by David Kummer
I shrugged and took a sip from my Coke. “Can’t deny it.”
He squinted at me for a moment. “You’re the… the one who owns the pizza joint on the hill?”
I nodded, watching his expression closely. People asked me that question often, in different ways. Sometimes I owned the pizza place, sometimes I owned the apartment complex by the river, and sometimes I was just the local rich guy— “but not Blough.” He would always receive a little more recognition than me, given his sons were bigtime athletes at the high school. Mason, not so much.
The man raised an eyebrow and tapped on the table a few times. “You see here, I’ve got a question for you. Heard a rumor the other day and it’s been burning at my brain. Maybe you’d… know something ‘bout it.”
I set my drink on the counter and folded my hands into a tent-shape. It would probably be something about Bruce. That’s how all these conversations had gone recently. But I had nobody else to talk to and might as well indulge the man’s inquiry. “Maybe so. What’d you hear?”
He grinned wide at that point and studied my face. His eyes were full of newfound hope, and his left leg started to bounce on the floor. “I heard about some ATV company gonna buy up the old hilltop factory. By the highway. I was… just wondering if you’d heard it too or not?” He cleared his throat and added in a hurry before I could speak, “Just, see, I been looking for a nicer-paying job, and I hear them ATV manufacturers are real nice money if you got some experience.”
Sondra brought my sliders out at that moment, which spared me from answering him right away. We exchanged pleasantries for just a moment before she bustled off. I took my time applying ketchup and mustard, finally turning back to the man once I had a response ready.
“Haven’t heard anything about that, no, but doesn’t mean much. I’m not well connected with the factories.”
He sighed, and his chest deflated a bit, but that glimmer in his eyes persisted. “Ah, well. Thought I’d try.”
The man left a few minutes later, without ever telling me his name. I watched him go, a sad smile creeping onto my face, and then the door shut. I realized it had grown remarkably dark outside. Maybe I should head home. I ordered a milkshake for Lucy, a small peace offering, but she really loved Allen’s peanut butter ones.
Maybe I should’ve told the man the truth. That no new ATV factory would be opening soon, and I most definitely would’ve heard of such a thing. We already had an ATV place on the hilltop. I didn’t know if he’d forgotten this fact, overlooked it, or purposely ignored it. Whatever the case, I allowed him to carry on that night with a little bit of a hope. I didn’t know if I’d done him a favor or an injustice.
I contemplated that man as I left Allen’s Burgers and strolled back toward my car. People like him had so much faith and hope in this town. They hadn’t resigned themselves like me. Not that I didn’t appreciate Little Rush. I loved it. Every bit of it. But those people, they still hoped for a kind of vague grandeur. Factories opening again. A population that grew. Young people moving back instead of away. Hell, they probably hoped for trains to return someday.
I’d been like that once. As a child and a teenager and the years I spent away in college. Even when I first moved back and bought the pizza restaurant. During that time of my life, I’d also hoped for Little Rush to prosper. In different ways, maybe, but still growth. I didn’t know what I gave up that hope for. I still wanted good for the town. I also didn’t like the change that crept its way inside. Every time a chain restaurant replaced a local establishment, I felt a pang of fear. Every time an old landmark fell to disrepair or the city razed an old building, I lost sight of the town I’d grown up in.
I also feared change, because for Little Rush that meant leaving behind something great. Something worth remembering. Maybe I’d just given up hoping for good change at all. I didn’t see any point in dreaming of a large business moving here. Just not feasible. I didn’t even wish for a population surge anymore. I’m not sure what I wished for.
If time could freeze and Little Rush could remain exactly as it was forever, I think I’d be content with that. This, sadly, was also not an option. Businesses sink. People die. The cemetery fills. The young people leave. And the rest of us would be left watching. Time moved so slowly that it was hard to tell. Was the town burning down around us? Or did Little Rush actually need a bigger fire?
I had a sudden idea on my way up the hill. With Lucy’s milkshake sweating in the cup holder, I stopped by the Walmart and purchased a brand new iPhone. The only place in town I could even buy one. A gift for Mason. If anything could repair relationships, it had to be milkshakes and iPhones.
I didn’t linger in town for long, mainly because I didn’t want to hand my wife a liquefied shake. But I did savor my drive home. Often, I forgot to look around when I drove. It was so easy to keep my eyes fixed on the yellow lines that blurred as I raced from place to place, using music or a podcast to distract me. That night, however, I turned off the radio and inhaled the scenery. Up here, it didn’t feel the same as downtown, but held its own beauty.
The sky darkened as I drove. The air dropped about ten degrees, so that when I stepped out of my car, I could fully appreciate the weather. June afternoons in Little Rush could kill you, but then the temperature cooled, and it became perfect. The clouds bathed in deep purple and the fields swaying in gentle breezes. My house wasn’t far from Rush Road, of course; it wasn’t like I lived in the country. But almost there. I could sort of see it in the distance as I pulled into my isolated neighborhood.
There were no bad thoughts as I stepped into my house. Just a wide smile and hope. Hope like that factory worker. He wanted a new business to open. I just wanted to mend a relationship. Well, two of them.
Here goes the first step, I told myself as I let the door swing shut behind me.
I found Lucy asleep on the couch, mascara tears dried on her face. For a few moments, I stood there as her chest rose and fell peacefully. I realized the milkshake in my hand had melted entirely, so I chucked it in the trash
I visited Mason’s room next. Not home. I remembered now that he wouldn’t be around tonight. Something with Hudson, I guessed. I couldn’t even remember. I’d been on a phone call when he told me. I saved the iPhone, set it beside my bed. Maybe I’d give that to Lucy. Maybe I could at least fix that.
I tried to lay down that night, alone, ignoring the cold side of our bed as best I could. For all I knew, Lucy had calmed down and forgiven me before she fell asleep on the couch. Maybe everything would be fine in the morning. I tried to convince myself of that, on a California King mattress all alone. Maybe I should’ve let her get that ugly dog for Christmas. Having a dog would be nice for these moments.
When sleep wouldn’t come, I trudged into the living room and took a seat in my recliner, near Lucy’s sleeping body. She looked so beautiful, with the mascara dried on her cheeks and her hair like a torrential hurricane. Her shoulders rising and falling, simple movements. Her right foot would twitch sometimes, and she would smile in whatever dream had taken hold. Something better than reality, for sure.
“I don’t blame you,” I muttered, wishing she could hear me. But at the same time, I didn’t. “It’s not your fault… that we’re like this. It’s just been a really stressful few months, is all. We’re gonna be okay, Lucy. We really are, I think.”
She didn’t respond, of course. Her eyelids didn’t even flinch. She just held that same, vacant smile. I thought maybe, somewhere in her dreams, she was looking at me that way, the way she used to. Lovestruck teenagers, running around Little Rush. Taking walks over the bridge, skipping stones on the Ohio River. She had always loved the river, always appreciated it more than me.
I remembered the time when we found a more secluded spot, over by the forest that grew along one section of the bank. Nobody ever went there, at least not at two in the morning. Lucy had birthed the idea. She’d been wild in high school. Incredibly sexy. Out of this world.
Sh
e hadn’t told me exactly what she had in mind that night, but we walked down there, cutting through the trees. The Ohio River spreading before us, dark rippling water stretching across to the silhouette of a hillside. We stood at the water’s edge, the cold river lapping against our ankles. Lucy raised her eyebrows and granted me a seductive smile, then… she just stripped. Completely naked. I did the same after some persuasion. And we went skinny dipping in the frigid Ohio River. What a night. What a year, really. God damn, she’d been everything I could’ve wished for.
Watching her sleep on the obnoxiously nice couch, I felt like a different person. Like we were different people in a different city. This couldn’t be that same Little Rush where we’d been wild, explored the world and each other. Savored everything, dreamed of big plans, done things that would make us blush to even mention now. Where had that spark gone? Had we lost it? Had the whole town lost it?
“I always hate when we fight,” I whispered again to Lucy. “I hate it so much. And I know it’s my fault…”
She didn’t wake. Now I really wished she would. I wanted to admit all this. I wanted to open up. Or at least spend a night remembering the wilder, teenage years we burnt through together. Maybe if we could just think about those, reminisce… maybe it would help us now. Help us to get through this. To compromise. Solve our problems over a nostalgic night and a bottle of wine.
“Tell me how I can do this, Lucy.” I leaned forward, head in hands. I took a few deep breaths in that position. In an ideal world, she would wake up, pull my hands away, kiss me gently. But I didn’t live in an ideal world. I lived in Little Rush. “I swear to you, I’m trying. God dammit, I am.”
4
Bruce
“Everybody’s gonna forget as soon as you’re gone.”
His words caught me off guard. I’d been staring at the gossip magazines next to the candy bars. One caught my attention because it showed a tiny picture of my current house, out by the cemetery. It also showed that pizza boy, Hudson I think, on the night he’d delivered to me. Intriguing.
The grocery clerk had just finished ringing up my items. He was starting to bag them when he mumbled that sentence under his breath. Barely audible over the beeping scanners and the rattling coin drawers from all around.
I glanced up to find him staring intently at a container of sliced turkey. A gruff old man, the kind who often found jobs at Kroger or Walmart, which seemed to be the only major stores around here. The kind who probably wanted to retire by now, but something had happened to keep him working. My father had been the same way. Went back to work after the economy collapsed in ‘08. Only he’d died a few weeks later. This old geezer kept chugging along. He certainly looked older than my dad when he’d died, but then again he’d had all sorts of medical complications. The kind that threatened me any year now.
I ignored the cashier and started to collect the grocery bags. There were only six, so I could manage without a cart. When I’d snatched the last one and held them all, he cleared his throat loudly. I glanced up to find him staring intently at me.
“You’re one stupid sonofabitch to come here,” he mumbled, as if to himself, but the way he glared ensured I was his target. Then he turned back to the next customer and began ringing up their items, no more words exchanged.
When the groceries were packed into my car and the strip mall had shifted into my rearview mirror, I spent ten minutes driving home in a daze. I passed a collection of apartment buildings that were run down and crowded, judging from the cars in the parking lot. A long sidewalk connected it to the Kroger and Walmart intersection, and a worn sign named it “Liberty Apartments.” Looked like the kind of place that trailer home residents dreamed of. I couldn’t stand the lot of them.
Then I drove by the huge hospital, the only newish building in Little Rush as far as I could tell. I couldn’t help but wonder if my cashier would end up there before long.
Maybe he’d just lost his mind and would spout rude comments to every customer nowadays. But I doubted it. What he said felt very much targeted at me. I hadn’t run into anybody like that around here. Nobody seemed to openly hate me. Quite the opposite. Anytime I went out on the hilltop, there were people gawking, some of the brave ones asking for autographs. This one kid brought a poster of my first movie and asked me to sign it. His dad stood behind him, smiling just as wide. It felt, in that moment, like the entire town adored me, all generations. I suppose that wasn’t true after all.
I hadn’t come here to be loved, so that didn’t really bother me. I only wanted to blend in, to become one of the locals. And anyway, I’d had plenty of people hate me over the years, from critics to shunned lovers to actors who lost roles. In LA, I’d become an expert at forming shallow friendships and deep feuds. That’s just the way business went.
No, what bothered me about the man’s first statement was the timeliness of it. What is acting, after all, if not an attempt to be remembered? Sure, we shine a light on characters and historical figures who shouldn’t be forgotten, but we also strive to preserve our own legacy. I used to be obsessed with that in my early days. Wondering how people would remember each film I had a major role in. Maybe that’s what caused me to be so picky over the years. In the end, it didn’t matter. Critics found things to hate. Audiences found things to love. And decades down the road, none of it would matter. It already didn’t.
Even here. Even in Little Rush. That’s what the cashier’s statement forced me to realize. Even in a place this obscure, I wouldn’t last forever. They might talk about me years down the line, maybe point to the small house, maybe tell stories about my reckless driving and… shadowy eyes. In reality, though, they would all forget. Even here and even me.
Maybe I should’ve bought the magazine that showed the pizza boy and I. It would’ve made a nice gift, if I ever saw him again.
As I pulled into the driveway next to my small house and looked around at the scenery, I made a promise to myself. One of these days, I’d go walking downtown. I’d take a break from the gravestones, the trees, the endless fields. Breathe in the air of a small city, a historical landmark. I couldn’t remember a single thing about downtown Little Rush other than I loved it. I’d loved it back then as a kid, and surely I would love it again.
The problem with downtown, though, is I might run into that Gina woman. The journalist with the seductive eyes and the name I couldn’t forget, didn’t want to remember.
Chuckling to myself, I struggled out of the car and carried grocery bags into the house. The familiar doorway greeted me as I stepped inside and made my way to the kitchen. This place had finally started to feel like home. I didn’t want that Gina woman ruining it all, not just now.
I laughed again. I’d thought of something when I first glanced at those magazines. What covers would people make if they found out about Madeline? It would spread all over the country, surely. Every single magazine and newspaper. Oh, the headlines. I could imagine them now. I could already feel them tearing away at me. That would hurt. It really would. A physical pain like nothing I’d ever felt before.
A few people hated me now. But just imagine… if that story got out...
5
Willow
One oddity about Little Rush is that when high schoolers went on a “date,” it usually meant walking around downtown and checking out some of the quirky shops that lined Main Street. Unless you were going to a movie or bowling, that’s pretty much the most entertaining option. They were all local, each shop a unique experience, and they were most responsible for the enjoyable atmosphere of Main Street.
There were a handful of restaurants, sure, like the deli where I never ate. Mason’s dad owned that one. A coffee shop, too, where I spent many more hours. It had changed hands a few times over the past ten years. And of course the famously greasy Allen’s Burgers, the kind of place older people ate regularly but I couldn’t stomach as anything more than a guilty pleasure.
For me, that’s about all Main Street consisted of. Shop
s and food. Maybe a more mature observer would notice things I didn’t, but most of the other buildings were no use to me. I had never and probably would never enter them. They were for stories that others would tell or maybe for pictures, just filling in the setting.
The stores themselves are where I spent most of my time. They varied wildly, which made it all the more fun. Some dealt in soaps and lotions. Those smelled excellent, and that was honestly half the reason I shopped there. Other places sold antiques, old baseball cards, ancient gaming systems. These were fun in their own nostalgic sort of way. I bought a GameCube one time, the kind my dad had years ago, but never played it. I suppose I should’ve.
My favorite kind of store were the random ones that sold clothing, among other things. Most of these also had a section for antiques and knick-knacks in the back, but the front was all clothes, shoes, jewelry. There were also graphic tees, retro looks, the kind of stuff you might find in a Hot Topic, but way better and more obscure.
Off Main Street, there were a smattering of other places to visit, like the store near my dad’s apartment. They sold singing bowls, incense. I bought an awesome Baja hoodie there. Cost me like twenty-five bucks, and I wasn’t exactly drowning in money from my Kroger job, but worth it. And of course they had the ever-changing sign out front, which I loved.
There used to be a grocery store downtown, dad told me, but it closed a while ago. Unlike my mom’s apartment, where you could walk to Kroger, we didn’t have many options at my dad’s. Unless you wanted to drive to the hilltop, the only food you could buy was from a restaurant or Circle K.
Then again, downtown Little Rush wasn’t meant to exist on its own. If you took away the hilltop, I don’t think the collection of streets by the Ohio would last. There just wasn’t enough. People, stores, food, anything. But maybe it could, who knows. It’d clearly been around a long time. Just looking at the sidewalks or the abandoned factories would tell you that.