... Logan ...
Part o4
Overnight, the air conditioning had chilled Logan to the bone. When the sunlight crept across the floor to settle on his face he blinked awake.
His face felt puffy and sore, muscles worked over. Groaning, he rolled toward the edge of the bed, stood up and stumbled into the small bathroom. The muscles along his jaw line tightened visibly as he stepped to the mirror. Logan had the kind of face that made people do a double take. Tanned skin, long dark eyelashes over brown eyes so dark they almost seemed black. His eyes always looked so tired lately, red-rimmed and raw. He wiped the back of his hand across his full lips, "inviting", his last girlfriend had called them. Her comment had made him laugh and she'd been bitchy for about an hour. Looking in the mirror is hard. There's so much of his father in the reflection. Angular lines, dusting of freckles on his nose, the eyes (all his father's). He had no idea where to find his mother in face looking back at him. It had been so long that he was no longer sure if his memories of his mother were his or simply pieced together from stories his father had told him. He often found himself wondering if he would recognize her on the street or just brush right by her.
Logan ran the tap and splashed water on his face trying to wake up. A glance at his watch told him it was already past 10 am. He strode out of the bathroom and stared at the backpack still sitting where it must have fallen last night. He must have pushed it off the bed at some point. He shifted his weight and rubbed his forearm then swore under his breath. The backpack. He was terrified to even look in the damn thing. He'd no idea what his father had put in it and frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to explore it. Shaking slightly, he quickly picked up the backpack, opened the main zipper and grabbed a clean t-shirt. He pulled off the sleep-creased shirt he was wearing, stuffed it back in the bag and pulled the clean one over his head. The rest of the backpack could wait.
He should be on the road.
pick up the photo
Check out. Drive. Fill up truck. Eat. Stare at the sky. Check in. Have nightmares.
Check out. Drive. Eat. Drive. Drive. Eat. Throw-up. Sleep.
Check in. Drink to get numb. Have nightmares but manage not to remember most of them.
It's been almost a week before Logan realizes he's not had a single conversation with anyone since he backed out of his father's driveway. He's said words to people, sure, he's check in and out of cheap motels, ordered food, but he hasn't put sentences together. Sometimes, its past noon before he even uses his voice. His voice sound more gravelly and rough.
He just keeps driving.
story and words and photos Copyright Charlotte Kinzie 2009.
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