Something Fierce

by Drayer, David

  Back in Cherry Run, the first four or five hours of each day were devoted to finishing Bottom Feeders and the afternoons were spent on the Internet searching for and applying to day jobs that he could do for a year or so, long enough to get straightened out financially. Willing to pick up and go wherever paying work took him, he applied widely. There were several possibilities, including a temporary teaching position at a community college in upstate New York, an on-the-road instructor out of Atlanta, and a technical writer/editor for a company in D.C. “The teaching job is pretty much in the bag if I want it,” he told Graham over the phone as he finished up his lunch, “but the other two pay a lot more.”

  “Sounds like a good kickoff to the second half,” Graham said. He was still—against Seth’s advice—using football metaphors. “Any other adjustments?”

  “We should have a beer in our hand for this conversation,” Seth said, switching the phone from one ear to the other.

  “Yeah. Except it’s still early morning out here.” Graham was kicking off his own second half with a new job. The past few months as a fulltime musician had taken all the fun out of making music so he was going back to making it his hobby. Plus, he liked the structure and reliability of a job more than he’d ever realized. “The problem was not a job,” he said, “it was the job. I’d have never known that if I hadn’t made the move, taken the time to see that my big dream was better as a hobby than an actual lifestyle. I think I am going to like this new job. Maybe you ought to find a job you can settle into, retire from?”

  “Nope. I’m sticking with the original game plan. I like having adventures and writing stories about them. ”

  “You think you’ll finish Bottom Feeders by the end of the summer?”

  “That’s the plan. It’s fun, you know. I am really having a blast writing it. I have no idea how it ends but I trust the characters. When we get there, I’ll know it. I’m not worried like I was before. It’s strange.”

  “Not so strange. You’ve been through a lot between the time you stopped writing and when you started again.”

  “Serious shit,” he said, absently, remembering what he’d once told his students on the subject of why writers write the things they do.

  “So the book after this one? Let me guess. It will be called…Crazy Bitch?”

  “Or maybe Crazy Bastard. I’m staying away from that one for a while though. Got a lot to process where Ms. Engel and I are concerned.” While he didn’t know exactly why he and Kerri had met or why it had to end so horribly, he did believe there were some very good reasons and someday, he might even know what they were.

  He heard what sounded like a scream coming from outside. With Tina and Mark at work, Seth was the only one in the house and the closest neighbor was half a mile away. He looked out the window. He didn’t see anything unusual. He was about to chalk it up to imagination when he heard the scream again. “Can I call you back later?” he said, stepping out on to the back porch to investigate further.

  “No problem.”

  He was slipping the phone in his pocket when he saw a large tom turkey chasing Kerri through the yard. She was running with her back and butt unnaturally pitched forward, looking over her shoulder, screaming; the big bird was screeching and snapping at her ass.

  This took a moment to register.

  Seth hadn’t seen or heard from Kerri since before he’d left Ohio over a month and a half ago. However, her showing up uninvited was in the realm of possibility, was in fact, likely. And if she did, it stood to reason that she’d be wearing what he’d often noted were his favorite of her jeans, high-heeled boots and a sexy white blouse he’d bought her. This was the first he’d seen the infamous wild turkey. Despite the bird’s jerky strut, he was fast and right on her, his red, fleshy beard flopping, gray head hammering, pecking and biting while she screamed. “Help me! Please! Somebody HELP!”

  Seth recalled Mark telling him not to run from the bird. “If Devil sees fear,” he’d said, “you’re screwed.”

  Kerri was screwed.

  Seth grabbed a string mop from the corner of the porch and ran toward them.

  Mark had recently tilled and spread manure over a wide section of the yard for a future flowerbed and in her panic, Kerri hadn’t noticed where she was heading until it was too late. She pivoted to turn at the last minute but her spiked heel caught in the soft ground and sent her stumbling sideways into the plowed, clumped earth where she took a couple of clumsy steps before stumbling and falling face first into the muck.

  Devil was unyielding and merciless, circling, pecking, biting at her hair as she got on to all fours and tried crawling to safety, bawling her head off now, screaming and swatting manically at the bird. Seth yelled and went for the gobbler.

  The big bird startled for a moment and then left Kerri to defend his turf against this second intruder. Seth didn’t want to hurt it so he tried threatening with the mop, jabbing and swinging without actually making contact. Devil let out sharp squawking sounds, spread his massive wings and lifted off the grass, talons flexed. “Holy shit!” Seth shouted, backpedaling.

  Devil came back to the ground with a few quick hops. No longer concerned about not harming the bird, Seth charged with the mop and leveled a full swing. Devil veered sideways, eluding the hit and ran back to the woods.

  Seth walked over to Kerri with the mop perched on his shoulder. She’d crawled out of the flowerbed and was curled into a ball on the grass, crying. She was covered in horse manure and dirt. If he had anything nasty to say—and he was certain he did—this was the perfect opportunity to say it. He thought for a moment and was surprised and quite pleased to find his mind clear. He held out a hand to her. She looked up at him, pitiful, scared, embarrassed. After a second or two, she grabbed his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

  She went to hug him but he stepped back, pointing out how slimy and filthy her clothes were. She buried her face in her hands and broke into a fresh series of sobs. “I am such a fucking asshole,” she cried.

  He didn’t say anything but thought this was very likely the most honest statement he’d ever heard from her.

  He could have justified making her drive all the way back to Ohio covered in horseshit, but he just didn’t have the heart to do it. And he didn’t need to. He was on solid ground again; he held the cards. He led her to the bathroom and told her she could wash up. “Towels are under the sink. I’ll throw your clothes in the washer and get something for you to wear in the meantime.”

  The door closed then and when he tapped on it a few minutes later, she opened it wearing a towel and looking sheepish. She handed over her dirty clothes in exchange for one of his t-shirts and an old pair of sweats. “Thank you,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  He tossed the clothes in the washing machine and went to the kitchen to make coffee. He tried not to think of her showering in the next room and focused instead on how this might be the closure he was looking for and how good it felt to take the high road here, to be kind when he could have been cruel.

  But was he really taking the high road? Or was some part of him glad she’d found him and stupidly prolonging their time together? Playing with fire again?

  He was startled when he turned around to see Kerri standing in the doorway, watching him.

  “You’re writing again,” she said, suddenly composed, confident, as if she’d planned the whole thing with the turkey to get invited into the house.

  Which, he had to remind himself, was absurd. “Laptop tip you off?”

  “That laptop could be for anything. It’s your energy. You’re lighter. More focused. More, I don’t know, more like the guy I fell in love with at first sight.”

  This was a mistake. He was still drawn to her. He looked away, poured the coffee, played it cool. “Maybe what you’re seeing is the effects of six weeks away from you.”

  “Ouch.” She sat at the island. “I hope that’s not what it is. You look good, Seth.”

  She did too, even in sweats an
d a t-shirt, but he didn’t tell her that. He set out the cream and sugar for her.

  “I knew you’d come here after the semester ended,” she said, as he went into the adjacent laundry room to switch her clothes to the dryer, “but it didn’t stand to reason that you’d still be here. And yet, I knew you were. I drove past your parents’ house first, then your sisters’ places. I was so happy to see your SUV.”

  “The stains didn’t come out of the blouse,” he said, taking a seat across from her. This situation should feel awkward and he wondered why it didn’t. “You’ll probably have to pitch it when you get home.”

  “Can’t do that. It was a gift. I’ll use it as a sleep shirt.”

  “So why did you wait six weeks? Couldn’t have taken more than a couple hours to figure out where my family lived.”

  “You’re the one that dumped me, wouldn’t answer my calls, changed your phone number. The question is why am I here at all?”

  “Why are you?”

  She shrugged. “You’re the last thing I think of when I go to sleep at night and the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning. I was lying in bed watching the sun come up and something said, ‘Go to him. It’s time. Go now.’ I didn’t question it. I drove straight here.”

  “Interesting. Funny that otherworldly voice didn’t think to warn you about the turkey.”

  Her mouth moved into a half smile. “Make fun of me all you like. But without hearing a word from you in six weeks, I came straight to you. And here we are sharing the same space. I am wearing your clothes and no underwear. Sort of reminds me of our first morning together.”

  “Right. Minus the sex, the breakfast, and the insane history in between. Just so we’re clear, you’re leaving as soon as your clothes are dry.”

  “Then I’ll get right to the point.” She took a sip of coffee. “I fucked up. Royally. You were out of my league and I didn’t know how to handle it. I loved you so much that I would have done anything to hold on to you, and because I was so terrified of losing the best thing I ever had, I let that fear take over. I panicked and made all the wrong moves. I am sorry. For all of it. I still love you with everything I have. I always will. Give me another chance. Give us another chance. Please.”

  He wanted to say he could never forgive her for the things she’d done, but that wasn’t true. He knew he would forgive her in time. He’d have to for his own sake if nothing else. Forgiving himself was going to be much harder and ultimately, more important. “It’s too late.”

  “It’s never too late. You told me that. You also told me that love is the most powerful force in the universe and that things happen for a reason.”

  He was astounded to find he still believed that though the reason for all this still had him baffled. “Do you remember me saying anything that wasn’t a cliché?”

  “‘Be here with me. Just be here.’”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s a cliché too.” But that was exactly what he wanted to do. Be there. Get some kind of understanding of what happened and why. Get the truth. All this avoiding and hiding out was just not his style. And yet, it had served him well. Having no contact with Kerri for the past six weeks was exactly the reason he was feeling whole again. And here he was risking it all. “I am here.”

  She looked into his eyes and when he looked back, he felt that solid ground he was on give a little. “Yes, you are. For the first time since I got here. You are actually in the room with me. It’s good to see you.”

  Just like that, it felt like it did in the beginning, back in January and February, those extraordinary weekends where the past and the future disappeared and the only moment that mattered, the only one that existed, was the one they were in. It was exhilarating. He’d missed feeling like that. “Good to see you too.”

  She stirred her coffee and licked the spoon. “That’s the first nice thing you said to me today.”

  “I’ve been busy, what with saving you from angry birds and all.”

  Their eyes locked. It sickened him that he wanted her and frightened him that it was more than a sexual desire. He remembered the dream he’d once had where they were immortal souls meeting up again and again, in different times, at different ages, to reenact an eternal play. Looking at her, it was as if he were slipping into a dream. Nothing mattered. He couldn’t recall the horrors of a few months ago and there was no tomorrow. There was only what he felt right at this moment. As she moved to kiss him, he thought, this must be what a drug addict feels like just before the needle breaks the skin.

  It was enough, that thought, for him to resist the dream, to stay present, awake. Kerri stopped coming toward him when he made no move toward her. A darkness passed behind her eyes and for an instant, she was no longer beautiful. “What’s wrong?”

  The buzzer on the dryer went off shattering what was left of the moment. It reminded him of a buzzer at the end of a basketball game signaling that the game was over and it was time for everyone to go home. There was a God, he thought, and He just spoke through Tina and Mark’s dryer.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  He shook his head. “Life, I guess. I’ll get your clothes.”

  “We’re not done here yet.”

  “Yeah, we are. It’s time for you to go home.”

  He went into the laundry room and pulled her clothes—hot and snapping—from the dryer. “I forgot to put in a dryer sheet,” he said walking back into the kitchen, “so there’s a lot of…” The sweat pants and t-shirt he lent her were crumpled on the floor; she was naked except for the high-heeled boots.

  “Are you sure we’re done here?”

  Nothing she could have done would have made him more sure. This was Kerri. Manipulative. Conniving. And—he realized for the first time—desperate. Brazenly playing the only card she believed she had to play. “Yes. I’m sure.” He handed over her clothes. “Get dressed, Kerri. Go home.”

  She slapped the clothes out of his hands. He expected some tears, maybe some awkwardness, but it was all anger. Rage. This was yet another Kerri he didn’t know. She pounded her fists on his chest and told him she hated him in one breath and begged him not to leave her in the next. He grabbed her arms to keep her from hitting him. “Let me go!” she screamed. “You’re hurting me!”

  She broke free of him then, swooped up the clothes that had fallen on the floor and clomped to the front door. Red splotches had broken out like rashes across her chest, her face was flushed, her eyes pure hatred. She went off again, telling him that he was crazy. That she should have known better than to give him another chance. “You will regret this the rest of your life!” she screamed, adding that he was getting old, that he would never make it as a writer, that he’d in fact, never write anything good ever again. That he would never find love, never find peace.

  These, he realized, were fears lifted directly from his journal, summarized and fashioned into a weapon she thought she could hurt him with. But he was no longer afraid of those things. At least not as afraid of them as he was when he first met Kerri Engel, that wild, beautiful girl who was now the shrieking, naked maniac standing in his sister’s kitchen. As she seethed, “loser…nobody…sex addict…penniless…lonely,” he felt a calmness come over him. He was outside of this ugly, bizarre scene, an observer of it, and yet, he was fully in himself able to be here in this moment without absorbing the pain and madness that spewed from her. He’d never been this calm during their fights. Something in him had changed. What, he couldn’t explain, but it was a difference he could feel and he was thankful for it.

  Kerri went out the door then, slamming it so hard he was surprised the glass didn’t break.

  Everything was quiet then.

  Quiet.

  He gathered their mugs and carried them to the sink. “Things are going to be okay,” he said. Then there was a scream. “Oh, no.” He grabbed the mop and ran to the window.

  Kerri’s car was still in the driveway but she wasn’t in it. Her clothes were scattered across the ground
. He ran outside.

  He knew that there were many images of Kerri Engel that would be forever imprinted on his mind. However, this one of her running naked—but in boots—down a dirt road, chased by a turkey named Devil, and screaming, “Get off of me, you motherfucker!” would surely trump them all. It was a nod from the universe telling him he’d made the right call earlier and asking, “This is the woman you thought you were in love with? The one you let break your heart? Seriously?”

  “Stop running,” he shouted. “You have to face him! Show him you are not afraid!”

  But it was no use. She was afraid. So much so that she couldn’t find a single moment of courage, which is all it would have taken to get Devil off her ass. A single moment.

  Mop in hand, Seth ran after them and charged the turkey. Their showdown had gone much as it had earlier. By the time the crazy bird had retreated back to the woods, Kerri was pulling out of the driveway. Still nude and visibly upset, she whizzed past and threw something out the window at him. His journal. He picked it up and dusted it off.

  Seth turned then to watch her drive away. Clouds of dust billowed up behind her. She was like a tornado tearing through the valley and he was relieved to see her go, knowing they’d shared something he may never fully understand, something terrible and beautiful, something sexy and sad, something fierce.

  David Drayer is the author of the novel Strip Cuts. He was born and raised in the small town of Rimersburg, Pennsylvania. A playwright and screenwriter, he has an MFA from the University of Iowa and has worked across the country as a ghostwriter, college professor, and government contractor. Drayer has a penchant for open-ended motorcycles trips, long hikes, and good food. Currently, he lives in the Washington, D.C. Metro Area.