The Serpent King

by Jeff Zentner

  “To.”

  “To who?”

  “To whom.” Lydia could barely finish the joke. She and Dill were in hysterics. Tears streamed down their faces and dripped on her bedcover. Lydia started hiccuping.

  “Mmmhmmm,” Mrs. Blankenship said. “Very, very funny, Lydia. But you know what? I think you two might need some sleep.”

  “Yeah,” Lydia said. “We have definitely been having some trouble thinking straight this morning.”

  “All right. Have a good day, sweetie. Dill, you too. And congratulations on college. You made a smart choice. I’m excited for you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’ve been making lots of good choices lately.”

  Mrs. Blankenship smiled and walked away. “Get some sleep. I’m serious,” she called back over her shoulder.

  Lydia waited for her mom’s footsteps to fade and turned back to Dill. “We just made out on my bed.”

  “Yep.”

  “A genuine make-out sesh. Like a grass-fed, free-range, organic make-out sesh.”

  “A Grade A make-out sesh.”

  “I feel like I’m blabbing. Blah blah blah.”

  “No.”

  “But I’m not not blabbing.” Lydia snuggled up to Dill.

  He put his arm around her. “No. Or yes. I don’t know. Whichever one means I don’t mind. I’m too tired to think through a double negative.”

  “You were supposed to be witnessing for Jesus to me,” Lydia murmured.

  “That was the story.”

  “I feel like there’s a really inappropriate joke in here somewhere.”

  “You’ll think of it. I trust you.”

  Lydia turned, planted her elbows on Dill’s chest, and rested her chin on her crossed arms. “So you know from now on, ‘witnessing for Jesus’ is going to be our euphemism for making out, right?” From now on???

  “Yep.”

  “Just wanted to get that out of the way.”

  “Okay.”

  “So let’s just review the last twenty-four hours. One, you did not kill yourself. Two, you applied for college. Three, we made out. Those are three, like, really good things.”

  “The only thing that would be better is if I became a famous musician too.”

  “Did I not tell you that every single one of your videos has over a hundred thousand views now?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. You have it all, Dillard Early.”

  “Except like a TV and a dad who’s not in prison.”

  “Touché. So what do we do now? Where do we go from here?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Dill reached over and stroked her cheek.

  “Should we make out some more?”

  “Probably. Yes.”

  So they did.

  “This complicates things,” Lydia said when they were done.

  “Our lives were pretty complicated.”

  “Yeah, but this further complicates our complicated lives.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  There were rules, explicit and implicit. Mostly Lydia’s.

  Explicit: they kept things a secret. They didn’t need hassling from Dill’s mom or classmates. Also, it helped Lydia promote Dearly’s music on her blog—so that she didn’t look like she was plugging her own boyfriend. Closely related to this was a strict rule against public displays of affection. And referring to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend.

  Implicit: no losing themselves too completely. They were still going their separate ways in a couple months. They didn’t forget.

  Dill began his long, slow climb out of the abyss. He had good days and bad days. He quit his job at Floyd’s Foods and Dr. Blankenship hired him to work twenty hours a week filing and cleaning his office. He made more money (which mollified his mother), and better yet, all of Dr. Blankenship’s employees, even the part-timers, were on the group health plan. Dill finally had health insurance and was able to see a real therapist and get on a good antidepressant medication. Those things helped a lot. His music started to come back, bit by bit. The good days began to outnumber the bad.

  And then one warm day in late April, Dill came home from school to find an acceptance letter from MTSU. He called Lydia, who turned her car around and insisted they make an immediate random road trip to the MTSU campus so that Dill could see where he’d be studying.

  Lydia queued up a mix for the drive. “So when are you going to tell your mom you got into college?”

  “What day is the day before fall semester starts at MTSU? Then.”

  “I recommend doing so sooner, since, you know, she’s your mom.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Dill sang along with the music as they entered the city limits of Murfreesboro, with its strip malls and chain restaurants. It felt huge to him. They rolled down the windows and let the sun-scented wind buffet their faces. His heart beat with the richness of potential.

  Lydia parked in a neighborhood near MTSU. Dill’s pulse quickened as they walked the couple of blocks to campus. The four-story brick-and-glass library loomed. He stared at it in awe. He had seen larger buildings, but never one that had any connection to his own life.

  Lydia turned to him. “That alone would be the biggest building in Forrestville by a wide margin. You getting excited yet?”

  “Yes. I can’t believe how many people there are.”

  The campus bustled with activity. Young people were everywhere. They walked past three people sitting on a bench, speaking what sounded like Arabic. A girl with purple hair, talking to a boy with numerous facial piercings. Students on skateboards and riding bikes. Assemblies composed of wildly differing social groups held animated discussions. Of course, there were plenty of the sort of people who probably would have tormented Dill and Lydia at Forrestville High, but they didn’t seem to enjoy any special status.

  They passed two tattooed girls—one with a shaved head—strolling and holding hands. “There’s a decent sign that college will be a lot different from Forrestville High,” Lydia said.

  “I couldn’t be happier about that.” He was trying to play it cool and not stare, but.

  “You should see the look on your face. You look like a kid at Disneyland.”

  “I’ve never been on a college campus before.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. It’s amazing.”

  Lydia stopped walking and smacked her forehead. “Are you saying that I could have convinced you much sooner if only I’d dragged you out here?”

  Dill half-smiled. “Maybe.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  She grabbed his wrist. “Campus bookstore. You need an MTSU hoodie as an I-got-into-college-and-will-be-escaping-the-oppressive-smallness-of-where-I-grew-up present.”

  After buying the hoodie, they passed a bulletin board covered with announcements for various activities. “Hey, Dill, check it out.” Lydia pointed to a flyer for an open mic night at the student union. “I think you’ll make a lot of friends fast here.”

  Dill pointed. “Here’s one for a band that needs a guitarist.”

  Lydia took a picture of Dill standing in front of the bulletin board. “When you get here, don’t wait around. Jump in. Start doing stuff and meeting people.”

  “That thought makes me nervous.”

  “Remember the talent competition? You’ve played in front of the shitlords of Forrestville High. Plus you finally put the moves on me. Nothing should make you nervous anymore.”

  “Good point.”

  They turned to leave. “I know what you’re thinking,” Lydia said. “You’re whoever you say you are here. You get a new start. No baggage.”

  “But anyone who Googles my name will see a bunch of stuff about my dad.”

  “So? Cool people will get that you’re not your father. You won’t be living in a shitty small town anymore, where people try to
make themselves feel better by making other people feel smaller.”

  “You think?”

  “Of course I do. Don’t get me wrong, there’ll always be a few lame people who make your father’s sins your sins. But for the most part? Clean slate.”

  They walked out of the bookstore and sat on a low brick wall, where Lydia snapped a selfie of the two of them. “I mean, you might even find people who think it’s romantic. You can go ‘Yeah, babe. I’ve had it rough. Dad in the state pen,’ ” Lydia said in a tough-guy voice. Dill laughed.

  She thumbed around on her phone. “Okay…this way.” She pointed. “Let’s go see where the music recording nerds like future-you hang out.”

  They strolled the short distance to the mass communication building. It was dark and cool inside. Plaques, awards, and photos covered the walls. The sheer amount of glittering visual information overwhelmed Dill. Everywhere there were groups of the sort of people who probably weren’t popular in high school. My kind of people.

  “This place looks really fun, Dill. I’m actually a little jealous.”

  He gave her hand a quick squeeze, rules be damned. “You could probably get in here.” Worth a try.

  “Don’t get carried away.”

  They explored the building before getting hungry. As they left to head toward the student union and grab a bite, they passed a pretty girl in sunglasses with shaggy blond hair, a nose ring, and sleeve tattoos. She sat cross-legged on a low brick wall with her flip-flops on the ground in front of her. She glanced up from her phone and made brief eye contact with Dill. She smiled, looked down, and smoothed her hair. Dill smiled back. Lydia saw the exchange. He might have imagined it, but he could have sworn that Lydia gave the girl a subtle “step off” look. That’s new. Never seen that before.

  Then the girl looked back up. “Hey, excuse me. Not to be a weirdo, but I recognize you.”

  “Oh, yeah, I run a—” Lydia started to say.

  “Sorry, no, I meant you.” The girl pointed at Dill. “Do you play music?”

  A beat passed before Dill realized the girl was talking to him. “Uh…yeah.”

  “Okay, are you Dearly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, one of my friends posted one of your videos the other day. It was awesome. You have an amazing voice.” The girl smoothed her hair again, twisting a lock of it.

  “Oh…wow. Thanks. Tell your friend thanks.”

  “So what are you doing here? Just hanging out?”

  “Sort of, yeah. I’m going here next year.”

  “Awesome! I hope I see you around.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Are you going to be playing shows around town?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  The girl flipped her hair. “You should. My friends and I would totally come. Your video had a lot of good comments on it.”

  “Oh, right on—”

  “Anyway,” Lydia said loudly. “We better keep going on the tour. It was nice to meet you…”

  “Marissa.”

  “Nice to meet you, Marissa. I’m Lydia, Dearly’s manager. Say goodbye, Dearly.”

  “Bye.”

  Once they walked out of earshot of Marissa, Dill turned to Lydia, glowing. “That girl totally recognized me.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. I’m not surprised, dude. Your videos keep getting passed around. They have a lot of views. You’re really good.”

  “Maybe when I get to college, that’s all people will know about me—that I do music.”

  “Your life is going to be better in so many ways.” Lydia stopped. “Speaking of, there’s something else we need to talk about.”

  “Okay.” Dill’s heart abruptly switched from racing over being treated like a small celebrity to racing in its much more familiar “there’s something we need to talk about” way.

  Lydia pondered for a moment. “So, not that high school taught you this—and don’t get a big head—but you’re weirdly handsome in this brooding, dark, intense way that a certain type of girl finds very intriguing. Plus, you sing and play guitar like the incarnation of Orpheus, as you just saw.”

  “Thanks, that’s—”

  “Hush. I’m not giving you compliments; I’m stating facts. And I wasn’t finished. This ‘certain type of girl’ is often nuts. What I’m telling you is you’ll have lots of opportunities to hook up with nutty girls in college, but you’ll regret it.”

  Dill smirked. “Maybe I could have a special huge flyswatter made for me for swatting all the crazy girls away.”

  Lydia grabbed his arm. “Dill, I’m serious.”

  “Okay.” Lydia was usually emphatic in getting her way, but Dill had rarely seen her this emphatic. Or territorial.

  “I hate the thought of you hooking up with anyone, nutty or otherwise.” Lydia maintained her grip on Dill’s arm and gave the stink eye to a guy who glanced over as he walked past.

  Dill looked her in the eyes. “You can call yourself whatever you want. But I call myself your boyfriend. And as such, I don’t intend to be hooking up with anyone. Nutty or otherwise. Okay?”

  “Okay. Just FYI, I don’t intend to hook up with any dumb, gross boys either.”

  “That makes me very happy.”

  “Or even nondumb, nongross boys.”

  “Good.”

  Lydia seemed immersed in thought for the rest of the walk to the student union. For as far as they could see, there were huge 1950s-era buildings surrounded by tall trees. The aroma of warm cut grass, woodchips, and grilling hamburgers hung in the air.

  And then, out of nowhere, as if it were the most normal thing imaginable, Lydia reached out and took Dill’s hand. And there they were, walking down the sidewalk, holding hands. In public.

  “This is a blatant violation of the rules,” Dill said.

  Lydia was unruffled. “Yes, but so is Marissa hitting on you in front of your girlfriend, so I’m declaring a moratorium on the rules. MTSU is a lawless, anarchic no-man’s-land.”

  Dill intertwined his fingers with hers. “If that’s true, then there’s no rule against me just kissing you right here, in front of everyone.”

  “I guess not.”

  “You said anything goes.”

  “I did.”

  “All right then.”

  “All right.”

  “I’m doing it.” Dill abruptly stopped, pulling Lydia backward.

  “Why are we still talking?”

  “Okay.” He drew her close, put his hand on her cheek, and kissed her. Long and slow. Like they were completely alone instead of in the middle of the sidewalk while students streamed around them, hurrying to class.

  “Dearly’s first performance at MTSU gets excellent reviews,” Lydia murmured, with her eyes still closed.

  “Oh yeah?” Dill’s lips barely brushed hers.

  “Yeah. Maybe we should repeat it for Marissa and her friends.”

  “I’m down. Let’s go find her.”

  Lydia broke away and grabbed Dill’s hand again, pulling him toward the student union, almost yanking him off-balance. “Let’s grab some food. I’m starving. Come on, rock star.”

  They got sandwiches in the cavernous food court. Dill set down the bag with his new MTSU hoodie, surveyed the room, and felt something blooming inside him. Nobody could replace Travis. Nobody could replace Lydia. But at least he wasn’t facing the crushing aloneness anymore. Now his life had the sun and the soil to keep growing. He imagined long talks with Lydia in which they both discussed classes and new friends. That’d be a lot better than listening to Lydia go on about classes and new friends while he talked about what a great night they’d had at Floyd’s. Without warning, a mixture of joy and melancholy and hope and nostalgia overwhelmed him. He fought back tears.

  It was almost as though Lydia could read his mind. “Hey, Dill.”

  He coughed and cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

  She patted the MTSU hoodie in the bag on the table. “You did it.”

&n
bsp; It was dark when they got back to Dill’s house. His mom would be home in about an hour. Lydia leaned over her seat to kiss him goodnight.

  “Hang on,” Dill said. “Come in with me. I have something for you.” He hadn’t planned on this. It wasn’t quite ready yet. But he’d realized that day that there was no better time for it.

  Lydia followed Dill inside for the second time ever. Dill motioned for her to sit on his sagging, tragic sofa.

  “Do you want me to turn on the lamp?” she asked.

  “No. I like the dark.” He went to his room and grabbed his guitar. He stood in front of Lydia, blushing. He hoped she couldn’t see.

  He quickly checked his tuning. “Um…okay. So, this is a song I wrote for you. It’s called ‘Lydia.’ ” He made one last tweak to his tuning. “I guess I could’ve just told you that the song was called ‘Lydia’ and you’d probably have figured out that I wrote it for you.”

  “Probably.”

  He played “Lydia” for her. It was a song that was somehow soaring and quiet at the same time—the way his heart felt when he was with her. He heard her start sniffling about thirty seconds in, and saw her take off her glasses. It was messy and imperfect. But he was never prouder of how it sounded.

  “Anyway, I hope you like it,” Dill said when he finished, still blushing. “I’m not doing a video of that one. That one’s just for you. I mean if you want—”

  But Lydia stood and cut him off with a kiss that felt like a summer storm.

  When Lydia got home, her dad was playing his electric guitar (he wasn’t faring well compared with the performance she’d just heard) while her mom sat on one of the porch rockers, reading, with a glass of wine.

  “Hey,” her mom said. “You’re home late.”

  Lydia flopped down in the rocker next to her mom. “I took Dill to tour MTSU. He got in today.”

  Her mom set down her book on her thigh. “Really? That’s wonderful. I gather that’ll be healthy for Dill to get out of here.”

  “No kidding,” Lydia said.

  They rocked for a while, not saying much. Lydia sat cross-legged in the rocker. “So…out of curiosity, tell me more about how you and Dad ended up getting together.” She tried to sound nonchalant. Just shooting the shit about something I’ve never once cared about. No big deal.