Copyright 1993(c)

                        CYPRA'S WILD RIDE

     New Years Eve? Gawd! 'New Year's Eve Tickets Available NOW!'
the sign read. She glanced at the tuxedo'd hunk and the sequin
bedecked blonde poised 20 feet in the air. 
     Every night is New Year's Eve when you're in love. And every
day is the day after when you're not. Well, maybe she'd reconsider
that next week, maybe. 'More like next month or next year' she
thought, as she threw her kit in the back seat and swung her rear
into the driver's seat of the rental car. "Well, maybe not 'in
love'" she said to her reflection in the rear view mirror fluffing
the wispy curls framing her face. She pursed her lips and laughed
at herself. "More like 'just' love." 
     Pulling the door to she said, matter-of-factly to a passing
motorist who pulled alongside, "Well, maybe it wasn't a just love
after all."  
     The perplexed look on the driver's face made her laugh out
loud.    
     "Yep, nuts again,  Cypra." And she winked at the man. His
eyebrow raised slightly, he straightened his shoulders. "It's good
for you," she told him, smiling sweetly. "Keeps you lazy suckers
on your toes." 
     She turned the key in the ignition, flipped her turn signal
on and promptly forgot about the man. 
     The traffic light changed, the driver moved on and she pulled
out into the late afternoon traffic. 'Heading where, now?' she
wondered in silence. The setting sun appealed to her but at this
time of day. It shone into her eyes. East, then, and into the
night. It felt right. She'd had enough of sun dappled beaches,
romantic interludes and 'love' to last her a long time.  "Still,"
she said to the blue 'Vet whipping past her at twice the speed
limit, "New Year's Eve!" 
     "What does a party girl do when the party's over? Where does
a mystic go when the mists dissipate? Why do birds suddenly appear
every time you are near? Just like me they seem to be craaaaa
aaaazyeeeeeee." 
                               ***
     Sunrise in the desert, trapped dust devils whirling their
erratic way through box canyons, night birds on the edge of sleep
tucked in rock eeries. Cypra sat on the cold hood of the car
silently surveying the scene. Gray rock formations waited in
shadows for the daily stroke of a paintbrush. Something scaled
blinked slowly as a shaft of sunlight enlarged to enliven the cold
blooded. She extended her neck in parody, blinking at the black and
pink reptilian head revealed much too near her present location. 
     "Well, Bud," she said. "I'm not sticking around for your wake
up call. She scooted across the hood and dismounted as far from
that one as possible. Straddling the white line, she looked into
the rising sun, blinking. The car's engine pinged, once, twice. She
glanced at the blocky outline with furrowed brow. "Don't tell me
you're going to develop a personality, too!" she said to it. "The
least you could do is bring in a decent Rock Station!" She opened
the passenger door and crawled across the stick shift to wiggle
behind the wheel. "Coffee," she said to the radio, punching buttons
at random. 
 
        "I know....it's only Rock and Roll, but I like it. 
         I like it, Yes! I doooo." 
 
"Alright!" 
                              *** 
     Pushing the speed limit from way behind, Cypra topped the last
long grade. The open window released "Lucy can't dance to the
noise, but she knows what the noise can do." and a beat to make
the mountains behind roll. She rocked in the contoured seat, both
hands on the wheel, defying the song. 
     Below her the land spread out into rolling hills and endless
fields edged in twilight's coming. A fog crept across the low
places, filling stream beds and washes, promising a strange night
for the quiet inhabitants of this land.  Cypra had 500 plus miles
to go to party somewhere along this stretch of US70.  She grabbed
the AAA map from its hiding place under the white bag that attested
to her culinary preferences for breakfast on the road, hissing
under her breath. She was running late and this fog was going to
slow her down even more. She glanced at the dashboard clock and
growled. 
     "You just had to stop and walk through the pines," she
admonished herself. The gas gauge read half full. There'd be
another stop before her destination. She slammed her foot on the
gas peddle and kicked the speedometer needle against the little
metal pin that came after 80. "What the hell ever happened to cars
that went 120?" she cursed. 
     As the land leveled out further the fog rolled in faster. 
Visibility dropped. She figured her only saving grace was the total
desolation of the road. 'Bout this time she roared up behind a
dinosaur. She blinked her eyes at the apparition before her
windshield. "Farm equipment!" she screamed, whipping around the
lumbering monstrosity. Another one wiggling its mechanical walk
down the middle, straddling the white line. She flew past it at 75
loosing speed and cursing whatever crop it was that kept them out
on the road on New Year's Eve in a fog in HER way! The third one
loomed before her as a manic brontosaurus, some long necked
contraption sticking way out over the road like an insanely
extended neck. 
     "A convoy!" she laughed, knowing she'd been defeated as Janis
sang "Thumbed a diesel down, just before it rained. Took us all the
way to New Orleans." 
     The fourth impedance to her progress was a truck of sorts
which showered her with invisible bits of whatever these people had
been harvesting. "It's raining alright, Janis. Wheat, or somethin'. 
And I'm not thumbin' 'em." Cypra raised her hand in a futile
gesture as she weaved past the truck. She blew an exaggerated puff
of air past parched lips when she'd passed the truck; nothing else
ran the road before her. Her foot hit the gas pedal again and Janis
hoped ole Bobby McGee found his home. Cypra just hoped she found
a soda machine somewhere in this fog. 
                               ***
     A light! The fog would never rival what rolled under the
Golden Gate, but it did have that universal ability to dumbfound
the senses. It was damp enough to have unraveled the curls that
should have been bouncing in front of her ears. She shifted her
foot to the brake and whirled into a gravel parking lot. Sound
pounded into the still night from the weathered wood frame
building. Something eight-legged walked up her back as she realized
there were no vehicles in the lot. The light over the soda machine
pulsed at her, activating a conditioned response that caused her
to lick her lips and swallow the fog-tinged dust that coated her
throat. The gas gage read less than a quarter of a tank. 
     She opened the door. "Must be one mean juke box!" she
commented. Jim Croche warned,, "..bad, bad Leroy Brown. Baddest
man in the whole damn town." 
     "I don't care," Cypra said, "I gotta have a Coke." City-bred
caution made her scan the parking lot one more time. Nothing. She
shook her head and walked toward the building. The neon's looked
new enough, or well kept, as they proclaimed the place to be
'Harry's Oasis'. A wad of wilted noise-makers hung from a display
strip outside the screen door. A 'Happy New Year' foldout was
strung crookedly above the door. 
     "Party place," she said, sneering. She dropped a quarter into
the soda machine. 
     "Don't work," a voice matter-of-factly informed her. 
     She jumped two feet to the left, low heels wobbling on her
feet as she tried to slip into a crouch. She blinked at the
blue-jeaned speaker standing in the open doorway. 
     "Got beer inside," he said. 
     Dusty cowboy boots graced the rather large feet of this
apparition. A silk or stain shirt, she couldn't tell which at this
distance, covered his barrel chest, tucked neatly beneath a wide
leather belt. 
     "Cold?"  she asked, considering it. 
     He opened the inner door wide and gestured with a jerk of his
head. She thought she heard the sound of live voices wound round
the blare of the juke box. 
     "First one's on the house, lady. It's New Year's Eve. What
else could you want?" 
     "'Bout three body guards," she mumbled, moving toward the
invitation. 
     His eyebrows wiggled. She caught the screen door as he let it
go, peering within. People! 
     "Where are the cars?"  she asked. 
     "'Round back. What'd you think? They all walked in from town? 
It's fifteen miles down the road." 
     "Sorry," she said, brushing past him. "Must be the fog." She
moved with unerring instinct toward an empty stool at the bar,
examining the stemware hung between rows of pegs, the counter of
bottles against the back wall and the white-shirted bartender,
replete with bow tie and garter pinching his bicep. Jim Croche
finished up behind her and she turned to examine the scene. Jim
Croche smiled into the crowd from the stage. She blinked several
times. 'Well, of course, it's *not* Jim Croche, it just looks like
him' she thought to herself. She turned back to the bar. 'Live Band
Tonite' read a sign tacked over the mirror. 
     The bartender set a frosted mug before her, smiled impishly
and handed her a foil hat and a noisemaker. She arched her eyebrow
at him and frowned. "Where's the...?" 
     "End of the bar and left. Right and you'd end up in the
kitchen," he answered. 
     Those same eight legs crawled up her spine again. "I wouldn't
want to do that!" she said with a forced smile. 
     Jimmi Hendrix was setting up on stage. 'Must be some kind of 
contest,' she thought. 
     A tiny couch against the wall, a clean mirror and another door
beyond the sign 'Ladies' surprised her further. She had her first
thought for what the town fifteen miles down the road must be like. 
Cypra looked at her own reflection in the counter-to-ceiling
mirror. "Gawd! And you thought the place looked spooky!" Hefting
her bag to the sink bowl she contemplated repairs. 
     Jimmi purred "Foxee Ladee" from the other side of the door. 
"Not yet, Jimmi," she said to the mirror, "but I'm working on it."
She pulled a curling iron from the depths of her bag. 
                              *** 
     Chin resting in one hand, the fingers of the other curled into
the handle of her second beer. she peered at the performer on
stage.  Silver, gold and iridescent blue threads ran through the
woven vest. The 'fro was slightly dry looking. Lines at the corners
of his mouth and eyes told of long nights and hard times. She shook
her head at her own thoughts and looked around the bar. Everyone
looked slightly tired, worn, almost... "Is it tomorrow or just the
end of time?" the performer asked. A cold thrill raced up her 
back. The spider's legs had been replaced by ice cold bloody
fingers. Gawd he was good. He sang the words like he'd written
them. And the voice...
     "You ready for another one?" The guy from the door stood with
his leg braced against the table. 
     "Sure," she said, downing the last drops. "This go on every
New Years?" 
     A wry smile touched his thin lips. "This," he emphasized with
a nod toward the stage, "goes on every night. And it will, until
we get it right." 
     "Get what right? He sounds like the real thing. He even looks
like Jimmi, though I was never this close." 
     He snorted silent laughter and grabbed her mug. She watched
him walk away. He seemed to have an almost imperceptible limp.
Something about that walk. She watched the other patrons while the
act on stage broke down and the next set up. She blinked her eyes
to clear them. The place was beginning to look familiar. The faces
were beginning to loose their anonymity. She was beginning to think
she recognized several of those who sat at other tables perched
upon bar stools. 
     "Didn't I make you feel...like you were the only man. Didn't
I?" 
     Cypra whipped around to confront this new imposter. She'd
never seen or heard anyone that could impersonate Janis. 
     "Like you were the only man?" Cypra turned slowly, her breath
painfully caught somewhere between her lungs and her open mouth.
"Didn't I give you nearly everything that a woman possibly can?"
     Cypra's fist dropped nosily to the table top. The singer's
eyes met hers and followed the hand to the able.  "Each time I tell
myself that I think I've had enough. But I'm going to show you
Baby, that a woman can be tough." 
     Cypra had never seen anyone do Janis so well. Even Midler in
The Rose had missed that go-to-hell on-stage attitude. She leaned
forward again and closed her eyes, sinking into the blues. "I want
you to come on, come on, come on and TAKE it. Take another little
piece of my heart, now Baby," 
     'Too real,' Cypra thought. She opened her eyes to look at the
back up. She looked  at Janis, watching the face. She shook her
head and stood, pushing her chair away from the table. 
     "Break it. Break another little bit of my heart, now Baby." 
Cypra fumbled around in her bag for keys, eyes still on the stage.
"Have another little piece of my heart now, Baby." 
     She downed what was left of her beer in one gulp and tossed
a ten on the table, not believing for a moment that green would
make a difference in this place. 
     "You know you got it..if it makes you feel good. Oh yes,
indeed." 
     She walked to the door, not sure if she would be stopped or
ignored. 
     "You're out on the streets looking good." 
     She opened the door and stepped into the clear midwestern
night. 
     "And Baby, deep down in your heart you know it ain't right." 
     The door closed behind her. She took a step toward the car.
Janis chuckled into the microphone, adding "She's out on the
streets again, boys." 
     Cypra whirled toward the door, her hand out for the handle. 
A shimmer of light faded before her eyes. Her hand dropped to her
side. She closed her eyes, again and stood in the middle of a patch
of gravel just off the road to nowhere, listening. 
                               END
