Durant
Travis Tyler
We were in Durant, near the casino, when Jodi told me. I was surprised we made it to Oklahoma without the issue coming up.
“You’re taking my name,” Jodi said.
“Okay,” I said
She told me It’s not some feminist thing. I said I believed her. “I’m really not trying to make a point,” she said.
“Okay.”
“I promise I’m not trying to take away your manhood.” I said I believed her again. “It’s just your name.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how you made it this far with a name like that.” I told her I didn’t either.
The parking lot was fuller than I expected. We were drifting through a canyon of huge trucks. Rams and F-250s dwarfed my Volvo. Eventually, we accepted we’d have to walk from the overflow lot. We drove into a yellow and brown field where more pickups were parked. I imagined the tall dead grass brushing the undercarriage of my car, inches away from my bare feet.
“Is someone performing here?” I said.
“What could your parents have been thinking?” Jodi said. I told her I didn’t know. “When we have kids, you better believe they’ll have normal-ass names.”
“Sounds good.”
The dashboard thermometer read 108. That’s in the sun, with the engine running and the heat from the road. I said this out loud into the car several times on our trip up I-35. I imagined the soft grating sound the crispy-baked grass was making as it scraped my undercarriage. Maybe the thermometer was right.
We parked at a quarter past three. When I turned the engine off, heat erupted from inside the cab. As if it were hiding beneath the seats and in the glove box. We opened the doors fast. Jodi opened and closed hers a few times, trying to fan out the car. I put on my shoes.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Jodi said.
“Sure.”
“Is that ‘sure’ you’re okay with this, or ‘sure?’ you didn’t understand the question.”
“I’m okay with it,” I said.
Grass crunched under my shoes. I felt the brittle snaps through my soles. The casino was a quarter-mile away. It looked closer. The building was huge and the only thing around. I was sweating through my shirt. Probably leaving salt stains on the inside of my jacket. My underwear was riding up and getting soggy.
“Shoulda just rented this at the casino,” I said to Jodi, laughing. She was carrying most of her dress out in front of her. Hugging it like a baby. I saw a few burrs sticking to the frills and lace. “And you shoulda brought a change of clothes.”
“This is my mom’s dress,” Jodi said. She was red in the face and I saw sweat shining on her arms.
“Yeah,” I said. “I was there when we stole it.”
“We didn’t steal it. I was trying it on. You can’t steal something you’re wearing.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” I said.
“Besides, when’s she ever gonna use it again?”
The tuxedo pants, which had been sliding slick against my legs, now stuck and bunched around my sopping calves. The sun was right in the cloudless sky. Stepping over the curb onto the parking lot was like jumping into molten asphalt.
“I’m not talking about some hyphenated shit,” Jodi said. We were still moving between cars. I considered how many trucks had trailer hitches at knee-level. We were wading through heat and thickness. “I mean, your name is disappearing for good.” I said I understood. “You don’t think I’m pissing on your folks’ graves?”
We found a crosswalk leading right up to the casino and around for the entrance. Dumpsters and loading docks were on our right. Almost half-past three, on the west side. No shade. Vents blew even hotter air down on top of us. Jodi’s hair whipped around. She barely caught her veil. My comb over blew the wrong way and I had to correct it. The world smelled like trash.
“Jesus, it’s hot,” Jodi said.
“The thermometer said 108,” I informed her.
“We shoulda taken my mom’s handicapped placard.”
“Now that’s something she does use.”
“Please, she can manage. She only ever goes to Walmart.”
“I’m just saying, she has one leg.”
Around the corner, people were entering through an automatic door. The men were wearing mostly white shirts tucked into jeans and cowboy hats. Most women were wearing dresses but not like Jodi’s.
About when we could hear the sound of the casino cold air touched my face. Finally, in front of the door, AC washed over us. Jodi crossed her arms and hugged herself. Shivers rippled up my legs. My wet underwear cooled fast and I felt myself shrivel. There was the sound of air rushing and a water fountain and slot machines from inside.
“It’s really happening,” Jodi said.
“Yep,” I said. “You excited?”
“It’s finally almost over.”
“You mean my name?”
Inside the casino, my clothes dried fast. I was still shivering as we walked toward the front desk. The man behind the desk looked surprised, then annoyed as we approached.
“Reservation?” He said.
“Do we need one?” Jodi said.
The man rolled his eyes and took our IDs. He went back to his computer screen. “Chapel’s booked until nine.”
“We can’t wait,” Jodi said. “Do you know how long we drove to get here?”
“Two hours?” The man held up her driver’s license, pointing at her Dallas address.
“Okay, but we need to be married right now.”
“Sorry, Miss Stewart.” The man didn’t look sorry. “Can I book the chapel at nine for you?”
“Just look at his name.” Jodi had the loudest whisper. She was half-fanning herself, half-beating her chest with both hands. “Look at the other license.”
The front desk man studied my ID for a second. His eyes widened and he released a small “Heh.” Then he looked bored again. “Don’t know why you’re in such a hurry to take his name,” he said to Jodi.
My soon-to-be wife turned red again. I saw the goosebumps from the AC disappear from her arms. I began focusing on the floor, wiping the dead grass from the toe of my shoe onto the plush maroon carpet. I noticed a roach leg at the base of the front desk, where vacuums couldn’t reach it.
“He’s taking my name.” She was screaming. “Why would I want his fucking name?”
The front desk man let loose another “Heh.” He seemed less bored. “Jesus, sorry lady. Buddy, you okay with that?”
“Sure,” I said.
The man looked back at his screen. “Well there is an opening this afternoon, but it’s in seven minutes.”
“Yes!” I had never seen Jodi so excited.
“Y’all better get moving. Got any special requests? A song? Bible verse?”
Jodi’s skin was loosing its redness. “What’s that verse that goes—“
“Corinthians 13,” the front desk man finished for her. “That one seems appropriate.” He typed on his keyboard.
“What’s that supposed to mean?“
“Better get moving,” he said again.
Twenty minutes later we were married and I was Mr. Jodi Stewart. I felt strange because I didn’t feel any different. Jodi was crying next to me on a bench. Sounds of slots and trickling water were all around. I think she also felt unchanged.
Travis Tyler
We were in Durant, near the casino, when Jodi told me. I was surprised we made it to Oklahoma without the issue coming up.
“You’re taking my name,” Jodi said.
“Okay,” I said
She told me It’s not some feminist thing. I said I believed her. “I’m really not trying to make a point,” she said.
“Okay.”
“I promise I’m not trying to take away your manhood.” I said I believed her again. “It’s just your name.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how you made it this far with a name like that.” I told her I didn’t either.
The parking lot was fuller than I expected. We were drifting through a canyon of huge trucks. Rams and F-250s dwarfed my Volvo. Eventually, we accepted we’d have to walk from the overflow lot. We drove into a yellow and brown field where more pickups were parked. I imagined the tall dead grass brushing the undercarriage of my car, inches away from my bare feet.
“Is someone performing here?” I said.
“What could your parents have been thinking?” Jodi said. I told her I didn’t know. “When we have kids, you better believe they’ll have normal-ass names.”
“Sounds good.”
The dashboard thermometer read 108. That’s in the sun, with the engine running and the heat from the road. I said this out loud into the car several times on our trip up I-35. I imagined the soft grating sound the crispy-baked grass was making as it scraped my undercarriage. Maybe the thermometer was right.
We parked at a quarter past three. When I turned the engine off, heat erupted from inside the cab. As if it were hiding beneath the seats and in the glove box. We opened the doors fast. Jodi opened and closed hers a few times, trying to fan out the car. I put on my shoes.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Jodi said.
“Sure.”
“Is that ‘sure’ you’re okay with this, or ‘sure?’ you didn’t understand the question.”
“I’m okay with it,” I said.
Grass crunched under my shoes. I felt the brittle snaps through my soles. The casino was a quarter-mile away. It looked closer. The building was huge and the only thing around. I was sweating through my shirt. Probably leaving salt stains on the inside of my jacket. My underwear was riding up and getting soggy.
“Shoulda just rented this at the casino,” I said to Jodi, laughing. She was carrying most of her dress out in front of her. Hugging it like a baby. I saw a few burrs sticking to the frills and lace. “And you shoulda brought a change of clothes.”
“This is my mom’s dress,” Jodi said. She was red in the face and I saw sweat shining on her arms.
“Yeah,” I said. “I was there when we stole it.”
“We didn’t steal it. I was trying it on. You can’t steal something you’re wearing.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” I said.
“Besides, when’s she ever gonna use it again?”
The tuxedo pants, which had been sliding slick against my legs, now stuck and bunched around my sopping calves. The sun was right in the cloudless sky. Stepping over the curb onto the parking lot was like jumping into molten asphalt.
“I’m not talking about some hyphenated shit,” Jodi said. We were still moving between cars. I considered how many trucks had trailer hitches at knee-level. We were wading through heat and thickness. “I mean, your name is disappearing for good.” I said I understood. “You don’t think I’m pissing on your folks’ graves?”
We found a crosswalk leading right up to the casino and around for the entrance. Dumpsters and loading docks were on our right. Almost half-past three, on the west side. No shade. Vents blew even hotter air down on top of us. Jodi’s hair whipped around. She barely caught her veil. My comb over blew the wrong way and I had to correct it. The world smelled like trash.
“Jesus, it’s hot,” Jodi said.
“The thermometer said 108,” I informed her.
“We shoulda taken my mom’s handicapped placard.”
“Now that’s something she does use.”
“Please, she can manage. She only ever goes to Walmart.”
“I’m just saying, she has one leg.”
Around the corner, people were entering through an automatic door. The men were wearing mostly white shirts tucked into jeans and cowboy hats. Most women were wearing dresses but not like Jodi’s.
About when we could hear the sound of the casino cold air touched my face. Finally, in front of the door, AC washed over us. Jodi crossed her arms and hugged herself. Shivers rippled up my legs. My wet underwear cooled fast and I felt myself shrivel. There was the sound of air rushing and a water fountain and slot machines from inside.
“It’s really happening,” Jodi said.
“Yep,” I said. “You excited?”
“It’s finally almost over.”
“You mean my name?”
Inside the casino, my clothes dried fast. I was still shivering as we walked toward the front desk. The man behind the desk looked surprised, then annoyed as we approached.
“Reservation?” He said.
“Do we need one?” Jodi said.
The man rolled his eyes and took our IDs. He went back to his computer screen. “Chapel’s booked until nine.”
“We can’t wait,” Jodi said. “Do you know how long we drove to get here?”
“Two hours?” The man held up her driver’s license, pointing at her Dallas address.
“Okay, but we need to be married right now.”
“Sorry, Miss Stewart.” The man didn’t look sorry. “Can I book the chapel at nine for you?”
“Just look at his name.” Jodi had the loudest whisper. She was half-fanning herself, half-beating her chest with both hands. “Look at the other license.”
The front desk man studied my ID for a second. His eyes widened and he released a small “Heh.” Then he looked bored again. “Don’t know why you’re in such a hurry to take his name,” he said to Jodi.
My soon-to-be wife turned red again. I saw the goosebumps from the AC disappear from her arms. I began focusing on the floor, wiping the dead grass from the toe of my shoe onto the plush maroon carpet. I noticed a roach leg at the base of the front desk, where vacuums couldn’t reach it.
“He’s taking my name.” She was screaming. “Why would I want his fucking name?”
The front desk man let loose another “Heh.” He seemed less bored. “Jesus, sorry lady. Buddy, you okay with that?”
“Sure,” I said.
The man looked back at his screen. “Well there is an opening this afternoon, but it’s in seven minutes.”
“Yes!” I had never seen Jodi so excited.
“Y’all better get moving. Got any special requests? A song? Bible verse?”
Jodi’s skin was loosing its redness. “What’s that verse that goes—“
“Corinthians 13,” the front desk man finished for her. “That one seems appropriate.” He typed on his keyboard.
“What’s that supposed to mean?“
“Better get moving,” he said again.
Twenty minutes later we were married and I was Mr. Jodi Stewart. I felt strange because I didn’t feel any different. Jodi was crying next to me on a bench. Sounds of slots and trickling water were all around. I think she also felt unchanged.
