by Ron Rash
“I’m sorry I couldn’t heat it up for you,” Sabra said, “and I didn’t bring cups.”
Thomas placed corn bread and chicken on his plate, forked out some potato salad. He took a big bite out of the chicken.
“Damn, that’s good,” he said, and pointed his fork at Wendy. “You had better dig in now or there will be nothing left.”
“What about you, Sabra?” Wendy asked.
“I ate plenty at supper,” Sabra said. “I didn’t have room for cups, but I figured you’d not mind about that.”
Though some milk remained in the jar, the Tupperware bowl was soon empty except for a few bones.
“The radiator boiling over was the best thing that could have happened,” he said.
“It was,” Wendy agreed. “We’d have passed right by and never known a new friend was just over the hill.”
“Maybe it was meant to be,” Thomas said, meeting Sabra’s eyes. “Things happen for a reason. What’s that quote you like so much, Wendy, the one about destiny?”
“We don’t find our destiny, it finds us,” Wendy answered.
“I believe that,” Thomas said, still looking at Sabra. “Don’t you?”
“I guess so,” Sabra said.
Thomas settled his head against the stall door, his eyes half closed. Wendy opened the backpack and brought out a strand of beads like the ones she wore and gave it to Sabra.
“I made these for you while we waited.”
“They’re as pretty as anything I’ve ever seen, even a rainbow,” Sabra said. “Thank you so much.”
She held the beads in both hands, slowly stretched the elastic, and let them tighten around her neck.
“Do they look good on me?” Sabra asked.
“They look divine, but two strands would look even better,” Wendy said. “You want to make one yourself? It’s easy.”
“Okay.”
Sabra moved closer, crossed her legs the same way Wendy did. Wendy set a spool of elastic and a plastic bag of beads between them. Sabra picked up a piece of string, watched Wendy tie a double-knot an inch from one end and did the same. She began sifting beads from the plastic bag, trying to find one of each color.
“You can do it that way,” Wendy said, “but it’s better if you let the colors surprise you, like this.”
Wendy reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a single green bead. She placed it on the string and, again without looking, brought up an orange one. Sabra did the same thing.
“They do look prettier this way,” Sabra said when she’d finished. “I guess people do this all the time in San Francisco, make things I mean.”
Wendy smiled.
“They do.”
“What else do they do there?” Sabra asked.
“Sing and dance, look after each other, love each other.”
“Get stoned,” Thomas said, his eyes fully open now. He laid a hand on Wendy’s thigh, caressed it a moment, and removed his hand. “Make love, not war.”
“And everybody’s young,” Wendy said. “You have to go there to believe it.”
“I want to go there someday,” Sabra said.
“Then one day you will,” Wendy said, “and once you get there, you will never want to leave.”
“Well, when I do,” Sabra said, “the first people I’ll look for are you all.”
“Of course,” Wendy said. “You can stay with us until you find a pad of your own, can’t she, Thomas?”
“Sure,” Thomas said, “but why wait when you can hitch a ride on the magic bus.”
At first Sabra thought Thomas was joking, but he wasn’t grinning or even cracking a smile. Wendy wasn’t grinning either. Sabra thought about what it would be like once Thomas and Wendy left. She’d see no one near her age until Sunday. But even then it would be the same people and they’d be talking about the same things and in the same way.
“You mean go with you?” Sabra asked. “Tomorrow, I mean?”
“Tomorrow or even tonight,” Thomas said.
“I would like to go with you,” Sabra said softly, wanting to pretend a bit longer that she actually might.
“You would be welcome,” Wendy said, “but it might be better if you waited awhile. I mean, how old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
Thomas looked at Wendy.
“Hell, you were just a year older when I found you. A lot of girls out there are as young or younger. This is what it’s all about, babe, being free while you’re young enough to realize what freedom is.”
“I guess so,” Wendy said.
Thomas nodded at the strand of beads coiled in Sabra’s palm.
“Why don’t you try them on,” he said.
Sabra slipped the beads over her head, tugged at them so they settled next to the other strand. She thought about what her father would say if he saw them on her. Or her mother, she’d not like them either. Thomas sifted more marijuana onto the smoking papers, twisted the ends.
“What’s it really like then?” Sabra asked. “The marijuana, I mean?”
“Like dreaming, except you’re awake,” Thomas said.
“But only good dreams,” Wendy added, “the kind you want to have.”
“But it doesn’t hurt you?” Sabra asked, looking at Wendy.
“No,” Wendy said. “It helps heal you, makes the bad things go away.”
Thomas lit the joint and held it out to Sabra.
“You can try it if you like, or I’ve got some serious mind candy.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an aspirin bottle, the label half torn away. Inside were round pink tablets mixed with blue and red capsules the shape of .22 shorts. Sabra took the joint.
“Breathe in and hold it in your lungs as long as you can,” Thomas said.
“Not too long at first,” Wendy cautioned, “because it will make you cough.”
Sabra did what they said, stifled a cough, and handed the joint back to Thomas, who took two quick draws, exhaled.
They’d passed the joint around twice more before Thomas reached out his free hand, twined a portion of Wendy’s hair around a finger. He pulled his finger back slowly, hair tugging the scalp a moment before he let the hair slip free.
“Come here, baby.”
Thomas inhaled and Wendy moved closer, let the smoke funnel into her mouth.
“Now you,” Thomas said.
When Sabra didn’t move, he slid over to her.
“Open your mouth,” Thomas said.
She shut her eyes, did what he asked, felt his warm smoky breath in her throat and lungs. As Thomas’s breath expired, his lips brushed hers. Thomas pushed himself back against the stall door, took a long final draw, and rubbed the residue into his jeans. Wendy covered her face with both hands. She giggled, then lifted her hands to reveal a wide grin.
“I am soo stoned.”
“I told you it was good shit,” Thomas said.
“It is good,” Sabra agreed, though she felt no difference except a dryness in the throat.
“If we had brought the transistor we could dance,” Wendy said.
“I doubt they play much Quicksilver or Dead around here, baby,” Thomas said. “Motown either.”
Sabra thought of the record player, but even if she’d had some 45s there’d be no place to plug it in.
Wendy’s face brightened.
“I can hum songs, though. That will be almost as good. I’ll be like a jukebox and play anything we want.”
Wendy moved the flashlight so that it shone toward the barn’s center. She stood and placed a hand around Thomas’s upper arm.
“Come on,” she said.
Thomas got up and Wendy pressed her head against his chest.
“What song do you want, babe?”
“‘White Rabbit,’” Thomas said.
Wendy began to hum and she and Thomas swayed side to side, their feet barely moving. Sabra wished she had some water for her parched throat. She was reaching for the milk when it happened. Thomas and Wendy, t
he barn, the night itself slid back a ways and then returned, except everything felt off plumb. For a few moments all Sabra felt was panic.
She closed her eyes and tried to block out everything except Wendy’s humming. Soon the humming seemed as much inside of her as outside. Sabra felt it even in her fingertips, a pleasant tingling. When she opened her eyes, it did feel like a dream, a warm good dream. She watched Thomas and Wendy dance, holding each other so close together. They were in love and not afraid to show it. Never had anything so beautiful, so wondrous, ever happened on this farm. Never. Wendy stopped humming but still pressed her head against Thomas’s chest.
“What song now?” Wendy asked.
“I don’t care,” Thomas said, “but Sabra should get a dance too.”
“Yes,” Wendy agreed.
“I don’t think I can,” Sabra said. “I’m dizzy.”
Thomas went over and helped Sabra to her feet, steadied her a moment, and led her to the barn’s center.
“What song do you want, Sabra?” Wendy asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “You pick one.”
“I’ll do ‘Both Sides Now,’” Wendy said. “It’s a pretty song.”
Wendy sat by the stall door and began to hum. Thomas put his arm around Sabra’s waist and pulled her close. She let her head lie against his chest like Wendy had. A few times she and Sheila had pretended to dance, copying couples on television who glided across ballrooms, but this was easier. You just leaned into each other and moved your feet a little. A part of her seemed to watch from somewhere else as she and Thomas danced, close yet far away at the same time. She could smell Thomas, musky but not so bad. He leaned his face closer to hers.
“Someone as lovely as you has to have a boyfriend.”
“No,” Sabra said, not adding that her parents wouldn’t allow her to date yet.
“I find that hard to believe,” Thomas said, “just as hard to believe that you’re really seventeen. How old are you, really?”
“Sixteen.”
“Sweet sixteen,” Thomas said. “That’s old enough.”
He placed his free hand against her back, brought Sabra even closer, her breasts flattening against his chest. The hand on her waist resettled where spine and hip met, all of her pressed into him now. She could feel him through the denim. Their feet no longer moved and only their hips swayed. Sabra looked over at Wendy, whose eyes were closed as she hummed the last few notes.
“What song do you two want next?” Wendy asked.
Sabra slipped free of Thomas’s embrace. The barn wobbled a few moments and she had to stare at her sneakers, the straw and dirt under them, to keep her balance. When the barn resettled it had shrunk, especially the barn mouth.
“It’s your turn, Wendy,” Sabra said.
Wendy opened her eyes.
“I’ve had him all day, so you get him now.”
Thomas settled a hand on Sabra’s upper arm.
“Wendy doesn’t mind sharing,” he said.
“I’m dizzy,” Sabra said, “too dizzy to dance anymore.”
Thomas nodded, let his hand slide down her inner arm, his fingers brushing over her palm.
“That’s fine,” Thomas said. “The first time you do things, it’s always a bit scary. It was the same for Wendy.”
“So another dance with me, baby?” Wendy asked. “Or is it time to unplug the jukebox?”
“Time to unplug the jukebox,” Thomas said. “Time to get back on the road.”
“I thought you were staying until morning,” Sabra said.
“This bus has no set schedule,” Thomas said. “When it comes by, you either get on board or you’re left behind.”
Wendy put the elastic and beads in the backpack and tightened the straps. She stood up, a bit unsteadily, and walked over to the barn mouth.
“So,” Thomas said, staring at Sabra, “ready to get on the bus?”
“I want to go, it’s just . . .” Sabra paused. “I mean, I was thinking maybe you could give me your address, or a phone number. That way I can find you.”
“But you’re coming,” Thomas said, locking his eyes on hers. “It’s just that you’re not sure you should leave tonight.”
“Yes,” Sabra said. “That’s what I mean.”
“The moon has turned sideways and is making a smiley face,” Wendy said, “really and truly.”
Thomas picked up the flashlight and leaned against a stall. He let the beam shine on the floor between him and Sabra. She could barely make out his face.
“Sometimes if you’re chained,” Thomas said, “other people have to set you free.”
“I’m not chained,” Sabra said.
“If that were true, you’d leave right now,” Thomas said. “I can teach every part of you how to be free, your mind and your body.”
“I’ve got to go,” Sabra said. A match flared. Thomas slowly lowered the match into the stall. His hand came back up empty.
“Like I said, sometimes it takes someone else to set you free.”
“That’s not funny,” Sabra said. “I think you need to leave too.”
“Come see the smiley face,” Wendy said.
Sabra heard the fire first, a crackling inside the stall, but she didn’t believe it until she smelled smoke. Flames began licking through the slats. Sabra snatched the horse blanket from the barn floor, was about to the open the stall door when Thomas’s arm stopped her.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to leave.”
“No,” Sabra shouted, and tore herself free.
She opened the stall door and swatted at the flames, but they had already leaped into the next stall. The blanket caught fire and she couldn’t put it out. The fire climbed into the loft and soon Sabra could barely see through the smoke.
She stumbled out of the barn. Smoke wadded like cotton in her lungs and she coughed all the way to the spring trough. The farmhouse lights were on and her father was running toward the barn, Jeffrey and her mother trailing behind. In the high pasture she saw a beam of light pause where the fence was, then move onto parkway land and disappear.
Sabra didn’t know if she had slept or not, but she was awake when the dark in the east began to lighten. Her mother came into her room a few minutes later and told Sabra that barn or no barn, the cow would need to be milked. Sabra got dressed. When she passed through the front room, her father was asleep on the couch, still in his overalls. Soot grimed his face and hands and he smelled of smoke. The black patch where the barn had been yet smoldered, the milk pail nearby, lying on its side. The cow was drinking at the spring trough and looked up as Sabra walked by. She went on past the charred ground and into the high pasture and slipped through the fence.
The bus wasn’t there, but the flashlight was in the grass by the curb. She switched it off and made her way back up the slope and into the high pasture. Below, the cow had left the spring trough and stood by the barn’s ashes, waiting to be milked, not knowing where else to go.
SOMETHING RICH and STRANGE
She follows the river’s edge downstream, leaving behind her parents and younger brother who still eat their picnic lunch. It is Easter break and her father has taken time off from his job. They have followed the Appalachian Mountains south, stopping first in Gatlinburg, then the Smokies, and finally this river. She finds a place above a falls where the water looks shallow and slow. The river is a boundary between Georgia and South Carolina, and she wants to wade into the middle and place one foot in Georgia and one in South Carolina so she can tell her friends back in Nebraska she has been in two states at the same time.
She kicks off her sandals and enters, the water so much colder than she imagined, and quickly deeper, up to her kneecaps, the current surging under the smooth surface.
She shivers. On the far shore a granite cliff casts this section of river into shadow. She glances back to where her parents and brother sit on the blanket. It is warm there, the sun full upon them. She thinks about going back but is almost halfway no
w.
She takes a step and the water rises higher on her knees. Four more steps, she tells herself. Just four more and I’ll turn back. She takes another step and the bottom is no longer there and she is being shoved downstream and she does not panic because she has passed the Red Cross courses.
The water shallows and her face breaks the surface and she breathes deep. She tries to turn her body so she won’t hit her head on a rock and for the first time she’s afraid and she’s suddenly back underwater and hears the rush of water against her ears. She tries to hold her breath but her knee smashes against a boulder and she gasps in pain and water pours into her mouth. Then for a few moments the water pools and slows. She rises coughing up water, gasping air, her feet dragging the bottom like an anchor trying to snag waterlogged wood or rock jut and as the current quickens again she sees her family running along the shore and she knows they are shouting her name though she cannot hear them and as the current turns her she hears the falls and knows there is nothing that will keep her from it as the current quickens and quickens and another rock smashes against her knee but she hardly feels it as she snatches another breath and she feels the river fall and she falls with it as water whitens around her and she falls deep into the whiteness and as she rises her head scrapes against a rock ceiling and the water holds her there and she tells herself don’t breathe but the need rises inside her beginning in the upper stomach then up through her chest and throat and as that need reaches her mouth her mouth and nose open and the lungs explode in pain and then the pain is gone as bright colors shatter around her like glass shards, and she remembers her sixth-grade science class, the gurgle of the aquarium at the back of the room, the smell of chalk dust that morning the teacher held a prism out the window so it might fill with color, and she has a final, beautiful thought—that she is now inside that prism and knows something even the teacher does not know, that the prism’s colors are voices, voices that swirl around her head like a crown, and at that moment her arms and legs she did not even know were flailing cease and she becomes part of the river.
The search and rescue squad and the sheriff arrived at the falls late that afternoon. Two of the squad members were brothers, one in his early twenties, the other thirty. They had a carpentry business, building patios and decks for lawyers and doctors from Greenville and Columbia who owned second homes in the mountains. The third man, the diver, was in his early forties and taught biology at the county high school. The sheriff looked at his watch and figured they had two hours at most before the gorge darkened.