It was going to be my first time leaving home. Of course I didn’t know it at the time, but I would end up leaving home many times again over the coming years, but that first time was the most important. That’s the day you realize there’s no going back; for better or worse, you’re an adult.
We were determined to get going early that morning and try to get as much of the drive out of the way as possible, but those hopes were dashed when I had a blowout just outside of the Mississippi state line. “Great…” I thought to myself, “stuck on the interstate in Mississippi of all places.” Ironically, it was one of the tires I’d just bought that blew out. In New Orleans it was usually warm, even in the winter, but 30 miles later on the I-10, it was freezing. Adding insult to injury, it started raining as soon as I opened the door, and I cursed my infamous luck. By the time I got the spare on and found a town with a tire shop, it was noon, and we wouldn’t be on the road again until three. And that was just the start of a very long road trip with my Mother… but that’s a completely different story.
In the end, it took us two days to drive six hundred and fifty miles. Orlando was a vast city, much bigger and more complicated than the greater New Orleans area that I’d grown up around. We got lost for two hours before we found a hotel near the airport. We sat at a Bennigans across the street and talked about my future. Actually it was mostly her nagging me, but in reality she just wanted to be sure her first born was ready to be on his own. Earlier I had decided bringing her with me was a bad idea, as she screamed for me to put a coat on in the rain while I was changing the tire. But now, as the moment when I would put her on a plane bound for Louisiana came closer and closer, I was glad to have her there.
And then, an hour later she got on a shuttle to the airport. She asked me if I would be alright. I lied and said yes. She told me she loved me and kissed me goodbye; then, just like that, she was gone. I stood there as the shuttle disappeared in the distance, and realized that for the first time in my life, I was truly alone. For most kids, that would be a moment of glory, but I had never been much of a party animal, and at the age of twenty two, I was a little too old for my own good. The truth is I had no idea what to do with myself.
I decided to call the woman whom had somehow become the one I compared all others to. Despite her status as my measuring stick, we had just started talking again after a rather brutal falling out. Back then she had kicked me squarely out of her life, and it took a couple of years for those wounds to heal. As I lay on my hotel bed, I thought that she probably wasn’t the ideal person for me to call, but I didn’t have many options. There was something about Gina that was always comforting to me, she had a vicious wit, a killer smile, infectious laughter… and a nice rack. She had a way about her that made you feel better for being around her, and I knew that no matter what had gone on between us in the past, if there was any one voice that could make me feel less alone, it was hers. I let the phone ring for a few minutes, but when the voice mail picked up, I backed down, and hung up. The silence became even louder and I was even more depressed after my failed attempt at human contact.
I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t even anything on the television to watch. But then, as I flipped through endless channels, I stumbled upon pay-per-view. Bingo! It was time for an old depression stand-by; it was time to play slap the weasel! Unfortunately, by 2002, scrambled porn was a thing of the past, so I would have to pay for it. Normally that would have deterred me, but not that night. My hand and the free hotel baby oil on the sink were not to be denied. I walked, meek but determined, to the front desk. Unfortunately there was both a man and a woman behind the counter, so I had to wait it out reading a newspaper in the lobby until the girl left, because frankly I didn’t need her giving me that look just before I masturbated. Unlike most Catholics, I prefer my spankings guilt-free. As she walked away, I ambled up to the desk, looked the guy in the eyes and leaned in as though a drug deal were about to go down. I explained my situation to the guy, and with a knowing smile, he gave me “the nod” which told me that he understood my predicament and I made doubly sure that my Mother wouldn’t receive a credit card bill for Tit-anic. He set it up, and I was ready.
As I entered my room and closed the door, I promptly dropped my pants and hopped on the bed. I didn’t even bother taking my shirt off; it would have taken too long. In retrospect, I should have paced myself. As it turned out, pay-per-view porn was thirty dollars for three hours, made up of a string of random eight to fifteen minute blocks of pornographic clips. Thirty dollars for three hours. I was done abusing myself in about two minutes. There wasn’t even a shitty storyline for me to follow. I kept watching it just so I could feel like I got my thirty bucks worth. I couldn’t even give it another go, because, to be honest, the porn stars looked like back street hookers. Fortunately, I no longer felt depressed, I just felt stupid… and a little dirty.
I didn’t dwell on that fact for too long, though. To my surprise, Gina called me back. I told her about the previous forty eight hours and how alone I felt (I left out my shameful self congratulation a few minutes earlier). We talked for about ten minutes, and somehow, she made me feel better. I was a little sad when she said she had to get off the phone, but it did the trick. I slept well that night. I felt ready to move into my new home the next day.
About a month later, Mom called. “Did you rent a movie at the hotel? It’s on your credit card statement.” Shit. “Yeah… yeah I was bored so I rented a movie.”
“Which one?”
“… Pulp Fiction.”
