Into This River I Drown

by T. J. Klune

  His words soothe me, even if they cause my chest to hitch.

  I think about going to the funeral, but in the end I don’t, unsure if it’s my place. I don’t know if I could stand to see the grief-stricken faces of his family. I don’t know if I would be welcome, even if I would be unknown. I don’t know if I’m already being watched somehow. It doesn’t seem possible that an agent with the Bureau could have driven out to a diner to meet with me without leaving some kind of trail behind. Thoughts of phones pinging off cell towers and recorded conversations bounce around my mind. I don’t know how possible it is or if I’ve seen too many movies. At the very least, I expect the FBI to question me. I did call Corwin at his office one time. Surely they will check the call log. Surely they will wonder why he was so far away from home when he died.

  The media began to speculate, helping to spread rumors like wildfire. After all, a big thing did happen in a small town. A mystery occurred, one that had no answers, so of course there was speculation. It was discovered (leaked?) that Corwin worked on a drug task force. Surely that was related somehow? He’d gotten caught up in something related to his work and had paid the ultimate price. Maybe, some thought, he’d been dirty and had been double-crossed. Maybe he was undercover and had been found out. The FBI didn’t release much information, aside from saying they believed someone out there had to know what happened. Anyone with any information was urged to step forward. The FBI didn’t take kindly to their own agents getting gunned down. They had some leads, though they declined to reveal what those leads were.

  Corwin’s funeral was held on a bright sunny day in Eugene. Abe didn’t want me to go, the fear in his eyes palpable. Cal didn’t want me to go, the anger in his eyes like fire. We didn’t tell my mother. Much went unsaid, though I am sure we all thought it. Traynor. Or Walken. Or Griggs. Or one of their people. Someone had forced Corwin to his knees, stripped him of his clothing and shot him through the back of his head. Did he say anything about me to his killers before he died? Did he tell them I was the one who had called him? Did he tell them what he knew? Did they force it out of him?

  Again, so many questions with no answers. I didn’t go to the funeral. I didn’t show my face. I didn’t step forward as they had asked. It wasn’t out of fear for myself, not completely. It was out of fear for my family. If I’d shown up to Corwin’s funeral and someone was watching to see who would go, then I ran the risk of endangering everyone I loved. I couldn’t take that chance. I had to protect my family.

  Roseland was in the claws of the men who ran it. I could feel the grip tightening around us, and soon there would be no way to struggle for release. There was something coming on the horizon. It felt like things were building, though I couldn’t say to what point that might be. All I knew was that I was stuck in that grip. I couldn’t get out, not anymore. I thought about struggling, but I refused to pull anyone into it with me.

  This was the life and death of Joshua Corwin. He lived until I killed him.

  these flickering lights

  I am in the river, chest-deep. Shadow of a figure up on the road, hidden by rain.

  Flashes of crosses and feathers. The current is rough against my skin. “Benji.” My name is uttered. It’s as loud as I’ve heard it. Is it the river? Is it my

  father? Is it a guardian angel who I—

  need can’t live without must have love love oh god i love

  —know will wrap a strong arm around me and pull me from this place? I don’t

  know. I don’t care. Whatever the whisper is, it says my name like a caress and I

  lower my head beneath the surface of the river because that’s where it is, that’s what

  it wants. Who am I to fight it? Who am I to deny it?

  The sound of the rain thundering down from above is muffled underneath the

  surface. I open my eyes and prepare for the sting. It comes, but not as painful as it

  was before. The world appears a quixotic blue—

  blue i shall call you blue because all i have is blue

  —and I think about how nice it seems, how soft and wonderful and muted. I

  don’t know why I never thought of it this way before. It’s safer down here, floating

  in the deep blue dark, and I think how wonderful it feels just to float. I could float

  here for the rest of my—

  A sharp sound, metal moving against rock.

  It grates against my ears and I grit my teeth. But it dislodges something inside

  me as well, and I no longer want to float in the blue. The river is trying to hold me

  here, trying to make me forget. Breathe, it whispers in my ear. Open up your mouth

  and take a deep breath and you will be fine. It’s all blue, you know. Everything down

  here is blue.

  The sound is louder. I see a faint shape outlined ahead.

  The truck.

  I push forward, twisting through the river. The red truck comes into sharper

  focus, the cab upside down and pressed against the bed of the river. Its tail end is at

  an angle and breaches the surface.

  I move closer and see the driver’s window is busted out. It must have happened

  in the impact. It must have been—

  A flash of white.

  It’s an arm, I think wildly in the river. It’s an arm. It’s Big Eddie. It’s my father.

  The last time I saw my father was in the morgue when he was dead and white and not

  my father. He was so fucking white and the man in scrubs said it was because he had been underwater for a long time, that it was the river’s fault he looked the way he

  did. This is the river. This is my father. This is—

  I’m closer now. My father holds something in his hand that drifts gently up and

  down. It’s too hazy for me to see it, so I move closer. I don’t want to see my father’s

  face, I don’t want to see any more of his body trapped here underneath the river, but I

  must get closer. My chest is starting to burn, and all I really want to do is take a great

  gasping breath, so all the blue fills my lungs and all the river is within me. It’s so

  fucking dangerous, this thinking, and part of me is screaming to stop, just screaming

  for me to kick to the surface, to pray and pray and pray for the angel to pull me

  away. But I can’t. I won’t. Not when I am so close and can see—

  An arm wraps around my chest and pulls me away.

  But not before I see the great blue feather in my father’s hand.

  Rising up.

  Rising down.

  This was the last time I saw my father’s face.

  “Are you sure, Benji?” my mother asked, her voice hollow. “I don’t know if you should do this.”

  “Let one of us handle it,” my Aunt Mary said, tears leaking from her eyes. She’d been this way since she, Nina, and Christie arrived hours before. “You shouldn’t have to see this. It’s not fair. I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

  “It’s morbid is what it is,” my Aunt Christie said, glancing around, narrowing her eyes. “Why does anyone even have to do it?”

  “Benji, Benji, Benji,” my Aunt Nina said, petting my hair and kissing my cheek. “You are strong and brave. Big Eddie always thought so. You know that? He always thought so. All the time he did.”

  I must stand, I thought. I must stand and be true.

  “I just don’t get it,” Christie said, sounding upset. “Why do you have to go in there?” She wrung her hands, cracking the knuckles.

  “His wallet was lost in the river,” I said, my voice rough. “His wallet is gone, and even though it’s his truck, they still need a family member to identify him.”

  “Griggs knows him,” Mary muttered. “He should have been able to do it just fine. Don’t know why he needs to involve us.”

  “Benji,” my mother said, biting her bottom lip. More tears welled in he
r eyes. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe you shouldn’t see—”

  I shook my head and said, “No. No, I will do this. This is my father. He would do the same for me, so I will do what needs to be done.”

  A knock on the conference room door. We fell silent as the door opened. Doc Heward, on call because the county coroner was out of the state at the moment, stuck his head in, eyes somber and gentle. “Everything okay in here?” he asked kindly.

  “You tell ’em, Doc,” Christie insisted. “You tell ’em that Benji doesn’t need to go in there. You’ve known Big Eddie since he was a tyke. You can tell if it wasn’t him. Please don’t make Benji do this.”

  He looked miserable. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said, darting his gaze to me before looking away. “It’s the law, Christie.”

  “Fuck the law!” she snarled, looking wild-eyed. “Fuck the law!”

  Mary recoiled and Nina covered her mouth to keep from snorting at her sister using a bad word. My mother shook her head, tears falling from her eyes. None of them knew I’d already talked to the doc. None of them knew he told me he would be more than willing to identify Big Eddie for me, that it was Big Eddie in there, he already knew. He’d fudge the paperwork a bit. No boy, he said, should have to see his father in such a way, especially a boy like me and a father like Big Eddie. Let him help in what little way he could. Let him take some of the pain away so I could remember Big Eddie the last time I’d seen him, that smile on his face, the stubble on his head. Let him do this for me, please. By the time he’d finished begging me, there were tears in his eyes.

  But not in mine. No, thank you, I’d said. No, thank you. I will do my job. I will see to my father the way I am supposed to. You shouldn’t try and stop me.

  He’d hung his head.

  “Fuck the law!” Christie repeated. “Griggs said—” She stopped herself and shook her head. I didn’t care right then to know what Griggs had said. All that mattered was seeing to my father.

  Old Doc Heward said in a small voice, “Benji, are you ready?”

  No. No, I wasn’t ready. No, I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to stand. I didn’t want it to be true. All I wanted to do was find a dark corner and curl up until I was as small as I could make myself and just stay there until the world passed me by. I’d put myself in this position but could only now fully realize what I was about to do. Some small, tiny part of me still believed this to be a nightmare I couldn’t seem to wake up from. That part of me was sure that any moment now, my screams would be heard, and a rough but gentle hand would shake me awake and I’d open my eyes. I’d open my eyes and find myself staring into green like so many fireworks blasting across a black sky. He’d have a tight frown on his face, lines around his eyes as he squinted at me. “Benji,” he’d say, his voice a deep and worried rumble. “Benji, it’s okay. Wake up. You need to wake up because it was all a dream. Dreams can’t hurt you because they aren’t real. None of this is real and you need to wake up.”

  “Yes,” I whispered aloud. “Yes. I think so, yes.”

  I’d always heard the first step is the hardest, and once you take that first step, all the ones that follow are infinitely easier by comparison. I contemplated that first step for what felt like ages, but in the end, my right foot lifted slightly off the floor and the step was taken. Then another. And another. It did not become easier.

  Doc Heward held the door open for me, his eyes filled with so much pain for me. I made it through the doorway and into the long, cold gray hallway. The door closed behind me, but not before I heard my mother gasp and shatter again, the quiet murmurs of the Trio, the only family I had left in the world.

  Doc started to speak, but I couldn’t hear his words because I was so far away. I was so far away and I almost couldn’t tell which was the dream and which was real life. I heard my father’s voice in my head, like so many memories rising at once, the cacophony so brilliantly loud that it caused my—

  eyes to water as my father said, “I got a guy, Benji. I’ve got a guy who can get us a V8 cheap for the Ford. He tried to swindle me a bit, but I reminded him we don’t do that kind of thing here and he

  “—told me he understood and gave me a fair price,” I whispered aloud.

  “What was that, Benji?” The Doc asked kindly.

  I shook my head. “You think you can give me a moment?” I asked. “I’ll meet you down the hall. I just need a moment.”

  He nodded sympathetically and moved slowly down the hall, pressing his hand up against the wall as if he couldn’t support himself.

  This was getting more real by the second, and I almost couldn’t catch my breath. My vision narrowed as I took another step, and bile rose at the back of my throat. “It’s not real,” I said. “It’s not—

  going to be easy, but I think we can swing it,” my father said with a laugh. “Look, I know I said this was going to be just an office, but think about it, Benji. What if… what if we could just build a whole other house? It won’t be as big as ours but just… what if? If we really buckled down and agreed to do this thing, it could

  —be yours one day,” I said as I took another step. “It could be yours one day, if you wanted to stay here, that is. I know there’s a big wide world out there, but sometimes… sometimes, you just want to come home, you know?”

  I did know. Oh God, how I knew.

  I followed Doc’s silent advice and pressed my hands against the wall to help support my weight. The concrete was cool underneath my hand, and didn’t the hallway seem longer somehow? Didn’t it just seem like the longest hallway ever to have been built? It went on for miles, it seemed. I didn’t know if I could make it. I didn’t know if I could travel that great distance, realizing more and more what waited for me at the end. “I’ve always thought,” I started then paused. I slid my fingers over the stone, rough against my skin and it—

  was so funny to see Big Eddie dressed in drag that Halloween, getting ready for the Roseland Chamber of Commerce’s big party. He came down the stairs in the ugliest dress I’d ever seen, plaid with greens and blues and oranges and red. I burst out laughing as he tried to squeeze his gigantic feet into what had to be the biggest pair of high heels in existence. My mother collapsed against a wall, holding her sides, tears on her cheeks as she laughed so big. Big Eddie glared at the both of us and said, “What’s so flipping funny? I’m going to show the town how much I support my son. My big old gay son, because he is my son. If he is gay, then I want to show I’ve got his back. I’ve always—

  —got his back,” I said as a tear slid down my cheek. “Even if I look like a big old tranny, the people here are gonna know that my son isn’t going to take shit from any of them.”

  Memories like knives. Memories like ghosts.

  I was haunted all the way down that hallway. I felt stabbed repeatedly as I heard his voice in my head again and again. I couldn’t stop the memories, no matter how much I wanted to. I hated myself for all the good I remembered, because I wanted to let my anger consume me so I could focus on all the bad. I wanted to scream and shout at him, to let him hear my fury. To let him hear my fury and wake the fuck up, to stop playing this dangerous game that was breaking me apart.

  I was six when he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder and tickled my sides.

  Another step.

  I was… I don’t know. I was some age somewhere when he looked at me and smiled for no reason at all. He reached over and ruffled my hair and said, “You’re going to be a good man, you know that?”

  Another step and I didn’t know that, not anymore.

  He sat on the patio beside me at Little House as we watched the sun go down. After a quarter-hour silence, he said, “Sure is a great night.” Then he grunted that sound that meant he was happy. I could only nod.

  Another step, and I opened my eyes to see I was almost at the end of the endless hall. The doc waited for me near a door that looked like black iron. He had his hand on the handle, and he didn’t know I saw him wipe
his other hand across his eyes and take a shuddering breath.

  It was almost real.

  I heard my father singing quietly to himself as he sanded a piece of wood that would become the trellis up the side of Little House. It was something I’d heard him sing many times before. An old Seven of Spades song. “Float,” it was called. Some bluesy riff from the forties. Covered by many others through the years, but the Seven of Spades one was always his favorite. It was the song he sang when he was content and lost in his own little world. He—

  I stopped. This couldn’t be real.

  “Sometimes I float along the river,” I sang quietly to myself, my voice cracking. “For to its surface I am bound.”

  I took another step.

  “And sometimes stones done fill my pockets, oh Lord,” Big Eddie hummed. “And it’s into this river I drown.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Doc Heward asked me with a worried look, as if he could hear my father singing off-key in my head.

  No. “Yes.”

  “Benji, this doesn’t need to happen. I’ve told you I can—”

  “Open the door, Doc.”

  He watched me for a moment. I don’t know what he saw, but it must have been enough. He heaved a great sigh and opened the door. It squeaked on its hinges, the sound low and grating. I ground my teeth together. It went on forever.