Weedeater

by Robert Gipe

  I tried to sleep, but when I went to quiet out, it made me hotter. I pretended I was in a tanning bed. I thought about people paying to sleep in a hot box and how the trunk was better in a way, cause I didn’t have all them bright lights shining on me. That line of thinking eased my mind and I slid off to sleep.

  * * *

  WHEN THE trunk flew open, Kenny said, “I’ll be damned.”

  The light was bright after that trunk dark. My vision was all stars and sparkles. I stuck my arms out to block the sun. Cool air washed over me. Kenny turned away from my naked shininess. He walked a circle around the Bonneville, peered off into the woods. Kenny come back and stood over me. “What are you doing in there?” he said.

  “Sweating, mostly,” I said.

  Above the creek bank where the Bonneville was parked was the back side of a bunch of big stores.

  I said, “Is she all right?”

  Kenny said, “June?”

  I said, “Yeah.”

  And Kenny said Calvin had locked her in a closet, then knocked me in the head and run off with the money. Kenny said he’d got her out and she was OK.

  Kenny walked off down the creek. I put my britches on and walked up to the store buildings. Back of a dumpster out behind one of them stores, I heard a man crying. I wasn’t going where it was, because generally a man don’t want another man to see him crying, but I thought, well, maybe this man’s got his foot caught in something. I’d hate to of just walked by and a man lose a foot.

  So I went to the crying.

  * * *

  CALVIN WAS jammed back in a wedge a dumpster made with the rough block of the back wall of one of them store buildings. He’d put himself together a hidey-hole out of cardboard and long log-looking pieces of foam. I had to squat to see him through a square little open spot.

  Calvin wiped his eyes with the heel of his hands, said, “What are you doing here?”

  I said, “Calvin, I come in the trunk of your car.”

  “But how’d you get out?”

  “Kenny let me out.”

  Calvin said, “I thought I killed you.”

  I said, “It wadn’t that bad, Calvin.”

  Calvin stood up, knocked his little fort over. He took off walking over the gravel and grass between the store and the Bonneville.

  I said, “Calvin, where you going?”

  He didn’t say anything, which I didn’t think he would.

  I seen the red bag of money amongst the cardboard and foam. “Hey, Calvin,” I hollered, and picked up the bag and started back to the Bonneville. I got to the car about the time Kenny did. Calvin was in the driver’s seat rooting around on the floorboard and up in the sun visor and down in the seat cushions.

  “Kenny,” he hollered. “Where’s the keys?”

  Me and Kenny was standing on either side of the car. Calvin kept hunting the keys till he give up and put his head against the steering wheel and went back to blubbering.

  I put my hand on his shoulder, said, “Honey, what’s the matter?”

  When I done that, he threw the door open, which like to break my arm. He jumped out and took off running through the woods beside the creek. Where there was so many roots and so much brush, he didn’t get fifty yards before he tripped and went chin first into a big old rock and knocked himself down into the creek, which was topped by a nasty brown foam and had sawdusty stuff swirling in it.

  I was afraid Calvin had knocked himself unconscious, face down in the creek like he was. Kenny jumped in, waded waist-deep and got Calvin up under his arms and wrenched him out of there. Between the two of us we got him on his back, far enough up the bank to where we wadn’t too worried he’d slide back in. Calvin had a gash run with the ridge of his chin took nine stitches to close. Kenny took his shirt off and wadded it up for Calvin to press against his chin.

  Calvin sat up, dazed like a baby woke to a new world. Kenny said, “Calvin, do you know us?”

  He said, “Not as well as I’d like.”

  Kenny said, “What’s the capital of Tennessee?”

  Calvin said, “Kingsport.”

  Kenny said, “I think he’s all right.”

  I said, “I didn’t know Kingsport was the capital of Tennessee.”

  “It aint,” Kenny said, “but Calvin thinks it should be.” Kenny stood up. “Always has.”

  Calvin said, “Yall want to smoke a joint?”

  Kenny said, “You got a joint?”

  Calvin said, “No,” said, “I thought you might.”

  Kenny looked at me and I shook my head and Kenny said, “Calvin, why did you put Gene in your car trunk?”

  Calvin said, “I thought he was dead.”

  Which made sense to me, cause I breathe real slow. Especially when I get hit in the head.

  Kenny said, “Calvin, what are we doing here?”

  Calvin looked up at the sky and squinted his eyes and let his mouth fall open like he was waiting on the words he needed to drop onto his tongue. I swear I aint never seen a face so full of hope. I mean, it was impressive. I looked up at the sky too.

  “I just needed that money,” Calvin said. “Needed it sitting next to me.” Kenny turned his back to Calvin. “But then when I got it,” Calvin said, “I didn’t want to do right with it. Didn’t want to give it to the taxman. Didn’t want to pay back Desiree or Felicia or Aster. Didn’t want to give it to my children. Just wanted to go with it. Just wanted to go.”

  Calvin leaned up on his hip and pulled a map out of his back pocket. Mud smeared the map as it come loose, and Calvin lay back on the creek bank and unfolded it. He held the map out in the air above him. It was worn in its folds and Calvin studied it for a good little bit and then let it float down over him like a picnic blanket.

  He said out from under it, “Why don’t yall just bury me right here?”

  Kenny said, “Calvin, I aint never seen you like this.”

  Calvin said, “I been like this. Forever.”

  Kenny said, “Gene, help me get him in the truck.”

  Calvin said, “Boys, let’s us just stay here a minute longer. Let’s us just stay here and be still a minute.”

  And that’s what we did. We heard the creek meandering and the minivans in the parking lot and me and Kenny seen a creek turtle stick his head up and then go back under. Calvin said from under his map, “Boys, I believe I’d of been better off born a dog.”

  Kenny looked at me and said, “Calvin, honey, we’ve all felt like that.”

  When Calvin looked at me over the edge of that map, I nodded it was true.

  The blood off Calvin’s chin was filling up Kenny’s T-shirt and Calvin, he looked kind of woozy and squeezed the T-shirt and blood welled out of it and got in the lines of his fingers. Calvin smiled and pointed the T-shirt at me and said, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick your ass.”

  “None of us do,” Calvin said.

  “Calvin, you want to go to the hospital?” Kenny said.

  * * *

  THE HOSPITAL sewed Calvin up. Calvin sang “Long Black Veil” to the woman who cleaned his wounds. He said to her when he was done, “You know, I like a woman with meat on her bones.”

  * * *

  WHEN WE took Calvin back to his mother’s house, she was sitting on the porch with a pan of broke-up beans in her lap. She stood when she seen us in the failing light. Calvin limped up the walk and then come back and leaned in Kenny’s window and said, “You boys don’t mind bringing the Bonneville back over here?”

  We said we didn’t.

  Calvin said, “Boys, if I got to be in it, I’m glad to be in it with you.”

  Kenny said, “Get you some sleep, Calvin.”

  Calvin nodded and patted the base of Kenny’s window frame. Then he went in the house with his arm over his mother’s shoulder, said something caused her to gouge him.

  * * *

  WHEN WE came back with the Bonneville, Calvin’s mother’s house was all lit up. I got out of the car and got in Kenny’s truc
k. We went back to That Woman’s house and I can’t tell you how glad she was to see that red bag of money. It didn’t seem to occur to none of them to speak to the law about it, which suited me fine.

  We set in That Woman’s kitchen a little while and drank sweet tea and then we went out and sat on her porch. On the porch, Kenny and That Woman drank whiskey and me and That Woman’s pillhead sister drank Pepsi, and I felt better about things, about Kenny being with That Woman. It was peaceful in That Woman’s yellow bug light, felt like there was room enough for all of us.

  Room enough for all of us was an easy feeling to sleep on, especially when Kenny followed That Woman into her room. That easy feeling served me in good stead again about four in the morning when That Woman’s pillhead sister snuck past me on the front room couch, slipped past with the red bag of money out to the Bonneville idling rough at the curb. If it hadn’t been for that easy feeling, I don’t know how I’d of felt when the Bonneville and Calvin and That Woman’s pillhead sister slid off into the mist and stink of another Kingsport July morning. Don’t guess I ever will know, cause despite the best efforts of so many good people,

  6

  RUNNING COAL

  DAWN

  Monday me and Nicolette set on the top row of aluminum bleachers next to the ball courts where the river used to be in downtown Canard. Ten donkeys stomped up and down the court with grown men dressed like circus clowns on their backs playing basketball. Frost-headed mothers and sweaty kids with cheez doodle lips surrounded us. Cinderella Stewart come up on the bleachers’ backside and stuck his cat-scratched pimplehead between my feet and said, “Your mommy’s in trouble, Dawn.”

  I said, “You aint supposed to be around kids, Cinderella. You forgot what the judge said?”

  I tried to talk low when I said, “Fuck you, Cinderella. Come get me when she aint,” but two frosty heads turned to look at me. I told Nicolette not to move and slipped over the back of the bleachers. Cinderella was a mouth breather and where he’d been out in the sun his face looked like a gas station pizza. He leaned his head forward, neck stretched out like the hitch on the back of a pickup truck.

  He said, “She stole a bunch of money. Run off with some dude.”

  I said, “This is so not news, Cinderella.”

  The truth is, I already knew what I was going to wear to Momma’s funeral. It had got to where every time I seen her alive it was an interruption of my grief.

  Cinderella said, “I tell you what else. Belinda Coates killed June’s dog.”

  I said, “Shut up, Cinderella.”

  Cinderella said, “Poisoned it. Said she’d do the same to Tricia when she found her.”

  I said, “I love that dog.” Which made me mad I said it, because I love the dog, but I didn’t need to tell Cinderella.

  Cinderella said, “It was a whole bunch of money she took.”

  Nicolette come up beside me and I said, “Let’s go, Nicolette.”

  She said, “Mommy, that horse stomped that man.”

  I said, “It’s a donkey.”

  Nicolette said, “Why’d he do that?”

  I said, “Come on, Nicolette.” I told Cinderella to leave us alone, told him to go back to wherever he goes when he aint telling me stupid stuff I already know.

  Cinderella raised his hands like he was getting robbed. His palms were lined with dirt. Grease streaked and spotted his Canard Crazee Daze 10K T-shirt and you couldn’t tell did the grease come from food or machinery. Nicolette took a picture of Cinderella with her throwaway camera she got off June. We walked up in town where June and them were working.

  Nicolette said, “What happened to that man’s face, Mommy?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  GENE

  That Woman told me and Brother to come to the old Progress Building downtown. Told us to be there at 7:30 in the morning. Said we’d be cutting the plywood to make her COALTOWN! letters. At seven, me and Brother was sitting down there smoking at the coal memorial. The students started showing up, and by the time the late ones got there, That Woman still wasn’t there. That hateful Evie Bright, piled up with nightmare Belinda Coates, told me to go up to That Woman’s house to see where she’s at. I did, went up them steps, and That Woman was sitting there on her porch, rocked forward, ankles together, elbows on her knees, and she had canvas bags full of stuff piled up at her feet, like she was waiting for a ride.

  I said, “Ma’am, you ready to go?”

  That Woman stood up, gathered up them bags had tools and tape in them, and she grabbed a four-foot-tall roll of butcher paper and I put my hands out and she give me a couple of the bags, and I got hold of the roll of butcher paper and we started down the stairs. She went in front of me with a heavy step. We put the stuff in her car and she asked did I want to ride down there with her and I said I didn’t mind to do that. She pulled out from the bank to let me in and when I got in, she said, “Where do you reckon my sister is?”

  And I said, “Untelling.”

  She said, “Did you know that man? Do you know Calvin?”

  I said, “Just met him that day.”

  She said, “Do you know where he lives?”

  I said, “Kenny does.”

  She said, “Kenny said he would find Calvin. But they’re good friends. Friends for a long time. I don’t think Kenny cares for my sister. He says she needs to fix herself. Says I’m letting myself in for heartbreak trying to help her.”

  I said, “Hard to know about something like that.”

  She said, “Other day I found myself thinking how good it would feel for my sister to die. I can’t believe I thought that. I can’t believe I’m telling you.”

  “Well,” I said,

  That Woman said, “But she’s my sister.”

  I didn’t know what to tell That Woman. Personally, I don’t think you can give up on people. Not ever. But I couldn’t speak for her. I said, “Them younguns are waiting on you to come tell them what to do. And they’re wanting to know when they’re going to see a payday.”

  That Woman said, “Is your brother there?”

  I said he was when I left. That Woman nodded. We went on down there and started working. Didn’t say no more about That Woman’s sister.

  DAWN

  June and them were putting together plywood letters forty feet tall on the ground floor of an old three-story brick building. Somebody said it was the first building built after the railroad come, after they knew for sure there was money in coal. When it was new, they sold furniture out of it, then stoves and radios, then other stuff of increasing uselessness, but wadn’t nothing in it the summer June was there but dead pigeons, piled-up junk from a dozen bad ideas, and the racket made by the saws and drills and hammers of June’s crew.

  There’d been copper around the upstairs windows and under the eaves of the building till it got stolen in broad daylight with people watching from the restaurant across the street and in offices in the old courthouse. Why weren’t they being nosy like they are every other time in the history of Earth? Cause they aint got the nerve, not when it comes down to it.

  I come up beside Aunt June from behind. She was standing inside the doors on the corner of the building closest to the post office. A box fan in the store window blew on her hair, which was sweaty and stuck to her head.

  I said, “So what are yall doing exactly?”

  June said, “Well, we’re making a big old sign. Like the one in Hollywood. It’s gonna go on the hillside behind the floodwall and say, “THIS IS A COALTOWN!”

  I said, “Why?”

  June said, “Cause they’re paying us. Cause it will build our capacity to do community art projects.”

  I said, “Who’s paying you?”

  She said, “The county. They say they want it up by the time Bush gets here.”

  I said, “Bush who?”

  She said, “Bush the president. He’s coming end of the month.”

  I said, “I thought you was against coal.”

  June said
it ain’t that simple. I knew Mamaw didn’t agree with this COALTOWN! sign. Traitor to the land, Mamaw had called her.

  June said, “We’ll do this and then we can do something else, something that asks a harder question.”

  I said, “Whatever, Aunt June,” and thought to myself, you start with this here and that’s as badass as you’ll ever be. I said, “This is stupid. It makes coal company sucks out of everbody works on it.”

  Aunt June picked up a chunk of two-by-four and swung it up over her head and brought it down across a turned-up milk crate, made a pop like a firecracker. Everybody in there, probably twenty of them, jumped. June’s eyes was like coals in a grill ready to cook when she turned on me. She said, “Why don’t you just go on then, Dawn. We’re trying to do something.”

  Evie Bright and Belinda Coates sat in the store window on the pondwater-green carpet. They sat bumping their legs on the wallboard behind their feet, passing a slushee back and forth, laughing behind their hands at me. A table saw sang high and mean. People went back to screwing two by fours to the plywood, cutting their eyes at me. How could Evie sit with an evil skag like Belinda Coates? How could she stop being my friend and start being that dog-killing heifer’s? Cause pillheads go where pills are.

  I didn’t want to stay there, not in that store, not in that town, not in none of it. The room spun around me like a backwards merry-go-round, me sitting still on a psycho-looking painted horse, its teeth painted pink and its gums painted blue, and the world ripping a big circle. I squeezed down on Nicolette’s hand, and the thought came on my mind like a hot doughnut on a china plate: it would be easy to let go of Kentucky. It would be easy to let go of living in a coal-mining place. But I couldn’t go. Nowhere to go. I didn’t belong in Tennessee. I was cut from cloth too rough. I’d die of boredom there. I was stuck, a crow nailed to a cross in a crazy man’s garden.

  Out the window at the courthouse, there was a man with a mullet and no sleeves to his shirt, big hammy shoulders, sitting next to a man in a Korea War veteran ball cap and Members Only jacket. Another man had silver sideburns and a plaid short-sleeve shirt with a white T-shirt underneath it, shaving off a chunk of poplar with his hawkbill. Everywhere you look, men sitting around, breathing out judgment, weighing things down.