by Sarah Tomp
I immediately wanted to do it again. And again. And again.
When we took a break to warm up on the sunny rocks, I was spent and giggly from adrenaline overload.
All the time we’d been there, different groups had come and gone along those rapids. Some people, like us, rode a bunch of times. Others went once and then either headed to shore or kept going the way you’d warned us against. I didn’t pay much attention to any of them until a long-haired guy stood dripping next to us. He said to Roni, “Could you settle a bet?”
Bucky moved closer to her, eyeing him.
“Are you the new lead singer for Lullaby Breaker?”
“Nope.”
His face fell. “Damn.”
She flipped her wet hair around. “But I am their new accompanist.”
“That means you sing, right?” His face lit up. He turned to his friends. “Told y’all.”
Then one of them said, “Shit. Is that you, Malone?” He squinted and laughed. “I thought you were either dead or in jail.”
You simply said, “Not at the moment.”
That’s the thing about Dale. You are what you are, what everyone thinks you are. Forever. You weren’t who you’d been any more than I was who I’d always been. You and I, each in our own way, were in the midst of a metamorphosis. Caught in the change, not all one way or the other. Right then I saw how his words made you fade.
Roni said, “Stick a fork in me, I’m done. Take me to shore, Bucky.”
Bucky stood to follow her, but you headed toward the rapids again. Without a word you launched yourself off the edge.
I didn’t see you at first, down at the bottom. I didn’t worry, though. Each ride had left me needing to reacquaint myself with up and down once I hit the open river. When I finally spotted you, I paddled in your direction even though you were farther away than usual.
My inner tube bumped along the rolling water. Then I suddenly got caught in a stronger current pulling me downstream.
“Paddle this way,” you yelled.
The water was too strong. My inner tube raced along faster than it had all day. In the direction of the Wormhole.
Your inner tube popped up and sailed downstream without you. My heart raced even faster then. You’d let go on purpose so you could swim to me. You grabbed hold of my tube and pulled me toward the shore. “Kick, Lulu.”
I kicked and paddled, fear giving me strength.
We finally managed to get to where we could stand and stay firm against the current. I gasped for breath, my inner tube knocking against the rough water. You stood downstream, blocking me from slipping away again.
Panting, I asked, “Is the Wormhole really that bad?”
“Not worth the risk.”
“What about all your faith in hopes and dreams? What about trust?”
“Still gotta weigh the odds. Can’t use faith as an excuse for reckless stupidity.” You eyed me, unsmiling. “It’s not too late to back out of what we started today. You haven’t done anything illegal. Not yet.”
“You think I should give up?” I searched your eyes.
“What if people look at you the way that guy looked at me? What if you really do spend time in jail? And when you get out, everyone thinks that’s all you’re ever going to do, all you’ll ever be?”
For me, staying in Dale already felt like its own kind of jail.
“We can’t do this without you, Mason.”
You didn’t argue.
I said, “Maybe you need this too. You can make some money. Enough to do something new. You could leave Dale. Start over.”
You led me and my tube toward the shore. Just before we stepped out of the water and onto the sand you looked back at me. “Wherever I go, I’ll still be me.”
That’s a good thing.
Then you said yes. You’d ride along with us.
14
For the next day or two, Aunt Jezebel bubbled and brewed in the woods. At some point you and Bucky made a quick visit and stirred the mess we’d started, then turned around and left her and Baby to work a little longer. I was curious but didn’t insist on tagging along. Now that you were a part of the plan, I believed it might actually happen, even if I wasn’t there.
Then it was the Fourth of July and Roni’s big day for her debut performance with Lullaby Breaker. The Fourth on the Green has always been a highlight of the summer. The Green—a memorial for the soldiers who died during the Civil War—hosts a celebration of our country’s original act of independence. The people of Dale don’t find it at odds to celebrate America’s birthday in the same place they honor the men who tried to break away from her.
Different bands—playing country, rock, bluegrass, and old Appalachian tunes on rough and simple instruments—were going to be performing all day, but Lullaby Breaker was the main attraction. Even though they were all from Dale, they’d toured the state and had actual, real-live groupies from the greater outside world. Some had started showing up a few days earlier. Roni and I had actually gotten stuck in five minutes of traffic on our way to work.
RVs and tents full of good-natured fans set up in the fields behind Church Row—where the Protestants hang tight together on the opposite side of town from Saint Jude’s. Between the laughter and the music and the bonfires and the clotheslines hung from tree to tree, it looked like a mash-up revival and refugee camp.
Getting ready at her house that morning, Roni was a squirmy mess of nerves. “Do I try to look elegant or sassy? Big hair or sleek?” I helped her curl her hair, but she immediately washed it out and blew it straight again.
“And what the hell do I wear? Why’d you ever make me join the band anyway?”
“What are the guys wearing?” I asked.
“Blue and true, whatever the hell that means.” She bolted for the bathroom and threw up.
I got her a Sprite and met her at the bathroom door. “Nerves much?”
She finally settled on jeans and a tight red T-shirt with a silver star—the outfit she’d planned all along—and wore her hair straight. Her silver cowboy boots finished the outfit with a little bit of flash. When Bucky pulled up in front to take her downtown, I called after her, “Don’t forget your Sharpie.”
She laughed and waved out the window of the truck.
I worked the Saint Jude’s bake-sale booth that afternoon. Mom and her middle-of-the-night baking had provided most of the stockpile. Sal had been coming by every day to sample her wares, and he’d brought all her sweet treats down to the Green that morning. Her mini-pies disappeared immediately, and people bought her brownies by the plateful.
When my shift ended, there was still time before Lullaby Breaker would take the stage. I wandered the Green with Buttercup and Charlotte, passing the booths of homemade crafts—multicolored quilts, cornhusk dolls, wooden toys that you could make if you wanted—but mostly we were seeing and being seen. That was what the Fourth was really about.
I saw Jessie sitting on a wall laughing and was glad you weren’t there too. Not that I didn’t want to see you. I just didn’t want to see you with her.
I wonder if we’d ever passed each other during other Fourth of Julys. Did you ever run wild with the other kids? Used to be once we’d blown our money on the games and goodies, we’d retreat to the trees to play tag, war, or sardines. But you had your first drink when you were eleven, and by twelve you were getting good and drunk a couple of times a month. At age thirteen you were drinking every day. Right? Isn’t that what you said? You must not have the same memories as me. What can you remember at all?
As the sun dipped lower, a big group of us waited by the stage. I saw people I knew from school that I hadn’t thought of all summer. Randy and Ollie were there too, looking cleaned up and wearing matching T-shirts that said RONI LIKES MY JUNK. Jimmy and Patrick James passed around spiked Gatorade bottles, but I wasn’t tempted to drink. There were way too many eyes of the town watching, and I was buzzed enough with the idea of hearing Roni sing. But I did think how we could t
urn something like this into a business opportunity. A couple more days and we’d have something to sell.
I said to Bucky, “How are Roni’s nerves?”
He shook his head. “Why’s she doing this if it makes her so upset?”
I think the nerves must be part of the thrill. Because once Roni came out onstage, it was obvious she was where she belonged. Her voice belted out clear and strong. She moved across the stage smooth and sexy, but like she had no idea she was anything special.
Roni had said that the hardest thing about performing is waiting for the crowd to get involved. So when I saw Bucky standing with his hands in his pockets, I grabbed his arm and made him dance. We all danced together. The whole crazy, happy mob.
Then I saw you.
There ought to be a word for that moment when two people find each other across a crowd. It’s that moment our eyes meet, the jolt of happy seeing your crooked smile directed at me. Everything else grows fuzzy while you come into sharper view. It’s the way my mouth waters and my insides get warm and jumpy. My fingers want you to be within touching distance. Vision and anticipation coming together. I’ll call it visicipation. That’s what hit me.
I moved to you. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
“Are you waiting for someone?” I meant Jessie, of course.
You shook your head. “Just here to see Roni sing.”
I grabbed your arm. “Come dance.” I pulled you into the mob of my friends, forcing you to join the swarm.
There’s something about country music that encourages stepping in close, no matter the tempo. As the notes and rhythms wrapped around us, I tuned myself to you. Your arm was something solid to hold on to. As easy as rolling along the river, we flowed away from everyone else. With our eyes locked on each other, I could hardly breathe.
Breathing is overrated.
When the band finished, they slipped off the stage and were lost from view as a pack of men moved in to retrieve the instruments and equipment and we all cheered, long and loud. You and I moved into the shadow of the stage. The echo of notes filled my ears, and my body swayed in time to phantom tunes.
Roni appeared, her face shiny and smeared with makeup.
“You were amazing.” I hugged her. “Ugh. I can’t believe how much you sweat up there.”
“I know. It’s as good as sex.”
Then she was swallowed in a crush of congratulations and hugs and gushes. Janis, her mom, gave her flowers, looking more than half lit. I wonder if she’s what you’d call a functioning alcoholic. It would explain a lot of Roni’s childhood.
I turned to you, but you were looking at your phone. “Hey, Lu. I gotta go.”
“Aren’t you going to watch the fireworks?” After dancing, my mind had moved on to wondering about sitting with you in the dark. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to happen, but I was willing to experiment.
Your eyebrows pinched together. “I have to meet someone.”
Seth had warned me that you always left with Jessie. I forced back a wave of jealousy. “Okay. See you.” I turned to follow the Roni love-throng.
You must have heard something in my voice, because you moved in close and whispered, “It’s about Aunt Jezebel.”
“What? With who? I’m coming.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not? I have a right to know what’s going on.”
“I’m talking to a buyer. He won’t meet with someone he doesn’t know. This could mean real money.”
I watched you walk away, but it was only a moment before I followed.
At first it was easy. I hung back in the crowd, watching your short hair moving through the swarm of insignificant people, away from the Green and on to Main Street.
Once you turned the corner at the barbershop and headed behind the row of businesses, I didn’t have a place to hide. I stood at the wall and peeked to see which way you would turn at the end of the alley. My heart thumped and my hands sweated against the bricks as I felt the adrenaline charge of being a spy girl on a mission.
Too bad I wasn’t any good at it. You saw me. I ran down the alley to join you in that employee parking lot behind the buildings. “You have to get out of here, Lu.”
“This is my deal too.”
You got a text. “Dammit. He’s almost here.”
Crazy kicked in with a vengeance. I scrambled into the back of a parked Chevy pickup and lay down. I said, “I’ll hide here and listen.”
You peered over the back with a wild look of exasperation, but there wasn’t time to argue. I heard a voice, thick with the hills, say, “Long time no see.”
You greeted him. I could tell you were shaking hands, moving him away from my hiding place. I pressed my body against the cool metal and into the musty smells, ignoring the dirt collected in the crevice by the tailgate while the two of you chatted about the weather and fishing and raccoons big enough to steal babies. I remembered how much I’d always hated playing hide-and-seek. The looking, the panicky worry I’d never find anyone. And waiting to be found was lonely and terrifying. It was one game I didn’t mind losing. That night in the truck bed, the stakes were a whole lot higher as I waited, praying Hail Marys until the line at the hour of our death took on too much emphasis.
You said, “I appreciate you meeting with me.”
“I’ll let you talk,” he said. “For old times’ sake.”
“I’m making our virgin run this week. It’s all new hardware. Good ingredients.”
“I gotta ask,” he said. “You mixed up in that other stuff?” There was a pause, then he went on. “A little taste of moonshine is our God-given right. Ain’t no reason the government should get in the way of a man and his drink. But that chemical shit, well, that’s wrong. I don’t want no mixing in that.”
“We see eye to eye on that one.”
“You might be the only one in your family.”
There was a catch in your voice as you said, “This is me, stepping out on my own.”
“Then you got nerve, boy.” He chuckled. “I might could use a new source. I’m about fed up with that moron in Harrisonburg.”
“Sure would appreciate you giving me a chance.”
That’s when my phone went off. I pressed closer against the truck, trying to stop it, but the vibration against the metal made a strangled buzzy-humming noise. I knew it was Roni wondering where we were.
I heard footsteps and prayed the two of you were moving on, but then a catch and lift in your voice made me realize someone else was there too, and walking toward my hiding place. A second later I saw a man with a beard pass by, and without any hesitation, he opened the driver’s door and got in the Chevy. He must have been in a hurry, because I didn’t even roll over before he started the engine. The beat of music inside his cab reverberated out.
I could have choked on my spit except a heart attack was going to kill me first.
I heard you say, “Whoa, I saw someone. In the bed there.” You banged hard on the side of the truck, which stopped its backward motion. I took the chance you’d offered and sat up.
The driver rolled down the window and said, “What the hell?”
“Looks like you have some extra cargo. She must have passed out back there.”
“Lord Jesus,” said the driver. “Unbelievable.”
Our client was already gone when the first boom of a firework crashed in the sky above us, setting off a silver spray. I climbed out, holding tight to your hand. As I hit the pavement, you scooped your arm around me. I leaned into you out of relief, then played along, stumbling and slurring. My recent drunken moments helped my acting skills.
You said, “I’ll take care of her,” and led me away from the truck and its grateful driver.
I staggered beside you as bursts of colors turned the sky rosy, then green. I looked up at you, and we laughed that hysterical laughter that comes with close calls.
It was even better than sitting in the dark.
Once the fireworks were over, we ma
de our way to Bucky’s truck.
You said, “That was crazy, Lulu. I never should have let you do that.”
“Let me? You can’t take my credit. That was all me.” I stopped walking. “Mason, I need to know everything about this moonshine business. I want to go with you to stir the mash.”
So, by the time an exhausted Roni and quiet Bucky showed up and you took off on your bike, we had a plan to meet the next day.
You’d left on your own, no sign of Jessie.
Driving home, Roni turned around to face me. “Grungie asked me to go to Richmond with the band.”
“What’s in Richmond?”
“They have a big-time gig there. In a real concert hall.”
Bucky said, “I told you. You aren’t going to Richmond with a bunch of guys, Roni.”
“You come too. You can be my roadie.” She ran her fingers along his arm.
“I have to work.”
“You don’t even know when it is!”
“And there’s Aunt Jezebel,” said Bucky.
“I can’t believe that’s more important than my singing.”
“It’s for our future,” said Bucky. “You know that.”
Roni moved away from him. “You know what you need to do for our future.”
When Bucky stopped his truck in front of her house, Roni jumped out with me, arms full of flowers, boots, and her bag. “Thanks for the ride, Bucky. Glad you had time to do that for me.”
“Get back in here, Roni.”
“I’m too tired to fight right now. Whenever you can fit me in your schedule, I’ll be there.”
His truck peeled off down the street.
“You okay?” I took her bag she was about to drop.
“Hell, no. He pisses me off.”
Inside, she stuffed her flowers into a jar of water and grabbed us a couple of sodas—Janis was still out—and then I followed her down the basement stairs. Roni gulped down her drink, then turned to me, grinning. “That felt good tonight.” She let out a huge belch—she knows how to project more than her singing. “Yep, real good.” We laughed, but then she growled, “There is no way I’m missing playing in Richmond.”