A Bit of Writing

I do love to write fiction, so I thought I'd put up an a bit of a short story I wrote for a college writing class.  I think it's pretty good, but I may be biased.           

            The Sangre de Cristo Mountains loomed large as I hurtled across the high plains of New Mexico.  I was glad to see them.  It had been too long since I had seen mountains.

            The road was lonely, but occasionally a car tore past.  Each time, I noted with satisfaction, the driver gazed at me with envy.  You get a lot of looks when you drive around in the work of art that is a Series 1 E-type Jaguar Roadster. 

            The sky was fading from the pink and orange of evening to the deep blue of night as I drove into a town nestled at the foot of the mountains.  Cimarron.  How southwestern.

            I was mildly disappointed when I pulled into the town’s bar that it was not made of adobe.  Many of the houses I had passed had been, and they just looked like they belonged. 

            I looked around the parking lot to see how worried I needed to be about my car getting stolen.  The one downside of owning an E-type.  I had no reason to worry, though.  Classic cars of every era were here, from a first-generation Mustang to the last generation of Corvette.  I was going to get by in this town just fine.

            The bar was a fairly large one, with tables for regular dining, some booths, a pool table and a couple of arcade machines in the back.  I immediately noticed that the jukebox was playing classic rock, a fantastic change from practically every other bar I’d been to.  I got tired of listening to, well, really any sort of music that bars played.  Always new stuff, and since I have the musical tastes of a 60-year-old man, I couldn’t stand any of it.

            “What can I get ya, son?” the barman asked as I sat down.

            “Some bourbon, please,” I said. 

            The barman gave me a good look.  I decided to return the favor.  He was in his mid-50’s, I’d guess, slightly balding and fairly tall.  “You’re new here, ain’t ya?” the man said as he got me my drink.  “Ain’t seen you here before.”

            “Maybe I’m just coming to the bar for the first time.”

            “No,” he shook his head.  “Everyone in this town comes here.  This is where everything happens.  This is where things get done.”

            “Must be a small town,” I said.

            “Or maybe I keep a good bar,” he suggested with an edge in his voice.

            “Calm down,” I grinned.  “This looks like a fine place.  And you’re right, I am new in town.  Just passing through.”

            “Where you headed?”

            “Nowhere.  I’m just driving until I stop feeling like it.”

            “Must be an awful drain of gas.  Unless you’re one of those queer types who drives them city-slicker cars.  Abominations, I say.  They got no soul.”

            I chuckled.  These really were my kind of people.  “No, I’m not one of those people.  I’m driving the Jag.”

            The barman glanced out the window and whistled in appreciation.  “An E-type?  That sure is a thing of beauty right there.  You must have quite a chunk of change if you’re driving ‘round in one of them.”

            “Not that much,” I said.  “That’s pretty much all I have right there.  A few bags and my Jag.”

            “How long you work on that one?” the man smiled.  “Got the nice rhyme and everything.”

            “Longer then it should have,” I admitted.  “So, what is there to do around here?  Anything worth the time of a man on the road?”

            “That depends.  We got a beautiful set of mountains here.  Other than that, we don’t got anything any other town don’t have.”

            I thought about it for a moment.  As much as I loved driving, something appealed to me about a walk in the mountains.  I had done a lot of hiking as a kid, and I suppose I still harbored a great love for it.  Maybe I just wanted to try a mode of transportation that wasn’t driving.  Just for a day.

            “You know, I think that I’ll take you up on those mountains,” I said.  “Are there any trails?  I don’t want to go cross-country unless I have to.”

            “There are some trails around, though to be honest, we usually just make our own way around if we need to go in the mountains.  Guess it’s just cause we live here,” the bartender said.

            “Exactly.  I don’t live here, so I’ll respect the mountains.  Where can a man spend the night in this town?  I can’t exactly sleep in my car.  Well, I mean, I can, but it’s not comfortable.”

            “No, probably wouldn’t be,” he said thoughtfully.  “I’ve got some rooms upstairs, and I’d be happy to let you rent one for a few days.  Usually I save them for people who get really drunk and can’t go back home, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

            “Thanks,” I said.  “I appreciate it.  I’ll take another shot of bourbon actually, if it’s not too much trouble.  I know I’ve been eating up your time here.”

            “Oh, no trouble at all.  And it’s still early too, so I can give you time.  In a couple hours though?  Forget it.  Actually, feel free to bring your bags up to one of the rooms.  Here, let me get you a key.”  He fumbled around behind the bar for a moment, then emerged with a key in hand.  “There you go.  Hope you enjoy it here.”