Payton Hidden Away

by Jonathan Korbecki

  “Something’s wrong,” Kristie says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “With you.”

  I sigh. “We’re back on this again?”

  “Why, is something bothering you?”

  “Nothing’s bothering me,” I say. “I told you, I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You’re totally disconnected. You’re sitting here, but you might as well be a million miles away.”

  “What’s with the third degree?”

  “Nothing. I’m not…I’m not accusing.”

  “Well, I’m right here.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod. I’m sure. Or pretty sure anyway. Or maybe I’m not sure. I still haven’t figured out a way to break the news that in two weeks I’ll be moving out. I’ll be hopping on a jet and moving halfway across the country. The University of Georgia said yes, and that’s a pretty big deal. No one in my family has ever graduated from anywhere, so it’s pretty important that I do. It’s also a long way away, and she’s not going to understand. Hell, I’m not even sure I do. I know it’s a great opportunity, and I need to take it because it’s there for the taking, but I’m eighteen years old, and what do eighteen year olds know about great opportunities? What do kids my age know about anything? All I know for certain is I have a beautiful girlfriend, the best of friends and a comfy little life here in Payton, yet I’m two weeks away from turning my back on all of it.

  I guess that means I’m not okay. I’m a mess, but I can also bullshit with the best of them, so I do, and she buys it, and no one else notices, because they’re watching Joanne toy with Ritchie, and Ritchie’s dying one beautiful moment at a time.

  Three

  Today

  Payton County. 6:41 pm. The sun will be up for some time yet. It’s the middle of July, and in Michigan, that means it’ll still be light after ten. Here the summers never end. Here, the sunset is a reminder that the morning is only a few hours away.

  Walking the streets of my hometown, I feel like an outsider. Everything feels the same, yet so much has changed. Payton is dying. Maybe it’s already dead, but nobody got the memo. A few of them look my way, and I think they’re staring because I’m in a town that never has visitors. People don’t stop in Payton to vacation, and they rarely stop for gas. The town is out of the way, and given the fact that I’m walking instead of merely driving through indicates that I’m here on purpose.

  “Help you?” an old man asks after shutting off his lawn mower, adjusting his cap and hitching his belt. He steps gingerly over his freshly cut grass, which bears a close resemblance to whacked weeds.

  “Just out for a walk,” I answer.

  The old man tips his hat again. “You know someone here?”

  I nod.

  “Maybe I can steer you in the right direction. I know pretty much everyone.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not lost.”

  He doesn’t look convinced.

  “Just out for a walk,” I repeat.

  “Uh huh.” The old man steps back, hitches his belt again and looks around while running his tongue under his lower lip—back and forth, back and forth. Any neighborly cheer he’d been pawning is lost in his dull eyes. He looks frail enough to tip over in a stiff breeze, but he’s determined to stand up straight in order to show me how much he distrusts me. There isn’t much life left behind those eyes. They’re dull pits, hollow and black, staring directly into my soul.

  Rather than waiting for him to step aside, I walk around him. It means stepping off the sidewalk and on the grass, but the creepiness of our conversation has compelled me to ignore neighborly etiquette. “Have a good one,” I mutter as I walk past.

  “I remember you as a good kid,” the old man calls. “You were more polite back then.”

  I turn. “Excuse me?”

  “Before you skipped town,” he mutters, but he’s already shuffling his way back across the scraggly lawn. I should recognize him, and it’s the fact that I don’t that upsets me. Rather than calling back, I turn away to find a heavyset woman walking toward me. Her face is fixed in a frown.

  “Tony?” she calls. “What you doin’ back here?” She stops a few feet from me, tilting her head before a slow smile breaks across her face. She opens her arms, the heavy fat wiggling back and forth. I offer a timid smile, but I make no move. “You don’t recognize me, huh?” she asks, her smile only growing wider as if she’s the world’s best-kept secret.

  I smile. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nobody thought we’d see you again.”

  “Well, here I am.”

  “Holly,” she says as if that makes perfect sense. “Holly Andrews.”

  Holly Andrews. The little girl down the street who had a big time crush on me when I was ten and she was six. My god, she looks ten years older than me. Weight aside, her hair has thinned and grayed. The bags under her eyes that used to make her look like she was forever smiling have turned into gray tea-bags that look like melting wax, and she’s got a very unattractive scar that makes the right side of her lip droop. I guess that’s what life in Payton does to you.

  “I see you tryin’ to work through it,” she says with a smile.

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “Some get lucky.” She shrugs. “Some don’t.”

  “How have you been?” I ask, not all that interested.

  “Five kids.” She holds up five fingers on the left hand to emphasize. “Three husbands.” Three fingers on the right.

  “Well, they say three’s a charm.”

  “There’s nothing charming about it. The third one only stuck around long enough to charm me out of my retirement savings.” She giggles. And snorts. “I’m on to unlucky number four.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “It’s so good to see you,” she says with a grin, re-opening her arms. It bothers me that these people recognize me. I don’t recognize them, which gives them the advantage, leaving me vulnerable. And the longer I’m here in this depression-saturated town, the more I just want to leave.

  “You too,” I lie.

  “Wanna come in for a drink?” she asks, motioning toward her house. “I just made up a fresh batch of punch for the kids. There’s plenty to go around.”

  I shake my head. “I’d love to, but I’m meeting someone. I just thought I’d go for a quick walk. See the town.”

  She smiles and settles back. “There’s not much to see.” She giggles, waving a chubby hand. “Anyway, I wasn’t insinuating nothin’.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that you were.”

  “Married?”

  I lift a ring-less left-hand and wiggle my fingers. “Divorced.”

  “Bummer.”

  “I’ll stop by before I leave.”

  “Yeah?” Her tone carries a hint of doubt.

  “Sure.”

  “You mean like the last time?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning when you left town all those years ago, there was that whole…thing.”

  That thing. First the third degree from the old man, and now her. I can see her eyes reading mine. She’s prying, digging in with her talons, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of cornering me on a subject that’s none of her business.

  “Forget it,” she says, a false smile spreading across her lips. “Can’t blame me from bein’ curious.”

  “The Welcome Wagon around here could use a tune up,” I grumble.

  “Payton’s still a small town. There’s not a lot to talk about. Someone like you shows up, it’s bound to stir the hornet’s nest.” she grins. “I meant it though. Stop by if you can. No strings attached. It’s been twenty years since all that, so no guilt trips, I promise.”

  “I’ll stop by.” I turn my back on her and this town.

  This town.

  This town has turned into that place you see on TV when someone local snaps. As they lead the perp away in shackles, everyone will say what a nice guy he was, and what a great place this town is, and th
ey’ll say it to the camera while wearing a bathrobe or a wife-beater. They’ll say it without shame, and they’ll say it from right here, right smack-dab in the middle of a rash that can’t be itched. I’d leave except I came for a reason, and that reason has nothing to do with these people. In a way, it doesn’t even have anything to do with this place. I decide to work my way back to the hotel. I don’t want to appear as though I’m trying to flee, but I don’t want to socialize either. It’s been a long day, and I’m not mentally prepared for this. Not the town, not these people—not any of it.

  My phone rings, and the caller ID says ‘Restricted.’ I answer anyway.

  “Tony?” she asks.

  I wouldn’t have been able to place her voice this morning, but now that I’ve had a chance to process, everything sweet and sorrow in what was once the perfect girl is recognizable even over a bad connection.

  “What did you decide?” Kristie asks. “Are you coming? Can you come?”

  “I’m out for a walk.”

  Silence.

  “32nd looks like hell,” I say. “The whole town does.”

  “32nd?” she asks. “32nd Street? Here in Payton?”

  “I just flew in, and now my arms are killing me.”

  Silence. I at least expected a courtesy giggle…

  “Where are you?” she asks.

  “32nd and Main.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “You never gave me your number.”

  A pause. It’s like I can hear her thinking on the other end. She analyzes everything, and I guess that’s partly why we didn’t make it.

  “I can’t believe it,” she says softly. “You’re actually here.”

  “In the flesh.”

  “How about dinner?”

  I draw a breath, standing stupidly in the middle of a sidewalk while sprinklers twist and spin all around me. “I’m at the Days Inn.”

  “Of course you are,” she replies. “It’s the only hotel in town. What room? I’ll pick you up.”

  “I have a car.”

  “So do I.”

  “Sixteen.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “I won’t,” I reply. “Like I said, I’m out for a walk. This town is unbelievable. What the hell happened here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. What happened here? The people are zombies, the businesses are boarded up. What’s going on?”

  Pause. “It’s still the same old Payton.”

  “No,” I reply. “It isn’t. Nothing’s the same.”

  “You okay?”

  I shake my head, but take my time answering as I look around again. “I’m not sure.”

  “So, when should I meet you?”

  I look around, my phone pressed against my ear. I do a quick calculation. “Give me a half hour.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I hang up, turn the corner, and start back toward the hotel. There are kids playing in the street, but they hold up their hockey game to watch me pass. Everyone’s curious. Everyone’s staring. Even the kids. I’m a stranger in a town where everyone knows everyone else.

  This walk was a bad idea.

  “Hey guys,” I say as I pass. None of them answer. They just stare, so I keep walking. Eventually they go back to their game, and eventually I stop looking back. I consider jogging the rest of the way back to the hotel just to get out of the spotlight, but if I run, the whole town will see, and then they’ll wonder even more. I keep my pace brisk while keeping my posture casual—head bowed, hands buried deep in my pockets as I head home.

  Home.

  Home, at this point, doesn’t apply. I don’t have a home. ‘Home’ isn’t here, and it isn’t back in Atlanta. Home is where the heart is, but at this point, I don’t know where my heart is either.

  The sun is orange fireball in the sky, slowly looming larger as the afternoon ages. The hotel parking lot remains hot, the tar-filled cracks lifting like gum from the bottoms of my shoes. I don’t know what I’m doing back in this dilapidated little town, and I have no idea what to expect tonight, tomorrow or three days from now, but one thing is certain as I turn the key and open the door, and that is I’ll need a shower before Kristie shows.

  Part II

  A knock at the door. Staring at my reflection, I figure I look okay, but mentally, I’d rather close the drapes, pull the chain and watch some mindless TV. It’s been a long day, but resting will have to wait, because she’s here, and just like when we were kids, she’s nothing if not prompt. Thirty minutes on the nose.

  Crossing the room, I’m prepared for anything. I vaguely remember the girl I dated, though my recent run-ins with Rachel Roberts and Holly Andrews isn’t far from my mind. As I open the door, I’m prepared for the best while bracing for the worst. I guess, in a way, I’m selfish enough to hope Kristie’s let herself go so I won’t feel so bad that I abandoned her here.

  But she hasn’t, so I do.

  I’m standing in my open doorway—tongue-tied. There she is, and she hasn’t aged a day. I’d recognize those baby-blues from a half mile away the same way I’d recognize that hesitant smile. There might be a couple of thin laugh lines and a hint of gray mixed in with the blond, but she still looks young, and she still looks fresh. In fact, she looks just like I remember her; perfect.

  “Hey,” she says sweetly.

  “I…uh…” I pause, wondering what to say next. Across the parking lot, the gum-smacking girl that checked me in at the front counter is outside leaning against the wall. She’s either smoking a cigarette or a joint. And she’s staring. At me.

  Kristie follows my gaze before turning back. “She’s a little young.”

  I frown and turn away, walking back into my room. Kristie follows, looking around as though the condition of the room is going to reveal something about me. And maybe it does. The room is in shambles; clothes on the bed, draped over the chair, wet towels and wash cloths on the floor of the bathroom, all my personal things stacked on the back of the toilet.

  “I hadn’t exactly prepared for guests,” I say, my voice trailing off.

  “It’s a hotel room.”

  “I was trying to conjure repressed memories by recreating the ambience of my childhood bedroom.” No response. Nothing. Not even a smile. “Nobody ever gets my jokes.”

  Now she smiles. “That’s because I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  “You remember where you’re going?”

  “Even if I didn’t, it’s a small town.” I grab my wallet and keys from the nightstand before corralling her back toward the door where I lock up and lead her across the parking lot to the rental. “There are only so many streets to choose from.”

  “One day this place is going to surprise you.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’m surprised.”

  She climbs in and pulls her door shut. I already know where I’m taking her even before I take the wheel. Our favorite hangout was always Dune’s. We’d go there in the evenings and camp out on the deck, the lights along the railing, the stars shooting across the heavens like out of a movie.

  “So, can I ask where you’re taking me?” Kristie asks.

  I just shrug. No sense in ruining the surprise.

  “It’s not there anymore,” she murmurs, turning away to gaze out her window.

  “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You’re just—”

  “Dune’s.” She turns to me. “It’s gone.”

  “Where’d it go?”

  “Burned down. Something like six years ago. They said it was arson, but nobody could ever prove anything. I think it was Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. They skipped town after they collected the insurance. They never even considered rebuilding.”

  This information is timely enough, but I’m already irritated as I come upon the hole in the world where Dune’s used to be. It looks like the city never even bothered to clean up t
he mess. The charcoaled and rotted out remains still stand, weeds and fledgling trees growing where I used to dine as a kid.

  “Typical…” I say.

  Kristie just stares straight ahead.

  I pull into the overgrown parking lot before turning around. “Now where?”

  “We passed a Burger King.”

  “Burger King? Really?”

  “There’s Cherries off Lincoln.”

  “Neither of us are dressed for Cherries.”

  “It’s a small town, Tony. Our options are somewhat limited.”

  “I’m not arguing.” I shake my head as I drive slowly along the street. “I’m just saying.”

  She sits quietly for a second before tugging on the door handle.

  “What are you doing?” I ask frantically. “We’re moving!”

  “I suddenly don’t feel so good. Can you pull over?”

  “I’m in the middle of the street.”

  “Then hurry it up.”

  Reacting quickly, I pull to the side of the road. She struggles with her seatbelt, finally gets it off, kicks open the door and leans over, straining against her seatbelt while vomiting all over the street.

  I cringe. “You okay?”

  “Can we go?” she asks, pulling the door shut.

  “Should I take you home?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “Jesus. No, I am not pregnant. I’m nervous.”

  “About what?”

  “Can we just go?”

  “We’re going.”

  “I don’t feel us moving.”

  “We’re moving,” I answer, stomping on the gas. “Here we go.”

  She fishes through her purse and settles on a Tic Tac before offering me one. Then she crosses her legs and resumes her quiet stare out the passenger-side window.

  “I’m taking you home,” I say softly.

  “I told you, I’m just nervous.”

  “What in the world is there to be nervous about?”

  “A reaction from you like that one.”

  “So, this is my fault?”

  She rests her forehead against the glass, her breath white fog. “Twenty years and you haven’t changed at all.”