You've Got Something Coming

by Starke, Jonathan;

  “Let’s say we couldn’t stay here. Where would you wanna go instead? If we had to,” Trucks said.

  The sun was cresting. Everything had looked so still and calm after they woke and washed up in the bathroom hut near the gazebo. Now they were sitting across from each other at a small table stuck against the gas station window.

  “If we can’t stay here?” Claudia asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Cause you were bad?”

  “We already went over that. The cops could be looking for us. It might be best if we left.”

  “Then what can I choose?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  Trucks stood and grabbed her pancake box. He tossed her used plastic fork and knife in there along with her wadded-up napkins. Then he took the box over to the trash and threw it away. Trucks grabbed a few packets of plastic cutlery, returned, and put them inside the tote bag. The sleeping bag was in there, too, packed tightly into its stuff sack.

  “We could try to get to Nevada,” he said, sitting down. “Maybe figure something else out in Montana. A guy back at the shelter told me about a town called Missoula some hours west of here. They got a college and some breweries and nice people. Supposed to be like a blue-collar town with hippies. I don’t know. Washington’s out that way too. Idaho, I think.”

  They sat in silence.

  “Kinda feels like we’re not too close and not too far from things, doesn’t it?” he said.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “A tough place,” he said.

  “Why can’t we go see June or Gerald?” she asked. She looked up, sad in her eyes.

  “We can’t hassle Gerald again. And I really don’t think June would be too happy to see us after we took off.”

  Claudia sighed.

  “I know. But we needed to go,” Trucks said. He felt he was always having to defend his decisions. All that accountability. The price of being a father.

  Trucks opened the packet of wipes. Unscented. He handed one to Claudia. At first she refused, but he made her take it. She huffed and wiped her hands.

  “Up the wrists too,” he said.

  She wiped her wrists and threw the wipe on the table. Trucks picked it up, rubbed his hands and wrists.

  “But maybe sometime we could see her again,” Trucks said. “It’s possible. You never know. We could find where she lives pretty easy. She practically told me the address.”

  “I really wish,” Claudia said. “But I don’t believe you.”

  “Quit saying that. We can live our lives until then and see what happens. There’s nothing wrong in that. We could have a pretty interesting life, and I can be just as good as them.”

  Claudia looked out the window.

  “I know we’ve had some real struggles, but maybe we don’t have to look at is as good and bad. They’re just experiences. Just the things we’ve done. Maybe we don’t have to mark everything with judgments. Sometimes we just do, and the doing has no name.”

  “Can’t we just go back?” she said, and pointed at the window.

  “No fucking way. No more Wisconsin,” he said. “We’re never going back. I already told you that. We didn’t leave to give in. We didn’t do all this just to go back to that nightmare. I’d lose you for sure. I’d lose you forever.”

  Trucks looked outside. When people stopped for gas, they stood with their hands in their pockets waiting for the tank fill. So used to the cold that they didn’t jump back in the car to get warm. Sometimes they’d do little dances to keep the heat circulating, and it’d remind him of staying light on his feet in the ring. The movement of circling. The leaning and the leverage and the reaching for range. All things he missed. All things he thought about at any point in the day. All things he needed to get off his mind.

  “So maybe Nevada or heading west to Missoula or Washington or Idaho. Gerald was from somewhere in Idaho. I can’t remember the name of the town. He learned to box from nuns. Can you believe that?”

  “What’s a nun?”

  “The religious women with the long black outfits and the caps. They’re supposed to be sweet, holy people. Good people. They walk with their hands together. Haven’t you seen them?”

  “I think,” she said.

  “Well, he learned to box from them. He told me about it.”

  “He didn’t seem like a boxer,” she said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. His face wasn’t so bad as yours. And he was…he seemed good.”

  “And I’m not? Look, don’t count me out just yet. And my cuts are pretty healed. Bruises gone. Nobody would know. Besides, he boxed a long time ago, when he was young, and maybe he was kinda rough like me then. I don’t know. How could I possibly know a thing like that?”

  Trucks looked down at his hands. He suddenly felt sad about himself. For no reason he reached up and touched his nose.

  “It’s all crooked,” she said.

  “I’ve taken a lot of shots there.”

  “It hurts a lot?”

  “Usually a while after the break. I’ve broken it a few times. You got so much adrenaline going during a fight it kills the pain a bit. But maybe for some people it hurts right away. I don’t know how the body works for everyone else.”

  Trucks leaned back. He realized he hadn’t closed the bag of antibacterial wipes and sealed the clasp. Then he put the sachet in his coat pocket and folded his hands on the table.

  “I don’t think anyone’s good with pain. Some people can handle it better than others, but I can’t imagine anyone wants to be in pain. I do know that some look for it because they think they deserve to hurt, and that’s a whole different animal. The mind of man and how it plays tricks on itself. It’s a messed-up thing.”

  Claudia looked confused.

  “I don’t enjoy the pain, is all I’m saying. And you never fully get used to it. Besides, there’s far worse pain than the physical, and I think you’re figuring that out. Like it or not. I hope it serves you later in life, Pepper Flake. I really do.”

  Claudia used her index finger to draw imaginary shapes on the table.

  “What’s Nevada like?” she asked.

  “Never been there. But really warm. A lot of desert. I’ve seen pictures.”

  “Do they swim ’cause it’s so hot?”

  “Sure. Thousands of pools. Probably everyone has a pool because it’s so damn hot. And all the buildings have them on the roofs, too, and anybody can use them for free. And they do pool parties all the time with floaty animals and cakes and bubbles and stuff like that.”

  “I’d like that,” she said. After a pause, she said, “But is it real? What you said? You say a lot of things that probably aren’t real.”

  “I don’t know if it’s real,” he said. “The pools and the parties. The rest is true. But they don’t have seasons, really, because it’s all desert. So you have to think about that. And then it’s just hot all the time and really dry. Probably hard for us to breathe there.”

  “I wouldn’t like that. And Mown Tinna’s pretty,” she said. “Do they have seasons here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Washington?”

  “I think. I guess I don’t really know.”

  Claudia went back to drawing on the table. Trucks glanced outside. Still had plenty of morning.

  “Which way’s Mizz Una?”

  “West. Everything’s west.”

  “But I really don’t wanna hitch again.”

  “I know. It wears me out, too, Pepper Flake.”

  “I wanna stay.”

  “I know. And don’t go thinking I like the wandering. I really don’t. I think we’re just the kinda people who’re made for it, and sometimes you just do something for that reason, not because you love it. And anyway, I’m just looking out for you. I’m trying to find you the best life I can.”

  Claudia stared at the table.

  Trucks felt desperate. He said, “I guess maybe if we laid low a whi
le or something.”

  Claudia looked up.

  “Like if we kept quiet and stayed up in that area near the park, maybe it’d be okay for a while. We’d have to eat real cheap and keep rationing, but I guess we could try.”

  “I wanna,” she said.

  “It’s risky,” he said.

  Claudia shrugged.

  “I don’t like it as much as the other options,” he said.

  “It’s what I want,” she said.

  “This could end badly. Just know that.”

  THE HOWLING MIND

  That night they lay in the sleeping bag on the picnic table. It was a harsh cold. The wind whipped and howled. It blew rough against the bag. Trucks spent the first part of the night humming very low, the sound and vibration calming Claudia. When he felt her jerk in the night, he’d hum again, and she’d relax. Just small sounds. Noises he’d never heard himself make.

  Trucks didn’t know what time it was. He looked up through the face hole of the mummy bag. Stared at the dark boards in the gazebo’s arch. He did everything he could not to wake her. Not to move. But a part of him wanted her to wake because he loved talking with her more than anything. Especially in the night. Those rare moments when maybe they could be more candid. When she sought his protection from the cold and the dark.

  Trucks heard a howl. Were the winter coyotes out? Was it just the wind? He imagined they were coming for him. Climbing the rugged hills. Running toward the pathetic campsite. How many could he fend off? A few? Even one? No, probably none. Probably none.

  There it was again. Was it howling? Or just the strong-blowing wind?

  He’d lain awake over so many long nights. Always Claudia at his side or close by. He remembered lying on the mattress in their one-room rowhouse, staring up at the ceiling. The streetlights casting a sliver of hard orange on the ceiling. He’d watch it until daybreak, gazing at the angled thing like it was going to tell him something. Offer advice or sympathy or friendship. But it just stayed like that. Saying nothing. Offering nothing. Going black when he blinked and always appearing again when he opened his eyes. Claudia an infant, sleeping beside him on the tough mattress. Elle probably only blocks away, whispering in someone’s ear. Trucks feeling the ghost of their love so far away that she could have been on another continent. It wouldn’t have really mattered.

  He ran his hand along the inside of the sleeping bag to his mouth. He kissed his thumb. Then he ran that thumb over Claudia’s eyebrow. She didn’t stir or wake, breathing in a peaceful way. Face against him. Steady breaths. He wondered if she’d ever truly know how much he cherished her. If his actions and words had revealed that. If in the future they would too. It was the kind of thing that ate at him in the night.

  Again he heard the howling. Was it all in his mind? He didn’t know. Trucks was exhausted. He was ready to start their new life. But they hadn’t been on solid ground for a while. He’d really messed up back at the shelter. He hadn’t envisioned himself snapping like that. So he didn’t get the job. So he didn’t pass their test. All right. Fine. He wasn’t smart in their way. But he knew he was clever in the ring. That he was smart about working body to head and back. How to make his opponent expect one style and get another, one combination and get another, one kind of beast and come to a rude awakening with another. Use the speed to counter the fast-flurry punchers, the muscle to counter the speed, the wind to counter the power, the guts and heart to counter the shills.

  Trucks shook his head. The boxing like a sickness he couldn’t heal. But he loved it so much. Like he loved Elle. Similar kinds of sicknesses, maybe. He didn’t know. And did it make him bad? Did it make him wrong? Was there even such a thing as balancing loves like they were good and bad? Just words people had invented to pick sides.

  The howling.

  Trucks held Claudia tighter. If there was right and wrong, he knew his heart was right about how he loved her. It was the burning ember of anger inside him that he needed to cool. Poked and poked all his life. He’d have to change, or else. He knew that. But now wasn’t the time. They were nearly out of money, and he could feel the desperation in his hollow throat. He knew what he had to do, and he’d tell her in the morning. The choice didn’t worry him. It was the or else that made him shiver. Like a void he couldn’t even begin to think about.

  ALL THE LIGHT IN THE WORLD

  In the early morning Trucks had Claudia wash up in the bathroom hut. Cold water and hand soap to clean her face. Lightly dampened paper towels to clean her body. Trucks did the same when she was done. It was the best they could do. Baring their skins, even inside the cement walls, took a lot of mental strength. It was damn cold.

  They brushed their teeth with the stolen toothbrushes. Trucks had nabbed one with soft bristles for her. He didn’t mind the hard stuff. As a kid he’d used toothbrushes with bristles made from stiff boar’s hair. They’d been donated to the home by a hippie commune. He figured if he and Claudia settled someday, he’d get her a boar’s hair toothbrush just for kicks. Tell her more about what it was like growing up near the old smokestacks.

  But now they were sitting across from each other at the picnic table. Trucks rubbed his eyes. His throat felt tight.

  “Listen. I was thinking all morning of these things I could tell you and how I could put it. Talk about how there’s no work and I got no chance around here and the normal life isn’t for us and all that. But I’m gonna spare you and give it to you clean. If we’re gonna survive and get through this, work toward the kinda life you want with our own place and your own room, then I’m gonna have to get back to boxing.”

  “What?” She looked afraid.

  “It’s what I’m good at and what I know. It’s where I can make the bills when we need it. After that, I can move on to something else. I can figure out other things.”

  “No!”

  “I don’t know what else to do, Pepper Flake.”

  “No! No! No!”

  Trucks reached out, but she pulled away.

  “You said you wouldn’t anymore. Not again. Not ever again!”

  “You don’t want me to lie to you, so I’m not lying. I’m telling you straight. If we wanna survive, I need to make money. How else do you think we get food? We can’t just keep taking. We’re in enough trouble as it is.”

  “It’s your fault! We’re in trouble ’cause of what you always do.”

  “I’m trying my best. I’ve given what I can. We have to eat. We have to live and survive.”

  “But you’re just gonna get your bruiseity brains hurt. And I’ll be alone, and you’ll be dead with your brains out.”

  “I’ll fight safer. Smarter. And you won’t be alone. I’ll always be here.”

  “Why can’t we live with Gerald or June? They were nice and good, and it was better with them. I wanna see them. I don’t want you to box. You promised you’d stop. You promised!”

  Trucks reached across the table. Claudia scooted away.

  “Just until we have enough to get a place and live for real,” he said. “It won’t be long. A month or two. Just a handful of fights until I make enough to get us a place. You want your own room, don’t you? I bet I can get it for you. Rents aren’t high here. That’s what Gerald said, and you trust him. You liked him. He wanted us to stay here and make a life. So, all right, I’m making us a life. It’s just taking some time. It’s not easy. This whole damn thing.”

  Claudia bit into the fingers of her glove and looked away.

  The gray morning wouldn’t lift. Like all the light in the world had been sucked out.

  THE RETURN OF THE WINTER COYOTE

  Claudia woke hungry in the night. Trucks got out of the sleeping bag in the bitter cold and left her zipped inside. He rubbed his hands with an antibacterial wipe. Then he made a peanut butter sandwich for her and filled a plastic bottle in the bathroom sink. He came back and rubbed her hands down with a new wipe. She ate the sandwich in the sleeping bag, lying on him. He could feel her chewing against his ribs. When she
was thirsty, he fed the water to her. It went like that for a while.

  Then she fell asleep. Trucks kept her hooked in his arm. He looked out from the face hole of the mummy bag. The wooden arches of the gazebo always creaking overhead. The wind playing the boards like an old instrument. He thought of the wooden planks under the boxing ring’s canvas. His shuffling feet. The blood drips dotting the soft blue like red constellations. Pat. Pat. Pat. He could hear the dripping blood of his boxing past. Pat.

  He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to put her through it again. But what else could he do? His mind searched for other possibilities, but there seemed to be none. He could get back in the fight game easy. One stop at the casino. He could get a fight in no time. He could pick up the cash in a day. In a night. Two fists’ worth of work.

  Trucks closed his eyes. He tried to listen over the wind. There was always something out there. Something roaming. Coming closer.

  He pulled his girl in tight and waited for the howl of the winter coyote.

  BELLE MARE CASINO

  “What do you have there?” the events coordinator asked. He pointed to the cloth tote bag. Trucks was carrying it by the handles. They were standing in the casino lobby.

  “The mattress. The fridge. All our possessions. Those kinds of things,” Trucks said.

  The events coordinator laughed. His shiny gold nametag said Wendell.