Further Interpretations of Real-Life Events by Kevin Moffett Page B

T-shirt. He had a premonition of her doing the same thing fifty years from now, so familiar to each other they’d be strangers. He thought: there is so much and so little we don’t know about each other.
    B ack in the trailer, he was restless. More sex? They’d already had sex twice. Doing it again would be strictly remedial; it would diagnose their dissatisfaction. Instead he complained about the trailer, which was starting to seem like a decoration left out too long. The carpet was filthy. The trash can was filled with condom wrappers and used condoms. Tad threw away an uneaten orange to make the trash can look more domestic.
    Then he had an idea. In his wallet was a Drive Way business card with the phone number of Gar Floyd’s motel in Jacksonville. He found the card and dialed the number. After the clerk connected him to Gar Floyd’s room, it rang five times before someone on the other end picked up, fumbled the receiver, and said hello.
    Amy studied his expression. “Who is it?” she whispered.
    â€œGar Floyd?” Tad asked. Gar Floyd said yes tentatively, as if expecting bad news. He sounded nothing like Gar Floyd.
    â€œYou don’t know me,” Tad said, “but I’m driving your car to Florida. I wanted to tell you that I, that we’ve, been wondering about you. You spend time in a person’s car and you begin to wonder about him.”
    â€œAbort,” Amy said, waving her hands. “Abort.”
    Tad had forgotten why he originally wanted to call. Gar Floyd was clearing his throat, breathing roughly. What had he expected Gar Floyd to say? “Oh,” he said. “I thought you were calling from the hospital. My wife’s getting treatment. She’s sick.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that,” Tad said.
    â€œThey prescribed these sleeping pills and, ever since, I keep dreaming I’m back in the Air Force. I’m doing something wrong but no one will tell me what. That’s just what it was like.” He paused to catch his breath. “Listen, my wife’s not doing so well. What time is it where you are?”
    Tad looked at his watch and told him.
    â€œWell,” Gar Floyd said after a while, “how’s the car?”
    â€œIt’s great,” Tad said. “It’s a great car.”
    â€œThe transmission’s been rebuilt. The tires are brand-new.”
    â€œThe tires,” Tad said, “are unbelievable.” He felt his stomach tighten. “We shouldn’t have bothered you.”
    â€œWho’s there with you?”
    â€œAmy, my wife. We’re just married.” Telling him this, Tad remembered that this was what he’d called to tell him. He thought it would be funny to tell Gar Floyd about getting married. “We’re in Arizona.”
    Amy stared straight ahead, implacable, like a rigidly disciplined athlete.
    â€œWhat a great time,” Gar Floyd was saying. “Careless.”
    â€œSure,” Tad said. “We’re seeing all there is to see. Your car’s in good hands, that’s what I called to tell you. We’re checking all the fluids, using high octane. You’ll have it in a few days.”
    â€œI’ve got a rental now,” Gar Floyd said. “An Escort. It’s a lousy car. The wind blows it all over the road. What kind of car do you drive?”
    Tad drove an Escort. He didn’t say anything. He watched Amy flop down on the bed and thought about his lousy, beef-brown Escort and waited for Gar Floyd to ask another question.
    â€œYou woke me up,” Gar Floyd said. “The least you can do is talk to me.”
    Silence on both ends of the line, Tad in Arizona and Gar Floyd in Florida. Tad apologized again. He wished Gar Floyd and his wife well. He stressed the imminence of their arrival. Good-bye, he said. All right, Gar Floyd said.
    He sat next to Amy on the bed and patted her arm while she studied the ceiling. “Just