Tiny Shifts (Part I)
The headlights cut a bright swath through the blanket of darkness that covered the landscape. In the dim starlight, the hills loomed on all sides, like the twisted spinal column of some giant, malevolent beast. Paul drove the Cherokee indifferent to the night, thinking of the mistakes he’d made on the river that day. Dana sat next to him humming softly in time with a Credence Clearwater Revival tune issuing from the radio.
“I should have followed your route through that class five at Murton’s Point,” Paul said, drawing Dana’s attention from the middle of the chorus.
“I’d say you did all right,” she responded after a moment of reflection. She tilted her head slightly toward him, giving merit to her assessment.
Paul kept his eye on the road, but he knew the expression on her face. Dana had a way of showing concern without losing her underlying humor, a furtive quality of hers that he loved to evoke when he had the opportunity. She could display it for anyone, not just Paul, but he believed he was the only person that could really appreciate it.
“Tony went into the water and banged his knee hard on that rock,” Paul said, not ready to cease the critique of his performance.
“That’s a tough set you’re talking about.”
“I know, but your entire boat made it through. You didn’t lose anyone.”
“I took a conservative route.” She fiddled with the radio knob. A Country station came in. “You always go for a more aggressive run. That’s why those boys like riding in your boat.”
“I guess so,” he said reluctantly. “What was wrong with CCR?”
“You guess so? You know so. And I like this song.”
“Yeah. But I still don’t like to lose anyone. I mean, what if Tony had hit his head instead of his knee?"
“Don’t beat yourself up with ‘what-ifs’ like that,” she put her hand on his knee. “Those guys are experienced rafters, same as you and me. They know there are risks each time they get in the water. And they know that the risk is part of the excitement.”
Paul covered her hand with his. She was slender and beautiful, and all the athletic activity she participated in had given her a deceptive strength. But her hand was soft and feminine, and her touch sexually charged.
“How much do I owe you?” Paul asked after a moment of silence.
“What do you mean? Owe me for what?”
“Making me feel better.”
She laughed. “As usual, it’s on the house.”
They drove on through the night with the twangy Country song playing low. It would take less than an hour to get out of the hill country and back to flat land where the river ran slow.
In addition to the weekend that was just ending, Paul and Dana had spent countless days on the portion of the river where it flowed down through the rocky hills creating some of the states best rapids. And they’d made the drive along the winding state highway so many times that each of them could navigate the curves and steep grades with little effort. So Paul was more than a little surprised when he thought he saw a neon sign shining behind some trees a few yards off the road.
“What the hell was that?” Paul said, checking the rearview mirror to get another glimpse of the colorful light.
“I don’t know,” Dana conceded.
“You saw it, too?”
“If you’re talking about that neon sign back there, yes, I saw it, too.” She rubbed at her temples.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Somebody’s house?” Dana asked, but never looked back down the road to the location.
“Could be,” Paul said. “But I didn’t think anyone lived in this area except Vaco, and we past his place about five miles back.” Dana was shaking her head as though something was in her hair. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Turn around,” Dana said with a trace of something in her voice that Paul took as excitement. “Let’s go see what it is.”
Paul applied the brakes and swung the Cherokee around.
Approaching the spot where the light was shining through the trees, he spotted a dirt road.
“Hmm. I’ve never seen that before.”
“I don’t think I have either,” Dana agreed. She looked from the dirt road to the highway and back to Paul. “I didn’t see that . . .”
“What?” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing. I . . . I was going to say, it looks like that road leads to where the sign is.”
He turned slowly onto the dirt road, ignoring her odd behavior. The branches were hanging low, but didn’t compromise the Jeep’s paint job or the raft strapped to the roof. They wove through a substantial sconce of trees before they came to a clearing and could read the neon sign.
“I’ll be damned,” Paul said, bringing the Cherokee to a stop. “All the years we’ve been coming here, and we never saw this place before?”
The red shine of the neon sprayed across the branches of the trees, spelling out the name of the establishment. Tiny’s, it said, and below that in smaller letters, Pastimes & Secrets.
“What is it?” Dana asked, peering out of the windshield as though searching for something.
“I think it’s an icehouse. A bar.”
“A bar? Way out here?” Her voice trembled.
“Yes. You’ve seen bars before. Let’s go check it out,” Paul said, inspecting Dana to see if her face reflected the trembling. She stared hard at the shack, but otherwise looked normal. “Come on, I’ll buy the first round since your boat finished ahead of mine today.”
“Okay. But I don’t want to stay too long. We’ve got an expensive raft strapped to the top of this truck. I don’t want to leave it out here unattended. Remember that time someone cut a hole in the roof of my car outside of Lovenuts?”
“The boat’ll be all right. Let’s just go have a beer, and see what Tiny’s is like.”
As they stepped out of the car, the muffled beat of some indistinguishable music drifted from inside the building. The wooden planks that composed the walls seemed to warp the sound into an odd mix, like guitars and industrial noise.
“Sounds peculiar, doesn’t it?” he said.
“Probably just punk rock,” Dana quipped with a nervous laugh.
“Holy shit. Look at that,” Paul said. “It’s a vintage car show.”
Parked in front of the shack were half dozen cars of various models, all of which were made before 1960. There was a Model A Ford, a Buick Roadster, a 1938 Alfa Romeo, a Porsche Spyder, a 1949Cadillac Coup D’Ville, and a 1958 Chevrolet Impala convertible.
“Did you notice these cars when we pulled up?” Paul asked.
“I didn’t notice them until you said something,” Dana said sternly and grabbed his hand, stopping him before he could take another step.
“What is it?” he said, divining a deeper uneasiness in her. “You all right?”
“Paul, I didn’t see the shack. I saw the woods and nothing more, until you said it was a bar. Then there it was. It just popped into my vision.”
“What do you mean? You weren’t looking at the right spot?”
“I didn’t notice the music either,” she continued, ignoring his question. She looked worried.
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t see the bar. I saw nothing until you did. When we got out of the car, I didn’t hear anything. I mean, aside from the car door slamming and some cicadas, it was silent. Then you said, ‘Sounds peculiar doesn’t it?’ and suddenly I could hear the music.”
“You probably weren’t paying attention until I said something,” he said, trying to ease her worry.
“That’s what I thought at first, too, but when you said to look at the cars, and I hadn’t seen them before, it made me think that I’d been paying attention all along and the shack and the music just weren’t there.”
“What are you saying?”
Dana looked at the cars and the shack. The music thrumming through the walls was undeniable, and so was the confusion on her face. “I don’t want to go in there,” she said. “Something’s not right.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be silly.”
“I’m serious. How could I not see six cars — six vintage cars— that are now right in front of me?”
“Well, it’s dark out here. Maybe—"
“—I didn’t see the sign either when we drove by.”
“You said you did.”
“I know. I said I did, because I didn’t want to tell you how I knew what you were talking about. When you asked me if I saw ‘that’ without specifying what ‘that’ was, the thought of a red neon sign just popped into my head. I never saw it. I just thought it. And the road you pointed out that lead us here . . .”
“You didn’t see that either?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not until you mentioned it.”
“Well, this is ridiculous,” Paul said. Dana possessed a fabulous sense of humor, but her bent was to be clever and witty. She had never found practical jokes or praying on someone’s trust amusing. So he had no reason to think she was putting him on now. Still, he wasn’t sure he believed her. “You just need a cold beer. Let’s go in.”
Dana exuded apprehension, causing her steps to appear forced, but she walked along with him anyway. She was an adventurous woman, and Paul knew that even if her fear were legitimate, it wouldn’t stop her. Besides, once she got inside and saw that Tiny’s was just a harmless little icehouse, she’d be her old self again.
As they approached the step that lead up to the front door, Paul noticed something else that had eluded him earlier. On the far side of the entrance, there was a hitching post. That wasn’t so unusual. What was unusual was that there were two saddled horses tied to the post, each standing quietly, their black-marble eyes watching the new arrivals.
Who, in their right mind would be riding horses this late, he thought? Then another thought struck him. Dana loved horses, and he knew she would never stand for someone keeping their animals saddled and out this late, nor would she approve of anyone riding them home after drinking.
He watched Dana’s face as they walked up the step next to the hitching post about five yards from the horses. She looked around, apparently taking in as much of the scene as she could as they walked. Paul expected a mild tirade when she noticed the horses. But they reached the door, and she still had not given any indication she had seen them.
“What do you think?” he said.
“About what?”
He decided not to mention the horses. She had seen them. Of course she had. He motioned to the door with his head. Next to it, on either side, was a window that stood the same height as the door. Dana tried to look through the one nearest her, but the glass was smoked and she gave up. Turning back to him, she nodded.
Paul pulled open the door, and the music hit them full force. With it came a smell that danced across his nose for an instant, a smell of mildew and rot. It was gone so fast and replaced by used cigar and cigarette smoke, he wasn’t sure he’d smelled it all.
“I should have followed your route through that class five at Murton’s Point,” Paul said, drawing Dana’s attention from the middle of the chorus.
“I’d say you did all right,” she responded after a moment of reflection. She tilted her head slightly toward him, giving merit to her assessment.
Paul kept his eye on the road, but he knew the expression on her face. Dana had a way of showing concern without losing her underlying humor, a furtive quality of hers that he loved to evoke when he had the opportunity. She could display it for anyone, not just Paul, but he believed he was the only person that could really appreciate it.
“Tony went into the water and banged his knee hard on that rock,” Paul said, not ready to cease the critique of his performance.
“That’s a tough set you’re talking about.”
“I know, but your entire boat made it through. You didn’t lose anyone.”
“I took a conservative route.” She fiddled with the radio knob. A Country station came in. “You always go for a more aggressive run. That’s why those boys like riding in your boat.”
“I guess so,” he said reluctantly. “What was wrong with CCR?”
“You guess so? You know so. And I like this song.”
“Yeah. But I still don’t like to lose anyone. I mean, what if Tony had hit his head instead of his knee?"
“Don’t beat yourself up with ‘what-ifs’ like that,” she put her hand on his knee. “Those guys are experienced rafters, same as you and me. They know there are risks each time they get in the water. And they know that the risk is part of the excitement.”
Paul covered her hand with his. She was slender and beautiful, and all the athletic activity she participated in had given her a deceptive strength. But her hand was soft and feminine, and her touch sexually charged.
“How much do I owe you?” Paul asked after a moment of silence.
“What do you mean? Owe me for what?”
“Making me feel better.”
She laughed. “As usual, it’s on the house.”
They drove on through the night with the twangy Country song playing low. It would take less than an hour to get out of the hill country and back to flat land where the river ran slow.
In addition to the weekend that was just ending, Paul and Dana had spent countless days on the portion of the river where it flowed down through the rocky hills creating some of the states best rapids. And they’d made the drive along the winding state highway so many times that each of them could navigate the curves and steep grades with little effort. So Paul was more than a little surprised when he thought he saw a neon sign shining behind some trees a few yards off the road.
“What the hell was that?” Paul said, checking the rearview mirror to get another glimpse of the colorful light.
“I don’t know,” Dana conceded.
“You saw it, too?”
“If you’re talking about that neon sign back there, yes, I saw it, too.” She rubbed at her temples.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Somebody’s house?” Dana asked, but never looked back down the road to the location.
“Could be,” Paul said. “But I didn’t think anyone lived in this area except Vaco, and we past his place about five miles back.” Dana was shaking her head as though something was in her hair. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Turn around,” Dana said with a trace of something in her voice that Paul took as excitement. “Let’s go see what it is.”
Paul applied the brakes and swung the Cherokee around.
Approaching the spot where the light was shining through the trees, he spotted a dirt road.
“Hmm. I’ve never seen that before.”
“I don’t think I have either,” Dana agreed. She looked from the dirt road to the highway and back to Paul. “I didn’t see that . . .”
“What?” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing. I . . . I was going to say, it looks like that road leads to where the sign is.”
He turned slowly onto the dirt road, ignoring her odd behavior. The branches were hanging low, but didn’t compromise the Jeep’s paint job or the raft strapped to the roof. They wove through a substantial sconce of trees before they came to a clearing and could read the neon sign.
“I’ll be damned,” Paul said, bringing the Cherokee to a stop. “All the years we’ve been coming here, and we never saw this place before?”
The red shine of the neon sprayed across the branches of the trees, spelling out the name of the establishment. Tiny’s, it said, and below that in smaller letters, Pastimes & Secrets.
“What is it?” Dana asked, peering out of the windshield as though searching for something.
“I think it’s an icehouse. A bar.”
“A bar? Way out here?” Her voice trembled.
“Yes. You’ve seen bars before. Let’s go check it out,” Paul said, inspecting Dana to see if her face reflected the trembling. She stared hard at the shack, but otherwise looked normal. “Come on, I’ll buy the first round since your boat finished ahead of mine today.”
“Okay. But I don’t want to stay too long. We’ve got an expensive raft strapped to the top of this truck. I don’t want to leave it out here unattended. Remember that time someone cut a hole in the roof of my car outside of Lovenuts?”
“The boat’ll be all right. Let’s just go have a beer, and see what Tiny’s is like.”
As they stepped out of the car, the muffled beat of some indistinguishable music drifted from inside the building. The wooden planks that composed the walls seemed to warp the sound into an odd mix, like guitars and industrial noise.
“Sounds peculiar, doesn’t it?” he said.
“Probably just punk rock,” Dana quipped with a nervous laugh.
“Holy shit. Look at that,” Paul said. “It’s a vintage car show.”
Parked in front of the shack were half dozen cars of various models, all of which were made before 1960. There was a Model A Ford, a Buick Roadster, a 1938 Alfa Romeo, a Porsche Spyder, a 1949Cadillac Coup D’Ville, and a 1958 Chevrolet Impala convertible.
“Did you notice these cars when we pulled up?” Paul asked.
“I didn’t notice them until you said something,” Dana said sternly and grabbed his hand, stopping him before he could take another step.
“What is it?” he said, divining a deeper uneasiness in her. “You all right?”
“Paul, I didn’t see the shack. I saw the woods and nothing more, until you said it was a bar. Then there it was. It just popped into my vision.”
“What do you mean? You weren’t looking at the right spot?”
“I didn’t notice the music either,” she continued, ignoring his question. She looked worried.
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t see the bar. I saw nothing until you did. When we got out of the car, I didn’t hear anything. I mean, aside from the car door slamming and some cicadas, it was silent. Then you said, ‘Sounds peculiar doesn’t it?’ and suddenly I could hear the music.”
“You probably weren’t paying attention until I said something,” he said, trying to ease her worry.
“That’s what I thought at first, too, but when you said to look at the cars, and I hadn’t seen them before, it made me think that I’d been paying attention all along and the shack and the music just weren’t there.”
“What are you saying?”
Dana looked at the cars and the shack. The music thrumming through the walls was undeniable, and so was the confusion on her face. “I don’t want to go in there,” she said. “Something’s not right.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be silly.”
“I’m serious. How could I not see six cars — six vintage cars— that are now right in front of me?”
“Well, it’s dark out here. Maybe—"
“—I didn’t see the sign either when we drove by.”
“You said you did.”
“I know. I said I did, because I didn’t want to tell you how I knew what you were talking about. When you asked me if I saw ‘that’ without specifying what ‘that’ was, the thought of a red neon sign just popped into my head. I never saw it. I just thought it. And the road you pointed out that lead us here . . .”
“You didn’t see that either?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not until you mentioned it.”
“Well, this is ridiculous,” Paul said. Dana possessed a fabulous sense of humor, but her bent was to be clever and witty. She had never found practical jokes or praying on someone’s trust amusing. So he had no reason to think she was putting him on now. Still, he wasn’t sure he believed her. “You just need a cold beer. Let’s go in.”
Dana exuded apprehension, causing her steps to appear forced, but she walked along with him anyway. She was an adventurous woman, and Paul knew that even if her fear were legitimate, it wouldn’t stop her. Besides, once she got inside and saw that Tiny’s was just a harmless little icehouse, she’d be her old self again.
As they approached the step that lead up to the front door, Paul noticed something else that had eluded him earlier. On the far side of the entrance, there was a hitching post. That wasn’t so unusual. What was unusual was that there were two saddled horses tied to the post, each standing quietly, their black-marble eyes watching the new arrivals.
Who, in their right mind would be riding horses this late, he thought? Then another thought struck him. Dana loved horses, and he knew she would never stand for someone keeping their animals saddled and out this late, nor would she approve of anyone riding them home after drinking.
He watched Dana’s face as they walked up the step next to the hitching post about five yards from the horses. She looked around, apparently taking in as much of the scene as she could as they walked. Paul expected a mild tirade when she noticed the horses. But they reached the door, and she still had not given any indication she had seen them.
“What do you think?” he said.
“About what?”
He decided not to mention the horses. She had seen them. Of course she had. He motioned to the door with his head. Next to it, on either side, was a window that stood the same height as the door. Dana tried to look through the one nearest her, but the glass was smoked and she gave up. Turning back to him, she nodded.
Paul pulled open the door, and the music hit them full force. With it came a smell that danced across his nose for an instant, a smell of mildew and rot. It was gone so fast and replaced by used cigar and cigarette smoke, he wasn’t sure he’d smelled it all.
---To Be Continued---
posted by Sam Ogden at
10:32 AM
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