by Brian Adams
Britt stuck her tongue out at me and scooted out the tent flap.
“PITA!” I said, rolling my eyes and continuing to swab Kevin’s neck while peering down his shirt.
“Huh?”
“My little sister. Pain In The Ass.”
Kevin laughed. I kept swabbing.
“Mmmm . . . ,” he purred. “That feels good. A little to the right.”
Believe me, I was more than happy to oblige.
All too quickly, Sadie and Britt (curse them!) came bustling back in and Auntie took over as nurse. It wasn’t too long before Kevin was well enough to rejoin the living and reconnect with his regiment.
“Well,” he said, grinning through his swollen mouth. “Gotta run. It’s been real. And seriously, thanks again. Cute skirt by the way! You look hot!”
For the millionth time I blushed.
“See you at school?” he asked.
“I’ll be the one with the peg leg,” I replied.
Ahhh! Why do I say the things I do? Why couldn’t I come out with “In your dreams” or “If you’re lucky” or something classic like that. “I’ll be the one with the peg leg?” Really?
But he had talked to me. Kevin Malloy had actually talked to me!
7
THERE WAS AN OLD COAL MINE halfway up to the top of Mount Tom, about a hundred yards off the trail we had made. You could only get there by crawling on your hands and knees through a dark green and mysterious tunnel of rhododendrons, which made for a perfect hidden entrance. Ashley and I had discovered it when I threw her shoe into the tangled mass after she had told me for the hundredth time how much bigger her boobs were than mine.
The mine was exactly one of those sketchy places that parents continually warned us kids to stay away from. Scary stories at sleepovers or Halloween nights always had the witch or the vampire or the zombie or the death-eater or whoever was the latest and greatest evil-doer sneak out of an abandoned coal mine just like the one we had discovered. It was there that they dragged pathetic, kicking-and-screaming little girls and boys and roasted them alive and sucked out their brains and picked their bones clean with their nasty, crooked teeth.
True story:
In third grade this kid named Gabby Glonski had been fooling around in an old abandoned mine down near the Green River, and the wooden support structures suddenly collapsed and trapped her inside. Totally trapped! Can you imagine? No food, no water, completely dark—a kid’s worst nightmare!
Fortunately, her little brother was playing nearby and saw the whole thing go down. He skedaddled out of there and got help, and it took half the town six hours to dig her out, but they did it. To this very day Gabby still can’t go into a dark room, and she sleeps with a light on and stays away from any tight places like elevators and closets and even basements.
But Ashley and I loved our mine. It had that sweet mixture of taboo and danger and secrecy. It wasn’t very big, with a horizontal shaft that extended only about fifteen feet, with rotting timbers that propped up the ancient roof, and with roots of the trees above sending tangled shoots down into the dark. We figured it was one of those classic family mines that some old-timer, maybe even ol’ Tom himself, had dug out ages ago, using the coal to heat his house and cook his food. A thick black seam of coal still glistened from the walls.
We made up endless stories about Tom creeping in here with his pigs and making moonshine in his mine. Maybe he had had a nip or two too many and that was why he plummeted off the cliff and broke his neck. Or maybe his pigs had gotten into the sweet stuff and pushed him over. Maybe the mine was even haunted!
Ashley and I had scavenged a couple of raggedy old cushions and a cloudy mirror from the town dump and had schlepped them all the way up there to decorate our “living room.” We’d light candles in the corners of the mine and we’d talk and talk and talk. It was there that we had made our pact to be best friends forever, Lord willing and the Green River don’t rise, and pricked our fingers to seal the promise with our very own blood on the wall of coal. It was there where we swore to keep our mine secret from everybody. It would be our mine, just ours, forever and ever. And it was there where we kept our “ridiculous jar,” a beat-up old cookie tin stuffed with scraps of paper documenting every lame thing we had done that year. Every year on New Year’s Eve, we opened the jar and read all our antics out loud and laughed our fool heads off.
I had just put in a new ridiculousness summarizing the peg leg escapade.
“You sure he said ‘hot’?” Ashley asked for the five zillionth time. “Rather than ‘cute skirt, by the way. NOT!’”
“Ashley. For the love of Tom, this is the most important thing anyone has ever said to me in my entire life. You better believe I’d remember it. Word for word!”
Ashley and I had been pouring over the Incident at the Haunted Lunatic Asylum for over two hours. Candlelight flickered on the coal walls, illuminating the blood on my cuticles that I had bitten to bleeding trying to decipher the true meaning behind what Kevin had said to me.
“I mean, you were hot, right? It was, like, 5,000 degrees that day. And that hoop thingy would have kept you warm even at 20 below. You sure that’s not what he meant?”
“Ashley!” I exclaimed.
“Sorry. It’s just that nothing like this has ever happened to us before. We’re in uncharted territory here!”
It gave me great comfort to hear Ashley use the words us and we. If I had to figure this out alone I’d be totally effed.
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “He was probably just playing with me.”
“Maybe not. You had just saved his life, for crying out loud. Even if it did mean permanent facial disfigurement and probable brain damage!”
“Thanks, Ash.”
“Any time. So . . . he was really lying on top of you?”
“Right on top. It seems as though the only way I’m ever going to get anything is either by falling on a guy or having him fall on me. First Sean McKenzie in gym and now Kevin Malloy on the battlefield.”
“Well, look on the bright side. You’re lucky. You had an actual guy on top of you. I’ve never gotten anything.”
I laughed.
“But, you know, he’s right,” Ashley said.
“What do you mean?”
“You really are hot!”
“Humph!”
“Girl, don’t humph me! You are! You really are. If I was a guy I would totally date you!”
I snuggled up closer to her, feeling her warmth in the coolness of the mine, and put my arms around her.
“I’d date you, too!”
“Too bad we aren’t lesbians,” Ashley sighed.
“It would be so much easier,” I sighed back.
8
STILL SITTING IN OUR SECRET MINE, and with the Mystery of the Lunatic Asylum still unresolved, we were about to call it a day and head for home when I heard something.
I caught my breath and grabbed Ashley’s hand as I strained my ears.
Voices!
There were voices in the distance. Voices getting closer.
“Did you hear that?” Ashley whispered.
“Shhh!” I whispered back.
Voices! Men talking. Two, then three of them. They were coming up the mountain, getting nearer and nearer, their voices growing louder. They stopped uncomfortably close to the hidden entrance to our mine.
Ashley was squeezing me so hard I could barely breathe. I had to pinch her arms to get her to release her stranglehold. The pounding of both our hearts drowned out the conversation the men were having.
Who would possibly be tramping around up here? On our mountain? Outside our mine? We had never before seen hide nor hair of anyone up here, not a single soul.
I was frightened. The only thing I could think of was that these were crystal meth cooks looking for a place to do their dirty work and set up a methamphetamine lab. It scared the crap out me. That stuff was bad news. Guys like that, if they knew you knew what they were up to, could do serious damage.
> Ashley and I were frozen in place at the far end of the mine, trying to mask the fear in our breath. You know how when you’re trying to be quiet, really quiet, all sorts of things happen that make your body want to scream out? Suddenly I had to cough, I had to sneeze, I had to pee so bad I thought I would wet myself. But I just clung to Ashley and closed my eyes and hoped to hell that neither of us would have a heart attack.
The voices continued up the mountain and out of earshot.
“Shit!” Ashley whispered.
“Double shit!” I whispered back.
“Who do you think they are?” Ashley whispered.
“Meth cooks! Who else could they be? If they find us we’re dead!”
“Raped and then dead!”
“Beaten, raped, and then dead!”
“Enough!” Ashley said in a low voice, pinching me. “What do we do? They went up the mountain. What goes up must come down.”
“Shit!” I whispered.
“Double shit!” Ashley whispered back.
West Virginia was the crystal-meth-lab capital of the universe. Guys went into the woods and set up methamphetamine labs and cooked up this whacked-out illegal drug that screwed you up big time. People used it to stay awake, to amp up their energy, to increase their alertness. Guys at school would brag that they were “Breaking Bad” and could stay hard for days on meth.
The only thing I saw were guys hard up—twitchy, depressed, psychotic, toothless with meth mouth, and crazy as hell. They were like the witches/vampires/zombies/ death-eaters all rolled into one.
Not only was the drug illegal and awful, but it was also dangerous to make and the toxic waste from meth labs totally screwed up the environment.
Kingdom Number One was way too kind a category for a guy on crystal meth. The typical high school loser was a king compared to a meth head. They deserved a ranking all to themselves. A special place in boy hell. A total zero.
We waited a few more minutes and, hearing nothing, snuck out of our mine and made like the wind. We knew every tree, every boulder, every twist and turn on Tom. Once we got going there was no stopping us. It would take way more than a gang of meth heads to catch us.
At the bottom of the mountain, near where we had stashed our bikes and where the road took a turn toward the river, there was a truck parked. There was nobody in it.
Emblazoned on its side were the words “American Mining Company.”
Ashley and I pedaled for home like the death-eaters themselves were on our tails.
9
WE TOSSED OUR BIKES ON THE LAWN and collapsed (me in the fetal position) on my living room couch. Dad was still at work. Britt was at her circus arts practice at the community center.
I was shaking. My legs were thumping so hard they were cramping up. I was hyperventilating and dizzy, on the verge of a Looney Tune (as Ashley referred to my periodic moments of insanity).
“Stop shaking!” Ashley demanded. “You’re driving me crazy!”
“I can’t. I can’t stop!”
Ashley leaned over and pulled my hair, something she used to do a lot in kindergarten. Once she even got kicked out of school for it. Old habits die hard.
“Ouch! Ashley, stop!”
“Stop shaking and I’ll stop pulling!”
“God, Ashley, who do you think those dudes were? Meth heads?”
“Meth heads don’t flag trees to advertise where they’re cooking!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you see? When we were running down the hill? The trees had red flags on them. Those guys were marking the trees.”
The only thing I had seen when we running down the hill were the shadows of three crystal-meth-crazed, death-eating hillbillies hot on our trail. Everything else was a faded blur.
“And didn’t you see the truck?” Ashley asked. “American Mining Company. Meth heads don’t advertise. Not that way.”
“Why would someone mark the trees on Mount Tom?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Ashley replied, her voice deep and guttural, growling like a barrel full of bears. “But Tom will curse us if we don’t find out!”
•
My mother died of breast cancer ten years ago, when I was five and my little sister Britt was two. I don’t have many memories of Mom, but one that is ingrained in my brain is curling up in her lap and being read to for hours and hours.
My mother was a great reader. She’d do all the story characters’ voices in a crazy, mixed-up, wonderful way. She’d get so animated that she’d put me and the book down and hop around the room, flailing her arms and flinging back her tangled mass of jet-black hair as she acted out some zany scene. Sort of like Mr. Cooper, only not.
Once, when I must have been around four, in the middle of a Curious George the Monkey story she leapt off the top of the couch and hit her head on a lamp, which came crashing down on top of her. The bulb splintered into a million tiny pieces, sparkling like the candlelit walls of coal in Tom’s Mine.
“Do it again!” I giggled, clapping. “Do it again!”
I remember that like it was yesterday.
Here’s another good memory:
One of my favorite picture books was Custard the Dragon by Ogden Nash. I can still see Mom, prancing about the room, singing,
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Ink was a kitten. Blink was a mouse. Mustard was a little yellow dog. And Belinda was the little girl in the story.
“You’re just like Belinda!” my mother would tell me, wrapping me up in her arms and smothering me with kisses. “My brave little girl. My barrel full of bears!”
I think about that a lot.
Too bad what Mom said about me is totally untrue.
Ashley is Belinda, Ink, Blink, and Mustard all rolled into one.
I, on the other hand, am Custard. I don’t have a brave bone in my body.
•
“Don’t make me go back up there!” I whimpered, my legs still vibrating uncontrollably. I scanned the living room, desperately searching for that nice, safe cage.
“Wait a minute!” Ashley said. “That’s our mountain, Cyndie. Nobody messes with our mountain!”
I tried to channel Belinda but all that came through was Custard.
10
ASHLEY AND I BEGAN with Auntie Sadie, because my father was worthless in these situations. The only current events he kept up with were the dates for Civil War reenactments. Once I asked him who the president of the United States was and he said Lincoln. Seriously. Abraham Lincoln, for goodness sake! And I think he actually meant it.
Ashley’s parents were off-limits as well. She had vowed never to speak to them again after they grounded her for getting caught sneaking into the boys’ locker room for a lookie at Marc the Mascot. The vice principal had called her parents and expressed concern about her “inappropriate behavior.”
“You know, Ashley,” I told her. “That was not your finest hour. Occasionally parents actually have a point. Now, if you had listened to me . . .”
“If I had listened to you I wouldn’t have seen Marc the Mascot with his pants down. The way my life is going, that may be as far as I ever get with a guy.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Butt is right. You should have seen his! I’m telling you, Cyndie, life is short. You gotta get what you can get when you can get it.”
“Yeah, and that’s working really well for you, isn’t it?” I said. “The only thing I get is whacking a guy covered in yellow jackets with a wooden leg. The only thing you get is getting caught peeping in a scuzzy locker room. I don’t really think that’s what they mean by getting it!”
“Which is why we need to get to the bottom of who’s trespassing on our mountain!”
Which made absolutely no sense at all, but, nonetheless, off we we
nt to seek guidance from Auntie Sadie.
•
“That’s none of your concern who’s marking those trees, girls,” Sadie said after we told her what had happened, leaving out certain details like our hideout in our secret mine. “You best just stay away and mind your own beeswax.”
“It is too our concern!” I countered. “It’s our mountain!”
“Darlings. Number one: it is not your mountain. Number two: you know perfectly well we got two things worth selling in our part of the world. Trees and coal.”
“Three if you count crystal meth,” Ashley replied.
Auntie’s lazy eye stopped its wandering and stared right at her.
“Like it or not, girls, that’s what we got. Trees and coal. Coal and trees. Think about it. What would Greenfield be like without them?”
“Ummm . . . green?” Ashley answered.
Sadie threw the end of a carrot she was fixing for a salad and hit Ashley in the nose.
“Don’t be smart with me, girls! How many of your friend’s parents work for American Coal Company? Huh? How many? Who do you think pays for those nice little houses they live in? Who do you think puts all that good food on their table? And Cyndie, don’t you forget for a minute that my husband and your granddaddy, God rest their souls, were both miners. We don’t go biting off the hand that feeds us, girls. We just don’t. You’re both fifteen years old. You should know that by now!”
“But why would a mining company mark trees?” I asked.
“The only reason you mark a tree is to cut it down,” Sadie said.
Ashley and I practically jumped out of our skins.
“My best guess is that the company knows there’s coal up there. And if there’s coal, you’re damn sure the mining company’s gonna get their dirty hands all over it. They’re most likely marking trees to cut them down and build a road to a new mine. We all know that what the mining company wants, the mining company gets. That’s the way of the world, girls. Always has and always will be. Deal with it!”
This was not exactly the answer we were looking for.
“Shit!” Ashley said as we stormed out of Sadie’s house and sat on the stoop and sulked.
