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Flashing Lights by Anel Viz © Anel Viz
When we came out of the cinema the sun had set and they’d turned on the flashing lights on the marquee. One hardly noticed them, for the sky was still light and would remain so for about an hour. “So, what should we do next?” I asked Manny. It was Thursday of the last week of our Canadian vacation, and we’d have to allow a day and a half to drive back to St. Louis, a straight shot but 900 miles away. Manny glanced up at the marquee and said, “We haven’t seen the northern lights.” We had, but only faintly. To get a good look at them we’d have to drive quite a way out of the city, but it was a cloudless night. We might see the Pleiades meteor shower as well. “Let’s check the map,” I said. Driving in any direction would take us through one little town after the other, a lot darker than Winnipeg, for sure, but there’d still be street lights. To make it worth the long drive we ought to have pitch blackness. We could stop and get out of the car somewhere between towns, of course, but standing alongside an empty highway in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t be much fun. We decided to drive due north up the west side of the lake. A hundred miles would bring us into the Moose Creek Provincial Forest, and about another thirty to the tip of the peninsula that separated the southern end of the lake from the huge and wide open northern part. It would take a good two hours, probably more, but looking out over the lake we’d have an unobstructed view. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and see a manitou on the way,” I said. We didn’t regret going. Driving up, we could see the lights clearly through the windshield, but we kept on until we reached our destination. The air was chilly; we had to put on our sweaters. The silver reflection of the half moon shimmered on the surface of the water, and like a bridal veil flapping in the wind, the northern lights, tinted pink, yellow and pale blue, writhed and danced across a jet black sky studded with thousands of twinkling stars. We were the only human beings for miles around. Except for the quiet lapping of waves on the shore, a deathlike hush seemed to cover the entire earth. We sat on the hood of the car for an hour watching the display, shoulders and upper arms touching to keep warm, a hand on each other’s thigh. It was very romantic and must have given Manny ideas. He put his lips to my ear and whispered, “I’ve never been fucked in a car.” “You’re kidding!” “No, I really haven’t.” “That part I believe. I mean you’re kidding about us getting into the car me and fucking you there. It’s what you meant, isn’t it?” “Yeah. It doesn’t seem fair that all those college girls get to experience that, and I don’t. I want to find out what it’s like.” “Why not right here on the hood?” “Mosquitoes.” A pause. “Ryan...” “Yes?” “Did you ever fuck somebody in a car?” “Once. A college girl. It wasn’t what you’d call comfortable.” “But it was fun.” “Exciting. Someone could have caught us at it.” “Nobody will here.” “It’ll be cold.” “It’ll be hot.” We put the front passenger seat as far back as it would go and undressed from the waist down, leaving our sweaters on. We’d left a tube of K-Y in the glove box. Don’t ask me why. We spent a long time making out and sucking each other, which meant one of us squeezing into that little space in front of the dash. Then Manny spread his legs and rested his feet on the dashboard and I climbed on top of him, my bare feet pressed against the cold windshield and my hand clutching the back of the seat behind him. “Take it slow,” Manny said. “And steady.” Pounding away at breakneck speed would have been impossible anyway in that position. We kept our eyes shut and breathed heavily in rhythm with every thrust. Then came a tap on the glass. I opened my eyes and saw someone had aimed a flashlight through the windshield directly onto my bare ass. “Oh, shit!” I muttered. “What is it?” Manny asked, as the beam of light moved to the passenger side of the car, then slowly up to shine in our faces. Another tap on the window. I thought of the movie Dead Man Walking, where the rapist-murderer forces the couple out of their car. The flashlight turned away from us to illuminate a policeman’s badge. He tapped on the window again. I pushed open the car door. “You boys having fun?” he asked. What could we say? “I saw the American license plate and came over in case you needed help.” “We don’t.” “And I’m not going to offer anything. Sorry I interrupted you. You realize I could charge you with indecent exposure and having sex in public – my partner back in the car there would’ve – but I’m going to let you off. This place isn’t exactly public at two-thirty in the morning.” We apologized, and couldn’t thank him enough. “Now you boys finish up and get out of here. We’ll be back in about an hour, and I’d better find you gone.” Manny and I breathed a sigh of relief as we followed the beam of his flashlight moving along the path. It switched off some fifty yards away, the light came on in the police car when he opened the door, and we saw a burly hulk of a policeman sitting behind the wheel. Our officer said something to him, and they drove off. “Is what we’ve done so far good enough,” I asked, “or do I have to come, too? I’ve gone soft.” “So have I,” he said. “Let’s go back to Winnipeg.”
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