Austin and Emily

by Frank Turner Hollon

  He stuck his hand out the door toward Austin with an invitation to shake.

  “I apologize for the lack of a proper introduction. My name is Kenneth.”

  Austin introduced himself and Emily. They all prepared for the next leg of the journey.

  “What kind of coat is that?” Emily asked, her face squinted.

  “It’s a coat of human hair, my grandmother’s hair, and it’s warmer than any coat in the world. Warmer than beaver.”

  Austin kept glaring in the rearview mirror, trying to size-up in the daylight the odd fellow. He knew he recognized him from somewhere, but he couldn’t place the long bird-face.

  After a few minutes of silence, Kenneth said, “I just want to spend one minute on the sun. That’s all I ask. One minute.”

  Austin waited a moment after Emily glanced at him, and slowly explained, as if to a child, “Well, that’s not possible. Millions of miles before reaching the sun you’d explode into flames. You can’t go there. Not even for a minute.”

  “I’m aware. I’m speaking metaphorically. Of course I’d explode into flames in reality. But this isn’t reality, is it? So I can go there for a minute if I can only find transportation. Will you take me in this little red rocket ship?”

  Austin glanced in the mirror again. He finally said, “Kenneth, I believe you suffer from a mental illness of some sort. It may be very treatable.”

  Kenneth Mint laughed. “Ahh, I thought you might say that. You’re a man who lives in a box of your own making. You’re unable to see beyond ham, and cats, and your next buffet.”

  Austin was offended by the ‘buffet’ comment, but tried to hide his brief anger.

  Kenneth continued, “Imagine for a moment you are a green pea. One small green pea in a can on a shelf in one supermarket in one American town. Say, Corkdale, Missouri, for instance.”

  Emily’s eyes were pointed forward. They widened, and she shook her head slightly from side to side, sending a message to Austin.

  “Now, you’re crammed inside this can, drowning in your own juices, listening to all the other peas talk about religion and philosophy, patriotism and politics. The peas are saying this and that, and the drone of their voices puts you in a trance. A thinking trance. And you come up with this brilliant idea to escape from the can, steal a tiny car, and drive to St. Louis, but none of the other peas will listen to what you have to say. You can’t execute the complicated plan alone, so what do you do? You give up. That’s what you do. You give up and go back to listening to all the crap the other peas have to say.”

  Emily turned to face the man in the backseat. “That’s so stupid. There aren’t any little cars like that at the supermarket.”

  Kenneth smiled. “You got it. You understand. Now, I must urinate. It is a fundamental requirement of being alive. Please don’t watch. I shall shake it only three times at the conclusion without concern for you or your ethnic background. Pull over here, please.”

  The car came to a stop.

  “Don’t be alarmed. I’ll take Glenn with me. It’s the only way I can be sure you won’t leave and steal my grandmother’s coat.”

  Emily blurted out, “We don’t want your grandmother’s coat.”

  When Kenneth was behind the tree thirty yards away, Emily whispered, “He’s very weird, but I can’t believe how much Glenn likes him. Animals have a sense for people. Maybe he’s like a prophet or something?”

  Austin considered arguing in favor of driving away and leaving Glenn and Kenneth behind, but decided not to bring it up. He imagined Kenneth sitting in a police station with the cat in his lap, selecting Austin’s picture from a photographic lineup of murderers and pedophiles.

  Back in the car, they rode in silence for fifteen minutes down Highway 82 into Texas. Kenneth said, “You like pilgrims, Austin?”

  He said it like it didn’t mean a thing. Austin continued to study the man in the mirror.

  Emily answered, “I like pilgrims. I don’t like their clothes, but I like the pilgrims themselves.”

  Kenneth asked again, “What about you, Austin?”

  The face, the wavy red hair, the eyes, he looked familiar but Austin still couldn’t place him.

  Kenneth said, “When I was in the third grade, Miss Perkins, the teacher, decided to have a special day we would all dress like pilgrims.

  “One little boy’s mother dressed him to the hilt. Black pilgrim shoes, the hat, the vest, right down to the big pilgrim belt. She drove him to school in the family car and dropped him off in front.”

  Austin and Kenneth’s eyes were locked in the mirror.

  “Unfortunately, for the kid, it was the wrong day. His mother was a week early, and she drove off just about the time the kid walked behind the building to the playground and saw every finger point at him. Heard every kid laugh at the stupid pilgrim shoes and the ridiculous pilgrim belt.”

  It all came back to Austin like an avalanche. He saw himself, the fattest little pilgrim, all alone, ground zero of ridicule, and he could still see the back of his mother’s family car driving away down the street.

  Austin said, “You’re Kenneth Mint. Little Kenny Mint.”

  “And you’re Austin McAdoo, the pilgrim.”

  Emily turned and inserted the top half of her body into the backseat until her nose touched Kenneth’s nose. Her eyes shot fire as her index finger touched the skin of the man’s cheek.

  She growled, “Did you laugh at him?”

  Kenneth sat still.

  “Answer the question,” Emily yelled.

  Kenneth said, “A little bit,” and then pointed out the window at a sign. He read out loud, “WORLD’S LARGEST CHICKEN—TURN LEFT NOW—GO 1 MILE.”

  “Where?” Emily spun her head around. “Where?” The sign showed another big red chicken, much like the one they’d seen before.

  “Turn,” she yelled.

  Austin was thankful to think of something besides the terrible pilgrim episode. He’d been haunted by it for years, but the memory had slowly faded. Now, on the journey of his lifetime, a strange man invades the backseat of the car at a truck stop in Arkansas in the rain and it turns out to be little Kenny Mint, the crazy kid who twisted the legs off of dragonflies so they couldn’t land.

  Austin pulled the car into a trailer park. A Mexican kid, maybe six years old, sat in a folding chair by the front door of a dilapidated white trailer. Above the kid was a hand-painted sign: SEE BIG CHICKEN—$5.

  Austin, Emily, and Kenneth stood in the hot Texas sun. Emily gave the kid fifteen dollars. The kid led the way down a dusty path to a clearing. Kenneth still held the cat in his arms. In the center of the clearing stood a wooden shack. The boy led the group to the door of the shack. He turned around and said, in broken English, “Da beeg cheeken is meen. Look quick.”

  The boy swung open the door to reveal a red chicken, approximately the size of a full-grown pig, sitting alone on the dirt floor, perfectly still. The sunlight shone through a hole in the roof like a spotlight.

  The boy swung the door back and slammed it closed.

  Kenneth said, “That wasn’t real.”

  “What?” Emily asked.

  “It wasn’t real. It was a big fake stuffed chicken. A piñata.”

  Kenneth reached to open the door, and the boy struggled to stop him.

  “No, señor, no. Da cheeken is very meen.”

  Kenneth managed to grab the doorknob with his free hand and opened the door wide. There was a split-second when Austin and Emily thought Kenneth was right. It was a big fake stuffed chicken. A piñata maybe filled with candy treats. But then the animal stood, wide and solid on its two thin legs, and turned to face the open door. The chicken charged, like a beast from the flames of Hell, all red eyes and beak, flying feathers and chicken feet slapping dust.

  The boy was the first to run, then Kenneth and Emily, with Austin McAdoo last, lumbering through the clearing down the dirt path. He could feel the giant bird’s beak pecking the backs of his legs, the white skin turnin
g red, a bad day to wear shorts.

  The bird was relentless. Austin knew if he fell to the ground he would face certain death, or at least blindness, or the loss of an ear.

  Up ahead Austin could see Kenneth and then Emily dive in the car. Emily reached across and opened the driver’s door. There would be no time for the usual car-entry ritual. There would be no time for the squat, the clockwise turn, the push back into position.

  Austin seized the door handle, dove headlong inside across the console, still feeling the pecking pain on his bare ankles above his socks. Austin squeezed back, rolled slightly, reached his left hand to the inside door handle, and pulled the car door shut with all his power. The giant chicken’s head was crushed like a walnut. His body folded to the ground and lay lifeless.

  Austin slammed the door, fumbled for the keys, finally started the car, and spun his tires in the gravel of the trailer park driveway. The Mexican boy and two men, one with a blue bandana, ran from the trailer toward Austin’s car. The one with the bandana picked up a rock and threw it at the car and struck the back window, the glass cracking like a spiderweb but remaining intact.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God,” Emily repeated. “Oh my God. We killed the chicken. We killed the chicken.”

  “That was no chicken,” Kenneth said. “That was Satan himself in the form of a chicken.”

  Austin screamed, “You’re the same person who said it was a piñata. You let it out. It wanted to kill us.”

  He wheeled the car around a corner, back on Highway 82 westbound, ten miles outside of Detroit, Texas. Emily started to cry softly. Blood oozed from the sore spots on the backs of Austin’s creamy legs. A single rust-colored chicken feather came loose from the door jamb, swept up on a gust of wind from the open window, and landed gently on the dashboard, swirling gracefully in circles.

  “Sorry,” Kenneth said.

  CHAPTER 6

  Austin finally found a pay telephone at a gas station outside of St. Jo, Texas. He called his mother collect, something he’d done many times in his life.

  “Austin, what the hell have you done?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The police were here yesterday. Scared the bajesus out of Lafitte.”

  Austin felt a weakness in his legs. For his entire life, Austin McAdoo held a gothic fear of law enforcement authorities. His psychiatrist attributed this unfounded fear to a toxic combination of childhood instability, watching too much television, and a mistrust of a male neighbor named Perry.

  “What did they want?”

  Lila McAdoo took another drag from her cigarette and said, “Hell, I couldn’t tell. They never would come out and say. Something to do with your driver’s license. What in God’s name did you do?”

  Austin looked over at his car by the gas pump thirty yards away. He could see Emily saying something to Kenneth Mint in the backseat, but Austin couldn’t hear Kenneth answer, “No, ma’am. I’m a member of the congregation of the Holy Church of Divine Deprivation. We don’t have an actual physical location, but we share the unwavering belief that deprivation is the key to salvation. I sleep only in uncomfortable locations. I remain celibate, own less than five worldly possessions at any given moment, and eat as little as possible, and when I do eat, it’s something of poor nutritional value.”

  Emily perked up. “I once went two days without a single bite of food.” She repeated, “Two days.”

  Austin asked his mother, “Did they search the house?”

  She answered, “No, why? Did you put something nasty under your bed again?”

  “Mother, this is serious. How did you get them to leave?”

  “Well, I told the cute one I had a stolen gun in my panties, and he had a duty to collect the evidence.”

  “Jesus Christ, Mother.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, “I also told them you were dead.”

  “Dead?”

  Lila said, “Speaking of dead, you know what you should do on your big trip? You should stop by and see your father in Las Vegas.”

  Austin was confused. “You told me my father passed away.”

  “He did, you idiot. You should go by and see his grave. It would be a cathartic experience, cleanse your conscience. Hell, who knows, it might free you from all your crazy-ass fears.”

  In the car, Kenneth said to Emily, “I see the way you look at Austin. Have you figured out why you feel the way you feel?”

  Emily turned her head to look at Austin McAdoo outside on the pay phone. She smiled at him.

  “There’s nothing to figure out,” Emily said.

  Kenneth continued, “You know, for lots of people, there’s this one person in their life who does it for them. Most of the time, it’s that one person who comes along at exactly the right time in your life, and then disappears before you can get to know them long enough for the shine to fade. They exist in your mind with a haze.”

  Emily continued to look at Austin as she listened to the man in the backseat. There was a moment of silence as she thought about what he said.

  Finally, Emily said, “I feel sorry for those people.”

  Austin wondered why she continued to stare at him.

  His mother said on the other end of the phone, “Somebody named Cremora called. She said she was trying to get in touch with Emily. I told her where you were. She sounded like a lesbian. How is she involved in your new life as a fugitive?”

  “I’m not a fugitive, Mother. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

  Lila said, “Like the misunderstanding with Mr. Triola when you ran over the hedges.”

  “Yes,” Austin exclaimed. “Much the same. And for once, maybe you could support my position.”

  Lila McAdoo purposefully dropped a piece of crust from her burnt toast to the kitchen floor next to the poodle. Lafitte turned and walked away in disgust.

  “Austin, have you figured out yet why that beautiful girl ran off with you?”

  He looked back at the car and Emily was still watching him. She had a sad look on her face, and Austin hoped crazy Kenneth Mint wasn’t poisoning the miracle.

  “I’ve gotta go, Mother. I’ll call you from Las Vegas.” He hung up.

  A few minutes later, Austin and Kenneth ended up in the gas station bathroom together. They stood next to each other at the urinals, separated by nothing. Both men looked dead ahead at the gray wall in front.

  The silence was interrupted by a shrill whistling sound.

  Austin glanced just slightly to his right and then straightened his gaze.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “What was what?” Kenneth said.

  And then the sound came again. A shrill, quick whistling sound, cut off in mere seconds, with no lingering after-sound.

  “That noise. What is that noise?”

  Kenneth answered, “Oh, that noise. It’s a butt whistle. My heart medication causes gas buildup. I had a butt whistle surgically implanted. It helps me know I’m alive.”

  Austin contemplated the idea. There was a great deal of information in only a few sentences. It didn’t seem physically possible, and then he heard the sound for the third time.

  Kenneth said, “That girl, Emily, she’s really got it bad for you. What did you do?”

  Austin had never really had man-to-man talks in his life. There was no father, or older brother, or drinking buddy. Austin was leery of sharing his bewilderment.

  “I don’t understand your question,” he said.

  “Sure you do. Guys like you and me, we’re lucky if a good-looking woman talks to us at all. We dream about ‘em, think about ‘em, hoist ‘em up on impossible pedestals, but it’s not often one of them falls head-over-heels for a guy like you and me. What did you do? Hypnotize her? Is she hypnotized?”

  “No.”

  Austin walked to the sink to wash his hands. He noticed Kenneth standing at the door ready to leave.

  “Aren’t you going to wash your hands?” Austin asked.

  “You must be kidding. Do you read
the newspaper? Haven’t you seen the germ research on public bathrooms? There’s more germs in the water from that public sink than in your own urine. You might as well wash your hands in the toilet. And the paper towels, the brown towels, there’s more bacteria per square inch than on your penis. The most sanitary thing you can do in a place like this is shove your hands in your pockets and leave.”

  Austin looked closely at the rusted silver faucet and imagined the pipes beneath filled with hair and drowned roaches. He reached up for a paper towel and caught himself. On the edge of the towel, almost too small to detect, Austin saw a tiny stain. Kenneth noticed Austin’s hesitation and was pleased.

  Kenneth asked, “What time is it?”

  Austin shook his hands to dry. “I have no idea.”

  “You’re wearing a watch.”

  “So what. Time is relative, not stagnant like a puddle of water. And by the way, I don’t believe your story of a surgically implanted butt whistle.”

  Kenneth Mint shrugged his shoulders, turned around, and the shrill sound came again from his pants. Kenneth waited by the door for Austin to walk past him. He said, “I hope you don’t have any ideas about leaving me. I’d hate for Emily to find out about you know what.”

  Austin remembered little Kenny Mint from homeroom. He was the kid who terrorized the class, always carrying rodents in his pockets, or lighting things on fire. Surely someone had to know he would grow up to plague society. Surely the warning signs were apparent, Austin thought. What did Kenneth Mint know? Was it a bluff?

  In the car, heading west, on a particularly boring stretch of Texas countryside, Austin McAdoo felt Emily Dooley’s hand slide gently into his. It didn’t just sit there. She squeezed, and held just enough pressure for their skin to touch comfortably. Austin swallowed and gripped the steering wheel tightly with his left hand. He squeezed back. Not too much, but just enough.