati, and they were going to get in touch with them about this “revolutionary” camera. Truth be said, Gary never fully supported this business move, but he had no say in the matter. After all, he was just a lowly executive. So, the next morning Gary took the partners to lunch. He resolved all the loose ends, and finally hit the road about two o’clock in the afternoon. With a short stop in Cincinnati, he was making good time and expected to be home by dawn.
Tired, yet refreshed from his break, Gary continued through the corridor leading to the restroom door. Looking at his watch, it’s 2:00, not much longer. Pushing with his right hand, the door nudged open and slammed back into his face. The fucker locked me in, he thought, growing ever so angry. Gary pushed again on the oak barrier.
“Damn, it! I’ve gotta get going! If you are out there, you better move this shit or I'm gonna beat your ass.”
Still there was no peep from the other side of the door. On the next thrust, the object on the other side moved. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the sound of wood or metal that he heard. It was a soft and somewhat rubbery sound, like the sound basketball shoes make on a gym floor. He put the damn doorstop in front of the door.
“You are a clever bastard, I have to give you that.”
Screaming and cursing, Gary put all of his might into moving the stingy object on the other side of the door. Finally, with a bit of a running start, he was able to make a small narrow passage between the door and the hallway wall.
As Gary started to slither through the vertical crawlspace, he noticed a work boot pressed against the wall behind the door.
“Hey, buddy.” “What the hell is your problem?” Answer me, damn it.”
As he dragged the rest of himself through the tight opening, he walked over and began to bark, “Hey, are you listening? I said what is your problem?” The large robust man didn’t budge. The smell of alcohol permeated the air surrounding the large man. This drunken bum has passed out. No wonder he left the restroom so damn messy.
Gary shook the man. “Hey asshole! Wake up. Sleepy time is over.”
No reaction.
He grabbed the man’s massive arm. His hand was freezing. He was either a great magician or he had joined the six feet under club. Gary checked for a pulse, and there wasn’t one. Gary hoisted himself to a straight position, his deranged mind shuttering and shifting.
“Oh, shit, I need some help! Someone call the police!” No answer, just the quaint echo of his own voice.
Scatterbrained and wondering what to do, he noticed a payphone out by the parking lot. Rushing toward the door, I hope this damn thing works. Gary had left his charger at home, and his cell phone was dead. Funny, when you really need the damn phone you don’t have it.
Once outside, he quickly grabbed the phone and dialed 911. A bland voice rapped, “Hello 911, how can I help you?”
“Hello, there has been an accident! I don’t know where I am; I’m standing in front of a rest area off of Interstate 71, just outside Louisville! Send the police, a man is dead…I think he is. Damn, it I don’t know.”
Five miles up the interstate; John Hogan sat drinking his coffee on the side of the highway. Nothing much was happening tonight. A few speeding tickets, and a disable vehicle was all the action John had seen this evening. Plus, he had spent lots of time staring out into the black night. Shit, four hours to go he thought. Guess I should go to UDF and refill my cup. As he pulled from his gravel lookout, the same bland voice scratched over his radio.
“Officer needed, man found dead, rest area on I-71” the voice proclaimed.
“I’m on my way, roger over and out,” John said flipping the switch and making the noise and lights begin.
About five minutes later, Gary heard sirens whaling and bright shades of red and blue speed into the parking lot. A once silent and isolated spot in the Midwest was now rigorously flowing with drama and action. The medical technicians showed up seconds later and went straight into the building while the police began asking questions.
“Hello sir, I’m Officer Hogan. Can you tell me what happened here?”
Gary answered to the best of his knowledge. He was never one to lie. Plus, he had seen enough cop shows to know that if you lie they’ll find out and bust you. He told them everything. From the time he entered the rest area parking lot until he called 911. Officer Hogan took his statement and information where he could be reached.
John believed him, but something seemed fishy.
“I have never seen anything like this” John said to the EMT. “Just seems a little fishy. How does a man have a heart attack and without making a sound and dies trapping a man in a restroom?”
“Does seem strange, but we cant determine any other damage to the body, other than this bruise on the back of the skull. But that looks like it was the result of the fall.”
Well, I guess we’ll just wait on the coroner” John said
“Load ‘em up, Jason!” the EMT said, thrusting the ambulance doors open.
The man’s name was Luther Bluegrove, and he lived not twenty miles from the rest area. It seemed very strange to Gary that a local man would stop at a rest area so close to home. Gary was well traveled, and even after a long trip, you wait to drain the lizard when you’re close. Hell, there’s no need to make unnecessary stops when you are so close. The EMTs were sticking with the heart attack as the diagnosis. Made a lot of sense, considering the man’s size and the stench of alcohol that hovered in the air around his corpse.
Walking back to the car, Gary was once again enveloped in thoughts of home. Damn it’s 3:00, I gotta get goin’ if I'm to make it to Nashville by morning, he thought. As Gary opened the car door, he noticed the light did not come on like usual. Damn, shitty car! He said slamming the door shut. He sped back to the silent interstate.
Tired with his mind reeling, he kept going over the events of the night. The pleasurable noises Mr. Bluegrove made while standing at the urinal. Amazing how he had that bit of pleasure before his heart gave out. His drunkenness, his mean tempered actions and filthiness. Gary could almost hear the large man laughing again. The deep bellow of hilarity that came from the alcohol consumed body. He didn’t say a word as he was dying. Gary reflected. No screams of help. Nothing, he just died. Gary made his way into the left lane and set his cruise to 70 mph. His mind still reeling, he tried listening to music. But not even the beautiful hymns of Simon and Garfunkel could calm him. Where did all that grease and mud come from? He asked himself. Gary turned the radio down and went on for another seventy-five miles.
It was now four o’clock in the morning. Gary’s eyes were drooping and bloodshot as he pulled off the highway once again. I need some coffee, or a nice bottle of Dew, he thought. He pulled into the Speedway and settled next to the #1 pump. Gary got out, and started the refueling. Slumping against the car in the brightly lit gas station, Gary’s world began to drift into the pleasant spots sleep.
Where did that all that mud and grease come from? The heaviness of his eyelids made it hard for him to stay on his feet. How did he die without making a sound? No screams, groans, nothing. Just a thump…Just as the world was fading into black, the pump clicked. Gary jumped and the once again he felt the cool air invade his tired eyes.
Time was gradually working to morning as he ventured into the store to look at their selection of pick-me-ups. Grabbing a liter bottle of Mountain Dew and a bag of Combos, he made his way to the cash register.
“Hey man, how’s it going?” said the young scrubby clerk dressed in his Speedway uniform.
“Hi, I have this stuff and the gas.”
“Dude, you look like you could use I wink or two,” the clerk with his pot induced bloodshot eyes.
“Yeah, it’s been a long day. I’ve been driving since 2:00 this afternoon. On my way home from Philly.”
Gary grabbed for his wallet and felt nothing but denim.
“Hey man, that’s a pretty good hike! Where are you headin?”
“To Nashville, I’ve gotta be there by morning.” Gary said, fumbling through his pockets, checking every one with careful but quick motions.
“Shit man, I’d be makin’ old dude drive.”
“What?” Gary said, not listening but hearing the words.
“The other in the car, doesn’t he know how to drive?” said the clerk plainly.
“Who,” asked Gary very puzzled.
“The other guy in car. Does he know how to drive?”
“Man, I don’t….”
The clerk trailed off as Gary looked out the door, and saw a greasy burly man step out of his car. Raising his hand with middle finger pointing to the heavens, the man screamed, “Haha, Fuck you later, asshole!” And he ran off into the darkness.