Into This River I Drown

by T. J. Klune

  He stops but doesn’t turn.

  “What did you tell Calliel? Just now?”

  He looks up at the stars again and I follow his gaze. They look so brilliantly blue

  against the night sky I think them like ice. “I told him that even though I would

  return for him, I could understand why he did what he did. I told him he was very

  lucky to have found one such as you, even if it can only be for a moment. I’ll see you

  soon, Benji.” Even as he speaks the last words, white lights begin to flash around

  him. They become almost too brilliant to look at. I cover my eyes with my hands,

  squinting through my fingertips. I can make out the vague outline of massive wings, much larger than Calliel’s. They stretch out wide, glowing in the dark until they snap around Michael, cocooning him. The light explodes outward, and by the time the burned afterimage fades from my eyes, Michael is gone and I can hear footsteps

  racing down the driveway.

  Cal crashes into me, grips me tight, and runs his hands over me to make sure all

  my parts are still attached. Once he is satisfied I am in one piece, he cups my face in

  his big hands and kisses me, pressing my lips against my teeth. “Are you all right?”

  he asks hoarsely, brushing his lips over mine again and again. “Are you all right?” I stare at him, seeing my reflection in the black of his eyes.

  And yet he loves you….

  “I’m okay,” I whisper, though that is so far from the truth it’s extraordinary. “What did he want?” he asks me. “What did Michael ask of you?” I kiss him again, needing to feel his strength. I hope he has enough to give for

  what is to come.

  “Benji! What did he want!”

  I shudder in his hands. “To let us know we don’t have much time,” I whisper. “I

  think the end is about to begin.”

  part iv: the river

  The man past the end of his life stood at the edge of the river. The River Crosser was long gone, having warned him he would not come back. The man had said he understood this, and that he couldn’t leave. Not yet. “You may always be lost, then,” the River Crosser had cautioned before he departed. Alone, the man stared long at his reflection, which had again appeared in the water. He saw many things flash by about his own life, both the good and the bad. He saw that he had not taken his life for granted, and that he had been kind. But above all else, what he saw the most was love.

  And it gave him strength.

  So he stood, his shoulders squared, his head held tall. He breathed in the air around him as twilight began to fall. And at the sounds from above of great wings taking flight, he cried out for the river to hear, his voice booming through the darkening night: “If it takes all I have and if it means I will never be found, then so be it! For my family, for my son, into this river I drown!”

  michael’s sign

  All over town, the flyers read:

  THE ROSELAND CHAMBER OF COMMERCE PROUDLY PRESENTS

  The52nd ANNUAL

  JUMP INTO SUMMER FESTIVAL MAY19, 2012

  MUSIC~FOOD~CRAFTS~GAMES LOCAL BAND THE WAYWARD BOYS AT 6PM! PREPARE TO JUMP INTO SUMMER!!!

  The morning of the festival dawns cloudy and gray, with a promise of rain later in

  the afternoon that could put a damper on the festivities. A buzz spreads through town, like it does every festival, but it’s muted compared to years past. What if it rains? some in the town are asking. What are we going to do if it rains? They try to think back to other festivals, if there was a time when a spring rainstorm had fallen on the day of. No one can seem to remember any rainouts. Mid-May is usually a drier time, full of sunshine and blossoming flowers and bees buzzing lazily.

  Of course, weather contingencies have been in place for years, just in case. Mayor Walken goes on the local AM radio station morning show (Terry In The Mornings!) to reassure Roselandians that the show will go on regardless. Why, he spoke to Pastor Thomas Landeros of Our Mother of Sorrows just this morning, and the pastor assured him the church would be opened up and the pews cleared out of the way so people could set up their tables for the food and crafts. As planned, the festival will take place at the end of Poplar Street opposite the gas station, in front of said church, as it has for the past twenty years. It will be just like God is there with us, he says in that politician’s voice of his, earnest and soothing. And the Shriner’s Grange is only a short walk down a stone path from the church. Any overflow can be set up in there, and The Wayward Boys will be able to play their brand of bluegrass folksy twang inside as well. It’ll be fine, he says. We’ll pray that the rain stays away, at least until Sunday. If it doesn’t, the emergency plan has always been to gather at the church anyway, as it’s set up on a hill, higher than the rest of the town. Surely safe from any flood waters, should they come.

  And should they come, he says, Roseland will be ready. Heavy bags filled with sand have already been pulled from the town’s storage in case they’re needed to block the river. He knows, he says with certainty in his voice, that everyone will be willing to lend a hand, should it come down to it. After all, Roseland is the greatest little town in the world, and its people always want to help out their neighbors. It’s times like these that we remember just how wonderful Roseland really is. With that, he signs off and Terry In The Morning switches over to sports and weren’t the Trail Blazers just so close to getting into the NBA Finals this year? Interim Coach Canales certainly rocked this season out!

  Abe turns off the tiny radio I’d pulled out from the back office. “The greatest little town in the world?” he says. “Walken sure knows how to spin it, doesn’t he?”

  I shrug as I look out the front of the store. The gray clouds are thick, looking as if they’re stacked on top of each other, growing darker as they rise in the sky. The wind is starting to pick up, and an errant festival flyer blows down the center of Poplar Street. Peals of thunder echo down the mountains, but the sound is faint and doesn’t seem to be getting any closer or louder. Not yet. We’ll be closing the store at noon (as is tradition—Big Eddie was a big fan of the festival and often sat on the planning committee) and then heading over to help my mom finish setting up her table and bring in all her pies and cakes. She and the Trio are still up at Big House, churning out last-minute cookies and cupcakes in a furious cloud of flour and panic.

  It seems oddly domestic and normal, especially given what we now know about the way the world works. It’s been just under a week since Michael knocked on the door and Griggs stopped by for one of his unannounced-threats-disguised-as-aconcerned-visit. I’ve been watching for Michael’s sign, but nothing out of the ordinary has happened since he disappeared in a burst of feathers and a flash of light. I glossed over Michael’s warning when Cal asked what he told me, only because I think I’m protecting him, at least in the best way I know how. I’m no closer to solving anything, whether it be Big Eddie’s death, what exactly Griggs, Walken, and Traynor are doing (or even who their boss supposedly is), or where they’re doing it.

  A few days ago, I left a grumbling Cal at the store with Abe under the pretense of needing to run over to the next town to visit a friend of mine. I’d really headed past mile marker seventy-seven and crossed the bridge further down the highway and then doubled back, returning to the spot where he’d crashed from On High. It hit me that what I’d heard that night at Griggs’s house, through the anger in their words, had an undercurrent to it. Not quite fear, but nervousness, especially Traynor. This whole thing has bad mojo written all over it. First the guy dying in the river. Then that fucking meteor thing falling right near there. Jesus, Griggs! It’s like the universe is telling you to get the fuck out, and you’re saying we need to wait?

  I parked and hiked through the woods, making sure to keep an eye out on the time. Cal would be expecting me back shortly. He was pissed I’d left without him, and if I was late, I was sure he’d come looking for me. I still didn�
�t understand how I could block him from seeing the pulse of my thread, but it seemed it was possible. I’d prayed for him to come that night with the Strange Men, and he said my thread had lit up like the sun in the sky. I’d prayed for him not to see it, to stay away, when Traynor had come into the station, and he hadn’t seen my thread.

  So with simple thoughts such as stay away, Cal and I am okay, Cal and (ridiculously) I am invisible, I returned to where he’d fallen. The blowback was still evident, burnt trees lying on their sides, the crater in the middle of the clearing still blackened.

  If you knew what you were looking for, you could see the outline of wings in the crater, only instead of charred earth, they were made up of different types of blue flowers, ones that I had never seen before in all my years growing up in the woods. They stretched out along the crater, their design a bit fuzzy but obvious to me. I stared, dumbfounded, before plucking one, and heard the stem snap with a moist crack. I brought it to my nose, and it smelled of earth.

  Stay away, Cal. Stay away.

  I left the crater and went up the hill, deeper into the forest, looking for any signs of a structure, anything that would potentially show some kind of drug lab operating in the trees around Roseland. The air smelled fresh, not acrid. No trash littered the forest. No conveniently high hippie wandered toward me, telling me he’d just bought the most righteous shit from a sheriff, a mayor, and a scary-looking man who smoked.

  Michael. You said you’d give me a sign, so… give me a sign.

  The only response was the birds in the trees.

  So I left.

  Cal noticed nothing out of the ordinary when I returned.

  I look at him now and find him watching me, like he’s asked me a question I didn’t hear. “Sorry?” I say with a smile that feels fake. All I can seem to focus on is how much more pale I think he looks. I don’t know if it’s my eyes playing tricks on me, if I’m overreacting, but all I can hear in my head is that he’s dying, that staying here is killing him, that God thinks this is just some test, some goddamn game. It’s up to him, Michael had said. Only God can change his fate.

  And you better, I think as Cal returns the smile, showing teeth. You just better change his fate or I’ll hunt you down and find you myself. I don’t care if you’re his Father or if you are God. You take him from me and I will do my best to take everything from you.

  They seem empty, these thoughts. I’m sure God is used to being threatened.

  “What’d you say?” I ask him, trying to keep my voice even.

  He walks toward me slowly, as if he’s stalking me. He might very well be doing just that. I want to look away, sure he can see right inside my head and know what I’m thinking, but I don’t. Even if he is becoming more like the rest of us, there is still something unfathomable about his eyes, something not quite human, a certain awareness, almost alien in its intensity. I know if he asks me to tell him everything I am thinking right at this moment, I’ll tell him. I’ll give him all my secrets and ask for nothing in return. I’ll do anything for him because I lo—

  Oh.

  Oh shit.

  “You okay?” he asks me as he stands in front of me. I look up at him, and for a moment I allow myself to imagine his wings behind him, blue and beautiful, the feathers like silk, whispering as they rustle against each other. Blue lights shoot everywhere and the feathers (like the one in my desk at home that is mine) rise as he stretches his wings. The feathers (like the one in my father’s dead, floating hand, because that one is his) rise to block out the overhead lights. But that’s not real, because they aren’t there, they aren’t in front of me. I don’t know if he can even pull out his wings anymore. No further threads have called for him, and where once that might have made him restless, nervous that he hadn’t been called, now he seems almost at peace. There is still strength there, exuding from him, a reservoir I don’t think has even been tapped, but it’s not the same as when he first arrived.

  For some reason, he’s happy.

  “I’m good,” I manage to say. “You okay?”

  He grins. “I’m awesome.”

  I should have never taught him that word.

  The bell rings overhead.

  “Oh, thank God you’re here, Rosie,” Abe drawls. “Gives me someone to talk to so these two can continue to gaze into each other’s eyes.”

  Cal and I both flush at the same time, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning down and kissing me sweetly on the lips. I sigh to myself and wonder if it matters anymore, all the things I tend to think are important. Maybe all that matters is right here in front of me. Maybe that’s the thing I should be focused on. All the rest will still be here weeks from now, but Cal might not.

  He pulls away and watches me for a moment. Then, much to my dismay, he says with a knowing smile: “You’re looking at me differently.”

  Shit.

  “I….” Have no idea what to say.

  He shakes his head and kisses me again before stepping away.

  Rosie is grinning at him like he’s the greatest thing she’s ever seen (to be fair, Rosie’s lived in Roseland all her life, so he just might be). “I am so very glad you decided to come to town,” she tells him without so much as a look at me. I don’t know if she’s saying this on my behalf or for her own nefarious purpose. I almost tell her to back off my angelic boyfriend but I think the reference would be lost on her, so I resign myself to the fact that I’ll be stuck in Cal’s shadow for the rest of the time I know him. This splits my train of thought two ways, the first of which is thinking there’s no place I’d rather be than in his shadow; the second is wondering just how long I will know him.

  You can’t take him from me. You just can’t. He’s here for me, not for you. If you really are his Father, then you should love him enough to let him go.

  Much like I love my father too much to let him go.

  Dammit.

  “Heard about that storm?” Rosie asks. “Or should I say storms?”

  I nod. “Radio.”

  “Sounds like a doozy! Haven’t had one of them probably since….” Her voice trails off as she realizes her faux pas.

  But it’s not like I can blame her. It’s been almost five years. People are still sad, yes, and everyone knows the hole that Big Eddie left in our lives, but I seem to be the only one still fixated on it, the only one still drowning. I almost allow myself to feel anger about their perceived callousness, how quickly they were able to toss him aside like he was nothing, but that’s not the case. I’m the one with the problem. I’m the one people are tiptoeing around like I’m made of so much glass that even a whisper could see me break.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her kindly, even though my voice sounds rougher than I want it to. “You can say it. Hasn’t been a doozy of a storm since the day Big Eddie died.” And it had been too. What started out as a light sprinkle had eventually turned into a torrential downpour right before Big Eddie had been pulled from the truck. They’d had to move fast given how quickly the river could change from docile to manic. Looking back, I thought the sky itself was weeping openly at the loss of such a man from this earth. I thought Heaven cried for having to take him away from me, and God was begging for my forgiveness. I decided quite readily that if it was true and Big Eddie was gone, I didn’t give a damn if God felt sorry. I didn’t care if he was contrite and if he made the world cry for me and my father.

  “It’s fine,” I say again to Rosie. “I’m not going to break. I’m okay. I think. No, I know.” Maybe I’m getting there.

  Rosie glances at Cal before smiling sadly at me. “He was a good man, Benji. You know that; I don’t need to tell you again. I don’t think you could find a single person in this town to say anything against him.” Pretty words, but I have a feeling there’s a few who’d disagree with you. “But I’m sure glad to hear you say that, and I’m thrilled to see you smile the way you have been lately. And I think we know who we have to thank for that.”

  Cal flushes again, but even I can se
e the pleased smile on his face that he tries to hide with a bow of his head. I refrain from rolling my eyes, but not by much. It is easier than sinking into the twinge in my chest, especially since now I know that it could have a name, should I choose to give it one. It’s easy, almost too easy.

  “Shouldn’t you be down getting your food truck set up?” Abe asks Rosie.

  “Getting there,” Rosie says. “I’ve got some heavy lifting that needs doing and was hoping a certain big man would come help me.”

  I say nothing, waiting for Cal to make the decision on his own. It takes a moment, and many emotions appear to cross his face. While it might be indecipherable to Abe and Rosie, I’ve been around him enough to catch it all—his hesitation, his annoyance (however brief), his fear (even more fleeting). He knows what today is, what the conversation I overheard at the sheriff’s house means for today. In those few short seconds, he goes to war with himself, and I don’t know which part of him will come out the victor.

  Abe decides for him. “Go on, Cal,” he says, not knowing Cal’s internal conflict. Or maybe he does. If anyone else could know, it’d be him. “I’ll stay behind here with Benji and close up the store, and we’ll head down to the festival in another hour or so.”

  Cal looks to me. “It’ll be good,” I say. “Rosie could use the help and I’ll be there before you know it.”

  He crowds against me again, placing his hands on my neck, stroking the skin under my ears with his thumbs. His touch is familiar, warm and urgent. “You’ll be down right after noon?” he asks me. Or tells me. I don’t know.

  I nod. “Sure will, and we’ll have some fun. And then maybe I can get Christie or Mary to come open the store in the morning tomorrow so you and I can sleep in.”

  “After the sunrise?”

  “After the sunrise.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yeah, Cal.”