Cesspool

by Phil M. Williams

  “I thought he would arrest Harold.”

  She laughed, a few tears spilling from her eyes. “You think he’s gonna arrest his uncle?”

  “What?”

  “Harold’s always braggin’ that I can’t never call the cops ’cause his brother’s the police chief and his nephew’s a cop too.” She shook her head. “He was right.”

  James exhaled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were related.”

  “I tried to tell you,” she said.

  “You’re right. I should have listened to you.” He looked her in the eyes. “You tell me what you want to do. I can take you anywhere you want to go. Do you have any family who you’d like to stay with?”

  She burst into tears. “I can’t go back there. Please don’t make me.” She threw her arms around him, pressing her braless pajama top against him. “I’ll do anything you want.”

  He pulled back, uncoupling himself from her. She put her head down and sobbed. He lifted her chin.

  “Hey,” he said, “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Do you have any friends you could stay with?”

  She shook her head. “Can I stay with you? Just for a little while. I won’t be no trouble. I’ll cook and clean—”

  “Okay.”

  Her sobbing subsided.

  “Brittany, listen to me. This is important. You don’t have to do anything for me. I’m your friend, and I’ll help you out, because I want to. No strings. Do you understand?”

  She nodded her head. “Thank you.” She looked down at her soiled pajamas. “I don’t have any clothes.”

  “It’s fine. We can get you what you need.”

  “I’ll pay you back. Every penny, plus interest if you want.”

  James shook his head. “We’ll call it payment for your gardening and foraging consultations.”

  She smiled, her nose and eyes red.

  “This has to be temporary, okay?” he said. “Until you can get a job and get your own place.”

  “I ain’t never had a job.”

  James took a deep breath. “We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, I should cancel my class tonight, and run by Walmart to get you some clothes and toiletries.”

  Her eyes were wide. “Can I go with you?”

  * * *

  James slept in the bottom bunk.

  He heard “No, don’t. No, please stop.”

  His eyes popped open to a dark face in the window, the features indistinguishable. His heart pounded as he scrambled back, sitting up. He rubbed his eyes. The window was dark. I’m losing it.

  Again he heard “No, don’t. Stop.”

  He rolled out of the bunk and turned on the floor lamp. Brittany tossed and turned in the top bunk.

  “I said no,” she said. “Please don’t.”

  James edged closer. “Brittany, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

  “Please don’t.”

  He grabbed her arm.

  She pulled away from his touch, curling in the fetal position. “No! No!”

  “Brittany, wake up!”

  Her eyes popped open. Her face was taut.

  “It’s me, James. You were having a bad dream.”

  She relaxed at the sight of him. “Oh, … I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”

  “I think I was having a bad dream too. Do you want some tea?”

  “Okay.”

  James put water in the teakettle and turned on the electric stove top. He sat down at the kitchen table, across from Brittany. She wore brand new flannel pajamas.

  “We could prob’ly find some mushrooms tomorrow.” She stared out the window into the darkness. “After the rain.”

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She tucked her brown hair behind her ears. “I don’t usually remember ’em.”

  “The nightmares?”

  She nodded. “I just wake up stressed. The ones I remember make me glad that I don’t.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head. “Do you wanna talk about yours?”

  “I don’t remember them either.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  James chuckled.

  She frowned. “What’s so funny?”

  “I used to say that to my wife before I asked her something important, and she would get mad at me and tell me to just ask the question. She said that she didn’t like it when I prefaced things.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. She was wrong. It’s polite to ask.”

  Brittany took a deep breath. “How come you’re here all by yourself? Don’t you have friends and family who wanna see you? People like Harold, live up here all by themselves ’cause nobody likes ’em.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek. “Lori was my wife’s name.”

  Brittany nodded, her blue eyes on him.

  “I wasn’t the best husband, and she went elsewhere. The day she died, I found out she was having an affair with her boss.”

  Brittany put her hand over her mouth.

  “I called her a lying, f-ing bitch. That was the last thing I said to her. They had been drinking. Her boss wrecked his car, killing her and him in the process. They ran into a telephone pole.” James rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Anyway, we had friends, but our friends were really her friends, and, when she died, I realized they weren’t my friends at all.”

  “What about your mom and dad? Brothers or sisters?”

  “They’re gone, and I’m an only child.”

  “I’m sorry.” She sucked in her plump lower lip and pushed it out.

  The teakettle whistled. James stood up and turned off the stove. “Is chamomile okay?” James held up a small box of herbal tea. “It doesn’t have caffeine.”

  “I never had that kind. I only ever had Lipton.”

  “You’re in for a treat then.”

  James placed the tea bags in two teacups and poured the hot water. He set the cups on the table with a plastic bear full of honey.

  “We should let them steep for a couple minutes.”

  “Were they nice, your parents?”

  James sighed. “Very nice. My mom would have loved you. She was into nature like you. My dad was stuffier, like me.”

  She giggled. “You’re not too stuffy.”

  “My turn. What do you want to do? You’re young, talented. You could do anything.”

  She tapped her lips with her index finger. “Anything?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “I wanna have a family of my own.” She paused. “And a job that helps people.”

  “Have you thought about college?”

  Her mouth turned down. “Don’t you have to finish high school?”

  He winced. “When did you drop out?”

  “Halfway through my junior year. I had to leave. That’s when I came here, and Harold found me.” She looked down. “I wasn’t that good at school anyway.”

  “Look at me, Brittany.”

  She looked up.

  “What you want—a family and a job helping people—that’s not a pie-in-the-sky dream. That’s very possible. We just need to get you moving in the right direction.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “You’ve been through a lot. You need help that I can’t give you.”

  Her eyes watered. “Are you gonna make me leave?”

  “No, I’m not. I just want you to talk to a nice lady who works at the counseling center on campus. She can help you.”

  She wiped her eyes with the side of her index finger. “I’m fine. I just get nightmares sometimes.”

  James had a lump in his throat. “I just … I’m just so sorry for what you had to go through. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard things have been for you.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. She shrugged, wiping her face with her sleeve. “It’s over now.”

  “That’s the problem, Brittany. Some things can make you really sad for your whole life if you don’t get some help. If I mad
e you an appointment, would you go?”

  Chapter 8

  Help Wanted

  James spoke into his cell phone. “I know it’s really short notice, but can you fit her in tonight?”

  “Bring her in at five.”

  “Thank you so much, Diane. I really appreciate it.” James hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket. “You’re all set for tonight.”

  Brittany sat at the kitchen table, blank-faced. She had a black-and-blue shiner, her neck was bruised, and she had a scab on her lower lip.

  “You okay?”

  “Do I have to answer all her questions?”

  “No. She’ll mostly want you to talk about how you’re feeling.”

  Brittany frowned.

  “I know it sounds weird, but it’ll help, and she’s really nice.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  James packed his backpack with trail mix, water, and a few plastic bags.

  She surveyed the one-room cabin. “Don’t you get bored without TV?”

  “The opium of the masses,” James replied.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s like a drug that makes people complacent and docile and stupid.”

  “Harold watches TV all day.”

  “Maybe that’s why he’s so stupid.”

  Her mouth turned down. “He thinks I’m the one who’s stupid.”

  James set down his backpack and looked at Brittany. “I’ve been teaching for eighteen years. I’ve seen thousands of kids. I can tell you, without a doubt, that you’re not stupid.”

  She smiled for a moment. “So, what do you like to do, if you don’t like TV?”

  “I like to read. Your imagination can be more interesting than the best movie. Haven’t you ever heard people say, ‘The book is better than the movie’?”

  She shook her head.

  “A lot of the most popular movies were books first. And the books are always better than the movie. Do you like to read?”

  “I used to read the Goosebumps books when I was little.”

  James attached his knife and scabbard to his belt. “We’ll stop by the library on the way to your appointment. I’m sure we’ll find something that interests you.” He slung his backpack over his fleece. “You ready?”

  They stepped outside. The air was crisp, the sun playing peekaboo with the clouds. They walked past the outhouse.

  “I have to go the bathroom real quick,” she said.

  James stood waiting. He gazed into the woods. He heard a rustling of leaves, and he saw movement in the distance. He strained his eyes, trying to determine if it was human or otherwise. Brittany appeared from the outhouse.

  “I just need to wash my hands,” she said as she walked back to the cabin.

  “Could you grab my keys and lock the door on your way out?” James asked. “They’re sitting on the kitchen table.”

  She turned around, her brow furrowed. “Is everything okay?”

  He nodded. “We need to get in the habit of keeping the doors locked.”

  James hiked through the woods, following Brittany along a well-established trail. She walked ahead, unburdened by a pack, testing out her new footwear.

  She waited for James. “It’s just ahead at the fork,” she said.

  They stopped on a small bluff, in front of a wooden post emblazoned with a yellow mark. To their right, a country road was visible from the bluff. A few farmhouses lined the road. The trail beyond the post snaked down the hill toward a gravel parking area large enough for three cars. Across from the parking area was a dilapidated self-storage center, with rows of garages, and boats and trailers parked along the chain-link fence. To their left was an unkempt trail.

  “This way,” she said, as she traipsed down the overgrown trail.

  The forest canopy was thick, the ground leaf-covered. She slowed at a cluster of dead and dying oak trees. One was horizontal across what was left of the trail. She searched the base and the trunks of the trees, circling them like she was playing ring around the rosie.

  “Found one,” she said.

  James followed her voice around the trunk of a standing oak. She stood smiling at the enormous cluster of vibrant yellow-orange mushrooms growing from the tree.

  “Wow,” he said.

  “Chicken of the woods.” She put her hands on her hips. “Pretty, huh?”

  “Beautiful.” James inspected the human-head-size mushroom cluster. “How do you know it’s not poisonous?”

  “I been eatin’ from here for two years. Plus I know what the good ones look like and the bad ones that look like the good ones. My grammy used to say, ‘They taste like crabmeat, not chicken.’ But I never had no crab.”

  James removed the fixed blade from the scabbard attached to his belt. He sliced the mushroom from the tree trunk and placed it in a plastic bag. He put it in his backpack, and they hiked home.

  James checked his watch as they returned to the cabin. “We should get moving if we’re going by the library before your appointment.”

  * * *

  Brittany browsed the middle-school section of the public library, with a stack of books under her arm. She wore jeans that fit her, a sweatshirt, and a scarf that covered her neck. Her hair was brushed and tucked behind her ears. She was on her tippy toes trying to reach a book on the upper shelf. James walked over and grabbed the book for her.

  “Thanks,” she said, stepping back. Her shiner was under heavy concealer.

  “Why don’t I take those to the librarian?” he said. “She’s holding our books.”

  Brittany handed James her stack of books.

  He smiled. He was clean-shaven, his hair purposely disheveled. “It looks like you found a few things.”

  “I wanna do that reading workshop you were tellin’ me about. A book a week makes you smart, right?”

  James nodded. “The research shows that kids who read a book a week outperform their peers.”

  “That’s what I wanna do.”

  * * *

  James sat in the waiting room of the counseling department. He graded research papers on the political system of ancient Greece. Every few minutes he glanced at the windowless door. The placard read Diane Fitzgerald, PhD. The door opened, and a thin woman with wispy white hair came out with Brittany. He gathered his papers and stood.

  Diane smiled at Brittany. “Same time on Monday?”

  Brittany nodded.

  Diane waved at James over Brittany’s shoulder. James waved, and Diane retreated into her office. Brittany turned around as James approached. She wiped her nose with a tissue.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you want me to run you back to the cabin? If we hurry, I can make it back in time for class.”

  “I don’t wanna be left alone, if that’s okay.” She looked down for a moment.

  “You can come with me to class every night if you want.”

  They walked to his classroom in silence.

  “Aren’t you gonna ask me what we talked about?” Brittany said.

  “That’s between you and Diane.”

  She smiled at James.

  “I do have one question,” James said.

  Brittany looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

  “Did you like her?”

  “She’s really nice.”

  During class, she sat in the back reading Wonder by R. J. Palacio. Leon, Jessica, and a handful of others debated whether or not taxation was moral. After class, James and Brittany went to Dot’s Diner for dinner.

  They entered the shiny metal-clad diner. A Help Wanted sign hung in the window. They sat at the end of the metal counter, reading plastic-covered menus. Jessica sauntered over with a crooked smile. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing her round, attractive face.

  “Hey, Mr. Fisher. What can I get you two?”

  “Jessica, this is my friend Brittany,” he said motioning to the petite eighteen-year-old sitting next to him.

  Jessica smiled. “It’s n
ice to meet you.”

  “You too,” Brittany said, barely audible.

  “You were in class tonight, right?”

  Brittany nodded.

  “You look really familiar,” Jessica said, her eyes narrowed. “Did you go to Schuylkill High?”

  “No,” she said, her head bowed. “I’m not from around here.”

  “You just have one of those nice faces then.” Jessica grinned. “So what can I get you?”

  She shrugged, looking up at Jessica. “How much is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

  “What about your crab cakes?” James asked, his finger pointing to the dish on the menu. “Are they any good?”

  “Depends on the day,” Jessica said. “They’re usually pretty good on Wednesday because the seafood shipments come on Tuesday.”

  “Brittany’s never had crab,” James said.

  “You haven’t?” Jessica asked.

  “Should I try ’em?” Brittany asked James.

  “That’s up to you.”

  “If you don’t like them,” Jessica said, “I’ll buy you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  Brittany smiled. “Okay, I’ll try ’em.”

  “What about you, Mr. Fisher?” Jessica asked.

  “I’ll have breakfast again,” James replied.

  Jessica put her index finger to her temple. “Scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, and … wheat toast.”

  “You’re good.”

  Jessica took their order to the kitchen and waited on her other customers.

  “She’s nice,” Brittany said.

  “And smart too,” James replied.

  “They have a Help Wanted sign. You think I could get a job here?”

  “Do you have any identification cards at Harold’s? Like a social security card or a birth certificate?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know your social security number?”

  She shook her head. “What do I need that for?”

  “If you want a job or financial aid for college or a driver’s license, you’ll need your social security number.”

  She frowned; her head sagged. “I don’t have that stuff.”

  “It’s all right. We can go get it.”

  She raised her head and looked at James. “From where?”

  * * *

  They drove past trailer homes, modular homes, a house with a blue tarp for a roof, and farmhouses with dilapidated barns. The cloud-filtered sunlight made everything seem dull and gray. They saw yards filled with cars and car parts, aboveground pools with cold green water, bicycles and sports equipment, and large dogs attached to chains. Brittany pointed out the tidy yard on their right. James stopped the truck across the street from a rusted double-wide trailer.