Hawk and Dove (1)

AN: This is a companion piece to my short film project, Eagle Rock. Those of you familiar with it will recognize the connections. While no explicit scenes or language are shown, I've flagged it for mature content because of its themes. It will probably be two or three parts. Please rip it to shreds. Thank you!

To think of him is to think of my youth, to a town in Wyoming. It was always cold and at night, it was so quiet there would be no sound other than the wind. People only came through our town if they were on their way to Yellowstone. They only stayed if they could not afford to stay inside the park. I was barely old enough to walk when my father realized this would be a good business venture and opened a motel. It was the smallest but highest rated one in town, and it is how he and I met.

It was a bitterly cold day in November. I was fourteen years old, and Dwight Eisenhower had just been elected president. My hair was lighter then. I was born blonde and it had begun to darken when I was about twelve. Then it was still a dark honey. I’d recently taken to wearing it like Veronica Lake, which irritated my father.

It was afternoon, only about four o’clock, but it was already getting to get dark. The year before, my father had offered me a paltry wage to help him at the motel after school. I was sitting on the curb outside a cabin, avoiding my father after he had just verbally humiliated me for the way I’d made one of the beds. As I watched the occasional car drive by, it seemed as though it might snow. I heard footsteps coming from behind me, and reflexively extinguished the cigarette I had been smoking and shoved into my coat pocket. I didn’t need to give my father another reason to be angry.

But it wasn’t him. Instead, it was a man. He was probably only a few years older than me, but he seemed much more sure of himself than I ever had. He was incredibly handsome in his jeans, flannel jacket, and slicked back hair. He looked at me with such intensity I felt that he was looking right through me. I’d noticed the man two nights before, lingering outside his cabin as I was leaving for the night.

“Excuse me,” he said in a rich baritone. “Aren’t you Fred’s daughter?” My father always insisted that guests call him by his first name.

“Yeah,” I said, standing up to face him. “I’m Sarah.” The man said nothing, so I did my best to continue. “How do you like your stay so far?” I wasn’t a virgin, even then. I knew how these things worked. But I was not obsessed with the idea of romance. The only example I’d ever had was my parents, and their marriage had ended when I was seven after they’d both admitted to the other that they’d been unfaithful. Part of him wanted him to leave me alone so that I could finish my smoke. But there was aso something about him that made me want to stay and hear whatever it would be that he’d have to say.

“Your father is very nice,” he told me. “But I’m looking for him, and I can’t find him.”

“What’s the matter? Maybe I can help.” More than likely, I couldn’t. I was still uncertain on how most things in the hotel actually operated, and according to my father, I could barely make a bed properly.

“My radio’s out,” he said. “I get nothing but static.”

“It’s probably not just you,” I responded. “It’s regular, especially for this time of year.”

“It was on in the office, so I don’t think so.”

I knew then that my father would know how to fix it. Likely he needed to pick something up from home. We only were five minutes away, so if he’d gone he’d be back soon. I knew the right thing to do would be to tell him to go back to the office and wait, but I wanted more time alone with him. “Let me see.”

As he lead me to his cabin, I told him that he had yet to tell me his name. “I’m Jay,” he responded.

“What brings you to Wyoming, Jay?” I asked. As he unlocked his door, I tried to assess how old he was. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. Certainly no older than twenty.

“Just trying to start my life over, I suppose.” He opened the door and smiled at me, and the simple feeling of being near him was very intense. His room was in complete disarray, which I found repulsive. I’d realize later that this a warnings sign that I should have heeded. But ignored it. Jay showed me the radio. Nothing but static, no matter which way he turned it. I messed with it for a moment before I admitted that I had no idea what I was doing. That didn’t seem to matter to him, and he sat on his bed and turned to face me, smiling as he did. “Do you like it? Working for your father, I mean.”

“I suppose,” I said. I wasn’t sure how to respond. He continued to look at me intently, as if he was expecting more. I racked my brain. “Obviously I don’t want to do it forever.”“That’s nice,” Jay said. “I never knew my father, so I just wonder.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. It seemed an awfully personal thing to share with someone he had minutes before, but he seemed so vulnerable that I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “How long are you here for?”

“Well, I’ve booked this room until Friday. And after that, who knows?”

“Did you, are you…” I wanted to ask about the life he’d had before. The one he’d left. But I somehow found myself unable to form words. He laughed.

“I’m from Boise.” He said, seeming to understand. Then, he looked at me in that way that boys only look at you went they want a specific thing. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Veronica Lake?”

I found myself blushing now. “She’s my hero.”

“What’s your favorite film of hers?”

“Sullivan’s Travels.”

“My mother and I used to go to the movies all the time,” he said. “I don’t so much any more.” He paused, and I knew what was going to come next. Still, hearing it left me in shock. “You know, it’s been lonely this past week. And I would love nothing more than to take you out tomorrow night.”

I paused. I was attracted to him. That much was clear. But I wasn’t sure I wanted a boyfriend. My last had been Marty Spier, which had ended earlier that year when he told me he was leaving me for Sylvia Johnson. I’d spent a long time thinking just the night before about how I probably didn’t ever want to get married. Jay must have sense my unease, because he added, “Of course, if you don’t want to, that’s fine too.”

“How old are you?” I asked nervously.

“Eighteen,” he said. “I’ll be nineteen next month. How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” I lied. There was a part of me that thought that he was only interested in me because he thought I was older than I was, and he’d lose interest if he knew that I was really fourteen. He’d find out on my birthday the following February, and while he didn’t leave me, he would use it against me for the rest of our relationship. It wasn’t how old I was, it was the lie, he’d say. Hypocritical on both counts, coming from him. “I’m not sure my father would approve.”

“Who cares what your father thinks?” He’d be more tactful about this later, I’d find out. But it was enough for me then. I hadn’t thought of myself as naive, but only later would I realize just how much I really was. Just how easily my guard dropped as we continued to stand there. Maybe Father would like him after all. He’d hated Marty, but Jay was older and more mature. And I knew he wanted me to be looked after.

“Sure,” I said.

This made him smile. "Do you work tomorrow?” He asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I end at six.”

“Come find me after,” he said. “We’ll go somewhere for dinner.”

“Okay.”

“See you tomorrow, Sarah,” Jay said with a smile. I left, blushing, in somewhat disbelief at what had just happened, to find father outside. He looked at me sternly.

“What are you up to?” He asked.

“The guest needs his radio fixed,” I somehow managed. I’d nearly forgotten. “I wanted to see if I could help him.” I neglected to mention that he would be taking me out the next night.

In response, Father knocked on the door. Jay answered, and began to explain the situation with his radio. He smiled at me through the doorway. Father turned to me and told me to wait for him in the office, which I did.

Father had done a good job of making things seem cozy and inviting. I imagined if I was on a road trip and too tired to make it to my destination, this motel would be an inviting place. But it was mid-afternoon. No one came in or out, and I thought about just how desolate and isolated things really were. I hated how cold it was, and especially how it always so cold for so long. I knew that as soon as I was old enough, I wanted to get out and go somewhere else. Where exactly, I didn’t know. Somewhere where it was always warm. I thought about what Jay had said. He was staying at the motel until Friday and he had no plan after that. He wasn’t going to Yellowstone like everyone else. And he was alone. That was enough to interest me then, I suppose.

Father came into the lobby to tell me that I could go home. It seemed to have gotten colder since I’d come from school, but as I rode my bike, the cold air against my face kept me alert.

Our house was small, but it was a decent amount of space for the two of us. We’d moved after the divorce, as had Mother and Gary. As much as my non-relationship with my father irritated me, I hated Gary more, so I didn’t see my mother often as he was always around. I was hungry but I knew I’d have to cook something and I didn’t feel like doing so. I walked into the bathroom and stared at my reflection. Marty had never once complimented my looks, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d only been with me because I’d have sex with him.

I went into the living room and turned on the radio, as we didn’t yet have a television. But there was nothing on. So I called my mother. She seemed surprised to hear from me.

“A man asked me out,” I said.

“Oh,” was her response. “Who?”

“A guest at the motel. I haven’t told father yet.”

“Well, you’re nearly a woman. You should be able to make your own choices.”

We hung up, and I put Frank Sinatra on the record player. I lost myself in the music, imagining that Jay and I were dancing to it together. As my luck would have it, Sinatra was his favorite too, and his voice would become the soundtrack of our eventual marriage.

I thought about what Mother had said. I’d only realize later that I wasn’t yet a woman, even if I badly wanted to believe that I was.