Blackbird Fly

by Willow Rose

  It's like darn quicksand! You gotta get out of this, Billy. You gotta move. Move 'em legs, move them!

  Billy screamed helplessly and moved his legs as much as he could, pulling, panting, and fighting. He kept going, even though he was certain he could hear the trees laughing at him, and see them staring, observing his fight, till finally the mud gave in and he could pull his legs loose. Panting and shivering, Billy backed out of the forest and ran to the car, screaming, holding on to his pants with his hand so he wouldn't trip on them.

  "Start the car, Darlene, start the car!"

  Billy jumped into the seat and closed the door, panting and shrieking. Darlene stared at him, then at his soaked pants.

  "What the heck?"

  "I…I…the mud, the trees, the…pulling," Billy tried to explain.

  "Dad. You didn't even put on your pants properly!" Emily exclaimed, disgusted. "You're so gross!"

  "That might be, baby," he said, panting, "but at least I’m alive. I’m telling you, the ground tried to swallow me and those trees, those trees they were…they were…laughing at me…"

  Billy Bob hit the gas, hard, and the wheels of the car screeched as they returned onto the road, leaving the dark angry swamps behind them.

  Darlene looked at him, a new cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

  "Ha! Billy Bob scared of a little nature. Now that's a first."

  Chapter Eight

  The Rocking Chair was packed, as usual on a Saturday night when the Divas performed. Actually, we were called The Four Divas, since we were four girls singing in the band, but soon it was shortened to simply being The Divas.

  I was the one who had come up with the idea to form a band about eight years ago, and so far, it had been the best journey of my life. The Four Divas included me and my three daughters, my son-in-law, Steve, on drums and my old friends, Eric and Tom on bass and guitar.

  I was the one you'd find standing a little to the left of the others, microphone in hand, hiding behind my keyboard, not because I was shy, no it was more because I wasn't as slim and sexy as my daughters. I was the one with the salt and pepper short puffy hair, the glittery cardigan over my long black dress (hey, they say black is slimming, right?), the fake diamond earrings and…oh, yes, I was also the one who could—and would—sing the pants off any of the others. They might have been younger than me by about twenty years, but I had the most attitude and the raspiest of all of our voices. I was the one making the crowd go wild when we sang Moulin Rouge—you know, the Lady Marmalade one—especially when I give it all I got, all my pipes, while singing Creole Lady Marmala-a-a-de.

  That always made the crowd lose it, especially when, every now and then, there would be people from out of town, and they never expected that from the old lady to the left, the big mama, the fifty-two-year-old grandma. But that was part of the fun. I loved those minutes when the crowd was completely taken aback by me. I loved those baffled faces, the staring eyes, and then the rowdy clapping and yelling. I was the one people came to see. I was the main attraction. Not that my daughters didn't sing well, they truly did. But you kind of expected that from them, being the sexy young girls in their small dresses. Well, except for Danielle, who always insisted on dressing like an accountant when we performed. Wearing pants. Just like she did when we didn't perform. I kept telling her to show a little leg, to get a little show on, but she didn't like to. It wasn't her thing. Or, rather, it wasn't her husband's thing. He didn't want her on that stage and often tried to get her to stay home. He didn't like anything that took her attention away from taking care of him and his expensive house. She could sing, though. With an attitude. Better than the two others, which was also a surprise to most of the guests at the Rocking Chair. She had her own way of being sexy, not involving showing skin.

  Tonight was no different than any other Saturday night in our small town of Webster, except something was off with my daughter Julia. She was constantly checking her phone and, on our break, after wowing everyone with our version of She Works Hard for the Money, I confronted her and asked what was going on.

  "I haven't heard from Sam all day. Not since a text this morning. I worry about him, Mom."

  Julia was my oldest daughter. A thirty-four-year-old beauty, who got pregnant with this scumbag Greg when she was only nineteen and had to raise Sam all by herself when Greg told her he didn't want a child, that he was too young, and besides he was in love with someone else that he intended to marry. Last year—after his second divorce—when the kid had just turned thirteen, he suddenly decided to spend some time with the boy he never really knew.

  "I’m sure he's fine," I said and handed her a bottle of water. It was steaming hot on stage tonight under those lights. I, for one, had severe hot flashes going down. "He's just having so much fun he forgot to text or call. You just wait and see."

  Julia looked at me with her gorgeous brown eyes. How I had ever managed to create something this beautiful was beyond my comprehension. I myself had been a looker when younger, but never as gorgeous as her. It pained me deeply that she had been treated the way she had by life. You spend so much time while they’re growing up imagining what they'll look like as adults, what they'll be like, what their lives will be like, what they'll do, who they'll marry, and so on, but it never works out the way you imagined, and it especially didn't for Julia. Being a single parent meant never getting her degree, having to give up a good scholarship that she had received, and today she worked as a waitress at Irene's Diner downtown, when she wasn't singing with the Divas, naturally. The girls' father had left me when I was only twenty-five, and having to raise three girls on my own, on the salary of a nurse, wasn't exactly a luxurious life. I had always dreamt of becoming a singer, but for many years I had to just sing for the patients at Arnold Palmer Hospital for Children.

  "I don't think he’s having any fun at all," Julia said. "I spoke to him last night and he was miserable. You know how much he hates nature and stuff like that. I don't know why I made him go."

  "You were being a mother; you wanted him to be with his dad, spend time with him and bond. Nothing wrong with that, if you ask me. The boy could use a good male role model."

  "Are you saying he hasn't gotten what he needs in life? I’ve given him everything."

  "That's not what I’m saying, sweetheart. There are just some things that we women can't provide."

  "You did fine by us," Julia said and drank from her water bottle.

  "I had girls," I said. "It was different. Boys needs…well, I don't know exactly what it is they need, but they need men around from time to time. I don't know…I just think it was a good thing you did for Sam, is what I’m sayin'."

  "He was just so miserable when I spoke to him last night. And this morning he texted me and told me he hated it there. And now he isn't even answering when I call."

  I leaned over and kissed my daughter on the forehead, then hugged her without messing up her makeup.

  "He’s coming home tomorrow," I said, "and then all will be fine again. He'll go back to hiding in his room and you can stop all that silly worrying."

  "I really hope you're right," she said with a sniffle. "I just can't get rid of this…this unease I’ve been feeling all day, like something is wrong. Like there is some kind of disaster lurking, waiting to strike."

  "That's just silly," I said, even though I felt it too, deep down inside of me. This anxious sensation I couldn't put into words. "You know what I say about worry, right?"

  Julia smiled. "It's like a rocking chair. Gives you something to do, but takes you nowhere. Oh, yes, I know."

  "I learned that from Joyce Meyer. You should watch her some time."

  "She hardly came up with it herself," Julia said.

  "Does it matter?"

  Julia scoffed.

  The music started back up, the intro to All About that Bass.

  "That's our cue; we're back on," I said.

  I got up and grabbed my daughter's hand, then pulled her to her
feet. She pulled her short dress down a little and corrected the straps. I smiled and gave her a thumbs up to let her know she was beautiful. Hand in hand, we walked onto the stage and let the burning bright light swallow us, along with the crowd's thick cheering.

  Chapter Nine

  It was my plan to sleep in on Sunday, well at least till past eight o'clock, but an annoying and very insistent knocking on my door put an end to that at seven-thirty. I got out of bed and rushed down the stairs of my two-story house.

  It was the house that I had raised all three girls in. My wonderful house in the middle of First Street in our small town of Webster, which counted only eight hundred people. I loved my town, and I loved my house, but I didn't love being pulled out of bed early on a Sunday morning. After all, church wasn't till ten.

  "Hold your horses, I'm coming," I grunted while the knocking intensified. "Hold on, hold on."

  I grabbed the handle and unlocked the front door. Outside, I found Julia, her face torn. My heart immediately dropped. Behind her stood Danielle and Grace, looking equally as desperate.

  "Girls? What's going on here?"

  "Mom, why don't you pick up your phone? We've been calling and calling!" Julia said while storming inside, followed by her two sisters.

  "You know I can't hear it when I’m upstairs in my bed," I said. "What's going on? Why are you waking me up like this?"

  I closed the door and followed them inside the kitchen where Julia grabbed the remote and turned on my TV.

  "That's why we gave you a cell phone, Mom. You need to use it."

  "I use it. I posted pictures on Facebook from our show last night, didn't I?" I said, annoyed. I hated when they thought I was an electronic idiot, which I wasn't. I was actually quite skilled with computers and electronics.

  "I mean you need to keep it charged and turned on at all times," Grace said, as the local News13 turned on.

  "Well, I don't like to be disturbed when I sleep, so I turn the sound off when I go to bed. I like my sleep. Girls, could someone please explain to me what's going on instead of debating my phone habits?"

  The sound of violent yelling filled the kitchen from the TV. "Not them darn protestors again," I said. "You know it makes me so angry to watch. How can they do that to those poor people who are nothing but peacefully protesting them oil companies destroying our planet? Haven't we done enough to them? Someone ought to shoot the oil people with water cannons, tear gas, and rubber bullets. Have them taste their own medicine."

  Danielle turned and looked at me. "Mom!"

  I shrugged. Danielle's husband worked for the oil company that had just started constructing the pipeline going through Indian Territory cutting through Withlacoochee River State Park, right outside of Webster. It was a very sensitive subject around this town and also in our family.

  "Just sayin'," I sighed, tired. "Someone ought to stop them before they poison our water and destroy everything around here. I mean, did you see what they did to that poor girl?"

  Danielle opened her mouth to argue but was stopped by her younger sister.

  "Now is not the time to debate this," Grace said.

  "Listen, girls, as much as I enjoy your company, and you know that I do, I would really like to get some sleep in before church, so if you just came here to watch TV, then be my guest, but please turn it down while I sleep upstairs."

  "That's not what we came here to show you," Grace said. As she spoke, the presenter came back on and began a new story.

  BREAKING: CAMPERS GONE MISSING.

  "This is what we needed to watch," Danielle said, as she grabbed the remote out of her sister's hand and turned the sound up.

  Julia let out a loud whimper as pictures from the campsite in the Green Swamps appeared. I literally stopped breathing.

  "A hiker in the swamps came by the campgrounds in the clearing earlier this morning, but found all the tents and one RV completely empty," the reporter said.

  She was standing on the other side of the police tape. Behind her, I spotted Sheriff Ivan. I had known him since third grade. Then they clipped to the hiker who had alarmed the police.

  "At first, I thought they were just all sleeping, but then I found this guitar on the ground. It was all broken and there was a trail of blood on the ground over there leading toward the trees. I thought it was very odd, so I looked inside one of the tents and found it empty. That was when I knew something was wrong here. I called the Sheriff's office."

  The camera turned back to the reporter, who said: "So far, no one knows where these campers have disappeared to…if they are in there somewhere in the deep swamps. But the trail of blood indicates that something might have happened to them. Park officials say there were two groups of people camping at the site and they are looking into alerting relatives. Back to you, Glen."

  Danielle turned off the TV and looked at me. I walked to Julia and grabbed her in my arms. She started weeping. "Oh, Mom. Sam’s not answering his phone and I haven't heard from him since yesterday morning. Greg isn’t answering either. Something terrible happened to him. I just know it did. I am so scared."

  I sighed, not knowing what to say. We knew too little to draw any conclusions yet. There were many campsites in the swamps. We didn't know it was them. At least not yet.

  "Grab my keys," I said to Grace.

  She took them from the table and threw them to me. "Why? Julia asked. "Where are you going?"

  "We," I said. "We're going to the campsite. All of us. We can't just sit here and do nothing, now can we?"

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