Snowed In: Bar and Joey

Snowed In: Bar and Joey By R.W. Clinger “You’re alive,” I tell my best friend, Kelvin Foxford, sitting next to him in his BMW X5’s front seat. Blood creases his forehead where it smacked off the steering wheel because he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt during the car accident. “Where are we? What happened?” he mumbles, sounding groggy, almost drunk. “Closer to Erie Lake than Pittsburgh. Outside a little town called Frozentoe. We slid on some ice, and your BMW crashed into a snowdrift. Some damage is done to the car. It might not be drivable, but the engine is still running. Thank God we’re both alive.” He gently shakes his head, confused. “What day and year is it, Joey?” “You tell me.” I want to learn if he has brain damage or a minor concussion, something critical. Although this is useless information since there probably isn’t a hospital or medical facility around for the next ten to fifteen miles. “I don’t know. Why do you think I asked you?” “January 21. It’s 2019.” “Is that asshole Trump still president?” Kel is always up for insulting our president, which tells me he’s fine, perfectly unharmed. I roll my eyes. “Unfortunately.” I hold up two fingers in front of his face. “What do you see?” He laughs. “Two little d***s. They’re the same size as yours. Are you going to have a threesome?” “Good to know you still have your sense of humor, even if you’re brain dead.” His right hand finds his forehead. “I’m bleeding to death. Call 911. I need a hospital. There’s so much blood. You know how I hate blood.” “You’re being dramatic. It’s just a little cut. Nothing shocking.” He groans. “I’m an Academy Award winner, don’t forget.” Kelvin Brian Foxford isn’t, but he’s always wanted to be. Truth is, he’s just a local Pittsburgh actor who does car commercials and other acting gigs in his spare time. When he’s not acting, he works at a gym. “Remember my winning role with Emily Blunt?” I roll my eyes again. “How have I put up with you as my best friend? I should have ditched you a dozen years ago.” He finds napkins in the plastic console between us. “It’s never a dull moment with me, that’s why. I’m Batman with some queer in me.” He chuckles, dabbing napkins to his forehead. “You should see my balls. They’re superhero steel and unbreakable.” “Trust me, I don’t want to see your balls. Thanks for the opportunity, though.” I try my cellphone. No signal. No bars. Nothing. “There’s no cellular connection,” I inform him. “And it’s still snowing.” White layers of thick snow blow down from the heavens. Wind sounds as if it scratches against the vehicle’s expensive metal. The temperature inside the car begins to promptly drop. “We’re f*****g stupid, Joey. Once it started snowing, we should have stayed in Pittsburgh. This was a crazy thing to do.” He’s right. But Nelson Quest, our mutual friend, is having a bachelor’s party tomorrow night at The Dude Ranch, a queer bar in downtown Erie, next to the lake. Lots of alcohol. Kitty Kat Meow, the drag queen, is supposed to sing with a slew of male strippers. Rumor has it, there will be three hustlers to do whatever with, and a back room where God-only-knows what will happen among naked men. We’re on the guest list. And Kel just happens to be his best man. There’s no way we can’t show up for the function. This is why we decided to leave the city during the heavy snowstorm. If we don’t attend the party, we both know it will be a sure slap to Nelson’s face. The BMW dies. Its engine abruptly cuts off. The lights are buried in the snowdrift, semi-illuminating the white ice and powder. Kel tries the engine. “The car won’t start,” he says, disgusted. “Of course, it won’t start. Half the engine is in the snow. We hit a sheet of ice and then the snowdrift, going twenty miles per hour.” He lets out a roaring explicative and slams a palm against the steering wheel. “We’re going to freeze to death in this car! The sun is dropping, and so is the temperature. We’ll be dead in just a few hours.” Kel’s not an angry guy. He honestly can’t be because he works with the public as a weight trainer at a private gym called Battle On. I can say this since we’ve been friends for the last dozen years. He rarely, if ever, becomes upset. Truth is, I think he’s far too handsome to become irate, even when he tries. He’s bulky with lots of muscle, sports a brown crew cut, and has green eyes any man can willingly fall into, and for. At thirty-nine, six-one, just over 160 pounds of chiseled meat, and one year older than me, Kel’s relationships haven’t worked out in the past. Mostly, he moves from one man and bed to the next, uncommitted. I don’t think any man can hold him down. If one does, though, it’s the right guy for Kel, his soul mate. We’re not boyfriends, although most people think we are when we’re together. Instead, we fall into the category of Just Friends. There aren’t any fringe benefits, dishonesty, or betrayal. We sometimes sleep together but not intimately, crashing whenever necessary during our travels. Usually, it happens when we drink too much at parties or go camping. It’s back to back stuff, pure innocence. Besides, I’m not Kel’s type, and he’s certainly not mine. Case closed. I can say there’s almost always drama with the man since Kel sometimes likes to be the center of attention. It follows him around like a dog. He’s loud, somewhat obnoxious, but fun. Kel’s a good friend. Someone I always want at my side. Without his dramatic scenes, life will be dull. Case closed tighter. Enough about Kel, though. Let’s get back to our situation in his BMW: he’s right about freezing to death. It’s shortly after two o’clock in the afternoon, and we don’t stand a chance of surviving through the night if we can’t find shelter. I’d say we have an hour to two hours left in the car’s heat. Any longer and we’ll turn into icemen. In the meantime, as we slowly turn into human ice cubes, I take control of the situation. I find him more napkins in the glove compartment for his bleeding forehead. Honestly, the cut is minor, and it’s already stopped bleeding, but more napkins will calm the man down. I tell him, “I saw a bed and breakfast about a quarter mile back.” “The castle thing?” I nod. “That’s it. I say we close up shop here and make our way there. Even if they don’t have rooms for us, we can stay warm in their foyer. Maybe they will give us a coffee to get warm.” “Whiskey sounds better.” “I agree.” He looks out the side windows and studies the thick and blowing snow, concerned about the blizzard. “It’s a tundra outside this car. You think we’ll make it to the bed and breakfast?” “I do. We might have frostbite feet when we get to the castle, but at least we’ll live through the night.” He agrees with me. We shake on it. And before I realize it, we have our winter jackets on, gloves, hats, and gather our single bags from the trunk, ready for our unexpected trek through the bitter snow, heading to the bed and breakfast. * * * * I admit, it’s deep and pissed off cold that I’ve never felt before in my life. And Kel agrees with me. The trek becomes fierce as snow and ice rip into our bare faces, sting our cheeks, and attempt to push us over. Torrents of wicked wind force itself into us, making it difficult to walk through the almost knee-high snow. All I can think about is one of the wintry scenes in The Thing, a movie I watched twenty or more times as a kid. The flick blew me away as a boy. Loved it. And still like it today. One of my favorites. Kel’s on my right side. He yells something I can’t hear because of the wind. I simply nod, responding, but I have no idea what I’m answering. Side by side, we trudge through the snow as the January tempest abuses us. We become victims to its fury, icy puppets. Our movements are snail-like. We huff, and our faces turn a blistering red. Crusts of ice form on our eyebrows and eyelashes. Again, Kel yells something to me, but I can only hear the words rough, bitter, and something that sounds like onion, but probably isn’t. I’m not surprised when he closes the space between us and yells at me, “I’m Elsa in Frozen!” “You’re more like Olaf!” Karma kicks me in the ass for being mean to him. I lose my balance and fall face first into the snow. My cheeks, nose, eyes, and neck become plastered in a chilly and wet mask. I’m a little surprised that Kel/Elsa helps me up. He yanks on one of my arms and pulls me out of the hump of snow. In the process, he shakes me and yells/acts, “Stay with me, man! I don’t want to lose you now! No man will be left behind! We have to stick together!” I give him credit. For as shitty the situation is, he’s positive. Or he’s just a boy in a man’s body, being immature, as usual. Who knows? Upright once again, we cling to each other with our free arms, entwining them together. Slowly, we continue our trek as inexperienced Eskimos and battle nature to the best of our abilities, having forgotten our days in Boy Scouts and basic survival skills. * * * * The icy, snow-covered castle in the distance is a mirage. Neither of us can believe it’s real. Not the arrow loops, the ramparts, and two stone towers on either side of the three-floor structure. Not the keep, gatehouse at its front, or its many pinnacles. We’re hallucinating because of the cold, brain-frozen. Or we’re back in Pittsburgh, inside my cozy Tudor, and watching the 1956 epic Dr. Zhivago on my seventy-five-inch flat-screen. But the castle is real. Everything about it. Including the basketball-size lion head doorknockers on the massive, wooden, and arched medieval doors. It’s Kel who bangs the icy-golden semi-circle hanging out of one the lions’ mouths. Nothing sounds, though, because of the snowstorm around us, deadening the noise. So what does he do? Appropriately, he bangs the doorknocker again, maybe a half dozen times, maybe a dozen or more. Lots. We wait…wait…wait. Kel bangs the doorknocker five more times, impatient and freezing his so-called steel balls off. Just as he’s about to bang the knocker a sixth time, the right door opens, yellow light pushes out, and Slender Man appears. I’m talking almost eight feet tall, pitted face, long chin, and all bones from feet to head. Scary as s**t. Haunting. A child’s worst dreams come true. Slender Man doesn’t say anything because Kel prattles, “We’re freezing out here. Our car broke down somewhere outside town. Can we come in and get some heat? We’re going to die out here if we can’t.” Slender Man steps aside. Unemotionally and in a monotone voice, he says, “Welcome to the Foreboding Castle Bed and Breakfast. I do hope the two of you have a pleasant stay.” * * * * Kel and I step inside the castle. A gatehouse structure greets us: office door to the right; long and narrow hallway straight ahead; bathroom door to the left. Clean. Smells like honey tea. A lot of diamond patterns. A high ceiling for Slender Man to easily navigate through. Navy and dark blue walls accented in faux, sparkling diamonds are somewhat handsome. Numerous Oriental rugs look real, not like the fake ones from China Town in New York City I have personally seen and purchased for my house in the city. Slender Man shadows us. “Will you two gentlemen be spending the night here at the Foreboding Castle?” Kel and I answer in unison, “Yes.” “Your first and last names, please.” We tell him, happy to oblige since we’re on the verge of frostbite. “I’m sure we have one or two rooms available. The castle is filling up quickly because of the storm.” “Two rooms,” I tell our host, who just happens to be dressed like a butler: black tails, black bowtie, embroidered towel draped over his right arm. “As you wish, Sir Joey,” he says, nodding. “Your teeth are chattering. Please, leave your coats and bags here in the entryway and enjoy yourselves in the sitting room. It’s the second room on the right. Warm drinks and a fire await you. There are other guests there to mingle with. I will see that your belongings are kindly and carefully taken to your rooms on the third floor. I do believe the Prince and Princess rooms are still available for the night.” As Kel leads us through the long hallway, into the remaining splendors of the castle, he says to Slender Man, “Thanks for letting us crash here tonight. And please give me the Prince room. My princess days are long over.”