River, Sing Out

by James Wade

“You got the money?”

  He just stared at her, then smiled again and cut the cigarillo in half and began to scrape out the tobacco from inside it.

  “You know how all this came about?”

  “All what?”

  “Our law enforcement set out to stop people like me from cooking crystal, and all they did was push it into other places that knew how to make it cheaper and better. There’s more meth than there’s ever been, but the coppers run around beating their chests like they actually accomplished something by busting up some old boy’s homemade kitchen. He’ll do his time, get paroled, then end up with a more pure version of the drug than he’s ever had. Plus, now he can get spun without the risk of blowing his pecker off.”

  “Great story. What’s the point?”

  “It’s all bullshit, anyway. Some politician or police chief pushing a tough-on-meth stance to get votes from the church secretary whose perfect little angel held up a gas station while he was tweaked out of his mind. Meanwhile the government’s been giving it to our troops in some form or fashion since we had to go kick Hitler’s ass. Artists, housewives, even those same politicians calling for harsher penalties—they all do it. And don’t even get me started on these oilfield hands. There’s enough of them to keep me in business without John Curtis even noticing I’m undercutting him. Let’s face it, everybody likes to fight and fuck. And meth lets you do both while feeling like a million bucks.”

  Wild Bill licked his lips.

  The girl rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t need to feel like a million bucks. I just need to feel like thirteen thousand. So are we doing this or what?”

  “Patience, darling. I’m almost done.

  “See,” he continued, “meth’s more powerful than god. Hell, you include money, and I imagine god’s sitting in third place. I remember growing up, when them boys shot up that high school in Colorado. There was a girl got killed, but they ask her, before they shot her, did she believe in god. She said she did and they went on and shot her. Probably would’ve shot her anyway, but you never can tell. Anyway, I had this one old boy, came from somewhere up near Alto. Used to be a preacher or a deacon or some such position in a little church up there. He had a son overdose a few years back. Guess he couldn’t handle it, or maybe he just wanted to see firsthand what his son had seen, but he came asking for a taste and we gave it to him. Came back a few days later, then a few days after that. Finally, one day, he says he needs more but he don’t have no money. Well, that’s alright, John Curtis tells him, just say there’s no such thing as god, and I’ll give you a free pass. He even took the baggie out and pitched it to the poor fucker.

  “So here’s this man, or what’s left of him, and he’s having to decide right then and there between god and crystal and it didn’t take him five seconds, a former something or another, to say god don’t exist.”

  “Maybe he was just saying it to get the drugs,” the girl said. “Maybe he prayed about it later and asked forgiveness.”

  “Maybe. But there’s a lot of Christian folks around these parts. To say out loud that there ain’t no god, that means something to them. Something might be beyond forgiveness. Not from god, you understand, but from themselves.”

  “I understand. I get it. You’re so wise. Whatever you want to hear. You got the money or what?”

  “It’s on the way.”

  “On the way?”

  “I have some here. The rest is on the way. What kind of fool keeps that much cash in his own house? Just relax, darling. Have a drink.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure I can’t interest you in anything while you wait.”

  Bill grabbed at his crotch and smirked.

  The boy burst through the door and onto the porch.

  “Jonah?”

  The boy closed the bathroom door behind him and stepped into the living room.

  “Katie.”

  The girl was wearing the same blue jean shorts and tank top as when they’d met. She ran toward him and draped herself around his shoulders.

  “Jonah,” she said, giggling, and he could smell the liquor.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Devin’s my older brother.”

  “Who’s Devin?”

  “This is his house.”

  “I thought this was Bill’s house.”

  “They split the rent. What are you doing?”

  “Uh, I know Bill.”

  “Really?”

  The boy cleared his throat.

  “Yeah, Wild Bill. I know him.”

  “Whoa. That’s crazy,” the girl looked at him and nodded. “I told those guys you were cool. Down by the river, I mean. Sorry about all that.”

  “It’s okay. They’re assholes.”

  “Yeah, they really are. Let’s go get a drink.”

  Katie grabbed his hand and led him through the house and into the kitchen.

  “Whiskey or tequila?” she asked.

  “Whiskey,” the boy said, looking around the empty room as if he might be denied permission.

  “You’re more hardcore than me,” she said, tipping a Jameson bottle into a red cup and sliding it toward him, then pouring herself a cup of the clear liquor. “Tequila for the lady.”

  She stared at him. Smiling. He smiled back.

  “What should we cheers to?” she asked.

  The boy shrugged.

  “Devin taught me this one,” the girl said. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin along with her cup. The boy likewise. “Here’s to hell. May our stay there be as much fun as our way there.”

  The girl laughed and knocked her cup into his, then drank. The boy put his own drink to his lips and it stung them, and stung his tongue, and stung his throat, and he grimaced, but kept drinking. The girl slammed her cup on the table and her body shivered. They poured and drank again, then she refilled their cups and took his hand and led him out the front door and onto the short porch.

  The porch light had long been burned out and they sat in the darkness in a groaning swing with rusted chains. The boy’s stomach was warm and he was smiling and he liked the girl’s hand touching his, and he liked the way she smelled, like jasmine and cigarettes.

  There was a horned moon hung pale behind a bank of storm clouds and the muted light turning the night sky into dark layers of gray. The world was separated from the stars by the coming rain, and neither knowing when they might meet again. Droplets began to clatter on the roof above them.

  “This might be the one,” the boy said, his voice lazy.

  “What one?”

  “The one that doesn’t stop. The rain that just keeps falling.”

  “That’s impossible. Everything stops sooner or later.”

  The boy was quiet. The girl frowned.

  “Besides,” she continued, “my daddy says if anything happens, god will take care of the Christians. It’s the terrorists who need to worry.”

  The boy didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway, then took a drink.

  “So, Jonah, what’s your favorite song?”

  “I don’t know. I like all of them.”

  “You like every song?”

  “Sure. Why not.”

  “Well, my favorite is ‘Drop and Get It.’ Do you want me to play it for you?”

  “Okay.”

  The girl stood and downed the rest of her cup and then took out a cell phone covered in stick-on jewels. She laid it on the swing next to the boy as the small speakers began to vibrate. The boy looked down at the phone and the girl touched his face and directed it back to herself. She began to dance in front of him, smiling and giggling. She put his hands on her hips and the world was swimming. She bent down and kissed him. Her lips wet and hot and he felt her tongue inside his mouth. He stood and pushed her away.

  S
he scowled at him.

  “What the hell?”

  “Sorry.”

  “What are you gay or something?”

  “No, I—I’m in love with someone else.”

  “What? You have a girlfriend?”

  “No, she’s not my girlfriend. But I love her.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re really pretty. And I liked your dance.”

  “Oh my god, shut up, Jonah. Just shut up.”

  The girl crossed her arms and walked into the house, slamming the door behind her. She reemerged moments later and snatched her phone from the swing, the music still playing.

  “And you better not tell anybody about this.”

  “Okay.”

  The boy sat for a time on the front porch swing. He could hear the party in the back, the pulsating bass. The swing moved gently under his weight. His cup was empty and he could smell the rain, somewhere out in the still night, coming back to drown them all.

  Out on the road a truck slowed and killed its lights. The boy watched. The truck turned into the church parking lot and stopped. Three men got out. The boy strained his eyes. A fourth man, the driver, climbed down from the cab and the boy’s stomach rose into his throat.

  The boy raced through the house and spilled out onto the back porch.

  “It’s the big man, from the bar. He’s across the street with a bunch of other guys. They’re coming around back.”

  “What? How did—” The girl turned back and looked at Wild Bill. “You sonofabitch.”

  “Sorry, darling,” the man said. “But I’ve been trying to figure out a way to stop John Curtis from coming after me for a long while now. Then you showed up and did the work for me.”

  “We gotta get out of here,” she said to the boy.

  Bill moved to block the door.

  The boy reached into the back of his pants and pulled out the gun. He clicked the safety off.

  “That’s a bold move, little man,” Bill said. “But you’re not about to shoot anybody.”

  The man stepped forward and grabbed the gun and wrenched it free from the boy’s grip, then backhanded him with the steel handle. The boy crumpled.

  “Now,” the man said, looking at the girl, “let’s go talk to that big boyfriend of yours.”

  He slid the gun halfway into the front of his jeans and the girl watched him. She lunged forward and was able to get to the trigger just as Bill caught her wrist. She squeezed twice. He released his grip and fell to the floor, screaming.

  “You shot my dick,” he moaned. “You shot my fucking dick.”

  “Next time turn the safety back on.”

  She kept the gun in her right hand and used her left to pull the boy to his feet. Blood ran from a cut on his head.

  “Come on, we have to go.”

  She led him inside and down the hall and into a laundry room with a screen door that opened to the side of the house. The music in the back stopped.

  “Come on,” she whispered, and the two of them moved, crouched, toward the road.

  “Did they come in a big truck?” she whispered.

  The boy nodded weakly. His head was spinning.

  “That stupid bastard,” the girl said, fishing in one of the backpack pockets and producing a set of keys with a pink rabbit’s foot. “Come on.”

  They continued at a crouch toward the church.

  “Hey,” someone called. “There they are.”

  “Shit,” the girl said. “Run.”

  They sprinted toward the truck, the men closing fast.

  “Get in,” she screamed. The girl started the truck and threw it in drive without turning on the lights and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. They lurched forward through a ditch and out onto the road. In the rearview mirror, Cade stood, staring after them.

  “Where the hell did you get a gun?”

  “Terrance gave it to me. Or, not gave it. I stole it. I think I’m drunk,” the boy said, leaning over in the passenger seat.

  “Hey,” the girl told him. “Sit up. Focus. Can you get me upriver?”

  “How far?”

  “Redtown.”

  “What’s in Redtown?”

  “Can you do it?”

  “Why can’t we just drive?”

  “You heard that deputy earlier. The whole sheriff’s department is hunting us. Not to mention we’re in Cade’s truck.”

  “Well, we’re gonna need a boat.”

  “Can you get one?”

  “I think so.”

  “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

  “River?”

  “What is it?”

  “Have you ever heard the song ‘Drop and Get It?’”

  The boy fell in and out of sleep in the passenger seat, and he heard the girl talking on the phone, and when she was done she turned it off and looked at him and smiled.

  “They’re in,” she said.

  They left the truck in a thicket hidden from the road and nearest they could get to Hog Creek headwater and followed a mostly overgrown path to the river. They turned northwest and made Old Man Carson’s cabin just before dawn.

  The girl beat on the door, and the boy shot her a look.

  “We’re sorry for waking you, sir,” he said when the old man pulled back the screen.

  “Bah, I hadn’t slept proper in twenty-some-odd years. I’ll put on a pot.”

  The old man stepped heavy into his overalls and pulled the straps over his slumped shoulders. He looked for a long while at the cut on the boy’s head, the bruising on his face.

  “You all look like you’re only one step ahead of some trouble.”

  “If that,” the boy said.

  “Well, son, what can I do for ye?”

  “I was hoping we could borrow your canoe.”

  Carson looked at the boy and smacked his lips.

  “The canoe? Yeah, you can, you can borrow the canoe. Why not just take the flat-bottom? It’s got a twelve-horse motor on it.”

  “Yessir, I thought about that. But we’re going north of the spillway and the boat would be too heavy to haul on land.”

  “The spillway?”

  “Yes sir. We got business in Redtown.”

  “If’n you all are going to Redtown, you’re not running from trouble, you’re gone looking for it.”

  “It’s a long story,” the girl said. “But this is our last chance at a different life. At any life. I know you and me ain’t been friendly, but I know you care about Jonah. And this is the best thing for him.”

  The old man thought for a while, then nodded his head.

  “Alright, well, let me get some food to send with you. It’s a long trip by canoe.”

  The old man shuffled to the cupboard, muttering to himself.

  “Redtown,” he said. “Here, take these.”

  He took down two tins of diced pears, a can of corned beef, and an expired MoonPie.

  “Ye know how to make a cookfire?”

  The boy nodded.

  The man tossed him a package of cornmeal.

  “I reckon you’ll be needing a pan for that. Go look in the feed shed. Pick out whichever cast iron you like.”

  They started for the door.

  “Hold on, darling. You stay here with me for a minute.”

  The boy looked at her, and she nodded for him to go.

  “How’d you get caught up in this mess in the first place?” the old man asked her.

  “Made a wrong turn or two. Ended up with the wrong people.”

  “They running meth?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Oilfield?”

  “Used to be. Some of them. Army too.”

  The old man nodded.

  “I was army. Still am, I suppose, in my
nightmares.”

  The girl stayed quiet.

  “It just seems like things ought to go better for these boys,” Carson said. “A generation in full, swept off like autumn leaves, scattered to the very same winds of change what brought us here in the first place.”

  “You feel bad for them?”

  “I do. Yes.”

  “They’re the ones choosing to do it, though.”

  “Are they?”

  “Why, hell yeah. Nobody’s got a gun to their head. Least not the majority.”

  “I disagree. It’s my belief they were born, all of them, with a gun to their head. They are, by their very existence, predisposed to every choice they’ll ever make.”

  The girl scoffed.

  “You don’t see it that way,” Carson said. “But I’ll ask you, what alternative is there? What option is given to these children of the pines? Raised by parents of a likemind, worshipping in great, towering churches but sent to decaying schools. Raised to use the land but not to respect it. No, the choice is little and less and I pity every last one of them as they disappear down the same well-worn path, believing they are living free. Rebels, all of them, in their own caged minds.”

  “You think there’s no helping it, huh.”

  “There’s always helping. But it’s never enough. You got a herd of cattle dying of thirst, and one jug of water in your hand. You can help, sure. Maybe it’ll ease your own mind about things, but it won’t change the outcome.”

  “Well. What happens now?”

  “The cycle continues. Those who can make it out rarely turn back, and those who can’t are left to perpetuate the endless poverty passed down as some accursed birthright by men who see in the eyes of their sons a mournful playback of their own half-lived lives.”

  “What’s the truth?”

  “That they didn’t choose any of this. That they aren’t free. That they’re merely products of their environment.”

  “Nossir. I don’t think that’s the truth at all.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head.

  “People are who they are, Mr. Carson, and I don’t believe it matters whether their spoons are polished silver or filled with dope.”

  “That’s a sad way to look at things,” Carson said.

  “Don’t mean it’s wrong.”

  “No. It certainly does not.”