Deep River Burning

by Donelle Dreese

  But the fantasy ended as fast as it came. “I’m afraid, God,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of iron doors slamming me into a small, black room with no windows. I’m afraid of coal. I’m afraid of love. I don’t want to play this game anymore, this guessing game that pockets our choices on a roulette wheel.”

  The bus bounced rhythmically on the interstate highway as the bus driver turned on his right turn signal. He pulled into a bus station in Scallywag, New Jersey. She went into the bus station and studied the maps hanging on the wall. She was halfway through New Jersey and heading east. A man caught her eye from his seat in the bus station and he watched her go into the restroom. He seemed lost in his own tired box with very few windows. Each time a bus pulled in, his face blossomed as if he had been waiting there his entire life for someone’s arrival, but the passenger he was looking for never came.

  Something about him reminded Denver of her own invisible prisons, the ones that kept her from totally accepting Josh. But then again, maybe this man was free, more than the rest of us. He reminded her of Pilner with the weary and distant look on his face that broke her heart. She felt the fury she still harbored toward those who murdered her parents, and how she used to beg for some way to get away from the pain. If only they would have come to kill her too.

  She went to the counter and bought a ticket heading south. She had an hour wait, but she made do by reading Rachel Carson’s The Sea Around Us. What she wouldn’t give to know the sea so well.

  When the bus to Norfolk announced its departure time, she closed her book and carried her belongings to the bus. She always sat on the right side about six seats back. This bus was cleaner and more spacious than the other one, but unfortunately she couldn’t sleep very well or read on buses. So, as the bus began its southern trek, stopping in every little town and burg on its way to pick up and drop off new passengers, she observed and compared them all to Adena. She wished she could stop remembering, but images of Adena in her mind were irrevocable. She could pass through a hundred towns and never forget how it looked, how it was, and what it came to be during her time there.

  Her plan was to never return, even though she only had a few more college credits left to take to get her bachelor’s degree. The fall semester and resuming her life as a student seemed out of the question. Her father would not have liked this decision, but there was no clear place to go back to anymore. The spirit of the town lay quiet with what was once human trespass. Street signs, however few, had been stolen. An abandoned cab of an old rusty rig sat lopsided in a ditch near a brick building with its windows smashed in. The tires were blown out and the print on the door was indecipherable.

  Adena didn’t seem so small to her when she was growing up on inner tube rides and late summer carnival food. She was a junkie in love with cotton candy, funnel cakes, and the haunted house where yarn hung from the ceilings to feel like cobwebs in the dark. She knew it was yarn because she reached up and tried to pull it down once. All she got was a brush burn. Sometimes, the lights would be turned down very low and a darkly dressed person standing in a corner would jump out as if to grab her, then there was a black out before she was grabbed. The barely visible shapes would then disappear into a deep, black nothingness. The field where the carnival always stood was now a moderately sized expanse of grassy solitude with stone roads that show two tire tracks flecked with small pieces of black coal. Adena had become its own tragic figure, dying by the very source that created it.

  When she arrived in Norfolk, the air was noticeably warmer and more humid. She didn’t intend to stay in Norfolk, but it was getting late and she needed a place to stay. She walked to a cheap hotel down the street that she noticed earlier as the bus was heading toward the station. It wasn’t a nice hotel, and it wasn’t a nice part of town, but it was within walking distance of the bus station so it would have to suffice.

  If the hotel were a restaurant, it would rank somewhere between a McDonald’s and a QuickMart deli counter, but as long as they could manage clean sheets and a sturdy door lock, she didn’t care. It’s a good thing she wasn’t too particular. She found a dead cockroach in the shower, cigarette holes burned through the sheets, and one of the plastic cups had a woman’s lipstick on it. The table next to the bed held the phone, a lamp, and a bible opened up to the book of Revelations. She had read about the end of times before, but some of the verses held different meaning for her now, particularly chapter 9:

  And he opened the bottomless pit; and there arose a smoke out of the pit, as the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun and the air were darkened by reason of the smoke of the pit.

  And there came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth: and unto them was given power, as the scorpions of the earth have power.

  And it was commanded them that they should not hurt the grass of the earth, neither any green thing, neither any tree; but only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads.

  And to them it was given that they should not kill them, but that they should be tormented five months: and their torment was as the torment of a scorpion, when he striketh a man.

  When she read these passages, she saw Adena and the openings in the earth where smoke rose to the sky in sinister plumes. She also saw judgment, punishment, and violence. There were no locusts, but the trees were blanched, killed from the roots up, and the mine fire did not discriminate. It hurt whatever was in its way. But here in this biblical passage, the green things were protected.

  She didn’t sleep well, but she didn’t expect to, so she wasn’t disappointed or even overly tired. The morning energized her when she saw that it was turning out to be the kind of day she loved, sunny and windy with large gray-trimmed white clouds passing shadows over the sunlit surfaces. She walked down to the bus station with a spirit of hope inside of her as she considered the possibilities of the new life she might lead. She could be anyone she wanted to be.

  The night before, as she was trying to fall asleep, she thought about where she wanted to go after Norfolk. Barely a day went by when she didn’t think of Josh and all the stories he told her about the places where he wanted to go. He told her once about coastal North Carolina, how he read about an island where there are wild horses and a graveyard of ships and remote shell-filled beaches. Plus, she knew that Rachel Carson spent time in North Carolina studying the sea environment, which inspired Carson to write the book Denver had been reading. She also remembered Aunt Rosemary’s postcard of the loggerhead turtle. At the bus station, she bought a map of the southeast coastline and a ticket heading toward east North Carolina.

  The bus was scheduled to leave at 10 in the morning and the station was filled with people. When bus 529 to Wilmington announced for passengers to board, she was one of many who gathered their belongings and entered the overly air-conditioned rows of seats. She took her normal spot on the right-hand side and watched the bus fill up after her. When the bus was nearly full, a frazzled woman, who didn’t look to be more than thirty-five, entered the bus. She looked concerned when she saw there were only two seats available. One next to a large man in the back of the bus reading a newspaper through some black framed reading glasses, and one next to Denver. Denver instinctively moved her bags from the seat and put them on the floor in front of her. The woman sat down, heavily exhaled an exasperated “thank you,” and put her bags on the floor in front of her while holding another in her arms.

  “Hello,” the woman said looking Denver directly in the eye.

  “Hi,” Denver replied.

  “I’m Madeline. Nice to meet you.”

  “Hi, I’m . . . Joanna,” Denver paused only for a fraction when she thought of an alternate identity to explore.

  “Where are you headed, Joanna?”

  “North Carolina.”

  “Well then, you don’t have too far to go. Are you visiting friends or family, or just on vacation?”

&n
bsp; “I’m on vacation.”

  “Great! What is it that you do? For a living I mean?”

  “I’m training to become a prison psychiatrist,” Denver answered.

  “Whoa! You must have some interesting stories to tell.”

  “They would make your blood freeze,” Denver said, smiling wide.

  “Aren’t you a little young to be a psychiatrist?”

  “I’m older than I look. Good genes. But how about you?”

  “Me?” Madeline paused. “You don’t want to know, Doc. Do you mind if I call you Doc?”

  “No, I don’t mind, but I would like to know what you do. What could you possibly tell me that is worse than what I hear from the inmates?”

  “Well. It’s not an ideal situation, but you probably have heard it all, haven’t you?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Well, Doc,” Madeline hesitated. “I’m actually running away from New York.”

  “Running away? Why?”

  “I’m a movie star’s wife.”

  “Really?” Denver asked curiously, wondering for a moment if she wasn’t the only one having a little fun today with identity.

  “Really,” Madeline replied with a tone of consternation.

  “Go on,” Denver said completely captivated.

  “Everyone is envious of my life. Women want to be me. Suddenly, everyone thinks I’m beautiful and miraculous, all because my husband’s movie that was predicted to flop at the box office became a surprise smash hit. My husband always had dreams of being famous.” She paused for a moment and then continued. “I dreamed of being loved. Oh, sure, he wanted to be loved too. I suppose the difference between us was that I wanted to be loved by a few while he wanted to be loved by everyone.”

  Denver suddenly felt a wave of guilt for lying about who she was. This woman was wearing her heart upon her sleeve, and now Denver was the fraud and somewhat daunted at the woman’s unreserved willingness to unpack her personal problems and hang them over the bus seat as if to keep them from getting wrinkled.

  “This twist of fate into the limelight for my husband brought about the end of our marriage. No, I’m not sure why the marriage ended. These things are too hazy. According to my husband, I’m an outsider, and the theatrical system is an intimate network, and it is perceived that if you break a link, the whole web falls to pieces. This is what he told me. Putting a face on and working a crowd is essential, kind of like a car salesman, although actors are much better at it and the product they are selling is themselves. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes,” Denver said as she sank deeper into her seat of guilt.

  “We really started having trouble during the making of his second film. Marriage, or any relationship for that matter, is just like a garden. You have to tend to it and nurture it. If you neglect it, it’s going to wither and die. Seems to me that so many people are willing to do whatever it takes to plant the thing and get it started, but they seem to have a mental block when it comes to maintenance. He was the only man I was ever madly in love with, you know, the kind of love you think you’ll never get over and then when you do, even a passing thought of the person makes your hair stand on end, and not in a good way. Have I used up my hour yet, Doc?”

  “No . . . it’s fine,” Denver said, still fascinated. “So are you officially divorced?”

  “Yes, we got the divorce. The lies had a lot to do with it. I mean, isn’t he trained to create illusions?” She looked at Denver with desperation on her face and began to cry a little, but she continued speaking through her tears.

  “Anyway, the cruelty had nothing to do with his career. I can’t tell you where that came from, unless it came from some sort of a God complex. He knew your buttons and he pushed them. He wanted to enrage you. He wanted to make you want to kill him. He wouldn’t stop until you threw the first swing and then he knew he had you. Some people can do that, you know, make you crazy, even when you’re not. They want to do it. It makes them feel powerful. But it’s abuse, you know? I wasn’t this unraveled mess before I met him, and it will take a while for me to figure out who I am again. If you ever meet someone like that, run like hell!” She laughed a little. “I have already said too much. I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re fine.” Denver felt uncomfortable and at a loss for words.

  “I’m not even going anywhere in particular on this bus. I just want to get back in touch with old days, before we had money for cars. I’m trying to get back the person I was before he ever entered my life. And you know what? I think I see her, that Madeline. I’m getting closer to her more and more every day. Some light is starting to shine through.”

  Denver continued her own masquerade because she did not have the heart to betray Madeline in the way that she was already feeling so deeply betrayed. Madeline was vulnerable and only just beginning to heal. They both were. The guilt sat in Denver’s chest like a knotted snake. But Madeline reminded her of something that day. She reminded her of the importance of authenticity. Whoever Denver chose to be in the future and wherever she chose to go, she wanted authenticity to be in her life. If people didn’t like her for who she was, then she would have no business paying any attention to them. They would have to deal with their insecurities and judgments one day on their own time. She couldn’t imagine life being meaningful without being true to herself and truthful to others, but the only approval she needed was her own.

  Chapter 15

  Sanctuary

  By the time Madeline finished her story, she was tired and somehow managed to fall asleep on the bus with a sweatshirt as a pillow propped up against the seat. It’s a good thing Madeline didn’t ask Denver to share information about her fictitious job because she wasn’t feeling particularly inventive anymore. She could always have just claimed that she couldn’t tell any stories due to the confidentiality agreement, but they both fell asleep and Denver was off the hook. The bus stopped in a small town just over the North Carolina border where Madeline needed to transfer to a different bus. Groggily, she lifted her bag and smiled at Denver. “Thanks for listening,” Madeline said.

  “Good luck to you,” Denver replied.

  Although stranger things have happened, the possibility of Denver running into Madeline again was very slim. Her story left Denver wondering. She said that the situation with her ex-husband was very hazy, but although she may not have known it, Madeline had a clarity that was striking even though she was teetering on the edge. She must have had a sense of what needed to be done and the bus ticket was the knot on the end of the rope that she held on to, that kept her from slipping away. In one of her books about the sea, Denver read about red tides that occur when there’s an overly high concentration of a certain type of algae. The massive bed of algae produces a toxin that paralyzes fish so they cannot breathe. It’s the lack of oxygen that asphyxiates the sea creatures and leaves them draped all along the sun bleached shore-line like a scarlet robe, or like a bloody beach. The color of war, the color of deep rose, the color of love. Maybe in her marriage, Madeline just needed more room to breathe.

  Sometimes Denver’s mind was a box of loaded clouds, soaking with thoughts and questions she couldn’t answer. Whenever she had a philosophical thought, she often wrote it down on a piece of scratch paper thinking that maybe she could read it again someday and remember what event provoked it. At the next bus stop, she wrote on the back of a restaurant receipt: Some days, the mind is a windowless box. Some days it is full of open passageways, breezy and free, letting in a flare of light until another time, when the windows disappear.

  By the time the bus arrived in Wilmington, it was overdue. Denver was finished. She said she would ride until she didn’t want to ride anymore and the time had come. She rode the local transit authority to the waterfront and found a small wood-framed eatery sitting almost directly on the dock by the water. The blue sky
reflecting off the water made it dazzle and dance in the sun as the white boats rippled its surface and the seagulls spun heavy webs in the moist air. It had taken a long time for the bus to get to Wilmington so what felt like lunch was really early dinner, crab cakes and lobster salad. She was in heaven.

  She could have sat there forever gazing out onto the water and watching it change moment by moment with the shifting wind and scattering tourists, but instead, she hailed a cab and asked the driver to drive north up the coast and take her to the most remote beach that he knew existed.

  “You don’t care where?” he asked.

  “I don’t care where it is or how long it takes to get there, as long as it is reasonably unpopulated.”

  “Okay,” he said assuredly, as if he knew exactly where to go.

  They whirled along the coastal road with its trees and bushes the likes of which she had never seen before, and the shore line houses sat by the dunes like square bird’s nests all looking outward and waiting. The road they were on got thinner and the houses became fewer and the tall grasses became more plentiful and the sand became deeper along the side of the road. Between the taxi car and the ocean, she saw a long fenced-in area filled with birds of all kinds that kicked around in the sand and poked their beaks into its cool depths. The car pulled slightly off to the right and cab driver said, “Here you go miss.” She paid the man, grabbed everything she had in the world, shut the cab door, and watched the taxi drive away.

  She walked toward the beach through a very narrow path in the sand that cut through a long row of dunes and tall grass. Once her eyes crossed the rumpled edge of dune, the wide shimmering expanse of tumbling, crashing sea was there in front of her. Could anything be so vast, she wondered. She made herself comfortable on the beach like it was her own private sanctuary. She leaned up against her duffel bag and took off her shoes. The sun had dipped below the dunes behind her and the horizon was a dreamy light blue haze with the water the same color only with a silvery glint.