This Is Rapture, My Love: A Diary

(June 9th) I never much liked the highway. I’ve never quite had a cohesive relationship with asphalt. Although we are always as one. She is never cold, but sulfurous and warm. I am never quite stable, but she’s kept me standing so far. She’s gotten me where I must go.

Through various canals of carbonated soda and oil-drowned potato chips, I’ve made it here. My family, at home waiting for me in Boston. Montana is a beautiful place isn’t it? The vicious, hot anger is all washed away, like silt in the rain. Just running into the rocky gutters of mountain tributaries. I bet the birds can see me, huh?

This car has become the love of my life. This beautiful beige Volvo, I named her Vivian. She is so beautiful. Although I’ve littered in her a thousand times, with sugar coated wrappers and soda cans. Spilled whiskey and blood in her, all of the things that come to spill. Singing, I’ve tortured her. I’ve slept inside her, the comforts of her worn and tattered seats. Impressions made from miles of movement, although only in my seat. Being alone can make a man feel a little less than sane. Wouldn’t anyone feel the same?

I am a thief and she is my horse.

Take me away, fair-haired thoroughbred. You can’t share drinks with the yellow lines or the steering wheel. Just yourself. And I’ve shared thousands. Does a car ever feel it burning inside? If so, I’m so sorry my love. I’ve burned cigarettes into your face, scarred your beautiful plastic. My cold, beige love affair. We’ll be home soon.

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(June 10th) Now that this motel has eaten me alive, I can only look out of its mouth. Oh, how grand the mountains are, I parked Vivian with her eyes toward them. She will sleep more soundly than I ever have. She’s still radiating heat, I can feel her. Mechanical leeches ticking inside her gluttonous stomach. I feel horrible for the old gal. I’m just riding her to the end of the line, and then she will find a scrap yard all her own. I’m sorry girl, this drink is for you.

This whiskey is warm, my friend Jack. He’s the best friend a monster like me could hope for. I’ve left Carla and the kids, to travel these mountains. However beautiful they may be, I am a monster, a thief, an old, fat wolf. God forgive me.

(June 13th) I am not sweaty?

(June 14th) If an ice machine is supposed to be cold, than why does the one outside smell like gasoline? Maybe I imagined it, this ice tastes a lot like the smell that comes from the lawnmower. I wonder if Darla and the kids have kept the yard up, that beautiful green yard. With the dirty bird bath, oxymoronically sitting in the yard. A dirty, dirty bath. I wonder if Marla is eating dinner right now, checking the watch I bought her for Christmas. Watching the television for news of a salesman that just happened to be found in a Montana ditch. Well my diary, this salesman is going home.

(June 17th) My sales are done for the mountains, Montana is no longer my cage. But I did hear an animal outside the car last night, if it comes back, my revolver will be waiting. Probably a bobcat or a mountain lion. Now the trip home is closer than ever, one more state and I’ll be free.

RALPH, RALPH, MALPH, MALF, MALFUNCTION, JUNCTION!

(June 21st) This song ends with the word cellar. What a beautiful song I sing. It goes like this:

Cellar, I found you in the cellar

A beggar my dear, I killed a deer

I put it in the cellar, in the winter

And in the spring we’ll eat it all

I’ve been hurt my dear, a splinter

Pull it out in the winter, we’ll eat it all

Cellar, we’ll sleep in the cellar

Isn’t it beautiful, we can make it all disappear. Ship out and ship up. This tour of duty is almost over, only a few hours and I’ll be home free.

(June 29th) Only a few more hours and I’ll be home free. It takes longer than I thought to drive out of Montana, the mountains keep growing. The bright amber fields get longer and longer. I’ve named my revolver Red. Red likes to eat copper and gunpowder. He has six separate girlfriends, but he thinks one will leave him soon enough. Red doesn’t like me very much. I killed that deer, dear. Starla, my love, I’ll be home soon.

(December 24th) It’s Christmas Eve! Oh, how lucky I am to arrive home on Christmas Eve, only a few more minutes and I’ll be home, but first I have to stop at this motel and sleep some things off. Vivian needs a break and Red is getting annoyed with me. I am annoyed with myself as well. It’s not snowing in my home of Montana, but it’s cold. Oh how I love it here. There is no chimney in this room. 222, 222, room number 222. Six little bullets in room 222. Six.

(Christmas 25th) The fields are all covered in snow and it’s beautiful. The world is erasing itself. I have to get home. Red wants to have a discussion with me. I’ll be home so soon, honey. We’re going out into the field, Red and I. Our discussion should be short and to the point. I’ll be home so soon. Red says I have something inside my head, he says he needs to get it out. I’ll be home so soon.