#scribbled this after a busy day of lots of moving things into storage and hauling boxes around

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

rough day...

[litwitlady]

When You Go, Take Me With You

On a warm July morning, Thomas Mann – not his real name, mind you – finds himself hauling ass down 285, praying that the airstream doesn’t come unhitched. Tommy has spent the last 11 months in Santa Fe grifting seniors in assisted living facilities out of their hard-earned nest eggs. But someone’s greedy little grandson finally noticed his grandmother’s savings dwindling away and called the authorities. He’s been riding hard all night and can’t remember the last time he ate. But he’s got a rap sheet three pages long and knows if he gets caught, he’ll never see the light of day again.

Eventually, his stomach wears him down, though, and he stops in Roswell at a kitschy little diner he hopes he can disappear into long enough to satisfy his basic needs. Halfway through his cheese fries, three sheriff’s deputies walk in and as they are chatting with the waitress at the counter, Tommy sneaks out and takes the scenic route back towards his pickup. He can’t really say he’s much surprised to find the actual Sheriff knocking on the airstream’s door. Knowing he’s lost this battle, he decides to cut his losses and run. The old Ford pickup is eventually auctioned off, but the airstream ends up in the impound lot collecting dust for the next year.

And then one day Michael Guerin accidentally illegally parks his truck on the Long farm where he promptly passes out drunk across the bench seat. Daddy Long calls the Sheriff and Michael’s arrested. Again. Max bails him out and drives him over to the Chavez County impound lot to collect his truck. And that’s where Michael Guerin falls in love for the second time in his life. The shiny, silver airstream gleams in the morning sunlight and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. Not in a long while, anyway. He convinces Max to bargain with the county in order to buy the airstream for him. Michael knows they will laugh him out of the precinct, but Max is one of their own. He parts ways with every single penny he’s ever made, but he’s rewarded with the first permanent roof he’s ever had.

Not that Michael expects the trailer to be a permanent thing. After all, no home has ever been forever. Most haven’t lasted longer than a year or so. Besides his truck, of course. The mere idea that the airstream is mobile proves the impermanence of the situation. He can flit from place to ungodly place without settling down with any actual intent. There’s beauty in the nomadic nature of it all. Mostly, he doesn’t have to worry about being rained on any longer or crashing on Isobel’s sofa or cuddling up with Sanders’ dog. So, he’s happy. Content. Proud, even.

The trailer is cramped. The engine is shit. And the toilet is literally two feet from where he lays his head at night. How he convinces any of his hookups to climb into that tiny bed with him is anyone’s guess. There’s been more than one conquest sent home with multiple bruises. Once he burns a piece of toast so badly that he can’t sleep inside for a week. There’s no storage, the floor is lopsided, and Isobel refuses to step inside for two whole years. But hey, nothing’s perfect.

After a year together, Michael and the airstream find a balance that works for them. He covers the windows with old newspaper, adapts to being very, very tidy, and sleeps outside when the claustrophobia sets in. He even fashions a front patio out of some old oak pallets he finds in the junkyard. In return, the trailer gives him privacy, a sense of autonomy, and a place to bring Alex Manes when he returns from his first tour overseas. And every tour after that.

Not that he was looking to bring Alex back to his place, of course. He hadn’t even known Alex was back. And then suddenly, there he is. Laughing with Arturo in the Crashdown. Michael hardly recognizes him with the regulation haircut and newly lean body. He tells himself to walk away, but the universe has other ideas. Alex spots him and his whole face lights up. No one has ever looked at Michael like that and he’s lost all over again.

Over the next decade, the airstream begins to collect memories. Isobel blowing the door open and taking her first steps inside to shout at him that she’s engaged. Max showing up at 3 am like clockwork every year on Liz Ortecho’s birthday because he’s smashed and doesn’t want to hear Iz’s lectures. The Sheriff’s random visits for one reason or another; he suspects she’s spying on him. The brief time he lets an old, senior dog share his space. There’s still dog hair in the many nooks and crannies.

And then there’s Alex.

He’s everywhere - in every corner, every empty inch of space – filling up the entire trailer. Sprawled naked across the narrow bed, one long, gorgeous leg hanging off the side. Standing over the small stove laughing as Michael teaches him how to make the perfect omelet. Two old Air Force t-shirts stashed deep in his closet that Michael will swear up and down he doesn’t know exist. The silly little cartoon of a cowboy he’s scribbled on every single yellowed newspaper taped to the windows. And the one solitary heart drawn in permanent ink right above Michael’s pillow. He’ll never admit how many times he’s traced that doodle and prayed that Alex’s heart is still beating.

Not every memory is happy, however. He and Alex have always fought as hard as they’ve loved. How many times Alex has stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoing off the trailer’s tinny walls, door hinges growing whinier as the years go by. Tears shed in anger and in desperate sadness every time the Air Force calls him back to some violent conflict a world away. Damn near feral sex fucked out through those same tears. The sun rising over two beaten, broken hearts the next morning. Another goodbye. Another lonely year stretching out into the desert wasteland. And suddenly the airstream feels suffocating and enduring. Set in stone and unmovable as Alex walks away one more time.

In the in-between times, Michael nurses his bruised heart out on Foster’s Ranch, punishing his body with grueling manual labor. He settles the trailer into an anonymous patch of dust and scrub brush. He begins to collect various trailer accoutrement. First, a rusted, used patio set he grabs off someone’s teetering trash pile. Next, a ‘free parking’ sign he finds abandoned on the side of Route 60. On Alex’s next leave, he’ll mark out the ‘free’ and write ‘no’ in its place. Michael will try hard not to overthink the implication. Isobel says he’s nesting, jokes that he should hang up a cross-stitched ‘Home Sweet Home’. Michael begins to panic.

At the end of ten years, he gives up. The airstream is home. There’s no point in denying the most basic fact of his existence any longer. The impermanent is now permanent. He flicks off the tin bucket and then lovingly wipes away some mud caked on the tire well. Love/hate, defined.

He returns to the trailer after another stint in the drunk tank (a home away from home, if you will) to find a uniformed Alex Manes knocking on his door. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised to find him there – Isobel, after all, had been the one to organize his hero’s parade down Main Street. But it’s been two years with no contact – the longest they’ve ever gone – and so when Alex turns to meet his eyes, the breath is knocked right out of him. So begins another cycle of fight or flight. The airstream will play centerstage. He can almost hear the aging trailer sigh.

But this time the cycle ends differently. Michael moves the airstream into the Wild Pony’s parking lot, shocking everyone. Ostensibly to keep Maria DeLuca safe. But really just to be near her energy, her spirit, her laughter. He hopes to love her. He wants to be good for someone, goddammit. But deep down he’s worried he never will be. That he’s about as solid and steady as his home on wheels. Good enough for a little while, but never long enough to last. Always ready to roll off a cliff with the slightest push.  

He hates when he’s right.

Maria breaks up with him in a hospital room. The next night he meticulously searches the airstream for anything she might have left behind. A shoe, a bra, some lipstick. But there’s nothing and he feels like the trailer is out to get him, shoving those two old Air Force t-shirts in his face. The tiny, scribbled cowboys serenading him with derisive laughter. The black heart mocking him. And Michael can’t take it anymore. He slams the airstream’s door shut, nearly knocking it off its stupid creaky hinges and calls Isobel, all but demanding she meet him at the Pony. He needs a drink. Maybe several. And a shoulder to brood on. Perhaps he should call Max instead.

Michael doesn’t expect open mic night. He doesn’t expect Alex Manes and his dumb angel voice. He doesn’t expect to be confronted with the one answer he’s always wanted. But home is a tricky business. Especially for an alien stranded in the foster care system on the wrong planet. As Alex sings his song – asking Michael to come home – everything becomes crystal clear. And Michael tries to telepathically tell the airstream to go fuck itself. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

Because here’s the thing. Home can be a person.

The answer has always been that easy and that impossible. And the airstream has always known. Watching all these years as the two of them danced around each other. The ultimate grift. The longest con job this side of the Milky Way. Michael Guerin has been played, marked, and left wanting. His genius brain duped and cheated. The airstream has never been more than a shit engine and lopsided floors.

After Michael leaves the Pony that night, he moves in with Isobel. And he goes to work. On himself – AA meetings, college classes, mending all his relationships with Max, with Maria. With Alex. And on the airstream – gutting the inside and converting the space into an admittedly revolutionary eco-friendly garden greenhouse.

Once the project is finished, he attaches the toe hitch to his Chevy and heads east until he pulls into the Chavez County Children’s Home. The director meets him outside and shakes his hand with tears in her eyes. Michael walks her and several of the children through the garden, excitedly explaining all the vegetables and flowers he’s planted. Isobel arrives to take pictures for the local paper and secretly shed several of her own tears. She watches Michael happily playing with all the kids and teaching them the wonders of composting. Soon, he gives her a kiss on the cheek and climbs back into his truck. He’s got one final stop to make.

As he drives through the center of Roswell, something swells in Michael’s chest. He knows this place so well – has been arrested on nearly every corner. The Crashdown has always welcomed him with a warm meal and silly antennae. New Roswell High – with all its memories, good and bad. The UFO Emporium – or what was the UFO Emporium – with its fake alien displays and empty corners perfect for kissing sweet emo boys with the biggest of hearts. Of all the places to crash land, Roswell hasn’t turned out so bad. It’s truly a stunning conclusion.

When he arrives at his destination, he pulls into the driveway next to Alex’s green Explorer, grabs his two duffel bags, and heads to the front door. He opens the lock with his key and shouts to Alex that he’s home.