No More Dead Kids

by Thomas Marshall

  Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo. I’ve really been on a bender and it shows.

  I could either indulge my sorrow or kill it for the moment, I chose the latter. We stopped for the night at a trucker rest stop 100 miles outside of the city, falling asleep to the droning hum of the semi-truck engines idling beside us, warming their weary drivers.

  . . . . .

  Day 29. We drove the remainder of the distance to St. Louis as soon as we’d woken up. When we arrived, we parked and walked Laclede’s Landing all the way to the arch, which we went up and back down again. It was nice, I only thought about jumping half of the time I was up there.

  Underneath the arch is the single most confusing, bizarre, and convoluted museum I’ve ever been inside of. From the creepy, offensive, and otherwise disturbingly anatomically incorrect talking mannequins, to the incoherent blocks of text strew across and jutting out from the walls, to the oddest juxtapositions of images with historical quotations. One diorama of beavers building a dam was in front of a giant photograph of an atomic mushroom cloud, with a quote from Einstein about innovation; either that’s a mistake or the most nuanced and profound exhibit ever created, and I’m just too dumb to understand its meta-symbolism. There was a man in one tour group who took a picture of every single square inch of that whole goddamned place; he looked too stupid and unhealthy and touristy to be a terrorist though, so I didn’t worry. The other thing about that place was that every single one of the signs there said ‘Indians.’ I feel like they’ve had a few decades to change that. We finally exited through the gift shop, a gift shop full wall-to-wall with all of the arch and arch-related paraphernalia you could ever want. We then walked through the still-confoundingly-offensive Dred Scott courthouse to our car.

  While driving, we happened upon the magical ‘City Museum.’ It was incredible, caves caverns, ladders, ducts, sculptures, and slides like something out of The Goonies. I loved it, I adored the place. Ken and I ran around like kids with the actual kids that were there, while people more our age worked summer jobs as docents. It was the culmination of all of the things I would have loved as a kid; as a kid, that place would have been the most incredible place I’d ever been to. And, running around, not being able to do half of the things there because I was too tall, too large, too grown up to do them, that was really the first time in my life where I encountered something that I was simply too old for. The caves, and ladders, and nooks would have entertained me to no end as a child, and they still would have; I yearned to explore, but I simply couldn’t. I tried, but I didn’t fit in most places there, and that was it. I was simply too old. I was older than the absent-minded slide attendant, slowly picking off her pink nail polish, I was older than I wanted to be at that moment.

  And so we left, returning to The 66 on our way to old Oklahoma. I tried not to think about what Lila might have been doing at the moment, talking with this guy, laughing at his jokes, smiling at him like she used to smile at me; anger would grip my chest, or jealousy would lay its nest in the pit of my stomach. But I’d keep driving, keep moving, keep running, and I would try not to think about it, and I’d watch the great rolling landscape of the flat land and fields of corn.

  We chased the sunset Westward down The 66 to Joplin, Missouri, where we had a quick meal before moving onward. We crossed the border into Oklahoma after dark and settled in the first town there, Miami. ‘Miama’ as the locals knew it (my-am-uh). Oklahoma, a state that could only be described as ‘OK.’ We parked in the small town’s giant Walmart and settled in for the night. Ken fell asleep quickly, and I was restless. I decided to see what the night was like in this small town and I walked in the direction of the main street with a cigarette and my thoughts, trying not to think about Lila.

  The East of my past lay behind me, and the West of my future lays ahead, I thought to myself.

  I pushed down the thoughts of Lila and what she’d be doing at this time of night, if they were dancing or drinking or found somewhere quieter, if he was holding her hips with authority or touching his lips to hers to quiet her. I pushed all those thoughts and more down, and I found the asphalt paved 66 again and walked down it to the center of town. I looked around in the darkness; there were a lot of churches down that street, their neon crosses pierced into the night and swarms of bugs beat around them and the streetlights in feverous bevies. The midnight streetlight smalltown rain of bugs. It was a sunderous little town. The big-sky country we had driven into disappeared in that night. A few people moved around down the road in the inhuman nictitating fluorescent light of the streetlamps and storefront signage, but beyond that was darkness, under a seemingly starless sky. There was a darkness on the edge of that town, there was a darkness that surrounded and blanketed that town, a darkness that suffocated that town. In the darkness, that town was all there was, and from it there was no escape, because for the people that called Miami home, there wasn’t.

  I kept walking, and found a McDonalds with a bunch of high school aged kids hanging around out in front of it, sharing cigarettes and vapes, one kid chewing on the end of a Swisher Sweet; it was the only place in town open 24 hours, let alone past 10PM. I sat down at one of the tables, the unlit KOOL dangling from my lips. I quickly, if a little awkwardly, struck up a conversation with some of these kids. They were all in high school or at least high school aged, and they all hated it there. They wanted and talked about wanting pot, and booze, and sex, and then confined themselves to talking almost exclusively among themselves about those things and desires. Who got the most drunk, who hooked up with who, who has the current weed hookup, and I thought of how this wasn’t all too different from Twain, at least in the sense that we were young, and didn’t want to be, and all sought our escapes in the same ways, all across the country, that’s just what we, the kids in America, did; more unites us than divides us. But these were lost kids in a nowhere city, and they didn’t hesitate to tell me so.

  “Why would you ever want to come to Miami?” one asked. They all couldn’t wait to get out, but they didn’t know when or how they would. I found out that Ottawa County was the current meth capital of the US, and I was told to watch out for tweakers. I realized that my trip was someone else’s reality.

  The McDonald’s crowd seemed like they would be there for quite a while longer into the night, it seemed like this is just what the kids there did because it was the only thing to do. I said goodbye and walked on, the sleeping pill I’d taken at least an hour before giving everything a sort of fuzzy sleepiness. I kept walking all the way through the two-block main drag of town, past the typical small-town brick façade shops and singular town landmark (here it was a theatre), all the way through the ‘Gateway Sign’ arch to a fork in the road that would either send me out of Miami to Commerce, Pitcher, Oram, or Quapaw, or turn me further into town toward ‘The Stables,’ a casino.

  I walked into the casino wearing the same worn blue jeans, black shirt, and waxed canvas jacket I’d worn this whole journey, scratching my scruffy road-beard, with a cigarette dangling from my lips like I was meant to be there.

  I sat at the bar and lit the cigarette, the fourth consecutive one of the night, ordered a bourbon old-fashioned and without the slightest hesitation was given one, the bartender stopping briefly only to look up the drink’s recipe on a Rolodex under the bar. I sat at the bar, finished the drink, finished the cigarette, paid and left. There were ESPN highlights of a Padres game on the TV.

  I walked back down The 66 towards the home that was my car. On the other side of the street and a bit behind me walked a group of what looked like three teenagers. I kept on walking as they moved to my side of the street. They followed, then stopped following, then followed again in a way that made me think that they were just walking unaware of my presence. With this thought in my mind, I let them catch up to me.

  “Hey,” I said
when they did catch up. They said ‘hi,’ and we made small talk as I explained my travels and they explained their lives. They kept asking if I was a cop though, which I thought was a bit weird, but we kept chatting. The girl, Bethany, was sweet looking but tired looking, and dressed in loose hanging yet form-fitting clothes; she was the epitome of ‘heroin chic,’ though I think she only actively contributed to one of those two words. Her two brothers could not have been more different from each other; Timothy was a short, husky brute with a tuft of curly red-blonde hair coming out from under a trucker cap, while Levi was a tall, thin, and dark-haired kid with a curious, kind, and big-eyed face, he sort of reminded me of Ken.

  They asked again if I was a cop, which I still thought was weird, I told them that I was their age and they still didn’t believe me. I reached in my pocket and got out my wallet, holding out my California driver’s license to them. Bethany looked at it, then looked at me, then again to the card as she snatched out her hand for it. I drew back, and she laughed.

  “I’m just fucking with you, don’t look so nervous,” she said.

  Bethany was the kind of girl who didn’t smile much, but when she did, she had a nervous smile, the kind of smile that could only have been born from years of not being told she was pretty for no reason in particular. The kind of forced, nervous smile that was still so hopeful. I thought about Lila as I talked with Bethany, her brothers chatting behind. Lila, on the other hand, didn’t have to smile, but when she did, she knew she could make me melt. She would light up, her shoulders would relax, and her eyes would open wide and sparkle. When she smiled, her lips would part effortlessly, just slightly, showing only a glance of her white teeth. This smile turned into a laugh when I was lucky, and her long hair would fall back from her face as she parted her lips and let out a confident breath of amusement. I knew that people had always told her that she was pretty, and people had even told her they’d loved her before, but she didn’t take any of it to heart until I was the one telling her.

  When we were together, she’d say she was the one who felt lucky that I had chosen her, of all people I chose her. But I, on the other hand, couldn’t believe that she said yes, I didn’t feel lucky as much as I felt wrong; like any nervous moment, she could realize that I wasn’t great and slip between my fingers like warm, dry sand on a sunny day. I hoped that wasn’t what had already happened. But I knew she was in New York on a date, I knew that she was meeting new people, meeting new guys, she was appreciated, and she was desired, and I knew that she saw this now, and I knew that she liked it. I tried to push these thoughts out of my mind as I kept talking to Bethany and her brothers got in on the convo too. That’s one thing I’ve come to love so much about this country, the almost universal friendliness and the conversations people are willing and eager to strike up with complete strangers.

  As Bethany talked, she seemed animated and antsy, she was very talkative. In between talking about dropping out of high school and the minimum-wage jobs she was looking to apply for she kept asking me where I was from, why I was in Miami, where I was staying, and where my car was. Her brothers were less talkative. They asked if I had any bud, and then if I wanted any. I said ‘no’ to both. She asked again, she really wanted weed, she then nonchalantly but agitatedly said she was tripping out after a few bumps of Klonopin and her brothers said that they were on their way down from a spice high, and then they all said something about parachuting and ‘Tina,’ and said that they therefore all wanted some bud to level out.

  These were the tweakers I was told about at McDonald’s. Teenage tweakers. Teen tweakers. Tweans? I don’t know.

  I continued to walk with them, you know, real human condition shit. And I soon found out that we were walking towards a dealer’s house, a friend of theirs. And all I thought was ‘why not,’ I’ll keep a distance, but ‘why not.’ I’d already come this far with them, it’d be weird if I left, I still wanted them to like me.

  When we got to the house, a small shack that faced a small park, Rotary Park, we sat on a bench that faced the house where a bedroom light was on indicatively. I sat, the two brothers sat, and Bethany paced back and forth in front of us saying how she had to pee. She kept asking about when they were going to get the bud. Apparently, now, there was a misunderstanding. They had no money, and I didn’t want to buy any. I told them that I didn’t have money on me, but they kept asking. I said I had three dollars in my wallet, lying about the twenty-four I actually had.

  They kept asking about that and the all the other things, getting more and more edgy, more anxious. Bethany continued to pace in front of us and talk frenetically. She was upset, she wanted another high, she expected one, and she expected it now. I tried to just quell things, go back to chatting, and after about what seemed like a half-hour of this, I got up to say my goodbyes. She asked again about the money I had. I offered her the last few cigarettes in the carton of KOOL’s, she took the pack, crumpled it, and tossed it to the ground, again asking about the money. I told her I had to eat in the morning.

  “So do I,” she said, and after a pause added, “for two.”

  “For two?” I was taken aback, “what, how long?”

  “Three months.”

  She had a ¾ finished plastic handle of Kentucky Gentleman in her backpack, was tripping out on god knows what, and she was eighteen, just like her brothers, give or take a year or two each, and she was a full trimester pregnant. I told her I was sorry, and wished them luck, and said goodnight, and this time actually walked away.

  I made it to the edge of the park in the direction of the main road when she called to me. I hesitated, and then turned around and returned. She asked me about the money again, this time with reticent puppy-dog eyes. I got out the four dollars cash and began to hand it to Levi, he looked at the crumpled-up bills quickly and returned them; he felt bad about asking for it.

  I apologized again and again, I wished them luck, said goodnight, and turned to walk away. Bethany, after a moment, then asked if I’d walk with them back home; and remembering what I’d just learned about it being a fairly dangerous town, I offered to do so. The brothers walked ahead to the edge of the park as I walked alongside Bethany. Levi and Tim stopped behind the small, chest-high brick wall at the edge of the park, the ten-by-five section of brick wall that bore the words ‘Rotary Park.’ They stayed behind that wall as Bethany, and I walked towards it, her on my right; in that moment I thought it was weird that they would do that, it’d be the kind of thing a friend would do if they wanted to hide somewhere to jump out and scare you, only they weren’t even hiding that well, I saw them walk behind it, and I could clearly see them standing there, but I just shrugged that strange unease off and turned to Bethany an-

  Bam! Right the fuck out of nowhere a burst of light flashed in my head as a percussive thump slammed into the left side of my face.

  I was on the ground, and I no longer saw totally straight, Bethany was grabbing at my pockets, and Tim stood over me. She grabbed, clawed viciously at my pockets, but I kept swiping her hands away, trying to get up. I was doing fairly well, one hand swiping hers away over my pockets, and the other pushing myself up. I was about to stand up as I got hit again in the same fucking place, I saw a flash, and heard the thud in my head as I again collapsed to the ground. Bethany went back at her clawing, Tim stood hulking above me, and Levi stood behind them, hands in his pockets, hunched over.

  She kept clawing, and I grabbed both of her hands, trying to get her off as best as I could, and I finally did. I got up, held her hands as she squirmed, and let her go, pushing her away and then keeping my distance from all of them. I tried to talk them all down, rather disappointed.

  I said a lot of ‘please, just don’t’ and ‘why’ and ‘I thought you were nice people.’ Bethany kept grabbing at my pockets intermittently, Tim accusing me of being a liar and again asking for
me to ‘just give them the money.’ I still just tried to keep my distance. I backed away again, and we all just stood, on edge, twitching, panting.

  I couldn’t see much at all. I told them this and asked if they’d help find my Driver’s License, which I’d taken out of my wallet mid-scuffle, in case they managed to take the wallet. I asked them to be the nice people, the friends, that I thought they were. And, well, because of either the gentle indifference of the universe or because these guys really sucked at mugging people, they did. Well, Levi seemed really intent on helping, he actually looked around. Tim just kind of stood in place scanning the ground and Bethany followed me, making swipes at my phone as I used it as a flashlight.

  I found the small plastic card glinting on the damp asphalt in the cool, wet darkness, and went to pick it up. And as I bent down, Bethany hit me in the temple, and she did again when I tried to get up, as she went back to making clawing snatches for my phone and pockets. But I again just pushed her off. I stepped back, we just stood there, all of us, as I was catching my breath, feeling my pulse in my cheek and my jaw.

  “Jesus, I trusted you, I thought you were good people,” I said, looking at Levi.

  “Just give us your money, I’ve got a daughter at home, and she’s hungry, okay?” Tim let out. Shit, man, these are kids, he’s got a fucking daughter, and she’s got a baby on the way. Jesus.

  “Can I please just go? Please?” I said as I reached for my wallet, pulled out the twenty-four dollars, and handed it guardedly to Levi. He looked at the cash and looked at me. He handed me back the four dollar bills and stood contemplating the twenty. He told me he felt really bad, but his siblings told him to leave.

  “It’s okay,” I said to him and stretched out my hand. He shook it with a weak grip, apologizing again.