Anthony Dluzak
2. The Showroom - Tacoma WA, February 2023
Six months to a year, maybe more - probably less.
The words from the specialist woke him every morning. They kept him up every night.
She spoke to him over the telephone, just two months ago. “Mr. Spataro, the results from the MRI suggest a brain abnormality. I would like to bring you in as soon as possible to run some more tests to be sure…” Since then the doctors concluded that he had inherited an untreatable disease.
And the divorce, the fucking nasty divorce. Silas wondered if the prognosis would have had any affect on the situation or not. It didn’t even matter…
It is what it is.
Rebecca was a fighter. She wasn’t going to budge for anything, and wanted everything. Her team of lawyers were good, and were uncovering things that would make Silas’ case very difficult to overcome, despite the pictures. Every time Silas thought he had a rocking left hook, she countered and followed with a flurry of combinations that left him dazed, pushed back in the corner. Pushover. Just like he always had been.
Silas was going to die soon. The doctors couldn’t tell him when or how. Couldn’t tell him much, except for symptoms to expect such as:
- Jerky, uncontrollable movements
- Difficulties chewing, swallowing or speaking
- Testicular atrophy
- Psychiatric disorders
- Sporadic cardiac failure
- Suicidal thoughts
They put him on pills. He was taking Tetrabenazine three times a day. And with the pills, he was warned, came other side effects:
- Dizziness
- Drooling
- Drowsiness
- Fatigue
- Nausea
- Stomach pain
- Vomiting
The heavy slap of reality and a deadline plummeted Silas’ mind into a whirlwind of thoughts, scenarios and uncertainties. If there was anytime in his life to stand up and do something, this was it. Silas concluded it was time, his time, and finalized his determination to get his kicks while he could. After all, what consequences would there be? As long as he could outrun them, the world could be his oyster. Rebecca wasn’t there to control his actions. Murray died long ago. The road was wide open. In his mind he began curating a list of things to do, to say and leave behind before he slipped to the other side. A carefully designed list of possibilities. Anything, everything and anyone. Before he croaked. Before he kicked.. kicked the bucket.
Silas had always wanted to travel. See America and all her glory and flaws. Meet her cultures and live. Adventure, like Wyatt in Easy Rider. Except, in his dream car. Something fast, something sexy, something with - personality… And there were so many:
- Ford Mustang
- Lamborghini Hurricane
- Porshe Cayman
- Ferrari Unica
- Jaguar F-Type
He test drove a Mazda Miata M5 last December. It was the first month he learned that he was going to die. At that point, he made an unconscious decision then he would live his life to the fullest, and he had no idea what that really meant, but he meant to do it how he wanted. Even if he didn’t know what that would be. Since, he had began making notes in his phone:
Bucket List.
Silas ordered another Purple Jesus from the waitress at the Fresh Vibes Tavern. She was in her 40s and rocked a slender waist accentuated with her hippy-like faux-leather crop top and low cut jeans. Hot Bummer Summer from Blackbear blared over the vintage Cerwin-Vegas positioned in the corners. The bar was busy for a Tuesday. It was dark inside, and heavily draped with muted yellows, crimson and purple fabric. Almost a Morroccan style with its cushioned booths and vibrant lanterns overhead. Even the smell from the food was exotic and spicy. The music managed to get a couple of younger ladies and men on the dance floor, gyrating closely together. Silas returned to the table with his drink and returned his search on his phone for automobiles. James was at his side, wearing a pinstripe gray suit, powder blue button up shirt and a loosened yellow tie. He smoothed over his perfect dark hair and smiled at two nearby women fixated on taking selfies of themselves and their colorful cocktails.
“If you really want to ride free, you get a motorcycle. The wind through your hair and the heat of the engine directly below you. Hell on fuckin’ wheels,” James declared, turning his attention away from the ladies and their fishnet stockings.
Silas considered the suggestion for a moment before responding in the safe manner that he usually directed. “Yeah, but the cold. The rain. I need something a little more - climate controlled.”
James gave a wry smile, “then a nice comfortable RV? I can see it now - you on the road pushing it up to 45 with your hand out the window signaling the row of cars behind you to pass. Super hot, very sensible.”
“Comedian. Real comedian… you know, what? You can go and…” He stopped. Silas found something.
The car.
It was an instant attraction - almost, infatuation. An attraction that somehow felt like looking at the waitress, or the sweating female bodies singing along, “fuck you.” It made his soul drop. Like an answer to a question that always eluded you. He couldn’t find the words to express and instead turned the screen to James.
“Oh yeah, that’s nice. Kinda small. Not too expensive. I guess it’s ok. What do the reviews say?"
It didn’t matter. Silas drained his too-strong beverage, called the number to set an appointment and found himself in the dealership the next morning.
228 horses powered the 2.4 liter 4 cylinder automobile. Her curves were smooth, delicate, aerodynamic and suited to cut through the wind at high speeds. Her long hood coupled with a short rear deck highlighted her feminine and aggressive nature. Naturally aspirated, like they should be.
Her name was Camilla.
The first time Silas Spataro took in her beauty he was captivated, practically hypnotized. Somehow, it reminded him of the first day of 8th grade when he first put eyes on Lydia VonHagen. Nordic red-head, 5’7”, and far taller than Silas. She was decked out in a gray stonewashed Guess mini-skirt, and a tight violet tank top. Her cheap earrings were hoops big enough for him to jump through, and he would have if she had merely suggested.
And she smiled right at him.
He dropped everything he had within - his stomach, his lungs, his heart… His balls. Silas looked down, and she never smiled at him ever again after that. Just one of the many lost opportunities that Silas dealt with throughout life that he just accepted some people get. The cards you are dealt, and always fold.
Fate.
But as his heels clicked upon the polished cloudy marble floors,
something
some type of feeling washed upon him. Something - luring.
He stepped around the 18” starburst alloyed wheels and attempted to open the door of the steel colored machine. The moment he touched her it was electricity. Sharp and ninja-quick pain. Another immediate rejection from his sloppy advances… This was different from Lydia, and all the other girls when Silas couldn’t overcome his shyness, anxiety. This time, he didn’t look away: he looked right at her, smiling.
A buried, smoldering confidence emerged inside him. The door opened with a hesitance. Resistant to a strangers touch. Shy, coy and looking for a chase. But once inside, she was… warm, welcoming. Silas felt like the seat had been fitted just for him. A new-car interior smell contributed with murky sensations that crept upon Silas. He took a moment to take in the headiness before he pressed the ignition button.
The sound of her coming alive was that of a playful kitten. Eager to pounce upon the open road with reckless abandon and free spirit. Eager to…
The digital dashboard display spun across with the red logo of the machine: GR86.
She was pornography on wheels.
The salesperson could practically smell blood in the air as he smirked. “Whadya think?”
Silas couldn’t hear him over his own pounding heartbeat and the purr of her idle. Camilla was begging. Begging to get out of the cold soulless showroom. A room stuffed with other, lesser machines with equally no soul who sat like mindless cattle ready to be sold and sent off to slaughter.
With a grip firm on the steering column, Silas answered. “I think… I would like to take her out for a dance.”
(I thought you would never ask.)
“The name’s Jenson.” His smirk had turned into a full-fledged shit-eating grin with an outstretched hand while stepping into the passenger seat. “Michael Jenson.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve driven a stick,” Silas admitted, “I’m not even sure I’ll remember how.” He slowly let out the clutch and pushed the gas. Camilla moved forward easily, as though Silas had been driving her already for years. Somehow, it was a moment of exhilaration. A moment of freedom.
A moment Silas had forgotten was lacking in his life.
“Looks like you got it to me,” Michael smiled as he pointed the direction out of the lot.
Orange parted the gray in the sky, giving way to sunlight as Silas turned right onto South Tacoma Way. Rain had come down roughly an hour or two before, making the asphalt slick with rising oil. Regardless, he shifted into the next gear and pounded a little more gas. The machine lurched back harder than expected and went through the yellow light of the busy intersection.
Jenson began going over the features and electronics of the car, pointing out various safety and driving functions, proudly smiling the whole time of his profound knowledge and sure sale. But Michael might as well been speaking to the bathroom sink. Silas heard none of it. Charlie Brown adult trumpet noise. The only thing that he could hear was the engine and the sound of the road.
Driving.
Before Silas knew it. He was back at the dealership, signing form after form and moving funds from his savings account to his checking.
There were some thoughts that Silas couldn’t block.
- Rebecca
- Divorce
- Responsibility.
And one more thought that overcame them all: Freedom.