Dreamland

Nuke woke up from a heavy sleep. The sparse accoutrements of Room 25 of the Dreamland Motel in Junction City floated around as his eyes focused. He knew where he was and he was aware of the infamous historical nature of the exact room he was in. Yes, it was either Nichols or McVeigh who had stayed here on his way to perdition in Oklahoma City. Maybe both of them stayed there, he didn’t know and he didn’t much care, it was just the luck of the draw. He had stayed there many times before on runs to Kansas City and Denver and back. That was back in the old days when he lived about one step away from the Law himself. In all of the time and all of the runs he made, he never got caught and for that he was grateful. Plus, he smuggled a lot of good smoke from folks down in Mexico and he still thought that there wasn’t, or shouldn’t be, anything wrong in doing that. But all of that was behind him now and had been for almost twenty years. Yes, he had gone straight and merely laughed whenever he thought about all he had seen and done in those days. It wasn’t because of religion or salvation that he had changed, even though he had experienced both of those, too, it was more or less growing tired of the scene or growing older and not seeing any point or advantage in doing all of that. The only thing he had kept was his bike and he most likely would never part with that part of his life. In some circles he was known as Cottontop, a name he earned from wearing his doo-rag with the 100% cotton label sticking out on his forehead. Other groups of bikers knew him simply as Nuke. How did he get the name? His dad was a nuclear physicist wannabe, a person who studied nuclear physics in his time off from being a state highway inspector. When Nuke was born his dad was deep into quantum mechanics and exclaimed when he witnessed his son’s birth, “Man, that is really nuclear,” and the moniker stuck.
Nuke had been in the bar the night before, having a few beers and thinking about where he was and what he was about to do. His attention to too much detail was interrupted though as he sat down on the barstool and ordered a Guinness. “Sorry, sir, we don’t have any Guinness,” was the reply from the bartender. He asked for a Michelob. “Sorry, sir, no Michelob either.” Nuke thought a bit. He settled for a Bud Lite.
“Well, you can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need,” the voice came from Nuke’s right and from the far end of the bar, floating on the blue haze of smoke that had just come his way. Nuke looked to see who was talking but it was a little too dark and his eyes had not adjusted yet.
“Yeah, that’s true,” Nuke offered and pulled the beer towards him.
“Rolling Stones,” the hazy voice said.
“Yeah, I caught the reference,” Nuke looked down at his beer talking to it more than to the voice. He could tell it was female but that was about all, and Nuke wasn’t interested. He was hoping the voice would just go away.
“You look like a true nature’s child, born to be wild,” Voice spoke again. Nuke didn’t respond and didn’t look. “Steppenwoof,” Voice said. Nuke laughed as he picked up his beer and took a long drink. It was good and cold.
“Steppenwoof?” Nuke emphasized the last syllable.
“Yeah, you know, Born To Be Wild.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, now I got ya.”
“Why don’t you move it on over?” Voice now sounded a bit sultry and a bit more beery.
“George Thorogood?”
“Right on, brothers and sisters, right on!”
“Sorry, I don’t know that one,” Nuke just wanted to be left alone and the bartender was noticing his annoyance.
“Parliament Funkadelic,” Voice boozed.
“Should have known.”
The bartender leaned in toward Nuke. “You see, Annie there speaks only in what I call Rockese. Just about everything she says is a quote from some rock and roll song. Do you want another Bud Lite?”
“Yeah, like I noticed. I’ll have one more.” Nuke picked up his beer and moved down the bar toward Voice so he could get a look at who he was talking to. It was against his feeling of intuition not to, but he did anyway. This had to be one of those lost souls in the world that just wanted somebody to talk to. As he got closer, he let his feeling of compassion for all sentient beings build up inside, he forgot about his own personal feelings and focused on the woman who was now two barstools away. That was close enough, he thought, and he sat down. He looked at her and smiled. Voice sat there in a typical barstool position, legs crossed, elbow on bar, cigarette pointed to the ceiling, head cocked back and blowing smoke. She smiled back. Her Allman Brothers concert shirt had seen better days or maybe this was a special occasion. She had on blue jeans and sneakers and she looked to be middle aged, maybe forty or a little older, and fairly attractive. Now Nuke knew he was in an army town and he figured that this lady could be a hooker. “So, can I buy you a drink?” Nuke held his hand out palm up and moved it out from his body in an arc toward her, kind of like a seated bowing gesture.
“I’m no mistreated, mateless mother, or mistitled prostitute,” Voice swiveled in the bar chair and faced more directly toward Nuke.
“And I’m no misdemeanor outlaw, chased and cheated by pursuit,” He traded back to her line for line of the Dylan tune, Chimes of Freedom. All of a sudden they were on the same wave.
“Well then, who are you, hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo?” Voice picked the ‘Ooo for her next quote.
“When did you see the Allman Brothers?” Nuke was running out of trade-offs and it was getting a little old. He stared directly at her shirt, reading the concert data. Voice just sat there, her mind churning through the millions of lyric sets trying to find an appropriate answer.
“The first time, ever I saw your face.”
Nuke looked at the bartender and drained his beer. “That’s all for me and set one up here for my lady friend.” He pulled some bills out of his jeans pocket and walked toward the cash register. When he turned around to say goodbye, Voice was nowhere to be seen. She had vanished toward the ladies room, leaving her cigarettes and lighter on the bar to mark her spot. Nuke picked up his change.
“She’s really a nice lady, she just has had a pretty rough life,” The bartender wiped the bar and tossed Nuke’s can in the trash.
“God bless her.” Nuke walked out the door and into the Kansas breeze. He felt all right about leaving and not getting too involved in an all-too-typical story of suffering. He found his key and entered Room 25 for some sleep before tomorrow’s ride into Kansas City.
Now it was morning and as he swung his legs out of bed and sat up, he remembered Voice and the odd conversation they had had. “What a world to be stuck in,” he thought, pulling on his jeans and boots, “The poor thing.” Nuke looked out the window without touching the blinds. He looked out to where his bike was and, satisfied it was still there, finished dressing and packing up his things. He didn’t watch much television but had it on to hear the news. The news head laid out the morning news:
“Today marks the tenth anniversary of the bombing of the Murrah Office Building in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Timothy McVeigh, who stayed in Room 25 at the Dreamland Motel here in Junction City was executed for carrying out the bombing.”
Nuke tossed the key on the nightstand and headed out the door. He was caught short in mid-stride when he saw her standing there. It was Voice and she was standing by his bike, looking at him as he walked toward it. She had on the same Allman Brothers shirt but looked pretty good in the morning sun. Nuke remembered his compassionate side and smiled as he walked up. Voice had a serious look on her face. “What’s up, Miss Annie?” Nuke walked up to the bike and began tying his saddle bag onto the back sissy bar. She looked at him, seemingly surprised that he knew her name. She reached over the bike and grabbed Nuke by the arm. Nuke didn’t pull away, he just looked at her. “Are you ok?” he asked, knowing that she probably wasn’t. She looked at him searching for the right lyric. Suddenly, she pulled a small notebook out of her back pocket and a pencil out from behind her ear. She quickly scribbled on the notebook, ripped off the top page and, pulling Nuke’s arm closer, stuffed the note in his hand. She watched as he read the note and when he had finished and looked up, her eyes pleaded with him waiting for an answer. Nuke shook his head. She grabbed his arm and pleaded some more. “I need a ride to Kansas City,” is what the note said. “I’m not going to Kansas City,” Nuke still shook his head. She grabbed the little notebook and scribbled some more. “Yes, you are and you need my help,” Nuke read the note wondering how in the world she knew he was headed for KC. He pulled slightly away and asked her out loud, “Now what kind of help do you think I need from you?” Out came the notebook. “The manuscript.” Nuke just stood there.
“Please don’t just stand there,” Voice had her voice back with a line from the old Lesley Gore hit.

Nuke called her “Voice” instead of Annie. He looked at her dead seriously. “Voice, I don’t know who you are but if you know about the manuscript, then get on behind me. Maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on.” Nuke straddled the chopper and Voice duffed behind the corner of the motel picking up a satchel bag and, looping the handles over the sissy bar, climbed on behind him. The chopper popped a couple of times then caught up and they were off down the frontage road toward I-70. When they got to the entrance ramp to Eastbound I-70, Nuke pulled off on the shoulder. He turned and looked at her. She was smiling now. She must be ok, he thought. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows as a way of asking if there was anything she wanted to say.
“We’re going to Kansas City, Kansas City here we come.” Voice sang out. Nuke thought to himself, “Yeah, and the ‘crazy little women’ part is sure gonna be true.” Voice punched him on his shoulder.
He turned back around and looked at her. “How’d you know what I was thinking?” He yelled at her over the sound of the chopper and the traffic.
She just looked and smiled. “Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name. But what’s troublin’ you is the nature of my game.” The hair stood up on Nuke’s neck. He didn’t know what else to do but get out into traffic and get to Kansas City as soon as possible.