Soul's Road: A Fiction Collection

by Cody Luff

  The dog, a Doberman named Lucky, trailed him into the study. When Rita was upset, Lucky cowered as though she were a Fourth of July firework and cozied up with his master, pressing his head against Gordon’s thigh. What happens to kindness? Gordon heard the stranger’s echo. He rubbed the dog’s ears and neck and he kissed it on the head before turning to his book. More and more this is where he was ending up, a place where he could say something. Rita hadn’t seen a word he’d typed for months. Finding his place, he wrote:

  The merging of streams is called confluence. Such integration of two entities always evokes a dilemma of perspective. Is it one stream yielding to another? Or one commandeering a second one to its will? Is it each river abandoning its individual character and adopting a new one? The confluence can be all of these depending upon one’s point of view. Where waters roil together there can be turbulence and treachery or an easy and coordinated acceptance.

  He’d write more in the morning, look up the Rigney history, then drop by the park for a game of hoops.

  High school kids who weren’t regulars looked surprised to see him there, their contemplative counselor running with waiters and delivery-men and thieves. But teams that wanted to stay on the court a while set picks for Gordon to shoot behind. He could utter a single syllable coming off a screen, just “yeah,” and a teammate would deliver the pass. He liked it there at Seaview; not many of the players knew much about one another’s lives. They played ball and that was their common language. They talked easy or they didn’t talk at all.

  SIDNEY WILLIAMS

  Telephone

  SO HE SEES HER, ivory-skinned with golden silk spilling across her shoulders.

  I’ve tried to paint her in that moment in different ways.

  Glowing. Hair like a waterfall in sunlight. A goddess.

  Yet human, bouncing with a tray toward a food court table.

  Being young, he is smitten and thinks smitten is love because that’s what the young do. Let’s say a romantic song is playing, too.

  This is one of those places young people go more to see their friends than for the menu, so it’s likely a popular song. One of those pieces that makes you think—when you’re young—that its lyrics describe the life you ought to be living, filled with romance and poignancy.

  He has a friend with him. His name is Aidan, the friend is Rudy.

  Rudy may have provided just the pressure needed to make him do more than look. Alone he might have just eaten his meal. With a friend, he couldn’t just sit.

  “You should go talk to her,” Rudy says, as all friends say, because it’s just that simple to your friends. Not to you of course if you’re Aidan.

  It becomes the most complicated coordination of components imaginable—will, motor coordination, verbal acuity. Get there without stumbling. Talk without stuttering. Come up with something adroit to say.

  What he says reflects those articles on talking to pretty girls. It’s silly: “Can you help me up? I’m afraid I just fell for you.”

  It makes her look at him for a second, a beat, then she laughs, and there’s something in his face—perhaps the smile, the expectant expression or the gleam in his eyes—that makes her smile back. That triggers one of the potentially cruelest feelings: hope, with its long odds. Because the definition of hope is not just that things will be positive, but that the outcome will be the absolute best.

  Her friend gives back only that sullen expression that the protective best friend is supposed to. She’s cute too—a blonde, by the way—just not, to Aidan, as effervescent as the first girl.

  “Where do you go to school?” Aidan is asking, in this retelling.

  “Riverbrook.”

  It’s one town over, a town without a mall as nice as this one. On this Friday afternoon, she—her name is Aislinn, which is Celtic for dream; her mother picked it out of a baby name book—is here looking for new school clothes. The perpetual quest for style.

  “So, do you come over often?” he asks.

  “Sometimes.”

  “We have to get going,” says the sidekick, the less magically named Maddy.

  She gets up and starts the process of departure, forcing Aislinn as well, who looks back then moves on ahead of her friend.

  Rudy comes up from behind, dropping hands onto Aiden’s shoulders.

  “She’s getting away.”

  “I see that.”

  “You get her number?”

  He holds out empty hands.

  “Go give her yours.”

  Rudy yanks a scrap of paper from his wallet and pen from his pocket, scribbles Aiden’s cell number.

  “Hurry.”

  They are getting away, Aiden catches up with the friend. The girl with the shiny hair is already climbing onto the elevator.

  “Can you give her my number?” he asks Maddy.

  She looks at for a second as if it’s something she doesn’t recognize, then nods, takes it and hurries aboard.

  He watches with anticipation as the door closes, gets one more glimpse before she is whisked away in the mall elevator, bordered with bold white lights. He feels like Cinderella’s prince, yet he’s come away without a glass slipper.

  “You’ll get a call. You’ll see,” Rudy says, portending that age old adage or Eminem lyric: “Careful what you wish for.”

  They walk away, Aiden hopeful.

  ***

  On the elevator Aislinn is pointing across to a store on the third floor they need to visit. New blouses, dresses, accessories. The friend, Maddy, forgetting Aiden’s twinkling eyes puts the number in her purse, and they’re off.

  “That jacket is tough looking. Fabulous.”

  “That skirt makes your legs look great.”

  Giggle, pose, spin.

  They fill plastic bags with plastic-financed purchases.

  “Roman will think you look fabulous,” Aislinn notes.

  Everybody needs a great casual outfit. They’ve checked Maddy thoroughly while modeling it, shoes with impossibly angled heels borrowed from the shoe department.

  She’ll turn heads.

  Aislinn is the beauty, but Maddy is not too shabby.

  ***

  Later, Aidan is humming, thinking of Aislinn of the long blond hair. The sight of her, walking past, plays again, gets enhanced in his imagination, like a movie. She moves in slow motion. The hair bounces, and she turns her head, lifts a hand, pulls back a few locks so that the smile and the gleam in her deep blue eyes is not obstructed. What’s he humming? Some fucking love song, because the dude is smitten.

  Just a guy with a pretty girl he can’t get out of his head.

  Dum, da, da, da, da da dahhhhhhh.

  He tries on the new shirt Rudy urged him to buy, turns up the collar, checks himself at one angle then another in his bedroom mirror, sits on the foot of the bed and hopes she’ll call.

  His cell buzzes almost on cue. A text message has come in.

  ***

  While Aiden is at his house, hoping, Aislinn and Maddy are at a party, having donned some of their new clothes. Saying hellos, they half dance into the crowded living room where music throbs. Someone’s parents are away.

  Beers, laughing, gossip. Guys.

  Eventually they make their way into the kitchen where the keg is set up. A guy fills cups for them. They toss purses and keys onto the counter, sip, chat, flirt.

  Roman arrives when he gets off work, still wearing his blue shirt with his name in red at the breast. He finds them, kisses Maddy, hello to Aislinn. He’s a year older, big guy, not a lot of humor, not introspective, but he agrees to dance when Maddy crosses her wrists at the back of his neck and guides him into the living room. The coffee table’s been pushed back, and a slow song is playing.

  “How was your day?” Roman asks.

  He hasn’t noticed the new outfit. He’s looking over Maddy’s shoulder, making sure none of the guys are staring at her ass. Won’t put up with that shit.

  “We went to the mall. Notice anything different?
”

  He sniffs her neck.

  “New perfume?”

  “The outfit. Don’t you pay any attention? It’s all new.”

  “You look pretty.”

  “Yeah, pretty. Really gave you a hard-on didn’t it?” She pushes back. Strikes a pose to present the full view, then turns to the crowd and finds an opening for escape.

  Roman throws up his hands, then, pissed, heads back to the kitchen, looking for her purse. She stows his smokes while he’s at work. He spots it on the counter after shoving past a couple making out and digs through the debris.

  He finds his Marlboros right next to Aiden’s phone number. Suspicious, since it’s a number, scribbled, with no name or explanation. He lights up then heads back into the living room, elbowing and shoving through the crowd.

  “What’s this?” he asks, shaking it in front of Maddy when he finds her clustered with other girls.

  “What’s a matter? Think somebody else might have liked my outfit?”

  He grabs her arm. “Whose is this?”

  She snatches it.

  “Mine.”

  She’s tucked it away before he can grab it. She leaves him fuming, a gray haze from the cig rising around him like steam from his anger.

  ***

  “Remember that cute guy at the mall?” Maddy asks, when she finds Aislinn. Now that she’s not being protective and is agitated, he’s a cute guy.

  “At the food court? Yeah.”

  “He gave me his number to give to you. I forgot.”

  “He was cute wasn’t he?”

  “Very. You should call him. Or text him.”

  “Texting’s easier isn’t it?”

  She slips her phone from her pocket and starts keying, adding the number to the address book for the moment under Cute Guy. Then her thumbs begin to work.

  “Hi, it’s the beautiful blonde from Benny’s.”

  A few seconds drag by before a little green message pops back.

  “How could I forget? I was afraid you got away.”

  “My stupid friend forgot to give me your number,” she thumbs.

  “Hey,” Maddy says.

  “True,” Aislinn says.

  “OK, true.”

  “Want to see a movie?” Aidan has texted back.

  And on it goes.

  The party dies slowly. Beer runs out. People start to leave. Others doze off or pass out. The living room becomes an almost empty still life of post party artifacts. Empty bottles. Stubbed cigarettes. Ditched plates.

  Roman staggers through, having sloshed down beers and punched buddies on the arm since Maddy’s cold shoulder turned. Hungry now, he checks pizza boxes for an overlooked slice but finds no treasure. Instead, he spots the phone number. Dropped? Lost?

  Brain fogged, he picks it up, dials his phone, watches the caller ID. Aidan Turley. He hangs up as it goes to voice mail, busy Googling local Turleys and checking for Aidan’s Facebook page.

  Who is this asshole, thinks he can flirt with Roman’s girl? While Roman’s working. Like a man. A few clicks and he has an address. By 2 a.m., he’s driving past Aidan’s house in his used and battered 1998 Nissan Sentra.

  Nice place. Ranch style. OK, he knows where he lives.

  ***

  Aidan calls Aislinn the next day since he has her number from the text. He’s already deleted the missed call from the unknown caller.

  Rudy’s prodded him and prepped him with one-liners. He abandons those as lame as soon as he hears her voice.

  “I thought I’d, uh, follow up.”

  “Good to hear from you,” she says. “You mentioned a movie?”

  “Uh, yeah, yeah. I thought that would be cool. We could get to know each other. Grab some dinner first? Tonight?”

  “I’d like that,” she says. Demure.

  The small talk goes on a while, but that’s the relevant part. This is the spot where the Chorus would have comment in a Greek play.

  In Antigone the line is “The spring is wound up tight. It will uncoil of itself. "

  You have an idea of where things are headed. You didn’t think I’d be telling this if they just went on a date and everything turned out all music and roses, right? You know better than that. You might have thought, whoops, things went wrong and she got pregnant, but that’s a different variation.

  Here’s how this spring uncoiled.

  ***

  Rudy picks up tickets for him early so there’s no worry of the show being sold out. It’s a popular flick. Date movie. Title’s one of those you can’t differentiate from another five minutes down the road. Take Me Home This Valentines That I Can’t Hardly Hate About You. Starts 8:15.

  He helps Aidan get his new shirt straight, pep talks him because he’s that kind of best friend. This smooth move, that smooth move.

  Aidan’s all, I know, I know, it’s a first date. It won’t go that far, but he’s all butterflies inside, heart swelling, short of breath, can’t believe his good fortune, angels singing.

  ***

  Same thing’s going on with Aislinn and Maddy. They’ve wound up at Maddy’s house because none of the outfits Aislinn’s tried on seem right. Not even her new one. Not the right amount of sizzle.

  They need Maddy’s new outfit. It looks great on Aislinn, too. It’ll rock his world, put her in the driver’s seat. She can make the call on whether he’s worthy. There won’t be any sitting around wondering if he’s going to ask for a second date.

  They decide on a chignon, though nothing complicated, just a simple knotting of the locks in back, so that, if the need arises, Aislinn can unfurl it and shake her tresses free to take what’s left of his breath away.

  The verdict when they’re finished: gorgeous.

  Aislinn calls Aiden to have him pick her up at Maddy’s so there will be no danger of wind blasts or perspiration from a walk home. He confirms 6:45, so they’ll have time for dinner before the movie.

  ***

  Unable to get an answer from Maddy, Roman drives to his uncle’s house. Old guy’s out of work at the moment. Usually he’s a carpenter. He has beer, which he shares tonight while pontificating about the government.

  Roman sips until the old man’s groggy then heads to the old man’s night stand. He keeps a Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm—“ By god, American made”— stashed in case of late-night break in. It slides almost comfortably into the small of Roman’s back, held in place by the waistband of his jeans. He leaves the old man dozing.

  ***

  At Maddy’s, Aislinn makes an entrance, devised to take Aidan’s breath away. It works. His jaw almost drops. Maddy smiles. She’s been charged with the careful observation for later discussion. She will have detail to recount, not just for Aislinn but for their friends.

  They chat a while, sitting in the living room, until shadows fall outside, suggesting it’s time for goodbyes then dinner. Aislinn and Maddy exchange quick, side kisses then Maddy ushers the pair to the door.

  They move quickly to Aidan’s car, he on Aislinn’s left, holding her elbow politely, opening the door for her, helping her inside.

  ***

  Parked a couple of blocks back, more of the beer now in his belly, Roman watches, having followed Aidan from his house. Aidan is always between him and the girl, his body blocking the view. Shadows do the rest. Now he knows why Maddy’s not calling back. When Aidan starts his shiny Honda Accord and pulls away, Roman follows.

  He stays back several car lengths, keeps them in sight while making sure he’s not obvious. He’s seen enough cop shows.

  They reach the spot called The Garden and get inside while he’s still pulling into the lot. He parks near a fence, in the shadows cast by an oak and waits, drinking more of the beer he pulled from his uncle’s fridge.

  ***

  Inside, they eat light, both wanting to avoid nervous stomachs. It’s all giggles and smiles, a little of the getting to know you of a first date, a little anticipation of the movie. The occasion for the unfurling of the hair does not occur.
Aislinn’s thinking maybe after the movie, when they’re in that moment of deciding on a kiss.

  It’s one of those things that makes a difference in the long run.

  ***

  Roman’s watching when they emerge, silhouettes against the lights of the restaurant. They move down the front steps as he climbs from his car. They settle into the front seat as he’s crossing the lot.

  They exchange a few words before Aidan slips his key into the ignition. He does not start the car. The window explodes first, shards and blood and shards soon painted with blood spray toward him, cut his face, splash his face. He looks down in shock then looks up again at the hand clutching the black weapon.

  He yells, somehow gets a hand on the ignition.

  Another bullet explodes but passes in front of him shattering the driver’s window. Panic lets him get the motor started, gives him that juice to act without thinking.

  His thoughts clear as he leaves the gunman behind.

  ***

  She is dead before he reaches the emergency room.

  The police are smart. After a little questioning, they figure out who to look for.

  They find me at the county line, filling up with gas with one of my uncle’s credit cards.

  I, Roman, cry when they take me. Not so tough any more. I break down in the interrogation room.

  It’s a confession no pro bono attorney could hope to get thrown out. Sound, solid, backed by gunshot residue even though I pitched the weapon. We had a trial. I heard it all then, the innocent mistakes, the confusion. The misunderstandings. That’s why I could tell it or speculate on events with such clarity. Now.

  I didn’t care when they sentenced me.

  I read now, in the endless hours, books, magazines. I pour over transcripts, too, re-read testimony.