Just get to the dealership.
Despite my cursing her, the Buick got me out of Pleasant Gap, into the next town, and all the way to Gavin’s Used Trucks. I paid for a white 2017 Toyota Tacoma. She was the perfect ride. Never seen something so beautiful in all my life. The dealer’s associate kindly called the salvage yard for me so I’d never have to see the Buick—or the blood stains—ever again.
Next stop was a burger joint where I ate the best meal I’d had in over a decade: a cheeseburger with grilled onions and fries, hold the ketchup. Then I stocked up on groceries, toiletries, and basic clothes.
One thing I hadn’t anticipated was the overwhelm of choices. Never in my life had I been the one making decisions about what food to buy and clothes to wear. Looking at a simple fast food menu made my anxiety rage, and the grocery store was much worse. Had a panic attack and about blacked out in the produce section.
When I was able to think straight again, I got a new phone—a fancy one I didn’t have the faintest idea how to operate. An expert behind the counter offered me a crash course.
Walking back to the Tacoma from T-Mobile, I ran smack into one of my nightmare situations. Graham Jenkins, an old classmate from high school, was approaching. I tucked my head and started praying to the Lord Almighty that Graham had gone blind since the early 2000s or that he’d be too distracted with the lady on his arm to notice the town pariah. The good Lord answered neither of those prayers, and Graham’s eyebrows shot into the clouds at the sight of me.
“Moore?” Graham leaned forward, his face split in disbelief.
“Jenkins.” I extended my hand, dying inside. “How you been?”
“I’ve been fine! I want to know how you’ve been though.” He wasted no time cutting to the chase. “How long you been home?”
“Not even twenty-four hours.” I scratched at my chin stubble, suddenly thankful I’d decided to go ahead and change into the new clothes I’d bought. The Under Armor sports polo and fitted jeans made me appear a bit more acclimated to society.
“Well, how is Gracie—I mean, gosh, I’m sorry. Do you know?” He back peddled, which I appreciated. At least he knew his question made him look like a jerk. Who would ask something like that? Everyone knew what happened.
My stomach bottomed out, and I could feel heat rising up my neck. Embarrassment? Anger? Probably both. “It’s ok. We lost touch.”
“Sorry, man.” He turned to the girl and used his forgetfulness as a convenient change of subject. Introduced us. I forget her name. Wasn’t listening, because I didn’t care. Just wanted to escape.
I blasted the Tacoma’s ice cold air right into my face. The AC helped the nausea pass and calmed my trembling hands. It did nothing to dislodge the pain in my chest though. Figured I might need to see a doc about that eventually.
* * *
Of their own volition, my feet carried me to the river after dark. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment. Or maybe it’s what my feet knew to do. How many times had I walked this exact path to the river?
Back in the day, we had followed little ruts in the ground—deer trails are what we called them—down to our special place. The moonlight was dim, but no matter. My feet would always remember the way.
The summer song blasted full force: crickets, cicadas, bullfrogs and whatever else was out there. It roared in my ears. A comforting yet lonesome song. In some ways, it healed the parts of my heart oppressed by fortress walls, yet exposed all the nerves and emotions rubbed raw by the resurgence of the past.
A deep breath didn’t dispel the tension in my chest. Felt like I was trying to blow the weight of the world off of me. Some counselor along the line told me something about “cleansing breaths” and how I could get a tension release by taking some deep ones. Been there, done that. Load of bull.
Eventually, the soft babble of the river reached my ears, and I smiled. That was the sound of home. Town had become so industrialized I was surprised this piece of nature sat behind all the subdivisions undisturbed. Was it possible Ms. Lacey still owned the property?
To my disbelief, our place was completely unchanged. Aged for sure, but the patio chairs were still there. Even the hammock. The cotton ropes were tattered and torn—definitely wouldn’t test my luck sitting in it—but it hung between two trees nonetheless. The rope swing over the water dangled from a branch, the end frayed with the passage of time.
I could almost hear Gracie laughing, splashing in the water and making fun of me for being too self-conscious to skinny dip. She had worn me down about that one until I caved.
If these trees could tell stories, they’d testify to the laughter, love, pain, and tears shared by this river. The thought made me feel hollow, as if the only thing left of me was my skin. I was a simple shadow of times past. The leftovers after a ravage.
I traced the etching in the side of the big oak with the pads of my fingers.
GS/PM.
The grief would drive me to an early grave. For some reason, I’d always known that. I kept a mental list of working options on how to handle the job when the time came. I glanced at the old rope swing and wondered what kind of knot could be used to turn it into a noose. Seemed like it would be simple enough to figure out. And even my imagination couldn’t dream up a better spot to go. In fact, I was surprised the option hadn’t occurred to me sooner.
Why not say goodbye right here? Right where the nightmare began?
I stepped up on a huge raised root, leaning over the water to reach the rope. I casually tested how much weight it could hold. Sturdy enough. I flipped the end and tied it in a double fisherman’s knot over my head. The knot slid up and down as it should. I stuck my neck through the hole, trying it for size.
At some point, standing at the river’s edge, with my neck in a noose, fiddling with a knot behind my head…I realized what I was doing. One slip off the root and it would be over. Was I ready yet?
Gracie’s sweet voice reverberated in my memory.
