Trip

The sun was setting by the time Ted roared into New Haven on his 1984 Harley Electra-Glide. The cruiser, manufactured in his birth year, had served him well although there had been stretches of time when he hadn’t ridden at all. But there was nothing like it for crossing the country— US or Canada— in the spring.

Because he’d not given Orville and Edwina much notice of his intentions, he’d decided to spare them by delaying his arrival. He packed light, as always, the small luggage compartment stuffed with necessities like bedroll, underwear, books, laptop, and pot. He'd taken Canadian roads out of Vancouver through British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba, drinking in the scenery as eagerly as he'd done on his first journey west in 2004, and camping at some new spots. He'd looped above Lake Superior in Ontario, then plunged back into the States on US 75 between Lakes Michigan and Huron, stopping for two nights in Bay City for old time's sake. Then it was US 69 out of Flint, crossing back into Canada briefly. He'd managed to remember to reserve a cabin at Camp Eastman on Lake Ontario for that night, where he showered and trimmed his mustache, both activities long overdue.

He was here in Connecticut, seemingly out of his way, because this had felt like a good time to visit the Sunlight Solar Company, his chief supplier for a decade. His buddy there, Corey, was retiring. He’d met Corey in Oregon where Sunlight had their home office. Ted and Corey did business (and friendship) online after Corey transferred to New Haven. He’d have to get a hotel room for the night, Ted supposed, probably outside the city. It was late, and he now realized he hadn't given Corey a heads-up. But first, a meal and maybe a beer. Connecticut allowed recreational marijuana use now, but there were strict rules about WHERE you could smoke it.

The last time he’d been to New Haven, back in 2009, he’d found a place called Rudy’s that was old, dark, and cozy; his kind of cool without trying to be, and served great burgers, too. He’d picked up a guy there on his second visit to the bar, and still had memory-flashes all these years later. After some confusion in newly-designated one-way streets, Ted pulled up to where Rudy’s used to be, on Elm next to a Chinese restaurant. The funky bar had disappeared. Exhausted, having driven from Rochester that day, Ted was chagrined, and gestured rather wildly at the windows of the Chinese place. A waitress, probably, came out the door as if on cue. “Rudy’s moved to Chapel Street a dozen years ago,” the girl said, as if reciting a proverb, and then went back inside.

Placida did not go to bars very often. She was not supposed to drink, and she wasn’t drinking now; she was having cranberry juice and 7-Up and feeling sorry for herself. She’d kept the beard and bulky sweater on, almost defiantly. This was the first time she’d worn the “Placido Halbert” guise outside of her apartment. She actually felt more comfortable this way, less exposed (not that she made a habit of feeling vulnerable), and in fact, more attractive.

At her age, the weight was hard to keep off, and though she still had a pleasant face and only a few strands of gray in her brown hair, everything was now a bit saggy. She did NOT consciously subscribe to mainstream cultural values about looks (however susceptible she might be to Edwina, she thought wryly). She could tell herself that all day, but glancing around, she noticed that the only other people in the bar were young and fashionable, which had not been the case the last time she had gone to Rudy’s. It was vaguely a gay bar, but not really, not anymore. It was close to Yale, but what bar wasn’t? Yale was spread all over the city. She was happy to be out, but a cloud of defeat was on the horizon.

Then an unusual-looking man walked in.

— Macoff