by David Kummer
There was something about downtown, though, which drew you to it. Especially if you’re a hilltop kid, like Mason. For him, downtown was something of a spectacle, a place to visit when the urge struck you and then to ignore for a few weeks. Most of the people up there thought along those lines. Maybe that’s why we still didn’t have a grocery store. Why did we need one, after all, if we were just for amusement, an eccentric younger brother that served no purpose other than tourism and the occasional art festival or boat race?
In this way, Mason and I ended up downtown one evening. We’d gone to see a movie at the theater on Main Street. Some action flick that I didn’t much care for, but Mason enjoyed it thoroughly. He always fell for that Vin Diesel, ultra-macho crap. But it was still a compromise. I got to pick the theater, and he chose the movie. Not that there were many options. The Ohio Theatre was the only choice downtown; we had one other on the hilltop. Of the two, I would choose this downtown setting every time.
The Ohio Theatre had the same entrance and marquee as the pictures from maybe a century ago. Like perhaps, once upon a time, it had been grand. Now, the ceiling had leaks and the carpet smelled its age. In the upstairs theater, half the seats were broken, and I swore to Mason I saw a mouse one time. (He didn’t believe me.) The main room —with maybe a hundred seats— never filled up. It didn’t help that the Ohio always got movies a week later than the place uptown. Despite the lower prices, despite clever advertising, despite the comfortable feel of it, there had been rumors for a year or two about the Ohio closing. I remembered this every time I entered and the lady in the ticket booth shot me a worn smile while she extended two ticket stubs. Or when the lights dimmed and the curtains slid open, straining against their own weight.
How many summers had I spent there as a child during their free movies? How many tiny popcorn trays had I devoured in a more innocent time? Maybe that’s all the theater really held. Nostalgia. But wouldn’t that nostalgia have worn off after dozens or even a hundred trips? It seemed like each one only deepened my love for the place, my unexplainable admiration. The things we’re drawn to, I guess, are never what we expect. And there I was, all the same, a smile so wide it hurt. Just from seeing that familiar lady with her tickets.
“Enjoy the show,” she said. Her voice was so genuinely sympathetic that it felt like I’d spoken with the ghost of my grandmother.
“We will,” I answered, beaming, trying to express in those two words my genuine thankfulness. For her, for the Ohio Theatre, for the brief escape it offered me.
It felt, to me, like an integral spoke at the center of the downtown wheel. The kind of place that glued everything together. A place that, if allowed to sit empty, would be like cutting out the very heart of Little Rush. Every time I saw a movie there, each time I enjoyed their wildly salty popcorn, it reminded me a little of why I stuck around. I could’ve run away and all. Not like my parents would ever chase me down. But the Ohio Theatre was the physical representation of why I didn’t. I was a dog tied to a tree. That stupid old theater was why I couldn’t quite run, even though I’d severed the leash. And even if I called it stupid, I meant I needed it.
“I hope they don’t close that place down,” Mason said as we exited. The sky had darkened now to a deep blue. The sun would set within the hour. We stood there for a moment, under the theater’s massive marquee, and drank in downtown Little Rush as night fell.
“I didn’t realize you liked it that much.” I grabbed his hand and led him away from the double doors. There were actually many glass doors, probably around sixteen, but only four were ever unlocked. I wanted to see this place in its peak, with all sixteen open, but that time would never come again, I expected.
“It’s just… a good time.” He chose these words carefully. We started walking down the sidewalk toward the frozen yogurt shop like usual. I felt him squeeze my hand a little tighter. “Can’t ever miss a good time around here.”
This phrase struck me as not quite right, but I ignored it. My eyes scanned Main Street. The streetlights were on now, granting everything a more comfortable glow. Something like heaven. I bet heaven has lots of streetlights.
Most of the shops had their doors propped open, breathing in the beautiful evening, the perfect temperature. People strolled by us in either direction, most of them chatting to a loved one or a friend. Few walked alone at this hour. Even if they did, they would grin wide. On an exquisite Friday night, the first day of July, it felt like the entire city had descended on Main Street. There were just the right amount of people. Enough that you didn’t feel alone, not so many that you were crowded.
“Wanna walk around a little before we head back?” I asked him. The yogurt shop was in sight now, but I didn’t feel much like sitting down. I just wanted to explore, to bathe in the postcard view. Every once in a while, these days came along. They always caught me by surprise but never disappointed. Like everything clicked into place, at last, and the world could never get any better.
“Sure.” He had a vacant glint in his eyes, but a happy one. I expected he felt many of the same emotions.
“Wanna skip the fro-yo and come back when it’s dark?”
He nodded and gestured back the way we’d come. “We could walk down and check out some of the shops. I think the soap one closes soon.”
I spun toward him for a minute with an inquisitive smile. “You never wanna go to the soap shop… What’s up today?”
He shrugged. I grabbed his other hand and narrowed my eyes, pressing for an answer.
“I just… feel really good. You know?”
I planted a kiss on his lips, something I didn’t often do in public. I noticed his surprise, because it took him a second to kiss me back. “I do too.” Then I pulled away and took his hand, leading him toward the collection of shops just past the theater.
The differences between June thirtieth and July first are quite subtle in some ways, but to a high schooler, the shift is more noticeable than ever. All through June, there is a safe wall between you and the next school year. July, with its full thirty-one days, is a barrier against that tidal wave. It’s the beginning of summer, with promise and watermelons and infectious pop music. On July first, there’s a shift. That’s really the perfect word for it. School is, all of a sudden, right around the corner. The heat is beginning to wear on you. Most people have a tan if they’re going to get one. Have a job if they need one. You can count the rest of summer in a matter of weeks, and those weeks on one hand.
For me, entering my senior year of high school, this feeling is amplified by a thousand. Not only is school creeping closer, but so is graduation. College. Decisions. Career. Moving out. Independence. Debt. All of that, the biggest tidal wave to that point in life. The summer before senior year is the most important of them all and also the hardest to hold onto. It’s the most fun, since everyone has their license and most of your friends are into the whole drinking thing. But it’s the easiest to miss, because it hits so hard and doesn’t slow down.
Fitting, I guess, that on the first day of July, we were exploring downtown Little Rush. Clinging to each shop that we entered and browsed. Holding to every step of sidewalk that disappeared beneath our feet. The air had a touch of mischief, of cars with steamy windows and clothing on the dashboard. Of stealing a Coke bottle just because you could. That night, the beginning of the end, I felt more like a wild, angsty high schooler than I ever had or ever would. Mason, with that twinkle in his eye and his bulging chest muscles, was the same. I could tell, and I never wanted it to end.
“I’m kinda hungry,” I said at last, rummaging through a rack of sweatshirts outside one of the clothing stores. “Let’s ditch this place and hit the yogurt shop.”
Mason glanced at his phone, presumably to check the time, and agreed. We grasped each other by the hand and made our way toward that end of town. He pointed out one of the shops as we passed, where they were giving out free wine and cheese samples.
“Think they’d give us one?” he
asked, chuckling.
“Doubt it, but we can try in a bit.”
In ten minutes time, we returned to that spot, each of us holding a bowl filled with frozen yogurt and toppings. I’d wanted to work at the frozen yogurt shop last summer because they had cute shirts and all my friends went there, but I settled for Kroger because it paid a little better and I didn’t have to pay for gas money getting there.
We approached the store giving out samples, pleased to find they were still open. Although it was nearly ten o’clock, the crowd downtown hadn’t dispersed much, and all the doors were reluctant to close. Not only did it feel like an amazing time to be down here, but surely they were raking in above-average profits. For instance, Allen’s down the road had a line outside waiting to order.
“Babe, look.” Mason nudged my arm.
I ate what I had on my spoon and then glanced in the direction he pointed. There were a few people outside the shop, looking the other way and conversing. I turned to him and cocked my head. “What?”
“That’s Blough.”
I looked again and saw it now. The boy in the middle was indeed the Blough kid he’d tried to fight. I grimaced and opened my mouth to protest whatever he’d thought of doing, but it was too late.
“Wait here,” he said with a devilish expression. He gave me a “shh” finger and then moved ahead.
I thought about stopping him. I really did. But then I remembered that Blough had called me a “cunt” and nearly broken my boyfriend’s jaw. So, I settled back on my heels, eating frozen yogurt like theater popcorn, and observed. What the hell. This was a night for impulsive, wild action.
Mason worked his way through a small crowd, quickly but quietly. Then he gripped the bowl with two hands and lifted it. I gasped as I finally understood his plan. In one movement, he turned the bowl upside down and planted it on Blough’s head. The yogurt dripped everywhere. Through his hair, onto his shoulders, probably in his eyes. Mason crushed the bowl on his head, eking every last bit onto the boy’s scalp, and then whipped around in my direction.
“Run!” he bellowed, fighting back laughter. As he cut his way through the crowd of people, I saw Blough turn around, his cheeks inflamed and jaw clenched. The three boys around him flexed their muscles and started chase.
I made the crucial decision to drop my bowl. It splattered on the ground, but by that point, I’d darted into an alleyway, Mason’s footsteps echoing after me. He caught up and we ran together, faster than I had in a long time. Fast enough that I felt my sides aching. Mason couldn’t contain himself. His laughter echoed off the brick walls and back to us, amplified. I joined in.
We reached the street and made a sharp right. They were behind us, without a doubt, and we had to navigate our way through various streets. Mason sputtered something about “lead the way” and I knew this also meant “because you know downtown better.” I obliged and took the lead. We darted into another alleyway, back to Main Street. This sharp maneuver may have lost the yogurt-head and his cronies, but just in case, we kept running.
People darted out of our way and stared with wide eyes. I didn’t bother trying to explain. Their expressions, though, brought on another fit of laughter that clawed at my heaving sides. After two more blocks and a near-collision with a Jeep pulling onto Main Street, I led Mason across the street and into another alleyway. We ran straight until we reached Second Street, made another left. Only after two more blocks, a right, a left, and two more did we slow to a walk and check our surroundings.
Only then did I comprehend how dark it had become. How menacing each shadow around us felt as we strolled through a part of town with no light. The air felt crisp now, sweat trickling down my neck, and I struggled to catch my breath.
We’d arrived in front of a wealthy-looking house not far from the bridge. We could see the river as we crossed between buildings. For a few minutes, we kept our eyes peeled and our ears attentive for any footsteps or voices. Nothing jumped out at us. I felt pretty certain that my sharp decisions and doubling-back would’ve lost the boys. They were hilltop kids, anyway, and probably didn’t know the shortcut I’d taken. Not to mention, Blough’s buddies were large and not in great shape. Sure, they could break your nose, but they couldn’t catch you to do so.
“What a rush,” Mason exclaimed at last once we both felt comfortable in our escape. He turned to me, his wide smile visible in the darkness, and extended a hand. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“You owe me a bowl of fro-yo.” I leaned my head against his shoulder for a minute. This wasn’t comfortable to do while walking, so I stood straight again. “Wanna go across the bridge?”
“Sure.”
The bridge in its newest iteration, having gone through extensive repairs in our sixth-grade year, had a nice sidewalk for pedestrians on its right side. Complete with an outer railing and a barrier from cars, it felt relatively safe as long as you didn’t fear heights. Pretty easy for someone to jump off, though. That would’ve been traumatic to witness on a night like this.
We turned in that direction a few blocks later, toward the bridge. This area didn’t have many people walking around, nor were there lots of cars. But it was a calm darkness now, the threat having dissipated. To me, anyway. I’d been all around this city at nighttime, causing trouble with friends in middle school. I actually had my first cigarette in the old, abandoned factory nearby.
“Feel like you got good payback?” I asked him.
He chuckled. “I’d say so.”
“Me too.” I slapped him on the butt playfully. “What are we gonna do after the bridge?”
“Thinking I might do you.” He grabbed my hand again, his touch soft. “How’s that sound?”
“Can’t go to my house,” I reminded him. “Dad’s not working tonight.”
“So back in the old car?”
“Guess so. Mine, though,” I insisted. “Yours is too cramped.”
We had a few spots around the city that were optimal for midnight makeout sessions. I’d never forget when my grandma had told me, toward the end of her life, that she and my granddad got it on by the old state hospital. Back then it was no longer in use but not torn down yet either. I didn’t have the guts for anything that spooky.
“You know what I think?” Mason asked.
We were about two blocks from the bridge now. The cars were sparse at this time of night, but one zoomed by every so often. Definitely over the speed limit.
“What, hun?”
He paused longer than normal. “I think I wanna marry you soon.”
I stopped walking, and he did too. Probably hoping I would jump right in with a “for sure” or something. And I considered it. It had been a great night. A perfect one. We were gonna top it off with sex, and judging by the look in his eyes it would be exquisite. But I couldn’t just let a comment like that slide. Not when he’d refused to even consider my side of the whole college situation.
“I do, too.” I took my own pause and frowned a little. “But you know I don’t wanna go to college around here.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. And then he smirked.
That must be… good? “And?” I didn’t mean to sound rude. Maybe I hadn’t.
“I think… maybe I could leave.” He grabbed my hand again and led me toward the bridge once more. The entrance to that pathway looming closer, the headlights coming and going just to our left. “Maybe I could move away from Dad. Figure things out with him. He can’t expect me to stay here just because of his business, right? I mean… I’m my own person.”
“You are, yeah.”
“And I know it’s something you want. And I totally get that.” He kicked at the pavement, scuffed his heel. “I want it too. I want to be with you, somewhere out there. But you understand that it’s hard for me to let go of this place, right? It’s gonna… take some thinking.”
We stood at the entrance to the pedestrian sidewalk. I leaned over and placed my hand on the railing. A long, steep climb in front o
f us. Unforgiving ground under our feet.
“It’s hard to leave a place like this.” I didn’t resist when my eyes dropped to the road itself. Glancing just to his side, observing as the cars rushed past. One coming, then a moment’s pause. Another would fill its place on this side of the river. “I get that. It’s hard for me, too.”
“And if I can’t…” He sighed, rubbed his forehead with a fist. “Is that… it?”
It for us, he meant. The end. I knew that anxiety well, probably better than he realized.
“I don’t think so.” I lifted my gaze and reached out to touch his side. “I’m in love with you. Wherever you happen to be.”
“But you don’t wanna be here anymore.” The way those words left his lips, he almost sounded hurt. “I know it’s true, and I feel that. But I also… don’t.”
I stepped forward and hugged him. The kind of hug where my arms wrapped around his neck and I squeezed until he couldn’t breathe. A desperation in my grip. A great and expanding fear. The July first kind of fear.
“I wanna marry you,” I whispered into his ear, my lips touching the tiny hairs. His own smile spreading into my shoulder.
“I want you to be happy.”
He meant it. That, to me, was enough. Enough for tonight.
We seperated again, still holding hands, and I turned my attention to the bridge. There were no cars now. Just a shadow hanging over it. A distant silhouette of hills where Kentucky’s reflection of us rose into the air. Did they also feel this weight? Were there two identical versions of us, just on the other side, waiting to meet? A different world, over there. A different reality. Just crossing the river felt like such a huge step in that moment. Leaving this bubble. Leaving this innocence, this atmosphere.
“I’m kinda tired of walking,” I said. I shrugged and pulled his hand closer to my waist. “Can we just head back now?
“Sure, babe.”
Our footsteps echoed away from the bridge, back toward Main Street, toward the lights we had almost escaped. When we emerged into the heart of the city, I caught a glimpse of the Ohio Theatre, those bold letters on the marquee. The message on it struck me as important now, whereas earlier I’d ignored it easily.