Fan Fiction ❯ Twenty Miles from a Dream ❯ One-Shot

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Title: Twenty Miles from a Dream
Rating: R
The Poetry is mine, and the characters are mine. All rights to the story are. . .you guessed it mine. Please don't let me catch you stealing it.
Warning: This story will contain some themes of an adult nature. More specifically this story contains lesbians, and a little sex, and if you can not handle the combination of the two then please do not read this story. Thank you!
******************************************

The sheets had plainly fallen away from the bed, and collected on the floor next to the rest of the bedding as the two women atop the mattress continued their deluge into what could only be called a messy little game of the most powerful want. The room was dark save the neon glow of the small motel's sign streaming in pinks, oranges, and greens in varied patterns blinking in and out across a cream colored room (cream carpet, drapes, bedding, painted walls) and the smooth skin of the two on the bed. The heat rose in the room meeting against the window streaked with condensation, for outside the world was lost in a storm, blaring white washing over picturesque scenery. And only the neon lights added color to the blank canvas nature wanted to create.

There was a brief gasp through gritted teeth, the sound soon lost to the silence of bodies listless along a mattress. And then there was another, lost again as the pattern continued until finally there was an utterance, a cry of sorrowful pleasure ripping through the calm seeming to hush everything in the world. The sound begged the attention of relief, and release until shortly thereafter the pattern continued again, ending with a cry again.

They were not a pair that was expected but everything they had indulged in since the evening had begun was decidedly unexpected. They did not match each other in least one so very young (perhaps just barely eighteen) and one so mature (perhaps mid-thirties perhaps a touch younger), one so very refined and one so very lacking in refinement. But the storm had brought them together and the storm made each of them want to take and break something in the other and of course there was no better way to give a little something and take just enough back than with what lust could offer up in an instant of utter and inconceivable weakness. Because they wanted each other almost instantly and they fought the pull just as quickly in pretended hate, but thankfully for them the Fates in conjunction with a little destiny saw to it that the roads were impassible stranding them in the midst of their emotions.

************************
Like any light I see
I'm drawn in so deep to the presence
But I quickly grow tired of the shine
Angelic though it may be
The Devil's though it may be
I work my will to snuff it into darkness
With a lust that can hardly be quelled
With a hunger that only grows
With every haut breath
With every slip of the fingers
And you. . .
You are so light
And you. . .
You are so fair
That I wish to keep you whole
While I sully what you have
****************************

The motel was just off the main highway that stretched across a long and lonely plain of pavement and barren fields covered over in rolling mounds of white snow and the occasional tree. She had not wanted to stop driving. She was making such quick progress and she was almost certain to be in California within at least a few more days. She wanted sunshine and weather that was at least seventy-four degrees or above if she could get it. Even rain was better than the complete white of the countryside she had longed to escape since high school. But the weather got the better of her and so she had no choice but to pull into the practically vacant motel driveway and hope that the storm passed sooner rather than later.

She parked her car, a reliable and rather unattractive blue Nissan Stanza, in the spot closest to the door of the manager's office to check in. Before she got out of the car she scrambled to pull on her heavy coat and gloves that she had been able to remove in the constant warmth of her car. She had blessed her luck at being able to afford a complete tune up before she started on her journey. Prepared for the bitter cold she opened the door and rapidly made her way into the manager's office.

The man behind the counter was greasy looking and too busy smoking his cigarette and trying to watch the football game through the exceptionally bad reception on his black and white television to register the girl's presence. He eventually turned to greet her with a plastic smile, teeth crooked and yellow, when she made a coughing noise.

"Well," he began and opened up the faded book used for check in, "storm must be brewing something awful. Put your name down in the book and we'll get you settled in, plus the fifty dollars for the room of course."

"Fifty? You must be joking?"

He smiled wide and chuckled, "That snow storm says you'll pay the fifty bucks or be forced to find another place. Course the next lodging is twenty miles away but if-"

"Fine. . .Fifty," she interrupted and pulled a crisp fifty dollar bill out of the left pocket of her blue jeans.

The manager nodded as he took the bill with his sweaty hands. He watched her as she carefully printed and then signed her name in the ledger, tossing her a brass key that was etched with the number eight. She took it and placed it in her pocket.

"Number eight is just a ways down beneath the awning. Faces the highway but there shouldn't be any traffic noise what with the storm comin' on. The walk gets icy so watch your step. . . and the uh. . . diner's open all night."

"Is the food edible?"

"Course it is. . .wife runs it," he paused to whisper almost confidentially, "But uh the pork roast is not recommended."

She grimaced as she nodded in understanding, "Gotcha. . . no pork."

She kept from shuddering until she was outside and then went to her car for her bag.

***********************
When you're running away
You're finding away
To live with the parts of you
You want to destroy
When you're running away
You're trying to say
That you won't be the same
Not anymore
So you know who you are
As you drive in the car
To some place that isn't this place
That is any place but where you really are
When you're running away
Are you running away
***********************

The room was nicer than she expected it to be. In fact it was the complete opposite of the rat infested dump that she envisioned as she stood outside the door, bag in hand, and key just inches from the lock. It was not very large just a space big enough to hold a queen sized bed, a moderate dresser on top of which was a black and white television (that probably only received one channel with poor reception), and a small end table containing a lamp. Everything in the room was very plain, very clean, and cream colored. The bathroom was the same in color scheme and was clean (almost excessively so), cream colored tile, to match the cream colored porcelain sink and toilet; to match the cream colored towels.

With a sigh that was not quite relief she placed her bag on top of the dresser next to the television, and then removed her heavy coat and gloves placing them in the smallest closest ever created, before striding to the bathroom to take a shower. She felt a chill that seemed to have followed her from her parents' house in Vermont and she felt that perhaps a long and hot shower would help to warm up her soul.

Out of her cloths and into the steamy shower she felt safe enough within the sanitized tiled walls and glass door to sink to the floor, sit and let the water rush over her. And as she thought she tried to confirm in her mind that she was not running away from her problems even if she was. She had just graduated from high school and she felt as if she was being strangled but by what she did not know. She wanted to say it was her family, even though they could not be more emotionally and physically distant. They were in her mind perhaps too overjoyed at her acceptance to NYU and pressed her, though they failed, to try and find a place to live over the summer. She opted instead to work two jobs and put away what her parents would have called "a nice little nest egg" that would pay for anything she wanted that was not school related. And it was a nice sum. It was enough she had calculated to get her across the country to California, and maybe even find a new place to live.

She did not want to go to school. She did not want to go home for the holidays and pretend to be happy in her Norman Rockwell stylized family version of life. She wanted to be on a beach, or even on a foggy bay. She wanted to be in what her roommate at the dorms had called an island. Because she made it to New York for her first semester of school, and her grades were impeccable, nothing was wrong, the city was just fine, everything was totally perfect, and she wanted nothing more than to take a razor and pull it over her thin wrists and feel her life bleed out of her because being there and being perfect it might as well already happened. She might as well just curl up in a box and stay there forever because that was the only place she would ever be heading in that life, that place she had left behind miles upon miles ago. She managed to keep herself from inflicting any bodily harm and when the snow first began to fall she took all she had put it in her car, left her parents a brief message to explain, and started to drive to her island. Her far away place where she could be herself and maybe if she was lucky enough she would be able to discover who that actually was along the drive.

Once the water started to get too cold she stood up and turned the water off, stepped out of the shower and dressed.

She watched herself in the small bathroom mirror; if she stepped back just enough and adjusted her head at just the proper angle she could see her entire body. She thought herself too thin and she probably was. She thought that perhaps all that Martha Stewart living her mother provided and the Ward Clever thinking her father offered up as advice did its job to work into her system and make her unconsciously step towards the exact mold of flawlessness her parents had set in place for her. She grimaced and shut her eyes (a blue that was deeper than the ocean) opening them again with a reassuring thought that she was away and could be herself, the self that she still could not quite find when she stared into her reflection.

The storm seemed to be coming in from the west but it had not quite reached its full breadth of power and she sidled her way down the long covered walk (it was a straight line) to the small little diner connected to the motel. She left her heavy coat behind, grabbing only her gloves and wallet. The wind was bitter, and it cut past her cheeks turning them pink which subsided into a light flush as the door to the restaurant opened and she stepped inside the over whelming heat that waited within.

The restaurant (or diner, either suited as a description) was big enough to seat roughly forty people, maybe fifty if people could handle sitting close. The interior had not been changed since what she assumed was the late sixties, and was full of the most horrid colors she could imagine (pea greens, deep browns, pale yellows, and of course dark orange shag carpeting). The woman behind the counter and the man at the grill in the kitchen (he could be seen though the pick-up counter window) looked as if they had been pulled from a time warp displacing them from their proper time period.

The woman had a beehive and black wide frame glasses. She was chubby and wore too much make-up. Her perfume was only just barely covered by the scent of fried food, making the woman in essence a floral and grease air freshener. She smiled glibly as she smacked her lips together preparing to speak.

"Sit where you like hon'," the woman finally stated arms akimbo, "Plenty-a room in here."

The girl smiled uncomfortably and sat at the counter not wanting to make the woman have to make any extra effort to serve her. A menu was promptly placed in front of her along with an unasked for cup of what was weak coffee.

"Travelin' alone hon?"

The girl nodded.

"Where to?"

"Um. . . California."

"Oh," the sound was overly excited, "Got family there?"

"No I'm just-"

"Takin' a trip then?"

"Yes."

"Well," at this pint she leaned in across the counter, "I'm sure the storm will let up by mornin'. You watch out for them," she whispered as if someone else in the empty restaurant might hear her, "gays in California. Now I don't pay no mind to nobody else's business and I ain't the least prejudice but you have to watch yourself in places like that with those kinds of people. "

She winced but then she expected comments like that (she'd encountered her fair share of similar ones along her journey) and then with the politest of grins she could manage asked, "Is the kitchen still serving breakfast?"

"Course it is," the woman replied almost with a laugh, "What'll you have then?"

"Um. . . Bacon and eggs."

"Pancakes or toast?"

"White toast."

"How'd you like your eggs?"

"Scrambled."

"Course you would. . . You know it's just something I can tell about a person how they like their eggs. Kinda a strange physic power. . .but then kids like their eggs scrambled. Like my granddaughter Rhona. . . loves scrambled," the woman paused and then said, "Ok bacon and eggs, my name's Ada, if you need anything holler and I'll see to ya."

"Thank you. . .Ada."

"Sweet girl. . . what's your name if you don't mind my asking?"

She did. She really did but she replied, "Sam. . .um. . .Samantha."

The woman smiled broadly in approval and went into the kitchen to convey the order to the chef who was already starting the preparations for the order having over heard the entire conversation from the beginning.

***********************
Storms blow in unexpected things
Scraps of the forgotten that tend to cling
'Round doorways
'Round hallways
In the corners of life
Left over pieces of unresolved strife
And there in those places
The corners and cluttered spaces
You'll maybe find an answer you seek
You'll maybe find what's made you so weak
*************************

Indigo Guadalupe Maria Estrella Ramirez was a woman who always received attention, and the deepest of respect and this was not because she was rich (which she was), or because she was famous (she was not), or even because she was vastly important (Vice President of Operations at start up company that was growing fast). She received attention, respect and even a little admiration from the day she was born because Indigo held herself, and moved, and acted like someone who deserved nothing less (her grandmother attributed this to their Aztec blood claiming that their entire family was born from kings which was debatable in some cases but not where Indigo was concerned). She dressed well even in the severe cold and on such a long trip, as though at any second she was going to be called into a board meeting. She looked in a few choice words very expensive, exceptionally refined, beautiful, and like someone who would snub you for not wearing the right shade of eyeliner. She moved with the kind of grace held by dancers and bull fighters making her a strong and distinctive presence. So, when she stepped into the small diner with her driver and two underlings the three people in that space could do nothing but look at her. And she could do nothing but look around and mentally scoff every inch of what she viewed as surroundings that were beneath her.

Samantha hated her the moment she saw her. And Indigo took one look at the girl and felt exactly the same way because in that girl was everything a woman so full of what everyone had built her up to be utterly loathed. It was weakness. It was insecurity and it was the kind of esteem one held to a clam. It made her forgettable and what more is there for someone who is unforgettable to fear?

The storm was starting to reach its apex and there was no chance of finding another place to stay so with a softly barked command the driver went to the office to procure rooms. The two underlings took seats in a booth whipping out their laptops and cell phones and tried to continue the business they needed to have completed before reaching their destination, because they feared their boss greatly and they knew she had already done her all her work and was prepared well before they even started out. Indigo, in her eight hundred dollar shoes, took a seat at the counter one stool away from the girl (whom smelled slightly of Clove cigarettes, even though it was light and underminded by the grease from the kitchen) and picked up a menu.

Ada brought over the bacon and eggs and set them in front of Samantha, poured her a little more coffee and then went about taking the orders of the new arrivals. She seemed to have lost her knack for chit chat because she did not ask any of the new arrivals who they were or where they were headed. Her lack of speech was most likely due to how the woman privately viewed the entire party as a secret Mexican drug cartel on their way to cause havoc and unpatriotic thoughts throughout the country and corrupt the youth of tomorrow. Or perhaps it was because she envied the party's obvious wealth.

"What'll you have?"

Indigo smirked at the cautious approach, "Bacon and eggs, eggs scrambled, wheat toast if you have it buttered well, and please make sure the bacon is extra crispy."

"Anything to drink?"

"Hot chocolate, whipped cream. . . again if you have it and a glass of water, do you accept credit cards?"

"No ma'am." The waitress seemed unsure if she wanted to give way and make some sort of racial slur because she was still harboring her fantasy that the newly arrived people were some sort of third world mafia and not originally from America (of course she would be wrong because Indigo was born and raised Florida and her parents had been as well). Instead she put on a fake smile and said, "Cash only."

"Excellent."

The waitress seemed disappointed for a moment and then went to the kitchen to convey the new orders, which of course were already being started because the cook could hear almost anything from where he was standing.

The driver came back with the room keys and passed them out, put in a quick order with Ada, and then went to move the car closer to his room. When he returned he sat separate from the rest with a book and a walkman and seemed of the lot the most personable.

Indigo hated the storm. She hated the feeling of being trapped, because she hated being alone. She never liked clichés and she supposed it was because she had become one. She had everything one could think of having but it was never enough to buy herself a little happiness. It was never enough to shield the darkness of what she missed. And she missed her parents because they had both passed on and were the ones who had kept her grounded (she was a real bitch sometimes and not in the most pleasant of manners). She missed the people who had been there for her but had to leave. Life was full of people entering and leaving and being so stubbornly strong (someone once told her it was stoic but she looked them dead in the eyes and said, "No it's stubborn") she had decided it was best to build a shield against closeness so never to be disappointed. And it worked only a little too well.

Her food came and was prepared to her expectations, meaning it was neither the best nor the worst meal she had ever eaten. And her underlings ate, and the driver as well and there was no one near her except the girl she did not like upon sight. When she finished eating she paid her bill and the bill of the driver leaving perhaps a bigger tip than she should have. As she began to leave she noticed the necklace the girl was doing a poor job of trying to hide behind her very straight ruddy brown hair. It was a silver chain with six round rings in all the colors of the rainbow, and for a brief moment the older woman found something to like in the girl.

********************************
They call you by your name
And your name is Blue
Your name is of the stars
And of the holy
They call you by your name
And your name makes you cold
Your name makes you distant
Your name makes you blue
It makes you something only to be wished for
And are you so well defined by your name
Does it make you everything people think you are
Are you only a distant star
Are you only a cold prayer
Are you but a color lost in the rainbow
They call you by your name
And when they call
You always answer as you should
*******************************
The color of the room disturbed her just slightly. Everything in the room was a pale shade of blue, the lightest of the lightest blues, so light it was almost white. From the carpeting and the bedding to the paint on the wall, down to the tile in the bathroom and towels everything was the same and everything was so impeccably clean she chided herself for thinking she would find a room over run with filth and vermin. The driver had already set her bag inside along with her laptop and she made a mental note to increase his pay. He was a nice man, the driver, quiet but nice.

Indigo opened up her laptop and then went into her bag to pull out her clothes for the next morning. Then she decided that it would be best to take a shower and try and wash away the staleness of the trip. Leaving the airport she had a feeling the snow would stick her out in the middle of no where and she had been correct. A call had already been made to the facility she was on her way to inspect and to her boss so that no one would worry about her brief disappearance. She was sure that the phone call would not make much of a difference anyway. No one would begrudge her for being stuck in a storm and her boss would comment that nothing was perfect but it was nice of her to try.

She winced as she caught a glimpse of herself in the tiny mirror. Small barely noticeable worry lines were making their way across her forehead, and other little tell-tale signs of age were also beginning to show. Getting older would not bother her so much if the industry she worked in was not so very vain. Men could get away with graying and balding hair and wrinkled faces they could just buy a sports car or some impressive new pocket gadget and have proof of their hip enthusiasm for life. They could show that they were not old and out of touch with the world. But women. . . women had to try and maintain an aura of youth, never prettiness so much as youth. She felt the eyes of others constantly upon her, the summing up of her worth coupled with her passing beauty. In the end she had to not only be flawless in execution but flawless in form because beautiful women were expected on some level to have a slight air of indignation following a sweet smile and fabulous legs.

The water streamed on eagerly and she left the bathroom momentarily to fetch her make-up bag which had a small bottle of the shampoo she used plus a bar of soap. When she returned she entered the shower washed her thick black hair (that was getting too long to put up in the severe slicked back bun she always kept it in) and then washed herself. She stood in the shower leaning against the cool tile with her eyes (orbs of yellow with a smoky streak of the palest green, mistakenly called hazel) closed and wished for company.

She remembered, as she let the water calm her, when she was young and her grandmother braided her hair in intricate designs before she went to sleep. She remembered the warmth she once held for everything she encountered and how that brief spark slowly died as one by one the people she loved left her. Her grandmother had been the first to leave her and it was expected but still hard to cope with. She was a teenager though and she could still keep the memory close and not be bitter. But when her parents died unexpectedly just before her thirtieth birthday many of the parts of her others considered warm met with the grave as well. Her therapist said it was a natural defense against the pain she felt, but others did not quite agree. She herself could not really think of what had happened to her but she felt work was the safest thing in the world for her. Her work was always there and in that way she lived to work instead of working to live.

When she finally emerged from her shower she quickly dried and then blow dried her long ebony colored thick and slightly curly hair. She dressed herself casually, black slacks, black ankle high boots, red polo shirt, over which she wore a sweatshirt from her college alma mater (Stanford). She was thinking of seeing if the driver would be interested in playing a few rounds of cards and sharing a drink (there was a bottle of very nice scotch located in the limo), because the driver seemed the only one in her little group that would accept the invitation for what it was. Besides her underlings were far too eager to try and drum up some gossip about her to report to their co-workers so she could not possibly think of visiting with them.

First however she riffled through the case she had carried her lap top in and pulled out a silver engraved cigarette case and matching matchstick holder. She opened the case and pulled out what was not actually a cigarette but a vanilla flavored cigarillo with gold a leaf tip. She always held to the notion that if one is going to have a repulsive habit like smoking one might as well go about in style. She felt that way about most everything in her life that style and form were things she needed to have. And having style did not mean always buying the most expensive things, because the most expensive things were not always the best. And her style did not mean she could not get by without her make-up or fine clothing it was a way of acting, it was a way of presentation and even in rugged surroundings she held onto style and proved that she was not just some weak woman dependant on shopping malls and servants to do things for her. She was most impressive on a company bonding trip in which the entire upper management staff went away for a retreat out in the middle of the woods where she not only managed to build a fire but short roped the CFO to complete the strenuous day hike before the sun went down.

She placed the cigarillo in her mouth but before she lit it with a match looked over at a very small card on the table which read: NO Smoking please!

Irritated she snapped shut her cigarette case placing it in her back pocket along with the matchstick holder, and then single match in hand she stepped out of her room struck the match in her hand and brought it up to the cigarillo that was still neatly placed between her lips. She blew out a smoke ring and leaned against the room door.

****************************
I am falling between my lives
The one I have lived
And the dream of what I wanted to become
The breach runs deep between the two
It runs wide and longing
Like those stars so far away they may already be dead
I am falling to that middle ground
With no end in sight
Strangled with the fear of just what might;
What might occur when I reach the end
And find that the falling just starts all over again
******************************

Sam, or rather Samantha as she had properly introduced her self to the waitress, had left the diner just after the mysterious older woman who had appeared with her business associates. She had been sitting on the queen sized bed attempting to watch the remainder of the never ending football games, however the reception was worse than she thought it would be. She switched it off and looked around the room, grimacing as she noted she should have brought a book with her or something. She had a few books with her in the car but she was not sure if she wanted to brave the cold to fetch them. The intermittent weather forecasts she had seen on the television had stated that a few people in the area might be snowed in but it was still early in the evening and the sun (from what she could tell) had just only begun to set.

Part of her used the excuse to look for a book as a chance to hunt through her belongings in the trunk for her very last pack of Clove cigarettes. She was trying to quit because she had heard that California was very anti-smoking and she figured it would be easy to give up the habit she had started just so that she could seem like she was rebelling in some way. At least the theory was that she could quit, it was not really boding well for her though.

Of course if she had wanted to make a real stand at being a rebel she could have told her parents that she was indeed a lesbian (as they secretly feared ever since her freshmen year of high school) and wallow in the pride of destroying their perfect vision of family. She could not do that though. She was afraid, not of being ridiculed and abandoned but of labeling herself for certain in their eyes, because once labeled there was no taking the label back (not that she thought she would stop finding women attractive but one can never say never). Once when she was five years old she had said she hated tomatoes and even though she was now eighteen and had learned to appreciate the red vegetable like fruit she was still branded as a tomato hater and had to fight at dinner to receive any on her plate. It was nice that her parents had once paid attention to her likes and dislikes and tremendously disappointing that one day it just seemed to stop.

With a profound sigh Sam, as she really liked to be called but introduced herself as Samantha out of pure habit and obligation to her mother who hated the nickname Sam or even Sammy, tugged on a sweater and hoped it would be enough for the short trip to the car as she really did not want to go through the trouble of putting on the heavy coat. As she exited her motel room she noted with some surprise that the older woman (she did not at first recognize the woman with her hair down) who had dined a chair away from her was standing outside smoking. She hated to say she found it odd, but it seemed that way to her, because the woman did not seem the type that would heed the tiny sign in the room that mediocurely stated that smoking was not allowed.

The air was cold, smelling of snow, dirt, and lingering softly the scent of the older woman's cigarette (it was actually a cigarillo but Sam could not tell the difference between the two) which was a richly smoked vanilla scent. The woman arched an eyebrow at her and then smiled vaguely as she puffed out a ring of smoke. Sam scrambled passed her down the walkway under the awning only to find her car quite buried under the snow and looking at her snowed in vehicle she wondered how it was that the rooms were not barred with snow as well. The answer was directly below her feet and above her head as she noticed that the walk had been sufficiently salted and small heaters that looked on the verge of a break down hung overhead (it was also because a snowplow had mistakenly drove through on the highway and dumped a few extra feet of snow into the parking lot not to mention the motel manager doing his duty to shovel the walkway on occasion). She fought the instinct to tap her foot on the ground with irritation as that was just a sure sign of how desperately she wanted a Clove, immediately forgetting that her true purpose was in fact to grab a book.

She trekked back towards her room and before she could reach it the older woman stood in front of her cigarette case open.

"You'll like it better than whatever brand of Clove you are currently buying," Indigo stated.

Sam stood there for a moment and then shook her head, "I'm trying to quit."

"Which is why you decided to brave the elements to go to your car for one?"

With that question in the air the girl reached over and took one of the vanilla cigarillos with a shrug pulled a lighter out of her pocket and lit it. She noted the disapproving glance from the older woman and did not know how she should respond.

"Matches are better but I suppose you use what you have."

"I suppose. Thank you for this. . ."

"Not a problem."

That point would have been the perfect place for either, who were feeling uneasy with the exchange, to have gone back into her room and not worry about a thing again until morning. However neither took the opportunity to run away and perhaps it was the loathing they felt in each others presence and perhaps it was just the way things were meant to be. The two stood there smoking in the cold though it did not seem to bother them as much as the silence and then without warning it happened.

"Samantha Miller," she held out her hand.

And the older woman accepted it with a grin and replied, "Indigo Guadalupe Maria Estrella Ramirez."

"Business trip?"

"Of course. . . but that's easy to guess, " it was here that Sam noted a touch of an accent obviously Hispanic that dipped in and out of existence as an accent will tend to do when it is trying to hide itself. Indigo continued, "Traveling alone isn't the wisest thing a girl your age should be doing but let me guess. . .you are going to-"

"California."

"You didn't let me guess, but then I was going to say-"

"New York."

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she puffed out another smoke ring before stating, "It's rude to interrupt."

"I know but I-"

"Knew I was going to be making some obvious guesses?"

"Um yes. . .," she did not know what could be said and then she stated softly, "You have very beautiful eyes."

Indigo arched an eyebrow and smirked while flicking the butt of her cigarillo into the snow.

Sam started to blush and stammered, "I mean don't get me wrong it's just that they're not something you see everyday. I mean you see eyes everyday but um. . . oh crap, "she huffed and then grimaced, "I'm um. . . sorry."

"Why?"

"Uh. . ."

"Samantha Miller, are you nervous?"

"A little."

"Why?"

Samantha had a few dozen answers floating in her head some of which were, "Your extremely gorgeous", "You are very intimidating", "You aren't exactly the snob you appear to be", "I really think I hate your guts though I don't know why", and of course, "Because I'm a dorky young adult who has never really had to interact or speak to an adult that is not an authority figure or my parents and I can barely speak to those people let alone someone so obviously wicked and beautiful as you are." She said none of those, she merely found the courage to shrug again and unceremoniously toss the remainder of her cigarillo into the snow as well turning to her room for a quick retreat.

"I see," the older woman muttered. "I don't suppose I can talk you into having a drink with me."

She turned around, "I'm under age."

"So? Do you not drink?"

"I do."

"And do you have anything pressing to keep your attention while you're here?"

"No."

"Then despite my being a stranger and just having warned you about traveling alone. . .What's to stop you from having a drink with me and playing some cards?"

"Nothing, but now that you mention the stranger thing, "she paused and considered her cowardice and then asked, "What do you have?"

"Scotch."

She winced.

"Or perhaps the vending machines near the office are actually stocked with cola of some sort."

Samantha shook her head and then said, "I don't know why but I guess I can concede to that."

"You concede because you are young, trusting, and bored. What more than boredom to bring people together?"

****************************
I'm here standing on the edge
Waiting to see the bottom of these depths
How far can you go before you really know
What your real self is
If I dive right in will I find it at the bottom
Or does it never end
I'm here standing on the edge
Looking for away around
I'd like so much to know
The person I am inside
Am I very kind
Am I not so nice
Where do I find me
Will you be kind enough to show me
Help to give me a hint
Find me away
Give me a push into this sea
***************************

It was amazing to watch the way in which Indigo managed to work things out in order to make the girl feel comfortable. The two women first sauntered over to the room where the limo driver was, politely asking if he'd care to play some cards and if he could perhaps please get the bottle of twenty-four year old scotch out of the car. Then the three meandered over to the restaurant where the cook was cleaning up for the night as Ada the waitress had already left for the evening. The cook welcomed the three in quietly and got out a few glasses two with ice, two without (Indigo and the cook liked their scotch neat while the driver preferred his over and Sam really didn't like scotch but figured trying it over would not be too bad). Everyone settled in around the table and a few quick snacks thrown in for good measure the four started to play cards.

Through this display of leadership and charm Sam discovered a few things about the woman she was still uneasy about. She learned that older woman was strong, confident and knew exactly who and what she was, making no apologies if she happened to come off brash or rude. The other thing she learned was that whatever flaws the older woman had were well hidden and easy to miss because of her bolder attributes and it made the girl curious to learn more and it made her wonder if perhaps being at least that observant said something about her own character.

The four were playing poker and the cook and the driver were nice enough to help Samantha learn a few of the basics. And as they played they chatted some about sports, the weather, what was up with Ada's beehive, and other random topics that tended to come up around a poker table between bluffs and bets of potato chips, crackers and Andes mints.

Two hours later the cook was up ten potato chips to Indigo's five saltine crackers and grinned at his fortunate luck.

"Alright, well I'm out of crackers, the kid is out, and Frank over there folded from the start," Indigo stated calmly motioning toward the driver as she said the name Frank. She took a breath and then continued, "So what can I throw in the pot to up the stakes and get you to throw down your cards?"

The cook grinned and asked, "Got a cigarette?"

"I have better."

She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her cigarette case and tossed in two of her vanilla cigarillos the cook nodded in approval and revealed his masterful hand. He had four kings. The older woman's eyes narrowed and she took a sip from her glass. Then she grinned and placed her cards on the table. The rest of the table looked on in utter admiration.

"No way," Sam said in disbelief, "that's a royal flush!"

"You better believe it kid. . . you may never see one again unless you have plans on becoming a heavy gambler."

"Well, ladies it was nice but I'm afraid after that kind of loss I'll just say good night," the cook said and got up from the table.

At this the rest of the card players gathered their things and prepared to leave. Frank the driver said a quick thank you to all and went to go sleep. Indigo let the cook have one of her cigarillos despite his losing and gathered her winnings in a paper bowl for apparent late night snaking.

The two women walked back towards their rooms slowly, and neither were tired enough to just go to sleep. They stopped just outside the doors to their rooms and looked at each other for a moment. Then Sam opened the door to her room and the older woman followed her inside with a slightly devious smirk set on her face. Indigo had no mind to do anything terribly wicked. She just wanted to talk to the girl and get a feel for her. She wanted to bestow some knowledge, and perhaps through the lesson feel a little better about herself.

The door closed softly and the night truly began.

***********************
I used to tell you
"Don't fall in love it's bad for love"
And you laughed because you didn't believe
But what was it you could say
You were too young and too bright and didn't know
And I was too old and acting too wise
This morning you left for some place warmer
Not L.A. or Baja
Not somewhere south and sweaty
No you went to where warmth truly lies
And that's in the prettiness of lies
The hollow sound of too many goodbyes
Don't you want to try again
Try to be young and free
Looking for a self that was always there
Looking for that thing that never had really disappeared
Looking for something warm
And where will you go now
Will you find it there in L.A
Will you find it there in the old Bay
Or the desert, or the suburbs
Ah but that's the price you pay
For falling in love
That's the penalty after the love is gone
You're left to shiver in the sun
And wonder what the hell went so very wrong
*****************************

"Indigo isn't a name you hear everyday," Samantha stated casually taking a seat on the corner of the bed and removing her sweater to reveal a baggy maroon T-shirt void of writing.

The older woman stood in wonder at the color scheme of the room but managed to say off handedly, "It is but against my father's protesting my mother insisted upon giving me the strongest name she could conceive of." She smiled and leaned against door, "Of course when I announced that I was a lesbian my father blamed that strong name."

"R-really?"

"Yes. It was an interesting year as I recall. All emotion with hardly a worth while stable action and then the summer arrived and then it was time to start my sophomore year and they didn't care anymore because what could they do," she paused, stepped towards the girl and quickly tapped a finger on the necklace Sam wore, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

She sighed, this was the very reason she did not care for the girl, the uncertainty. She leaned against the wall opposite the door and said rather flatly, "Do you're parents know you're gay?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's not important."

"Why is that exactly?"

"Because whether I tell them or not it doesn't change the fact that they would care only enough to kick me out and cut me off. . . and I'd rather just kick myself out and get it over with."

"You're afraid of them?"

"No, not them."

"Then you're afraid of yourself."

"Do you enjoy pointing out people's obvious flaws because you don't have any or because it keeps people from seeing the flaws you have?"

"Bright girl."

"What?"

"You got the answer right there; you're very bright. . .you have a knack for observation that is generally lacking in others...You, are like the cook, or Frank they see everything and hear everything."

Samantha shook her head, "I don't think I'm anything like that."

"Then what are you like Sam. . . you don't mind if I call you Sam do you?"

"I prefer being called Sam, and I'm. . . I'm-"

"Too young to know?"

"No. . . I'm not sure."

Indigo smirked and took a seat on the floor, "I think you know. . . Care for another game of cards?"

"Maybe."

"And a drink?"

"No. I'd like to keep my head."

"Very well then keep your head."

There was not any room really except for the bed and both were reluctant to conduct the game there, however they had little choice. Sam moved all the way back against the head board and Indigo sat adjacent to her next to the window where the bed and the wall met. Once the cards were shuffled they were placed in the open space between the two and both sat in silence for a while just staring at the comforter and the beginning of the new game. Finally Sam picked up the cards and began dealing them out.

"What shall we play for," she asked.

"Do we need to play for something?"

"Frank seemed to think that poker was useless unless there was something at stake. We could use your cigarillos or maybe some change?"

"We could, but. . ."

"What? You don't want to play for clothing do you?"

The older woman arched an eyebrow and the girl blushed.

"I didn't think so," Indigo muttered. "So let's play for information."

"What do you mean?"

"Like truth or dare with cards only there is no dare. For every hand you lose I'll ask you a question and you have to answer it honestly and vice versa."

Sam grimaced and chewed on the bottom of her lip before saying, "That hardly sounds fair to me."

"Life isn't fair as a general rule."

"Even to you?"

"Especially to me."

"Alright then. . .I guess we won't be able to raise the stakes any then."

"If you think you have a good enough hand to raise the stakes then think of something that will raise the stakes and give you more winnings."

"Hmm. . . okay. . . Who goes first?"

On the surface the game was harmless enough especially since the questions seemed to be limited to things that were not too personal. And both stayed relatively even until eventually both had hands that they did not think could lose so the stakes began to rise in an interesting way.

"You're bluffing," the older woman said firmly yellow eyes narrowing slightly and grin growing.

Sam shook her head.

"Okay then I'll see your question. . . What is it by the way?"

"First kiss," she replied and pulled her knees into her chest so as to better guard her hand. She looked out of the window and at the now blaring storm noting how odd it was that the neon sign of the motel was still blinking on and off to welcome travelers. She wondered briefly if she would really be able to leave in the morning or if she would be trapped there in the cold forever.

"I'll see your question and raise you an added question about your first date."

She smiled widely, "I call your first date question and raise you a question about your first time."

"Doing?"

"Make an educated guess."

The cockiness was a new addition to the now burgeoning personality that was Samantha Miller. Indigo had learned so much about the girl in just a few simple questions, her favorite color (it was red), her fondest memory (ice cream with her father when she was six) , the reason why she started smoking (rebellion, rebellion, rebellion), little things that added so much to the mystery of a stranger. And she too had shared with the girl odd little things but important things, things no one ever really asked, her favorite fruit (mangos), how many languages she spoke (she spoke three fluently English, Spanish, and Russian), why she was on business (to have a meeting and then fire about fifty people for a giant mistake made in her name that was never authorized). It was so easy to reveal things to each other. Strangers would never tell and it did not matter what a stranger thought of you, because strangers disappeared from life like snow at the call of morning. The connections would melt away and there would only be the experience left behind of something unusual shared. Something confessed that could not be said to anyone else out loud.

There was a danger of course because there was fine line to be obeyed in what questions were appropriate to ask and what questions bordered on something like flirtation. Some questions cut too deep, and opened avenues that could lead to something less forgettable than just being stuck together in a snow storm. The older woman saw the danger and her meeker side did not wish to continue. But her prideful side saw only the game and winning paying no mind to what increasing the stakes could mean, not understanding that she could very possibly lose even if she won.

Indigo waited patiently for the girl to accept and was shortly greeted with four aces laid out on the comforter. She shook her head and threw down the four twos shrugging with a light laugh that meant so much more than the girl realized.

"Nice play Sam. I suppose this means I have to answer all three questions now?"

"Of course."

"My first kiss was with Julia Brown in seventh grade and it wasn't supposed to count because we were just practicing. And of course the one that counted was the next day with some boy I don't even remember after a school dance."

"But you remembered her?"

"It's hard to forget firsts even if they aren't supposed to count. . .I think especially in some cases. My first date was at the movies in eighth grade with Tony Esperanza."

"Was it bad?"

"Not so very, just kid stuff, holding hands and watching the movie and nothing else."

"Okay and now-"

"Now that first time you are so very interested in, "she cracked a smile that was hardly amused, "Julia Brown was my best friend from grade school up to junior year in high school you must realize and we had been practicing on each other since seventh grade. The funny thing about practicing is how easy it was to get carried away and one evening when she was sleeping over at my house. . . well, we got very carried away."

"And?"

"And that's all you get out of me until you shuffle and deal out more cards Samantha Miller."

The cards were shuffled, the cards were dealt, and this time it was Sam who lost. She waited patiently for her question.

Indigo removed her sweater and then stated, "Well I like to get back at you and ask you about your first time but somehow-"

"You can't possibly think I'm still a virgin," Sam interrupted feeling completely insulted.

"Well. . ."

"I am not."

She shrugged, "Okay then let's hear about it. . .you didn't lose on purpose just so I could ask you this did you?"

"No." The girl shuddered at how much like a teenager she sounded. She took in a deep breath and said, "Edgar Price. It was the stupidest thing ever you know but we had both had too many cheap beers and we were really bored. . . So-"

"My, that is rather stupid."

"You could let me finish before insulting me. I know it was stupid. It was beyond moronic and we could never look at each other afterwards. . .but you know it was just like 'practice'."

An eyebrow arched, "How so?"

"Shuffle and deal lady, shuffle and deal."

*************************
It could be so very simple
To say just what I want
To have a little practice
And never see you again
Forget it ever happened
But know just in the back of my mind
That you'll be with me forever
Because I want to leave you behind
********************************

The game went on and the results were intriguing to say the least.

Indigo lost another hand and relayed the rest of her story. Her best friend from grade school ended up having to move over the summer just before their senior year, but in between that time the two ended up "practicing" a little more than they should have. And in that time Indigo just got things over with and came out to her parents but her friend remained firmly on the fence about the issue dating whoever she pleased and in the end just breaking a strong heart. Her name was what saved her. She had a strong name and so she let it just slide off her like water but she swore she would never be used in such away again. And she never was.

Then it was Sam's turn to lose.

She and Edgar had been odd acquaintances for a while before they finally became friends late in their junior year. Edgar as Sam put it was an outcast at school because he was a little overly effeminate and down right "flaming" when the mood struck him. She herself was neither here nor there as far as attractions were concerned and so the little experiment did very little except make her feel embarrassed. She was not popular at school and she was not an outcast, she just was. She was a face in the crowd and easily forgotten. No one really ever cared about her, so losing Edgar's friendship did not really bother her as much as it might have other wise. She had a feeling deep down things would never be the same after that and she was in fact right.

Shortly after the little experiment she began to hang out with a few of the cheerleaders (this seemed to make her parents very happy, especially her mother); the head cheerleader in particular was very interested in her. The reasons for this interest being made very clear one night under the bleachers during a football game when Mindy Reynolds head cheerleader and girlfriend of the basketball team's captain kissed her. It was a very deep and very powerful kiss. The kind of moment in one's life when the world stops and something, for once, seems to make sense and knowledge is gained. It was an epiphany and it was great, short lived but great.

And then Indigo lost to a full house with the question, "Have you met your true love yet?"

The older woman could not help but enjoy the naiveté of the question. It was so simply vague and so very powerful. The answer was of course "no", but it did not end there. Just after college she thought she was truly in love, she still stayed strong and distant but it had to be love. She would never admit it to anyone else but she knew she ruined it.

"I loved her so much that I made sure I pushed her so far away that she'd never want to return."

"That's…messed up."

"I know. . . shall I deal again?"

"No it's ok."

"And I so wanted to know the out come of Mindy the cheerleader."

"She decided she didn't like girls anymore and we graduated and that's it."

"Oh," and after a beat of long silence Indigo finally asked, "Why are you going to California?"

"Because it's an island. . .," she paused and looked over at the woman next to her. She was not so bad the older woman, she was everything she appeared to be with some very deep layers that were definitely not going to be breeched anytime soon, but nonetheless she was not so bad. Sam continued, "I mean I hear it's just different and warmer anyway."

"Florida is warmer and closer, but then you are right California is no utopia, it is not a definite oasis, but it can be a rather inviting mirage. Okay. . .ask me a question."

"Like what?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm in the mood to answer a question, so ask because no one on this planet will ever get the opportunity again."

She considered for along time and finally she came up with, "What are you most afraid of?"

The words and the sound seemed to gather at different times but when they finally caught up to each other Samantha Miller was genuinely surprised, and then suddenly not surprised at all. It made the whole evening make sense and there was something in her, a hidden thing that she did not know she had that fought its way up to her brain from her heart. It whispered of something strange, it offered a lesson, and wrapped it up neatly so better to present it.

"Are you tired yet?"

"No," the girl whispered, "Not at all tired."

"I'm getting a little tired."

Samantha scooted closer to the older woman, licking her lips slightly, biting at the corner of her lower lip the closer she got. Indigo turned to watch the approach, not flinching, ever waiting because here was what she wanted to show the girl. Here was who Samantha was, and the girl was a sweet young woman who still believed in goodness, who wanted some warmth, and who, though she tried to hide it, was really very powerful. And the power swept her under as she stared into ocean blue eyes that were fare more hypnotic than her own.

When the girl's lips met her own there was a thought that she should leave and go to her own room, but it faded away because in her room was nothing but the cold. So she let the girl press in further, she let herself lose. She would not be alone on that night. She would be safe and warm and falling into an embrace that was too young to really understand the scars a one night stand could leave behind. Scars that burrowed in deep and stayed like whispers and the lyrics to songs one hates but can not forget.

************************
There is ice on the windowpane
And ice in the bed
Ice along your heart
Ice trapping you and then
When the sun begins to hit
And the frost melts away
There are only water lines
The hope of escape
What you feel here
What you take
The things you had hoped to give
It's all just a lie
Promises never kept
The ice will melt
You'll leave me
The ice will melt
You'll never forget me
The ice will melt
And just to spite me
You'll always want me
************************

The road was clear all the way to California. She could not say she was very surprised, but then nothing could. She knew she would wake alone. She knew the limo would be gone. She expected the gift of a cigarette case full of cigarillos and few matches to tide her over. She wished she had not expected it. She wished for something like a movie ending where both of them would have met up later in some bar, but it was not to be, at least, not right at the moment. But as she drove down the highway with her music too loud, singing along to songs that were sappy and sad she hoped that one day she would meet the older woman again. She hoped she could return the cigarette case and find something special in yellow eyes with a swirl of light green.

Twenty miles to California and her future was a blank slate in front of her. Twenty miles from the state someone had called an island, because there was no other place like it, because that was where people went to live a dream, and maybe. . .just maybe. . . find out who they were along the way. Find out that they, like she, where the people they secretly suspected themselves of being and that maybe one day they would change. . .but really there would always be something that remained the same. The same as she was on that day twenty miles from a dream.

********************
And I am
I am wonderful
And I am
I am surprising
I am lost
I am lonely
I am stronger than you know
And I am
I am delirious
With pride and confidence
With something unforgettable
And sad and longing
And perfectly happy
Yes I am
I am
I am
****************************

The End.