Into This River I Drown

by T. J. Klune

  “I don’t know how it—oh, Christ,” she cried.

  C’mon, son! You’re better than this. How could you get a C in English class? It is your first language, after all. I’m kidding! Ha, ha! Don’t give me that look, just do better, for Christ’s sake.

  “This isn’t real. This isn’t real,” she said, taking another stumbling step.

  I will always look you in the eye. I’ve raised you to be honest and kind. I’ve raised you to be brave and strong. If you can become the man I think you’ll be, then you and me will always be eye to eye. You get me?

  “My heart—oh, how my heart hurts,” she moaned as she gripped the countertop.

  And you know what my father told me? He told me I wouldn’t amount to anything. He told me I would come crawling back. That I wouldn’t be able to stand on my own two feet. He said it’s what I deserved for getting your mom pregnant when we were so young. But you know what? I never crawled back. I amounted to something, though it might not be much. I am standing tall. And you know what else? I’ve still got your mom. And you, my son. I’ve still got you. And damn if that isn’t the only thing I could ever want.

  “You shut your mouth,” I said hoarsely.

  My mother recoiled as if I’d slapped her, her eyes wide. She recovered and started to move toward me again. I knew I should have taken her in my arms then, held her close, protected her with all I had, but she’d brought the rain and I couldn’t seem to find the rationality in all my horror.

  “Back off,” I hissed at her through gritted teeth. My eyes were burning, my stomach sick. “You’re lying. Why are you lying? Why would you say that to me?”

  “No,” she moaned. “No, baby, I’m not. There was an accident, his truck went off the—”

  I wanted to go to her, to hug her. Protect her. But she had brought in the rain and I couldn’t bring myself to console her. “You’re lying!” I shouted.

  “Benji, you need to listen to me!” she cried. “You need to hear me! He’s—”

  “No,” I snarled at her. “He’s not dead. He’s not dead! I would know if he was! I would know because I would feel it! He wouldn’t do that to me! He wouldn’t dare!” I stepped away from her so she couldn’t touch me, so I wouldn’t feel her skin against mine. It burned. It hurt. It felt like betrayal, heavy and real. This isn’t truth! I screamed in my head. This isn’t truth! She lies. She lies with her fucking mouth!

  “There was an accident,” she said tearfully, moving around the counter. “The truck rolled down an embankment. Out near seventy-seven.”

  “No. You lie. Stop it. Please, oh please, just stop.” He can’t be dead because I would feel it. I would know. There would be a light extinguished within me and it would be dark, it would all be dark and I would know. He’s my fucking father. He’s not supposed to leave me. Not now. Not yet. Not ever. We had a deal. We had a deal that he was going to stay alive forever because he’s my dad. He’s Big Eddie. Nothing happens to Big Eddie. Nothing.

  She came around the side, her face wet. “The truck went into the river,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “They don’t know yet how long he was in there. In the river.”

  She was cornering me, and I growled at her, teeth bared, panic bubbling to the surface. She was trapping me, trapping me with her lies, her stupid fucking lies.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I warned her in a low voice. “Dad’s in Eugene with his friends. He’s with his friends and hanging out.” Then something hit me. It was afternoon. Dad had told me he’d be back by the afternoon. He’d be at the house. Mom just got confused. She got confused with her lies. He’d be at the house. He was at home.

  “He’s at home,” I said brightly, even as my heart shattered and my mind broke. “It’s afternoon and he’s at home.” I ignored the tears falling on my face, the way my nose ran. I ignored the way I sounded hysterical, the way hiccups interrupted my words. “He went home because he told me he’d come home in the afternoon.”

  She stood a couple of feet away from me and reached out a hand before thinking better of it and pulling it back. “No,” she croaked. “No, baby. No. Big Eddie’s gone. Sweetheart, oh. Oh my God. How… I don’t know….” She started crying again and slumped against the counter. She’d be okay, I knew as I pulled my keys from a pocket. Even if she was a liar, she’d be okay because Dad was at home and I’d go get him. I’d go get him and bring him back to the store and she’d see. She’d see him standing so fucking big and so fucking tall he’d block out the darkened sky, and as she stood in his shadow, her tears would dry and she’d smile such a beautiful smile and she’d tell me she’s sorry. She’d be so damn sorry for all the lies she’d just told. She’d see. I’d show her if it was the last thing I did.

  “I’ll show you,” I told her. “I’ll show you.”

  She cried out after me as I hopped over the counter and ran out into the rain. I tore around back to where the Ford—

  she’ll purr, benji, and you’ll know love because she’s so cherry

  —was parked. I threw open the door and my cherry baby roared to life. “We need to find Dad,” I told the Ford. “Take me home so we can find Dad.” The tires squealed as I slammed on the gas, quickly righting the truck as the rear began to fishtail onto Poplar Street.

  Even as I gunned the engine, I was pulling my cell phone from the console on the dash. Don’t you dare be talking and driving at the same time, Big Eddie whispered in my head. If I catch you, you’ll lose the phone. We clear?

  I hesitated for a moment, but then realized he would forgive me. He would see the fear in my eyes and he would forgive me. And it was just a phone. So what if it was taken away. That’d be fine. I’d give up the phone. Right then, I would have given up anything.

  I fumbled through the contacts list, barely keeping my eyes on the road. Then BIG EDDIE was highlighted. I put the phone to my ear. His voice immediately came on the line, and I cried out such a call of relief that I almost didn’t hear his words. And it took me a moment to process them.

  “You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone. Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

  “Dad?” I choked out, even as I heard a beep in my ear. “Is that you? Hello?”

  Nothing.

  I hung up. And called again.

  Immediate. “You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone. Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

  And again. And again. And again. Immediate message each time. The phone never rang.

  I almost missed the turn to Big House. It was raining even harder by the time the Ford’s tires left asphalt for the gravel driveway. Mud slung up in arcs behind me. Rocks flew. I slammed on the brakes in front of Big House, almost skidding into the porch. I couldn’t see his truck, but that didn’t mean anything. It was afternoon. He said he’d be back. Maybe the truck broke down on the way home and he had to have it towed to a shop. Maybe he’d had a few too many beers hanging out with his friends and he’d had to hitch a ride home. Mom would be pissed that he’d left the truck all the way in Eugene, but that was okay. I could drive him there to get it tomorrow. I smiled, thinking that we could make it a mini road trip. Maybe take a couple of fishing poles with us and stop off near the bridge on the way back. It would be just the two of us. Just the two of us and nothing else would matter.

  I stepped out into the rain, leaving the Ford’s door open behind me. Days later, I’d have to reupholster the door since it would sit open for another six hours, and the material became bloated and reeked of mold. I’d do it with a grim expression on my face, cursing myself when it wasn’t looking right, berating myself that Big Eddie would have done it right the first time. Big Eddie would have made it look spectacular right away. But that was still days away.

  I bounded up the steps and threw open the door. The house was almost quiet, the only sound water falling on the roof. “Dad,” I tried to call out, but it came out as a croak. I cleared my throat and
took another step into Big House.

  And with that second step, with that small movement that meant nothing, came the first cold realization that my mother had not been lying. She had not been making it up. It was a tiny part, a tiny voice screaming from the depths. I pushed it away, but it had done enough damage, even in a split second. “Dad?” I said again. It was a little louder.

  Another step into Big House, and I wanted to scream. “Dad?” I said, raising my voice. “You here?”

  Upstairs. He can’t hear me because he’s upstairs in the shower or in his bedroom or he’s just playing a game and trying to trick me. He and Mom came up with this stupid trick, this awful trick, and pretty soon, he’s going to jump out and yell surprise! Surprise and weren’t you just so scared? Weren’t you just freaked out over nothing? Just a joke, son. It was just a joke. It was just a joke and I’ll never leave you. I’ll never leave you, I promise.

  I ran up the stairs, ignoring how the rain falling on the roof sounded like the roar of a river.

  He wasn’t in the bedroom or the bathroom. He wasn’t in my room or the spare room. He wasn’t in the closets. He wasn’t in the attic. I went room to room, whispering his name, saying his name, finally bellowing his name, demanding that he come out from wherever he was hiding, that he show himself and end this joke, end this whole fucking thing. I was tired, I screamed at him. I was so tired of this game and I wanted it to be over.

  No reply came.

  I slumped against the wall near the stairs and slid down, wrapping my arms around my knees. I sat there, shivering, for I don’t know how long. Finally, I pulled out my phone again and called my father for the last time.

  “You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone. Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

  The howl that tore from me then echoed throughout the house.

  “You’ve reached Big Eddie’s phone,” I say now, sitting in the Ford at the gates

  of Lost Hill Memorial Cemetery. “Sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.” I open the door to the Ford and step out into the dark. There’s a chill in the air, but I’ve forgotten my coat at home or back at the store. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

  I hop over the security chain stretched out across the road. The cemetery closes at nightfall, but I’ve been here after dark many times over the past five years. It’s better for me to be able to come here without anyone else around. There’s nothing more awkward than standing above a loved one’s remains and having someone mourning two headstones down. Do you acknowledge them? Do you ignore the tears on their face? Or do you just exchange a knowing look that says, “I know. I know what you’re going through.”

  But you don’t. Not really. Everyone grieves differently. No one handles the loss of a loved one the same. Some put on a brave face for others, keeping everything internal. Others let it all out at once and shatter, only to pick up the pieces just as quickly as they came apart. Still others don’t grieve at all, implying they are incapable of emotion.

  Then there are the ones like me, where grief is a badge we wear, where it’s hard to let go because we don’t want to. We probably wouldn’t know how even if we wanted to. There’s unanswered questions, unresolved feelings. There is anger that this person could even conceive of leaving us behind. We are the furious ones, the ones that scream at the injustice and the pain. We are the ones who obsess and slowly lose rational thought, knowing it is happening but unable to find a way to care. We are the ones who drown.

  I pass the Old Yard, those graves time is erasing, the names on the stones all but illegible. These people are forgotten. These people don’t have fresh flowers on the grass, no one who actively mourns them. Their mourners are likely dead themselves by now, on their way to being disremembered. How would it feel to live a full life and have no one remember it, to have no one remember the extraordinary things you accomplished, even if it was just waking up every day and finding the courage to get out of bed?

  I see her, then. Even in the dark, even in the distance. She means something different to me now, with her stone wings and outstretched hands. She means so much more. She beckons me without moving, she calls for me without making a sound, even though in my head I can hear the flutter of wings and I see the color blue. I push it away before it can become something more, focusing on the stone angel getting closer. Her face is kind, but also sad, as if she knows what has happened to me, and what she must do. She hasn’t moved since I first laid eyes on her, always watching. Always guarding.

  This last thought causes an ache in my chest.

  And now, for the first time in weeks, I stand before my father.

  Fifteen words:

  EDWARD BENJAMIN GREEN

  “BIG EDDIE”

  BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER

  MAY 27 1960—MAY 31 2007

  “Hey, Dad,” I say softly. “Sorry it’s been awhile.”

  When I first started visiting him, I felt foolish talking to him out loud. He can’t

  hear you , I had chided myself. He’s not really there and you’re just sounding like a nut job. But I pushed on, and eventually it became easier, and I could even hear what I thought would be his replies, said in that gruff voice of his, buried deep in my mind. These days, there are times that I have to struggle to remember his voice just right. It seems to take longer and longer to find the cadence, to get the timbre just right. But eventually it comes to me and it’s like he never left, and he’s standing next to me, saying all the things I want to hear.

  But it feels different tonight. Something feels… closer. Just out of reach. I scan the rest of the boneyard, but it’s empty, the nearly full moon chasing away

  some of the shadows attempting to creep in. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I tell myself I’m just imagining things, there’s nothing here with me. I turn back to my father, the guardian angel still reaching for me, her palms up. Not able to stop myself, I reach out and touch her palm, the stone cool against my fingers. I raise my eyes to her face, and she’s watching me with gray eyes, her lips slightly parted. For a moment, I think she’ll speak. But, of course, she’s made of stone. She’s not real.

  I let out a deep breath. “It’s been kind of crazy these last few weeks. I don’t… I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing here, Dad. I thought I was. I thought… God, I don’t know what I thought. Did you send him here? Calliel? I don’t know why I think that, but there’s a part of me that thinks you did. If you did, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry for messing things up. I’m sorry for making him go away. I’m sorry I couldn’t figure it out in my head. Dad… I’m drowning here, okay?” My voice cracks, but I can’t seem to stop. I have to get this out. “I can’t seem to keep my head above water anymore. Things are just snowballing and I don’t know how to stop it. Five years. Five years I waited for something to happen, and now that it’s all at once, I… I need help, Dad. Please. I need help so bad, and I promise, oh how I promise you, that if you send him back, I’ll do everything I can to make it right. I’ll do everything I can to help him like you asked me to. I’ll do it for you. And I’ll do it for him.”

  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Fuck, do I miss you. There’s times that I find myself thinking something and I’ll turn around to tell you, and it hits me that you’re gone. It hits me all over again, because I could’ve sworn you were just here. Like you were standing right next to me just a second ago. Why can’t you be? Why did you have to go? Where were you going that day? You lied to me. I know you did. You weren’t going to see any friends. What did you do? What did you see?”

  A sob rips my chest and I try to choke it back down. “I’m so angry at you. I’m so fucking mad. You bastard. You fucking asshole. Why’d you have to go? Why did you have to leave me behind? You promised me. You promised me that you’d always be there. I’m your fucking son, and you promised me! You fucking promised!”

  My eyes are bleary and my knees feel we
ak. I reach out to steady myself and grab onto the stone angel’s hands. She holds me up as my body trembles. It hurts to stand here. It hurts to be here. Even after all the time that has passed, it still hurts. Everything about this place is—

  blue

  —pain and I just want it to stop. I just want it to be over. I just want to raise my head up and wake from this nightmare that I can no longer tell is real or not. There has to be an ending. This has to finish before it’s too late.

  Footsteps, from behind me.

  I whirl around, the angel Calliel’s name dying unspoken on my lips.

  Standing ten feet away are the Strange Men.

  I take an inadvertent step away, and the angel’s stone hands jab my back. The Strange Men cock their heads at me at the same time, mirror images of each other, light and dark. I don’t know if I should be frightened yet, but I’m well on my way. I try to keep it from my face.

  “Hello,” I say evenly.

  “Benjamin,” the dark man says. “Benji. Benjamin Green.”

  “Out here?” the light man asks, quirking his head at the other. “It seems… unwise.”

  “Why are you here?” the dark man asks. “What is it you hope to find?”

  My heart is jumping in my chest, and my palms feel clammy. “I was just coming to see my father,” I say.

  “Father?” the dark man asks. “Father.”

  “Ah, the father,” the light man breathes reverently. “His… name?”

  “Green. Edward,” the dark man says, his eyes twitching back and forth rapidly. “Edward Benjamin Green.”

  “Transposed,” the light man responds. “One is the other and the other is one. Big Eddie? From the sign?”

  “Yes,” the dark man agrees. “The sign.”

  “Crossed?”

  The dark man’s eyes twitch again. “No,” he says, sounding confused. “He… hasn’t. He’s…. paradox. Contradiction. How…?”

  The light-skinned man reaches out a white hand and touches the dark man on his shoulder, a caressing slide of his fingers. “It doesn’t matter. Not now. Later. Now is blue. Now is Calliel.”