Everything, Somewhere

by David Kummer

  “I… Yeah.” He gulped, averted his gaze. “I’m really sorry to put you in this situation.”

  “No, Hudson…” I took a deep breath and then finally asked what I’d been turning over in my head for hours. “Is that really how you feel?”

  “Honestly…” There was a pause. A brief, sad smile danced across his lips. “I don’t know anymore.”

  At that moment, Mason exited the cabin once again, holding a can of soda and a Pop-tart. He let out a massive burp and then groaned, lowering into the chair he’d left. I glanced at him, trying to express in a kind way that he should shut up, but it didn’t work. He immediately cracked open the beverage and finished a third in one go.

  Mason gestured at Hudson with one of the pastries in his hand. “So, what’s your day tomorrow look like?

  “A hangover,” he said. His eyes glanced at me now, for the first time in Mason’s presence. “I’ll text you if I can come.”

  Text me? Or text Mason?

  Mason didn’t notice the slight difference in tone. He simply agreed that this would work and continued to gnaw on his late breakfast. He told Hudson that he’d give him the joint tomorrow night, if he could come, and maybe they could raid his dad’s liquor cabinet, too.

  Within a few minutes, Hudson had taken his half-filled soda and made an unspectacular exit. Mason followed him to the truck. We both wished him luck and told him to call if something happened with his parents, any news. Good or bad.

  I heard his truck roar to life and figured Mason would be back in a moment. Or maybe not. He might drift inside, back to the couch, and leave me out here. Processing.

  Whatever the case, I drew out my phone and read the messages once again. The first one, at almost three in the morning.

  Hudson: I can’t just be a third wheel. i can’t just sit there while you two fuck around all day in front of me. i’m a human being. i’m not a fucking third wheel and you know what? if this is how it’s gonna be then… well, nobody even needs me, willow. not you, not my parents, not Layla, not anybody. If this is how it’s gonna be i’ll fucking kill myself! and i don’t care! why not? answer me that. just… fuck it.

  My reply, feeble and shaky, had been a request for him to call. I said that we should talk things over on the phone, asked if he’d also texted Mason, that kind of stuff.

  It took him ten minutes to answer. Ten minutes where I lay on the living room carpet, holding my breath, waiting for a phone call that would never arrive. Wondering what that meant. With each passing second, thinking that he might’ve actually done it.

  What would I do if I’d been the last person he’d texted? The last one before… he was gone?

  Then a second message came.

  H: i just need you to know i’m not okay. and i don’t know if that’s ever gonna change. goodnight, willow. i’m sorry.

  3

  Bruce

  Standing at the sink in my kitchen, I stared out at the cornfield just beyond the cemetery. It had grown now, so tall that the stalks were probably above my head. I could have gotten lost in that endless expanse. On the road next to my house, infrequent visitors would round the corner, smashing their brakes, wary of cars from the opposite direction. The bend in the road was so sharp and the corn so tall that you had no hope of seeing the other driver before they crashed into you.

  I leaned against the counter and pressed my forehead against the window pane. I could imagine him in this exact position. The man I’d never truly known, always wondered about. That summer, long ago, when I’d stayed here for a few months. He always loved this view. I would sit at the kitchen table with a cold glass of milk, and he would lean against this same window. Tell me stories of his own childhood and of my grandma. Explain how the crops grew and the farmers harvested. I’d forgotten all of his wisdom by this point, but still I could remember his face.

  If only I knew what he had, what I was still lacking. Capture that missing puzzle piece and become, in some way, more like him. Then, maybe, I would be happier. I would be a more complete, comfortable person. Sure of myself, of my legacy. I hated to think that in life and in death, he would always be the better man.

  I thought of the photograph hidden in the bedroom, away from prying eyes. I wondered if anybody could understand what it meant to me. Should I set it on the coffee table again and take the chance of somebody noticing? No, likely not.

  A sharp rasp of knuckles on the front door.

  I jerked around and stared for a moment. Then it came again. Somebody knocking.

  Setting aside my hallucinogenic nostalgia, I limped toward the front door. My knees were aching worse than ever, and it felt like the small of my back had been torn apart and set on fire. Still, I grasped the door handle and pulled backward, revealing the last person I expected to see on a random July day.

  “You need something?” I asked, not trying to sound rude, just surprised.

  Hudson shifted on my doorstep and looked past me, maybe checking for anybody else in the house. As if I would ever have visitors.

  “I just… I don’t have anyone to talk to.” He glanced at my face then. His eyes were narrowed, almost suspicious. Most people were in awe whenever they addressed me, but on the contrary, he spoke with a hint of vitriol. His eyes darting around the room, sometimes glaring into my own. But he went on, “I don’t… I didn’t even wanna come here. So, if you can’t—”

  “Say no more.” I moved back from the doorway and gestured for him to come inside. “Got nothing at all to do. Need a drink? Tea or something?

  He hesitated to answer. The kid had a funny look in his eyes. I remembered that feeling when I first stepped through that door. I’d been more reverential, maybe. He glanced around the place more with disgust than admiration.

  “Don’t drink tea,” he said.

  I entered the kitchen, watching from the corner of my eye as he stood awkwardly next to the closed front door. He’d barely moved a foot since I let him in. His gaze settled on the couch, which he stared at intently.

  “All I’ve got is beer,” I called, opening the fridge and rummaging through it, hoping to find a stray soda.

  “That works.”

  I hesitated, my back on fire from hunching over. It took serious consideration, but I decided to grab two beers. Standing up straight again, I fought back a groan and kicked the door shut behind me. As I reentered the living room, I gestured to the folding chair leaning against the window. He didn’t react.

  I moved to take a seat on the couch, but an idea came to mind. Maybe it was his expression, peering out the window now. Or my own desire to be free of this living space, full of memories and pain. Whatever the reason, I set down both cans on the small table and reached for my most shoddy sandals.

  “My back could really use a stretch. How about we… go for a walk?”

  “Not that damn path again,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Just around the cemetery.” I opened the front door and stepped outside, gesturing for him to follow.

  He didn’t smile or speak. Hudson continued to watch me and follow tentatively. I got the feeling that he regretted coming here, but now he couldn’t turn back. Or at least wouldn’t. I knew that much, even if I couldn’t read his overall mood.

  Once we both stood outside, I closed the door behind us and turned away. As I started toward the cemetery, he paused, looking back at the house. He raised an eyebrow.

  “You don’t lock the door?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing much to steal.”

  He opened his mouth but then closed it again. Without a word, he followed my lead around the building. Hudson shuffled along beside me as I led us between two rows of tombstones. Again, I got the impression he regretted coming here. That he didn’t want to start whatever conversation he’d come for. Instead, he danced around the subject.

  “Where we going?”

  “Nowhere in particular.” I slowed my walk as we traveled deeper into the cemetery. Without explanation, I began to move the same way a pe
rson might in a museum. Taking a few seconds to read over the gravestones, to think about the names, maybe calculate a person’s age when they died. Through this slow process, we progressed through the field of stone.

  “How often you come out here?” he asked, sounding almost concerned.

  I couldn’t help but grin. Hudson, himself, seemed like the kind of person who might spend hours among the eternal sleepers. Maybe he didn’t realize it.

  Ignoring his question entirely, I asked, “Why’d you come here? To ask questions or get answers?”

  Hudson groaned, barely audible. Since I’d called out his stall tactics, he grumbled into what he really came for.

  “Well… my parents. They’re having… problems.”

  “Mm.” We stopped beside a Jenny Ostraman. I reached down and ran my hands over the grass under which she lay. There was still dirt visible under the sparse green. She must’ve been buried not long ago. A matter of months, rather than years. “Divorce?”

  “Yeah. Something like that. I got a text from my dad out of the blue. I was on a date with a girl, and that’s another thing!” His voice rose a fraction and filled with emotion. An edge to it. “I swear to god, every person I talk to asks about you. Even that girl. She just asked about… you, and I got mad. And then I got that text from my dad and…”

  We arrived at a tombstone with three names on it. An entire family, dead on the same date. A tragedy that had been lost in time, the only remnants right here. Almost a hundred years ago to the day. And how had they gone? A house fire maybe, or a murder? These thoughts consumed me until Hudson cleared his throat, and I remembered our situation.

  “You can’t always control what people do, y’know. Especially parents,” I said as if this wasn’t common knowledge. “My own… well, wasn’t a divorce.” I started walking again. Hudson followed suit, like a dog on a leash. “Dad left when I was… say, five or six. Then Mom, she got sick before long. Never saw him again. Not even at the funeral. It’s an awful thing, y’know. Losing someone.” I turned and focused on him. Tried to really make him feel it. “I lost somebody. Someone real important to me. Right in that house. You remember when I said I moved here by chance? I lied. This place, this town…” I took a deep breath and pointed at the cornfield. “Even that mess means something to me.”

  “I don’t get what this has to do with me.” Hudson, at this point, stopped walking and folded his arms. Defiantly unmoving. I narrowed my eyes and thought about traveling on, forcing him to follow, but decided against it. He wrinkled his nose and added, with some pride, “I’m not you.”

  “No, but are you much different?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at his irritated expression. “When I lost somebody, you know what I did? Tried to kill myself. I can see it in your eyes, Hudson, and in the way you talk. You’re not much different at all.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “I won’t tell you what to do,” I interrupted him. This time, I turned my back to him and headed for the edge of the cornfield. “I’m just saying. Think about the pain you’d cause. If your parents lost you.”

  He sped to catch up with me, until we were matching strides once again. Everything about him was like Deja vu. The way he huffed, the way he mumbled to himself. A spitting image of what I had been. A more innocent version, maybe. Just as pessimistic. And maybe that’s why I kept him around, in the end. Some people ask what you’d say to your younger self. In this case, I wanted to know what he’d say to me.

  “That’s some real shitty advice, if that’s what you’re going for,” Hudson snapped.

  I merely shrugged. “The way you’re thinking, you’re only gonna hurt people. You know that’s true.”

  “You don’t know a thing about me, old man.”

  We arrived at the edge of the cornfield. Like an impenetrable wall, separating this graveyard from some outside world. I could smell the aroma wafting toward us, the tilled dirt and sun baked stalks. The kind of atmosphere that you never really forget. It strikes unexpectedly and proves all over again why a place like Little Rush is so magnetic. It has a certain, unnamed magic. Even this corn.

  “There are some things that advice doesn’t fix,” I said without looking in his direction. “Only time.”

  “It’s fine. I guess I didn’t expect you to help. Just to… distract me.”

  “Sorry, kid.” I shrugged. “Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

  Hudson raised an eyebrow. “I might go to a friend’s, but I don’t know yet.”

  “In that case…” I cleared my throat and tried not to think how this proposition could go south. “Well, how’s about me and you grab dinner tomorrow? I wanna eat what you locals enjoy. And maybe learn a bit more about… everything.”

  He took a minute to answer me. I let the conversation drift into silence, let him compose himself. I could see the idea churning in his brain, all the pros and cons. Whatever anger he’d come with must have fallen away, because he agreed to my offer. I tried not to watch as he processed, but there was no denying that expression he wore. Shock. Excitement.

  All traces of annoyance were gone from his posture and his tone. We stood by that cornfield for a while longer, gazing into the wall. Admiring the way cut grass morphed into a dirty field, all at once. Once his fingers were still, no longer fidgeting with the bottom of his shirt, I decided to strike up our talk once again.

  “I’d like to ask you something,” I began after a minute, “and I want you to answer honestly. Okay?”

  “Only if I ask you something in return.”

  I nodded. This, at least, was one person I could talk to confidentially. One who I didn’t mind spilling secrets to. He was a younger version of myself, after all. Not much different than talking to a reflection.

  “Fine, then.” I went on. “I wanna know… do you really think your parents are getting divorced?”

  Hudson kicked at the loose dirt under our feet. He reached out and touched the coarse texture of the stalks, running his hands along that unique plant. I didn’t interrupt his thoughts, as I hoped he wouldn’t to me.

  “No, I don’t,” he said finally. “I’m just… uncomfortable with them being flawed, I guess. Being vulnerable. Money’s been tight, and I know that. My dad had to ask Jed for a loan, which never happens. I don’t like thinking about that kinda stuff. Or my mom crying, like this morning.”

  I didn’t press into what that last sentence meant, but I couldn’t let one aspect slip by. “Jed?” I probed. “Who’s that?”

  “My friend Mason’s dad. The one who I said owns a buncha stuff.”

  “Ah, right.” For now, I registered the name Jed. I knew there were two major players in this town, one by the name of Cooper and one of Blough. “Is that Jed… Cooper?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t seem shocked that I guessed right.

  I remembered the name, Jed Cooper, and decided that I would get in touch with this figure. Learn more about him, about the town. Possibilities abounded.

  “My question,” Hudson said, breaking into my thoughts. “You said that you… lost somebody. Who lived in that house.” He jerked a thumb back toward the small home, a graveyard away. “I wanna know who.”

  “He’s buried right here. Walked over his grave a few minutes ago.” I sighed and rubbed at my chin. “And he may be the most important person I’ve ever known.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Hudson pressed.

  “Fine.” I turned away from the high schooler, staring back at the home. Its low roof, grimy windows. Like a large rock in the middle of an ocean, it stood alone with no other houses in view. I gave in to the pressure. If anybody deserved to know, maybe he did. It only seemed fair. “My grandpa. Years and years ago, he lived right there. And then he died.”

  4

  Jed

  Henry threw his duffle bag onto the bright blue, twin bed. It bounced once and then lay still. He rotated, taking in the sights. Wallpaper that matched the bed’s offensively bright colors. A tan carpet splayed out, with heavy c
urtains masking the window. A long-forgotten toy chest had been pushed to one corner of the room. In much the same way, this room itself, one corner of the second floor, hadn’t been used for years.

  “The guest room,” I announced, as if it needed explanation. “And then tomorrow, you and I’ll have the cabin to ourselves.”

  “I really appreciate this, Jed.” Henry shook my hand with a tight grip, thanking me for probably the sixth time since he’d pulled in the driveway. “You’re a real good man.”

  “Don’t mention it,” I said, although the compliment did touch me. “Also, try to avoid Lucy, if possible. She’s, uh… taking Laurie’s side, you might say.”

  Henry shrugged at the mention of his wife and took a seat on the bed. The springs creaked under his weight, but he didn’t comment. Nor did he register the miniscule size of the mattress, at least compared to his wide shoulders. Instead, Henry just sighed and cradled his head, shoulders slumped.

  “I don’t know, Jed.” He glanced up, the hint of a smile, but not a happy one. A lost expression. “I just don’t know.”

  Never before had I seen him like this. A wandering soul, trapped in a child-sized room. His body giving way to pressures of marriage, work, debts. Those broad shoulders had never lost before. Never crumpled with all the weight, no matter how extreme.

  “It’s alright, Henry. Things’ll work out.”

  I thought about sitting on the bed, wrapping an arm around his frame, but held myself back. Maybe I should’ve done the unthinkable, the emotional. But I didn’t.

  “You ever think about our high school friends, Jed?” He asked the question with innocent wonder. I couldn’t have guessed at the intentions behind it. Just an honest remark. A dream, maybe.

  “Not often. Not except Blough, and that’s because I’m forced to.” I cocked my head to the side. “Why?”

  Henry leaned back on the bed, bumping his head against the wall. “Everybody else got outta this town, didn’t they? Gary’s out west. The twins are stock market geeks or something, right? Hell, even Jason is… what’s he do?”