by David Kummer
“I’m sorry, Hudson.” Willow granted me a pitying look. “She doesn’t deserve you, anyways.”
“I guess maybe we shouldn’t have invited half the school,” Mason said thoughtfully, rubbing the back of his neck. I appreciated the change of subject. “It’s a bit full, this place.”
“I like it,” I commented. “It’s a great wedding, honestly.”
Mason nodded in silent agreement and started picking at the flowers in the center of the table.
“Gonna be a pain to clean up,” Willow said, frowning. Her eyes wandered around the banquet hall as she clicked her tongue. “Beautiful for now, isn’t it? I wish this could last forever.” Her eyes widened, and she groaned loudly. “Shoot, Mason. They want us back on the dance floor. Your mom’s waving.”
I didn’t care to follow her gaze. I saw Willow put up a finger, prolonging the expectation just a bit. When I raised my head, our eyes met, and I nodded. She leaned closer and kissed me on the cheek, then reached across the table for Mason’s hand. I felt a bit like a prisoner, with them on either side, but it would all be over soon.
“You wanna come over tomorrow?” she asked, her eyes pleading. “The cabin.”
“What about the honeymoon?” I squinted at her and then Mason.
“Leaving Sunday night,” he explained.
She nodded. “So, one night at the cabin. You wanna come? I’d love to see you before we go, Hudson.”
I grinned and hit Mason in the shoulder. “For sure. I’ll be there.”
“How come I’m the one who always gets hit?” Mason grumbled, but he winked at me as he stood up.
“Thank you.” Willow embraced me in a hug, the texture of her dress rubbing against my neck. Then she stood from the table and gestured for Mason to follow. They disappeared into the crowd as quickly as they’d come.
I wished that Layla would return. Wished for somebody to sit here with me. Nothing frightened me as much as the months stretching ahead. My two best friends, now a married couple. I knew things would be okay, if only because they were incredibly thoughtful people. The wedding would end, and things might return to normal, in a sense. But not exactly.
I would spend the last half of senior year alone. I’d make a decision for that upcoming autumn all by myself. While they were in community college, I’d have to get a job or join them in that online school. Unless I moved away to a physical campus. The closest one, an hour off. I had no clue what my own future held. Or who. Or where.
So, in a sense, things weren’t okay. But I felt, for the moment, like I would be. There was nothing to do about it, not for now. Maybe I’d text Layla after all, just to see what her plans were for college. Just to talk with somebody else who didn’t have it all figured out. That might help.
“You okay, kid?”
I felt something on my shoulder and recognized the voice. But when I turned in my seat, there was nobody. Just a collection of tables, mostly empty, with a few stragglers sitting alone. I decided that, if there were no answers in here, I might as well take my questions outside.
* * *
And so I found myself pushing open the doors with a red EXIT sign shining overhead. As soon as I moved through and stood outside, a cold wind cracked across my face like a whip. I took a deep, lung-filling breath of the icy air and heard the metallic doors clang shut behind me.
I stared across a desolate bean field, not yet planted. For the time being, just an expanse of dirt and mud. It hadn’t rained in days, so I started walking across the field, unsure who it belonged to and not really caring.
The sky overhead was an intense and soul-crushing purple, but I found comfort in it. The crescent moon, a brilliant white against that dark background, reminded me of simpler times. Ahead of me, the ambiguous farmer’s land stretched out for maybe a quarter-mile. Maybe a half. Everything was subjective when judged by the moon’s shadow. Just beyond this expanse of dirt that I slowly crossed, a few trees towered. The strip of forest left only separated farmers’ lands. It served no purpose other than getting in the way, but tonight I would push through it.
It had to be late. Later than I wanted to stay up. But sleep hadn’t called to me in recent months. It had been so long since I felt tired. One night around Christmas, I’d realized that I didn’t enjoy sleep anymore. Just didn’t. I never pushed the snooze button on my phone’s alarm. I didn’t want to miss a moment of what I had left, whatever it would be.
As I crossed the landscape on my solitary mission, that beacon up ahead barely visible anymore, I could imagine the swarm of people dancing inside the banquet hall. Enjoying the dying fumes of a party thrown well and thrown lavishly. But I didn’t find my answers in the mass of bodies that were breathing life into the world through movement. I found nothing there.
Tonight, after the highs of a wedding, I remembered a simple but solid truth. For the moment, I felt content. For the month, even. But it wouldn’t last forever. There would be dark periods. There would be moments of self-loathing. For now, I felt okay. Right in that moment. And I could appreciate the subtle hope of it.
Therapy had helped me immensely. I no longer felt terrified, just aware. Aware that the future would be drastically different. Aware that Mason and Willow couldn’t sustain me forever. That I would have to find other friends. Maybe even other best friends. At the same time, I shouldn’t rush things. I should just let them be as they would be.
Too many dancers in the banquet hall of my brain.
I started running through the field, kicking up dirt behind me and spraying it onto the back of my dress slacks. Fumbling to unfasten my tie, barely keeping to my feet. After only a minute, I reached the forest and cut through it with ease, dodging branches and underbrush and thorns. One snapped at my cheek and caught flesh. A trickle of blood ran down the side of my face, but I persevered.
Across a smaller field and into a collection of houses. It felt like the longest journey I’d ever taken. I entered that neighborhood, still at a run, and cut through yards, ignored barking dogs. I fought against every instinct and every anxiety. I fought against myself, and at last reached the place I was meant to.
There it stood, just ahead of me.
“Got you now,” I said aloud, flexing my hands at the sight of those many rungs.
The water tower, reaching high above, and that deck so far up. I couldn’t even see it from down here, only a basic silhouette, but I knew it would be there. I just had to climb the ladder, the endless rungs of steel and endless feet of danger. Then I would finally see Little Rush as a whole. Then I could let it be what it would be.
It only took me a few seconds to jump the fence. Pain shot through my ankle as I landed, but that barely even registered. With my back to it, an expanse of fields and houses and people who didn’t notice my absence, I decided it was time.
I approached the water tower warily, taking deep breaths. The closer I got, the more immense it looked. A task so improbable that I could die from it. Right here, right now. And while I no longer desired sleep, I had a visceral fear of the eternal kind.
One hand on the rung and then a foot. Up. Two more movements. Now six feet above the ground. My last chance to jump down. I stared up at the ladder ahead and imagined the platform so high, the place I had to reach.
I didn’t stop climbing. I would reach it. Somewhere up there, the answers.
“You can’t make it, kid.” That voice again, now from just below me. I could feel his presence coming after me, reaching up for my ankles.
With each rung I pushed off and each grip on the cold bars, I bit my lip harder and furrowed my eyebrows. Sweat trickled down my cheeks, threatening to drip in my eyes. That burning, a momentary blindness, could lead to an eternal sleep.
“You won’t make it.”
I shook off those ghostly words and braced myself against the wind. Somewhere up there, I would find answers. No matter what forces tried to pull me down.
The higher I climbed, the less afraid I felt. If death would come, let i
t. I could make it.
Somewhere up there, a place of profound uncertainty. And that would be okay.
Acknowledgments
Where to begin with this monster of a novel? The process and the finished product itself means so much to me, and I’m glad to finally share it with you. But more than anything, I need to thank the people who made it possible.
First off, there’s some other authors who shaped the look and content of this book from day one. Fellow authors Jordon Greene, Theresa Jacobs, and Andrew Clegg were all incredibly valuable and have their own fantastic books you should check out. Rebecca Weeks of Dark Wish Designs created the fantastic cover, while Marni Macrae did the professional-level editing and improved the book ten-fold. Both of them write as well!
I had family and friends who also served as beta-readers, especially my dad who read the book first and in its entirety. Without his exhaustive notes and encouragement, the first draft likely would’ve been the last, and these characters would reside in a dusty box somewhere. Willow, at least, deserves better than that lonely fate.
My mom deserves a lot of praise not only for encouragement, but also for inspiring the book in a large part. As someone who has experienced firsthand the difficulties of small-town Indiana, my mom embodies all the tenacity, grit, and resiliency required to live and thrive in a place like this, against all odds and opposition. Without her raising me, I would have a wildly different view of this rivertown I call home.
I made the decision to include part of W. H. Auden’s poem at the beginning because I think it reflects the tone and emotion of this book. Not only this book, but also small-town life in general. The sort of endless days that all blend together, and everything is the same night after night. The three stanzas I included are the most powerful and each one packs a special punch. I hope you enjoyed that bit as much as I did.
This book is also the most up-front and honest about the mental health struggles and substance abuse of people growing up nowadays. While not everything is based on somebody real, most of it is derived from my own life or from others I’ve talked to. Mental health and suicide awareness are wildly important. I hope this book can serve as a reminder or at least provoke thought.
About Madison, Indiana, the town Little Rush is modeled after, I can’t say enough. Come visit for yourself or email me with questions. There is life and death, grief and joy, celebration and devastation. Each and every day, I fall deeper into the mystery and intricate web of this town. It truly is magnetic.
Through the process of writing this book, I learned so much about Madison and about myself. Hometowns, in general, are a weird thing. The places we grow up are never quite how we remember them, but always so familiar. No matter our upbringing, the various people and places that surround us are never forgotten or entirely cast off. Rather than fight this feeling, I’ve tried to indulge it and appreciate my surroundings.
I hope this book made you think deeply, and I hope you enjoyed the ride through my hometown.
About the Author
David Kummer is a young author who grew up in Madison, a small, southern Indiana river town. He grew up in a large household with many siblings and studied English and Education at Hanover College. David has written books in multiple genres with many of the settings and characters influenced by Madison. When not writing, he enjoys listening to indie rock and watching sports, as well as spending time with family and friends.
Visit David online at
www.DavidKummer.com
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