Everything, Somewhere

by David Kummer

  “Answer me!” I screamed at one plot of grass. Nobody ever did.

  The crowds would cheer. Sometimes I thought I could hear them from my graveyard. It must have been my imagination, because as soon as I tried to listen, the sounds were gone. Replaced by wind tickling the treetops, a gentle breeze in my ear. Then the fireworks once again, pounding against my temple.

  I would eventually take up my own residence in this field. Like a crowded parking lot, I couldn’t be sure where. But my battered car most definitely would find its way in between two yellow lines and there I would rest for all eternity.

  Could the dead hear fireworks too? Were they as annoyed as me, or did they find this noise a relief from the dreadful silence underground?

  “Fuck you all!” I lashed out at one of the smaller markers, swinging my foot in a wide arc. It dislodged from its spot in the ground and toppled flat. I stomped for a minute on the person’s name, a woman I would never know, whose family I had never met. Her peaceful rest defiled, like my own.

  Hours of searching, of crawling, of crying. None of the names were right. I had seen the correct one earlier. I had touched the letters, said a prayer for the first time in years. That boy had interrupted me. Hudson. Where had he gone? To shoot off these goddamn fireworks with that friend of his? Or had he stayed home, like me? Did he hate them, like me?

  Not the right one. Not the right one.

  Long after the fireworks had ceased and the calendar had flipped to July fifth, I collapsed on top of the correct grave. With my arms spread out and my face against the ground, I imagined him laying in a similar position, six feet under. Seperated by dirt and by death. I reached out for his name with one hand and traced the letters again. Silence all around me. The air turning cold as I ingested it.

  The sun would rise on my body in that same, lost position. Clutching at a name I could never live up to, a legacy I would never reach. The kind of person you can’t just copy, a life that money and fame don’t buy.

  “Take me,” I whispered when the sun did rise, another harsh day breaking on my weary frame. “Hurry up and end this.”

  8

  Hudson

  I couldn’t help but marvel at the simple beauty of it. This structure went ignored every single day by countless people. Looming overhead at all hours.

  The plain, white water tower stretched high into the air above me. Those bold-type letters on its pale side. LITTLE RUSH, they shouted. For miles around, all the way to Bruce Michael’s house even, you could see it. Not that anyone ever took the time to look. It was just background to them.

  No, this water tower meant nothing to so many people. Some of them probably weren’t even aware that a thin, cruel ladder dropped on one side. An eternal temptation. Sure, it was likely meant for maintenance and other professionals to climb, always with some kind of protective gear, bungee cords, whatever those people used. But I just couldn’t ignore that ladder. Each time I spotted the LITTLE RUSH, my eyes shifted just to the right, to the steel bars leading upward. If it wasn’t meant to be climbed, then why the platform up above, a full circle of railing around the tower’s bulbous girth? If it wasn’t meant to be climbed, then why did I keep dreaming of it?

  I stood under the water tower, my face pressed close against the chain fence. I could’ve breached this easily. The fence only stood about ten feet tall and there was nothing on top to prevent me from simply pulling myself up and over. One of these days, I really would do it. I would get inside this cage and climb to the very top of the world. The sky always looked so beautiful behind the tower. How would it look when I stood up there? How would Little Rush look? Would the ground swell and sink underneath me like a giant human chest, full of life and heart? Or would it just sprawl out in all directions, the small town as a choking cage?

  For a minute, I tried to count the rungs on the ladder. Imagined actually gripping them, one by one, trying not to look down. Heights were never my specialty, but I also didn’t fear them. Not as much as I feared being down here.

  It would have to be a dry day. Any slippery sections, a wrong foot placement, and I would tumble… soar down, down to my end...

  Not here. Not in Little Rush. I would give anything to die somewhere else. I would give my life willingly, if only to die in a better way, a better spot. Somewhere out there.

  My phone buzzed, and I glanced down. Mason texted that he was leaving his house, heading downtown. I trudged back to my truck parked on the side of the road.

  The neighborhood around me swam into focus once again. The setting of the water tower. This magnificent structure buried in a part of town that couldn’t be any less impressive. Barren, cracking streets; homes that were cold to the touch, lacking any welcome. With this neighborhood in my view, the sky no longer appeared beautiful, but distant and foreboding, like a thundercloud expanding in the distance until it covered the entire horizon.

  I left the water tower behind and made my way to the truck. It waited for me expectantly. Once I’d settled into the seat and started the engine, I took a few deep breaths. I couldn’t go home now. I’d already promised Mason and Willow that I would spend the evening with them. Eat dinner somewhere, probably walk around. Willow loved just existing in that space, any given downtown street. I’d rather have stayed right here with the water tower.

  LITTLE RUSH, it roared at me. LITTLE RUSH. The cage.

  * * *

  “Man, you should’ve seen his face.” Mason threw his head back in laughter once again, clapping his hands together.

  Our time downtown had instigated a second telling of the frozen yogurt story, in all its vivid details. Mason stopped every few sentences to burst out, rub his hands together, hold a palm to his forehead. He added any number of dramatic movements. Willow, for her part, didn’t participate much in the telling and only chuckled whenever Mason turned to her. Besides that, she simply moved beside him, taking occasional sips from her straw.

  With my own to-go drink in hand, I followed on the other side of Mason, closest to the street. As he told the story, we made our way beside the river.

  Dinner had been a quick stop at the Chinese restaurant and then a brief stint at a table outside, where we ate. With loud cars rushing past and all of us famished, conversations were sparse and not long. I spent most of the meal gazing into the distance at passers-by, wondering if I’d see anyone I recognized. On Main Street, it was impossible to avoid familiar faces, so there were at least five characters I knew. None of them noticed me, or at least didn’t say a thing.

  The crowd was nothing spectacular this evening, not like the story Mason told, of a Main Street packed with people and ideal weather. For now, the heat chipped at my resolve, and the crowd appeared as normal. Mostly teenagers passing by in groups of four or five. Some families with little ones in strollers or clutching at Mom’s hand. Twice, some boys zipped by on skateboards, sticking out their chests, wearing determined expressions.

  “Not many people down here,” Mason observed. Only then did I realize his story had come to its long-overdue end.

  Willow reached down and held his hand, perhaps as a thanks for finishing the tale. “I thought there’d be more. It’s really nice weather.”

  Really nice, in my opinion, was an exaggeration. Just because it was hot and cloudless didn’t make the day nice. It could’ve been about ten degrees cooler, or at least not flirting with triple digits. That would’ve been decent.

  The weather had some benefit. For a weekday eight o’clock, there were a surprising number of high school girls. Something about the sun in downtown Little Rush acted like a magnet for them, specifically the attractive ones. Wearing crop tops, jean shorts, any number of hairstyles, flirtatious smiles, and whatever else the current fashion called for. They would storm Main Street and especially this sidewalk along the river. Their eyes would glance over and with tiny smiles pass by. Those little grins haunted me until the next girl would do the same. I’d wonder, What does that mean? Is that a you’re-cute look or how-di
sgusting?

  “Why don’t you ask one of these chicks for their number or something?” Mason said, as if reading my mind. He smacked my shoulder lightly. Even without turning, I could imagine his confident, self-assured expression. “No harm in trying!”

  “Nah.” We passed by a trash can and I threw my empty drink into it. “Don’t feel like it.” I stuffed both hands in my pockets and trudged along beside the couple. Unsteady third wheels tend to bump along in the worst ways.

  “Why not, man?” Mason moved his shoulder like it had a hitch, but I recognized this as a subtle way of pointing. There were three girls coming toward us, all of them with twinkling eyes, tanned legs glistening in the waning sun. His voice dropped now that they were closer. “How about one of them? I’m serious, it doesn’t hurt to try! Right, babe? We would know, after all...”

  We were dangerously close to story-time again, only now it would be a retelling of however he’d asked out Willow. I decided that a third account of the Blough kid’s misery would be my preference over this new idea. As I opened my mouth to steer the subject away from “babe,” Willow took matters into her own hands.

  “Whatever.”

  That single word, spoken with such apathy, forced Mason to turn his attention on her. We crowded to one side as the three girls passed. I felt their presence brush against mine, just barely, and a chill ran down my spine. I would’ve liked to ask them, in all honesty. I would’ve been thrilled to spend time with them. But I couldn’t bring myself to try, so the moment fled.

  “What’s up with you?” Mason squeezed her hand.

  “Nothing.”

  She’d never been the jealous type, as far as I could tell. Willow herself was plenty beautiful, maybe not in the same jaw-dropping, fashionista way as these girls. They were on a different tier, one that only money could achieve. Willow, for all her attractiveness, didn’t have the right makeup or clothes. I didn’t blame her for feeling uneasy, though. And I’d never say any of this to her face. I was sure it would’ve come off as pretty dickish, even cruel.

  Whatever the reasoning, I decided I didn’t want to be with them, not anymore. I felt a kind of dullness, like I recently had so many times in their company. The sort of emotion that just weighs you down until you want a park bench where you can be alone. Nothing about this brought me joy. Exploring these well-worn streets with a couple who didn’t quite understand me. It had been so long ago, in my mind, since we’d relaxed at Mason’s cabin. Even the party, only a few weeks in the past, seemed ancient.

  I only felt emptiness now. No real joy. I existed because I had to. I’d rather sleep forever.

  “You’re real quiet today, Hudson.”

  I glanced up. It had been Mason who spoke, but they were both eyeing me.

  “Just tired,” I said. What a cliched lie.

  Mason shrugged and turned away, but Willow held my gaze for just a second longer. She called my bluff without even speaking. Then she too focused elsewhere.

  “What do you say we head over to the railroad tracks?” Mason suggested.

  Neither of us answered, and so he continued leading us straight down the sidewalk. Behind us, the bridge towered, casting long shadows. My truck was parked back there. I could leave, I realized. But I didn’t.

  “Ever walked up all the way?” Mason’s conversation pieces kept coming, despite my numbed brain and Willow’s reluctance to answer.

  “No,” she responded to this one.

  “Well, it’s pretty neat,” he went on. “There’s this one section where the rock walls on either side …”

  He went on to describe how the railroad tracks, which started near the river, could lead you up the hillside and emerge next to one of the main roads. According to him, the journey would be worth the energy spent. I figured this wasn’t true.

  I looked to our left and focused on the river. This scene, which I’d witnessed time and time again, held nothing for me. The hills of Kentucky rose on the other side, covered in trees. The water flowed by us, heading nowhere in particular, carrying limbs and trash along with it. On this side, a gentle sloping bank led from the sidewalk down to water’s edge. A short, grassy descent, all that separated me from floating away.

  Everything had lost what once made it beautiful. The colors were pale and dark. The sky bland. Nothing exciting. Nothing to prevent me from stepping into the road and flying into the air as a speeding car tore through my body and my life.

  “I’m gonna… head back, I think.” I spoke hesitantly, afraid that I would stumble over the words. My head felt extremely light now, like a tangible fog. My eyes refused to focus on anything in particular. Like some veil had fallen over the world, nothing appeared quite clear. Maybe I just needed to sleep.

  “Alright, man.”

  Mason smacked me on the back and said something else, but I didn’t hear. Willow’s eyes pierced mine as I turned away from her and lowered my head. The entire world filled with static now as I strolled back toward the bridge. But also, in a way, toward nothing. Like the river, just in a general direction.

  It’s a casualty of being me that on certain days I don’t talk much. In these moods, I prefer to stay at home, to listen to music. Anything but socialize. Anything but be out in downtown Little Rush. And yet, I found myself in that exact situation. Clutching for a lifeline. I knew that things weren’t going to improve in Mason and Willow’s company. I just didn’t feel like ambling around the city and chatting. They could do whatever they pleased. I needed… to go.

  As I lumbered in the direction of my truck, there were multiple girls I passed by and with each one, I glanced up, expecting myself to speak. Maybe just ask their name, try not to say anything awkward. But every time, we slipped by each other, eyes aligning but no words spoken. Then they too were gone, and I had drifted farther down the sidewalk, following the river. It felt like my feet weren’t even walking, yet the ground moved past as a treadmill.

  For whatever reason, I became hypercritical as they passed. I began to notice their flaws instead of their beauty. Maybe their smiles weren’t white enough, just a tinge of yellow. Or their hair too frail, too thin. Their lips, shaped weird. Their makeup too fake, an imitation of reality. I would narrow my eyes at each high schooler and trudge by. Funny enough, I didn’t see any of my male peers. But then again, I wasn’t looking.

  I glanced up and found myself underneath the bridge. Standing in the shadow of the monumental structure, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Feeling a wave of relief wash over me. Everything felt okay, now. The ground wouldn’t swallow me. My ears no longer buzzed with static. I could return home, do nothing at all. Listen to music and sleep off this weird fog that had blanketed me.

  Or I could cross the bridge.

  “Hey, there.”

  I felt the hand on my shoulder, recognized the voice as female. Familiar, too, though I couldn’t place it. Not with a name or a face or even a general opinion of the speaker.

  “Hudson, right?”

  At this, I turned around. Standing there —her lips slightly parted, as flawless as in my memory— Layla dropped her hand. She shifted back a fraction, as if I’d embarrassed her in some way. Her joy didn’t falter, though.

  “Yeah.” My arms flailed for a second, as I didn’t know where to put them. Crossed? Hands in my pockets? Around her?

  “Do you wanna… walk across the bridge with me?” She asked the question, unsure, with her right heel bouncing on the ground.

  I noticed this and then looked up to meet her gaze. “I was actually about to head home. I’m… kinda exhausted.”

  “Oh, alright.” She grinned, trying to play it off. “I just thought maybe we could walk. I’ve been meaning to talk to you…” Her voice faded. It was her turn to appear uncomfortable, unsure how to stand.

  “Let’s… talk here,” I suggested, trying to sound kind. I’d decided to cross my arms and did just that.

  A car whizzed past and honked loudly at us, probably for standing so close to the road.
Neither of us moved a fraction. Our eyes were locked in place, my hand itching to grab her own. Instead of acting, I just waited for her to speak.

  “I’m sorry… about that night.”

  About leaving me naked by a creek, she meant. About promising so much and delivering on none of it. For an instant, I felt bitter. And then that subsided, back into my dull existence. I felt nothing once again, just an understanding. We had both been drunk. Shy. Overly confident of what we could and couldn’t do. She’d made the mature decision to wait, to not hook up. I should’ve been admiring this, not begrudging her.

  “It’s okay.” Simple words for so much thought.

  “You sure?” she asked. When I nodded and tried to soothe her with a grin, she took a deep breath, chest rising and falling. “So…”

  I felt just a sliver of something once again. Desire maybe, or something like the potential for happiness. I once again appreciated her beauty, her dark and flawless skin, her almond eyes. She didn’t wear a crop top this time, nor did I feel sexual tension like at the party. And still, I could almost feel her body on my fingertips again. Almost touch the curves and hear the way those clothes slipped off her graceful form. All of it rushing back, waves of sensation.

  Despite myself, I grinned. “So.”

  “Would you wanna…”

  The world paused for a moment. The crowds of people had almost disappeared now. The sidewalks were empty in every direction. The river void of color. Still holding our breaths in the bridge’s shadow like any moment the structure may fall on us. Everything so gray, all around us. Except for Layla. She remained vibrant, full of hope.

  “...try this over again? Maybe go on a date?”

  How can you fall for one person so instantly after barely thinking of them for weeks? How could one smile, one flicker of light in an iris, one slight touch of her fingertips, transform me so completely?