Everything, Somewhere

by David Kummer

  In front of me, the toothpaste and brush rested on the laminate countertop. The faucet dripped, an annoying quirk that we couldn’t fix. Watching it would drive me crazy after a while. I’d been exhausted all day, and now, finally, I could lay down. Darkness had fallen about an hour ago, and still no update from Mason. I could only assume him and Hudson were now deep in conversation. I’d have to catch up with them both in the morning.

  The bathroom light flicked off above me, rousing me from daydreams. Five seconds later, it popped on again. It’d been doing that for a few days now. Each time, I thought to myself, Shit, he didn’t pay the electric bill, but then the darkness fled as the lightbulb came on. Dad had forgotten bills in the past or lost them altogether. I wouldn’t have been surprised.

  He’d been super anxious ever since I told him. Like, driving me up the walls. Each morning asking if I felt alright, if I needed money for lunch, what groceries did I want that week. He kept patting me on the back as he passed. Other times, he would grin sheepishly whenever we made eye contact. I didn’t know what to make of it. He had this buzz around him, maybe excitement.

  My dad’s attitude had completely changed since our first conversation, where he’d acted bitter and downcast. That next morning, with a radiant smile, he made pancakes for the two of us, a skillset I didn’t know he possessed. Over the empty plates coated in syrup, we had a long talk. I didn’t usually sit at our table for that long. When he asked what I would do now, my future plans, I tried to answer honestly.

  “I’m thinking about staying,” I admitted, lowering my eyes to the maple ocean. “I mean, in Little Rush.”

  “And school?” He took a sip of water from a coffee mug with the side chipped.

  “Maybe I’ll do some more online college,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t know, Dad. I didn’t plan on this either, okay? And Mason… he wants to stay for his dad’s business.”

  “They do got a mean pizza joint,” Dad said, winking at me. When my expression didn’t change and I didn’t smile even a little, he went on. “You do what you want, okay? College? That’ll be around. Who says…” He fell into a coughing fit, holding up a hand to pause the conversation. When it subsided, he took a gulp of water and resumed. “Who says you need it? You’re a tough, smart young woman.” He made a movement like tipping an imaginary cap at me. “Can’t take none of the credit. That’s all your momma.”

  I couldn’t help but grin and reach for my own cup. We only had three glasses, all from a McDonald’s promotion years ago. This one, the only option without smudges or little cracks, might’ve been the nicest kitchen-item my dad owned. And he always let me use it for meals. Insisted.

  “I think I’m starting to get this town,” I told him when I set the drink down. “Is that… bad?”

  “No, sweetheart. It’s a real good place to be.” He leaned back in his chair and observed me with a wistful, curious twinkle. “After all, your old man didn’t stick around for the...” He chewed on the inside of his lip, thinking of the appropriate phrase. “Career opportunities,” he concluded with a flourish of his hand. I was reminded of his personality from years ago, before the divorce. An extremely insightful man

  “Oh, yeah? You just loved this place too much to leave?” I teased him, propping my elbows on the table.

  He shook his head and pulled a cigarette pack from the pocket of his rugged jeans. “You stick around for the people you love,” he said, watching my expression. Dad lit the end of his cigarette deftly and inhaled. As the smoke trickled from his nostrils, he offered me one from across the table. “And it works out in the end.”

  Now preparing for bed, days later, I studied my own reflection in the mirror. I reached into the pocket of my sweatpants and pulled out the cigarette. I’d been carrying it with me ever since, refusing to smoke it. I didn’t even smoke now, since the pregnancy overrode my nicotine addiction, but I wanted to keep the gift anyway.

  If my dad could make a McDonald’s glass something special, then I could do the same with a cigarette.

  Maybe by staying here, I was letting other things go. I was settling for an average life. But that was okay. My dad had done the same with me. And I would do it with this new baby. In the end, like he said, it’s not the place that makes you stay, it’s the people. I just couldn’t let go of all these people, not yet.

  Just as I opened the door to leave, my phone buzzed against my thigh. I pulled it out and saw Mason’s name. A shockwave tore through me. I’d almost forgotten about this situation, since Mason dropped me off after our trek on the bridge.

  Answering, I started across the hallway. Dad glanced at me from the living room, and I mouthed “Goodnight” to him. Then I hurried into my bedroom and closed the door behind.

  “Mason?” I spoke into the phone. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s Hudson,” he said. “He’s not home, and he won’t answer my calls.”

  I sat on the edge of my bed, and all thoughts of sleep were instantly gone. Things hadn’t gone as planned, then. I’d been praying that Hudson would just get drunk at his house, but now I seriously worried. Sure, Bruce Michaels meant nothing to me. But to Hudson… I should’ve expected this. The worst.

  And now, I had no doubt about the next step. My next step.

  “Oh my god, Mason.” I gripped the phone with two hands and turned it on speaker mode. With the volume low, I held it in front of my face and spoke in a quiet voice that wouldn’t disturb my dad. “I… What are you thinking?”

  “I have no idea, Willow.” He took deep, intent breaths, but I could hear the anxiety underlying it. Almost feel his rapid heartbeat against my own. “Dad called Henry. I dunno what they’re doing. I just…”

  “Do you need me to come with you?” I asked, standing up from the bed. I could hear the engine now and understood that he must be driving around, looking for Hudson. Like you search for a lost dog, I thought, disgusted at myself for the comparison.

  “No, no.” Mason paused. The noise around him calmed, no longer just the rushing sound of wind. Maybe at a stop sign, then. Definitely in the convertible. “I’ll call you if I need help. I just wanted to tell you.”

  “I understand. I’m sure you’ll find him,” I lied. I knew I had to move. Sitting here, waiting for the phone to ring with either good or awful news… That would be hell. Sensing the conversation had come to an end, I added, “Mason, I’m really sorry about Bruce. He seemed like a… an okay guy. I feel bad for you and—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said through what sounded like clenched teeth. The engine roared louder as he pressed hard on the accelerator. “I just have to find Hudson. I can’t… I can’t let this...”

  Then the phone went dead.

  I sprang up immediately and retrieved my keys from the stand beside my bed. I threw on a bra, a different shirt, and my shoes. The phone didn’t change. No texts from either of them, no phone calls. I half-expected Mason to call back, but also knew that he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to say what we both knew.

  If Hudson did it, if he actually took his own life, well… for the last month, him and Mason had been locked in some kind of fight. And for Mason, if that’s how things ended with his best friend… I couldn’t even imagine that weight.

  After a quick lie to my dad and nearly soaring face-first down the stairwell, I sprinted to my car. Each second felt incredibly precious now. Any minute could be the one. The engine roared to life, and I made a swerving, illegal U-turn into the other lane. A few violent turns later, I pressed hard on the gas. Within minutes, I raced uphill, the headlights leading me to Little Rush’s hilltop.

  The city I’d fallen in love with. The city that threatened to take my closest friend.

  I found myself idling at a red light with no other cars in sight, cursing whatever gods had decided to play with me. Of course I got a red light now. Just perfect. So I grabbed my phone and noticed a new text. I hoped it would be Hudson, but no. Not so lucky. Nor was it Mason bearing news.

  Jed:
Have coffee and will be up all night, if you need to come over & talk. Need anything, let me know. We’re here for you. We’re deciding how to look for him right now.

  I punched in a response text and dropped my phone into the passenger’s seat. The light still hadn’t changed. With a sudden fury, I punched the steering wheel three times as hard as I could. My hand ached afterward, but the rush of adrenaline tore through my body like nothing before. A wild determination.

  I retrieved the phone just as the light burned green. I pressed my foot on the gas and kept an eye on my screen. In just a moment, I’d pulled up Mason’s “Find my iPhone” location. We both had each other’s, but rarely-if-ever used it. Now, though, I wanted to watch him. See where he drove. See if he ever stopped. Two of us could look for Hudson, but I didn’t need to retrace his steps.

  My answer to Jed had been simple, to-the-point, and true.

  No thanks, I texted him. Don’t worry. I’ll find him.

  7

  Hudson

  I couldn’t explain how I got there if my life depended on it. All I knew was that I found myself hunched in an awkward, painful position, face buried in deep grass. Rain pouring down on me, soaking my clothes, my cut-up appendages. I opened my ears and wobbled for a moment, unsteady on my feet. Just trying to regain some sense of life.

  The field around me looked all too familiar and normal. Tall, looming trees on three sides. A pleasant rainfall dotting the place with sparking droplets. Behind me, there were no trees, just a country road. I turned in all directions, confused, aching.

  I could feel the alcohol in me still, complicating my thoughts, blurring my vision. It felt like a sledgehammer smashed my forehead over and over. Like a hot, boiling liquid poured into my stomach and my lungs. I couldn’t move right, couldn’t see. My breaths were all over the place, slow and then fast, irregular.

  Just barely, I could hear the familiar chime of my truck. The noise it always made when a door was left open. I turned back, searching for the source. And then I saw it. The lights still on, doors wide, and memories flooded back at the sight.

  I remembered loud pops and shattering glass and the world turning on its head. But the moment of impact, I’d forgotten. I could only stare at the wreckage beside the road. Drop to my knees and cover my mouth with both hands.

  “Fuck!” I started to cry, burying my face in the soft grass for just a moment. Sobbing, my whole body shaking. Then I got to my feet and wobbled toward the wreckage.

  The truck lay in a twisted, mottled heap. Parts were smoldering, others putting off steam from the rain on hot metal and burning oil. It smelled like hell, like the worst parts of life all mixed together. I stumbled that way, hardly believing what my eyes could barely see. My truck. Reliable, constant. So many nights spent in that bed, drinking. So many mornings in the cab, on the way to school, music pumping. Now, just a mess of broken glass. Flattened tires, crushed hood. My truck, totaled. Laying in a field that I remembered.

  Mason and I had been here not long ago in that very truck. One of my last memories with him. One of our final laughs. Before everything started to change.

  “Fuck you!”

  I lunged forward, fist careening through the air. It shattered one of the windows. I felt a surge of red-hot pain shoot up my arm but shook it off. I punched out the last intact window and pulled back, blood gushing from my knuckles. I lashed out at the beat-up doors, kicking and bull-rushing them. After two minutes of assault, they were as wrecked as they’d ever get. I stumbled away, back into the field, tears streaming. My entire body like fire.

  Without much thought, without any feeling except for those jagged cuts on my fists and arms, I shed my clothes. I struggled out of my jeans and shirts, throwing them away. They landed somewhere in the tall grass, lost. With only underwear, I hobbled to the center of the field and just started yelling. As loud as I possibly could, all sorts of obscenities and profanities. The worst things I ever said in my life. They just came pouring out like hot venom, like an evil spirit. I threw my head back and roared like never before. Over and over, screaming at the top of my lungs, until I started to choke.

  I doubled over, coughing up blood. And I knew I couldn’t scream anymore.

  “Just kill me.” I dropped again and punched the ground with the last of my energy. The realization dawned that I wouldn’t die tonight. But that I wanted to. That I would give anything for a gun or even a razorblade.

  The crash hadn’t done it. I’d managed to escape that wreckage or maybe fly through the windshield. I couldn’t remember a damn thing. I could only stare at the aftermath. Feel the alcohol ripping through my insides. I wished I was sober. I wished I was dead. The two weren’t necessarily unrelated.

  Alcohol poisoning could have killed me, and so I waited in the field for this slim chance. Praying that it would happen. Praying for the end. There was nothing left here. Nothing but a town I wanted to leave, a family I didn’t care for, friends who were absent. Nothing at all. No good people. No good men. No good places. Just death and burning alcohol and gut-wrenching pain. That’s all I had.

  I understood now. I wanted to die because of Bruce. Because I would do something terrible one day, just like him. After what happened with Layla, after what happened with Mason, my parents, all of it. If I didn’t die, I would become like him. And the people around me would suffer because of it.

  The headlights caught my attention. I picked up my head just enough to see the convertible pulling off the road next to my truck’s remains. Then he got out, whipping his head in all directions. I felt happy that he’d come. I couldn’t explain it. I just knew it was a good thing. One of the last good things in the world, maybe.

  “Hudson!” he yelled, running through the field. His white shoes now muddy, his shirt and hair soaked. Mason’s eyes were wide, petrified, so scared. The most scared I’d ever seen him.

  I rose to my knees and felt too much agony to rise any farther. I doubled over and started to puke, hot venom inside me spilling over. Two or three times, I heaved and felt like my eyes were going to pop out. The worst kind of vomiting I’d ever had. Pure fire in my throat, and the aftertaste like flaming shit.

  “Oh my god! Are you okay?” Mason stood in front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders. He knelt down to my level and stared into my eyes.

  I couldn’t help but grin, vomit still on my lips. My eyes bulging, throat blood-coated and raw. “I’m really not, man.”

  Mason hugged me, and it hurt like hell, but I didn’t pull away. I threw my arms around him too and started to cry again, all of a sudden. My tears soaking his shirt. I realized I was naked, that he’d hugged me with abandon, pushed himself against my bare torso. And I appreciated this. I closed my eyes and let myself fall apart.

  “There’s nothing good left in me,” I whispered, even just those words stinging my throat.

  “I love you, man.” He pulled back, a stupid smile on his face.

  I sunk to the ground again and held up a finger. Vomit spewed everywhere as I turned my head just in time, sending it to the ground beside us. Mason backed away, covering his mouth with an elbow. When I faced him again, we were both laughing.

  “You need to go to the hospital,” he said, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, how much did you drink? How did you total your truck? What are you even doing?”

  I shook my head and shrugged. The rain started to feel cold against my skin. I thought maybe I would sober up, but knew it was impossible. I’d only stopped drinking twenty minutes ago. If anything, I would be worse off in an hour than right now. He was right about the hospital, too, but I just couldn’t yet.

  “I want to kill myself.”

  When I said the words I’d been avoiding, I expected him to have some drastic response. To gape. He didn’t, though. Mason just blew a long raspberry and stared into my eyes. He nodded, slowly, and sat on the ground. Like two wild animals, we both rested in the middle of a rainy field, a smoldering wreck not far off. Maybe we had become the deer that w
e used to see run across.

  “I know you do,” he said gingerly. His hand twitched, like he wanted to move closer to me, but held back this impulse. “I want you to get the help you need, Hudson. I want you to… to feel better.”

  “Feel better…” I chuckled, ruthlessly, and lowered my head. My speech slurred, but understandable. “What a phrase.”

  “You know what I mean.” Mason paused and glanced up, letting the raindrops fall in his eyes. “I need you around, man. I’ve got this kid coming… and I just need you. I’m so scared, you know that? I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d do if you… And I know that’s maybe not a good thing to tell you right now. But it’s the truth.”

  “I’ve wanted to kill myself for years,” I said, holding back another torrent of crying. I clutched at my throat, where a sharp pain built up, and took deep, shuddering breaths. “I don’t wanna live another day.”

  “We’re gonna get you help.” Mason stood up, and I thought for a moment he would actually just leave me there. But then he extended a hand. “I just need you to take the first step.”

  I grabbed his hand and struggled to my feet alongside him. It occurred to me that my leg might be broken, or at least one of the bones might be. But I couldn’t feel too well, and I couldn’t tell for sure. I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and winced with each step as we advanced toward his car.

  “I love you, too, Mason,” I said at last, my voice faint, almost nonexistent.

  “I know you do,” he said, his own arm wrapped around me tight and supportive. “And I’m sorry how things have been lately.”

  A new pair of headlights joined Mason’s at that moment, and I recognized Willow’s car. Mason looked surprised to see her, but I just smiled. After everything, I realized she was the person I’d miss most. The one I didn’t want to hurt. And as she advanced toward us, her expression sent a wave of emotion through me.

  I didn’t know what would happen next as I struggled into the passenger’s seat of Mason’s convertible. But I knew that I didn’t want to die anymore, not at that moment, and maybe that was the first step he’d mentioned.