Everything, Somewhere

by David Kummer

  “Ah, you’re so vanilla.” Mason put his hands behind his head like he’d recline in a hammock. His eyes turned upward, to the tree canopy and the stars just beyond. “You do need to get laid soon. You’ve got too much built-up tension. You’re a bomb waiting to go off, you know that?”

  “Thanks, Dr. Phil.” I considered throwing something else at him, but the moment passed. We sat there without speaking, each of us lost in thought. He was probably dwelling on Willow. I tried not to be jealous of them, or of him in general, but it was hard at times. He had such a large house, never had a job. All through high school, he’d just been coasting, pretty much. The only thing he really tried for was his appearance. Just too goddamn attractive. It made me hate him a little, that and his money. And now he’d been with Willow for, what, over a year? And she was just jaw-dropping some days, in appearance but also in the way she acted. I’d never met someone so… electric. Of course he got to be with her. It just made sense.

  I was a side character in that story. Everybody in Little Rush knew Mason, and most people knew Willow too, or at least what she looked like. Me? I was the farm boy. I was the kid who didn’t get invited to stuff. I was the one nobody thought of when they had an extra movie ticket. That was me. And somehow, I still ended up with Mason as my best friend. It could be a pain.

  The wind smacked even harder now. I was about to mention it, suggest we head out, when I heard something in the trees behind us. I thought Mason did too because he gave me this wide-eyed expression, this fearful look. It could be literally anything out here. A coyote. A bear. Some farmer with a shotgun. Anything.

  I turned around and so did Mason. And there he was, standing with broad shoulders and fists clenched. I could barely tell it was him in the darkness, but there was no mistaking that silhouette. I would recognize him anywhere. Just by the way he stood.

  “Run, Hudson!”

  Mason took off right away, heading toward the road. His car was parked about a quarter-mile away in the driveway of some abandoned house. He was heading in that direction. But for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to move. I just toppled backward, onto the ground. Mason had fled in an instant, his feet churning the earth, and I knew he wouldn’t turn back.

  “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

  “Get up, will ya?” Bruce Michaels barked at me, extending a hand.

  I grasped it, felt those gnarled calluses and the years that had carved into his fingers. Then I was standing in front of him, our eyes meeting for only the second time, but it was a face I’d watched for countless hours. He observed me, my clothing, my hair. Took a sniff.

  “You been smoking?” he asked.

  I shook my head. He, on the other hand, smelled like alcohol. Had to be slightly drunk, at least.

  “Damn. Was gonna ask for one.” He clicked his tongue and motioned for me to follow. “How long ‘til it rains would you say?”

  I didn’t move. I tried not to look too shocked. This conversation had already lasted longer than expected. “Um… forty minutes?”

  He nodded and chewed on his lip. His head swiveled to either side, and then he gestured into the trees where an ill-traveled path curled away into the forest. “Think there’s anything interesting this way?”

  “Um…” I turned around, just to see if Mason had stopped running, but he was nowhere in sight. It was getting dark, sure, but I didn’t feel afraid of this man. I would have loved to walk down a trail with him. Bruce Michaels, after all. But I still didn’t feel quite… comfortable.

  “What do you say we find out?” He raised an eyebrow and a smile tugged at his lips. With that, he took a step past me, toward the barely-existent route.

  I still didn’t shift my feet. He sighed, maybe irritated, but I didn’t care. “You aren’t gonna… call the cops?”

  “Jesus, no. Just want someone to talk to.” He cocked his head like some bird. “Don’t tell me you’re refusing?”

  I lowered my head and followed him after that. He was right, after all. There was zero chance I’d refuse a conversation with Bruce Michaels. I’d been dreaming about this for years. Always wanted to meet him. I assumed it would be in an airport or something, but instead, I would wander a forest trail next to him. Who would’ve imagined?

  He led me into the trees, stepping through the underbrush. The cemetery to our right disappeared as the forest consumed us both. The storm rumbled overhead, and I could only pray that it would hold off for a while longer. Night crept closer as we crunched our way down the path, toward a part of Little Rush I’d never known.

  I thought about turning back, and maybe I should’ve. I didn’t know what he had planned or even who he was, really. But something pushed me on, something in the way he limped along, almost like a wounded animal.

  “What about my friend?” I asked before we were truly gone into the depth of the woods.

  He shrugged and brushed a branch out of the way. “Text him to come back in, say, thirty minutes.” His eyes were straight ahead, almost as if I didn’t exist. His expression so weary, his skin wrinkled. Bruce Michaels, worn and old, almost decrepit. But I couldn’t turn away. He was everything I’d ever wanted to be.

  12

  Little Rush

  (The Robbers)

  “You got any more of them… what’s-they-calleds from earlier?” Curtis crumpled a Milky Way wrapper and threw it on the ground. He leaned back in the chair.

  June looked on, rolling her eyes. She could barely hear them as the wind picked up, assaulting their small apartment’s single window.

  “Edibles.” Randy crossed his arms and slipped a plastic bag into the pocket of his jacket. “Got no more.”

  “You’s lying, you piece of shit.” Curtis pointed a finger at him, narrowed his eyes, but then let it drop. He leaned even farther back in the rickety recliner until it nearly tipped over.

  Randy and June were seated on a couch, older and shabbier than any of them by a good measure. It was rugged and had pieces of the back sticking out at odd angles, but it’d been free. Their apartment, too, wasn’t the prettiest thing. A second-story place, few blocks up from the river. The curtains were torn in places and the walls an ugly color. Likely some mold in that one corner. But they made it work.

  It was comfortable enough, though June had to resist the urge to shout whenever they got into their childish arguments.

  The three of them were sitting in front of the television, with the first thunderstorm in weeks pounding outside. The relentless torrents of rain forced them to turn the television up every so often. It sounded like the storm only worsened as the hours passed. But in reality, it didn’t bother them much. The three of them tuned out everything but the news, which once again bubbled with promise. Bruce Michaels, living here for half a week now. What a few days it had been.

  This was the most promising news she’d had since the debacle with the drug dealers. Back when June had first met the two of them, they’d tried to work as drug mules between Cincinnati and Louisville. Trouble was, the real serious dealers didn’t trust people like them. With the added weight of these two, June couldn’t ever make it work, and so they’d suffered through odd jobs and random thefts. Anything to get by.

  “No work tomorrow, eh,” Curtis chuckled, relaxing with both arms behind his head now.

  The other two didn’t answer right away. June’s eyes were locked on the television, entranced. She didn’t like Curtis much when he got in these moods. Anytime he took edibles, he started to talk a lot. He rarely acted high, just annoying.

  “Nice, free day, eh,” he went on, fishing for any kind of response. June noticed his eyes were locked on the two of them, though she didn’t answer.

  “Speak for yourself,” Randy grumbled. “Got two more shifts at Krogers this week and another at the Shell.”

  “Kroger, no s,” June corrected him, not bothering to turn. Her voice was always emotionless, eyes focused ahead. She’d become a leader of sorts to them, ever since they moved in here two years
ago. “Don’t you two forget about this weekend.”

  “Won’t forget,” Randy assured her.

  Curtis raised his eyebrows. “Say what? What’s ‘is weekend?”

  June glared at him for just a split second then stared out the dark window. Rain beat against it so loudly now that she thought it might crack in places. Storms always sounded worse up here, in a rickety apartment that would even shake from a big truck rolling down the street.

  “Tell him, Randy,” she said at last.

  Randy cleared his throat. “The… the, um… which place’s it?”

  “The goddamn ice cream shop, Randy.” June punched him on the knee, not in a kind way, and stood from the couch. It lifted a bit as she rose. None of them weighed much —they couldn’t afford enough food to— but the couch was so old a mouse would’ve made a difference.

  “I remember!” Curtis clapped his hands together and gestured at June. “We robbin’ that sucker, right? Don’t you worry. Won’t forget this time.”

  June paced to the window and placed a hand on it. Her nose pressed against the glass, the rain splattering less than an inch from her eyes. She knew the two men watched her for a second, but their eyes returned to the television, a nightly comedy broadcast from some big city.

  She couldn’t help but feel exhausted. The two of them would never know all the weight pressing down on her, all the roles she had to fill. These dimwits, relying on her to move forward, to survive. They would never understand. She needed a big score and soon. Something bigger than they’d ever done before.

  June stared out into the darkness, watched the rain drip down the glass. Somewhere out there, a few streets away, lived her mother. She’d have to stop by soon enough, drop off another wad of cash. The problem was scrounging enough. Insulin prices continued to rise, and her mother’s condition only worsened. Who knew how long she had now. Months, maybe, or even a few years.

  But if she got caught… June knew that jail time for her also meant a death sentence for her mom. The woman couldn’t work, could barely get out of bed. All her underlying conditions only made things worse. June closed her eyes and tried hard not to imagine her mother in bed, frail under the blankets, her fragile body wasting away. And all the while, these two idiots were constantly forgetting plans.

  “Least this show don’t have that laugh track, amiright?” Curtis commented.

  Randy shrugged. “Dunno what you mean.”

  “Boys, I’ve been thinking…”

  In the window’s dark reflection, she saw them both face her. She could see the excitement in their eyes, the rapt fascination.

  She kicked at the carpet, scuffed against it with her bare toes. A quiet frown. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. These next words were important, the way she would phrase the kernel of a plan.

  “We been wearing these damned clothes for too long, don’tchu think? And we… we’re living in trash, boys. Really digging ourselves a hole. These little jobs, these stores… we’re gonna run out of places or get caught. You wanna go to prison?” She turned to them now and saw both men shaking their heads in fear. June crossed her arms, squinted a little. “But I got an idea, boys. I really been thinking. I think this is our shot.”

  Neither one of them answered. June formed two fists and began to grind them against each other. Her determination deepened and a mischievous wrinkle touched the corners of her eyes.

  “Michaels. That’s the key. That man… he’s got more money than we’ve all three ever had combined.”

  Randy nodded, stroking at the thin chinstrap of facial hair he wore. Curtis rubbed at his head, brain churning nearly as loud as the rain outside.

  “I say we go for the big fish. Forget these little jobs. We don’t gotta steal straight cash, see. We can… take something valuable. Sell it. Hell, that man’s surely got enough in his wallet to top what we’ve done in six months!” And enough for Mom, she thought to herself.

  “You think so?” Randy leaned forward. His shoulders were tense, breathing irregular. The couch moved as he stood. “You think it’s possible?”

  “Boys, we gotta do this.” June nodded at them both, tapped her bare foot against the carpet. “We gotta rob Bruce Michaels.”

  13

  Bruce

  The kid and I wandered through the forest, following an almost invisible trail that I could barely remember. Sometime long ago, I’d come this same way, only then I was in the other role, even younger than this kid. It’d been a summer similar to this, and I had acted the same way, tentative but curious. Farther and farther we traveled, the trees swallowing us, the sky overheard growing darker and angrier.

  We emerged at last into a bit of a clearing, the end of our travels. A sharp descent lay ahead, plummeting down the side of the valley. I took the next steps gingerly, trudging through high grass, walking in the footsteps of a man long gone. The forest had grown dense around us, but ahead… an opening in the trees showed a majestic sight.

  “What is this place?” he asked, sounding worried.

  I didn’t turn back to face him. Instead, I pushed forward, found myself standing on a platform of bricks and stone, older than I could have ever guessed. The trees were gone just ahead of us, clearly a manmade overlook that had been forgotten with time. This place had once been glorious. Years ago, when I’d first stepped foot here, there’d been a functioning trail that led down the hill. It was too long for me then, even more so now, and the entrance had been lost to weeds and bushes growing freely. If I could’ve walked it, though, that old trail would eventually bring me to the edge of downtown Little Rush. One journey, across two settings and a steep descent.

  At this point on the hilltop, we could stare down at the Ohio River, even see the power-plant in the far distance. The river in all its glory, winding into the far horizon. My grandpa had told me then what I wanted to tell this kid now. That there were few spots where such a sight existed, the Ohio River bending three times and disappearing around the final turn. On toward Louisville, maybe, or some other forgotten town like our own.

  “Have you ever been here?” I asked him after a moment of silence. Weeds and grass had grown up through the brick platform where I stood, but I could almost remember a time when it had been much cleaner here. Well-tended.

  “No, never.” He stood next to me now, admiring the same view. “It’s beautiful.”

  Even under the weight of the coming storm, I couldn’t help but smile. No matter how many clouds were overhead, no matter the rain that would soon batter these trees, this sight would always bring me joy. One of those places where the wilderness is perfection.

  “Do you like this town, kid?” I asked him, turning my head just a fraction to gauge his response.

  “It’s Hudson.” He chewed on his lip for a moment. “And I suppose so.”

  “As a pizza guy, you probably know a bit about the place, huh?”

  He shifted in place and nodded. “I suppose.”

  “I don’t know much about this town,” I lied, hoping he would trust me. He had no reason not to. “Figured I’d like to have a real conversation tonight, instead of passing out drunk.” I shot him a wavering smile.

  “Know what you mean.” Hudson crossed his arms and didn’t look away from the bends in the river. I couldn’t tell if he really was that focused on it or just didn’t want to make eye contact. I didn’t blame him either way.

  He couldn’t have been out of high school, and yet he talked with the sort of dreary tone that I’d expect from someone much older. Someone who had his share of drunken nights and hungover mornings, who knew what it was like to drink because of pain and not for fun. Stop reading into him, I chided himself. This kid isn’t you.

  “You graduated yet?” I asked him, trying to gauge the kid’s age. He could’ve been anywhere from sixteen to twenty-two, for all I knew.

  “Course not,” he said, smirking a little. I could see it in his eyes. Stupid question, he was thinking. “If I’d graduated, I wouldn’t be here.”


  I waited a ten-count before pushing forward with the conversation. In the lulls between words, my eyes were inevitably drawn to the river and town spreading out below us or the gathering clouds overhead. They continued to build as the world grew incrementally darker. Soon enough, we would be standing in the midst of a thunderous assault.

  I finally brought myself to ask, “So you’re planning on leaving, then?”

  Hudson narrowed his eyes at me and hesitated, as if deciding whether to go ahead with the conversation. I had no doubt that he would. One of the few perks that came with being me. People, when addressed, would never refuse to answer.

  “Course I am,” he said at last. “And it’s not ‘planning.’ I am leaving.”

  “So then you don’t actually like this town?” I didn’t look at him this time. I wanted to give him time and space to think. He was the first local I’d spoken to, and I found myself intrigued by his feelings for Little Rush itself. Everyone here had largely different experiences than me.

  “It’s fine and all.” He shrugged and stared at his feet. Maybe at the brick foundation we stood on, with grass fighting its way through the cracks. That was a downside of being me, I supposed. People would answer, sure, but they’d almost never make eye contact. Especially not when you’re an off putting old man like me.

  “Elaborate, if you don’t mind.” I closed my eyes for just a moment, inhaling the forest scent as the wind picked up slightly.

  He huffed. “It’s a fine place. We have some stuff. Like the pizza where I work is good. My friend you saw, his dad actually owns it. Dad works at that power-plant down there.” He pointed at the view in front of us, but I already knew what he meant. “And we’ve got nice downtown shops and all, but mostly… I guess it’s just not for me.” He looked up now and actually gestured at me with his hand. “Whatever you see in it, right, that’s what I hate about it. You came here because it’s small, and that’s why I want to leave.”