Country

by Jeff Mann

  “No problem,” Brice said, adjusting his baseball cap. “It’s a little chilly, but it’s a beautiful day. Look at those flowers up the slope.”

  “Dog’s-tooth violet and wild geranium,” Lucas said. “And look at the new leaves on the buckeyes and the tulip poplars. Daddy taught me all the trees and wildflowers.”

  Brice looked both ways before lifting Lucas’s hand to his mouth and kissing it. “You’re my wildflower.”

  “And you’re full of it,” Lucas said, pulling his hand away at the sound of a car approaching around the bed. “You just can’t wait to see me with my legs in the air.”

  “Painfully true. God knows I’ve waited long enough.”

  “Yes, you have. The soul of patience. Well, I’m finally over my hang-ups, and your patience is gonna be rewarded real soon. But first, let’s get down the hill to those ramps. I’m gonna be majorly irked if they’ve run out.”

  “BRICE BROWN!” SAID THE BURLY man in denim overalls who took their money at the door. “You come outta seclusion to eat our legendary ramson, huh?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Brice said, steeling himself for hostility. Instead the big guy smiled.

  “You’ve been through the wringer, I know. People can be shits. Some Christians, they act like they’ve never read any of those red-letter words Jesus spoke. Screw ‘em, I say. You just keep on keepin’ on with little Lucas here.” The man pounded Lucas on the shoulder. “He’s a good kid, a smart kid. And enjoy the food, okay?”

  “You bet,” Brice said, shaking the man’s proffered hand. “I really appreciate the friendliness.”

  The man shrugged. “Friendly’s easier than being mean. We’re all God’s children, right?”

  “Who was that?” Brice asked Lucas as they moved into line to be served.

  “Mr. Honaker. He was my biology teacher and the assistant coach at my high school. He was always mighty nice to me.” Lucas tipped the brim of his cap down. “Glad he still is. Every time I see someone I used to know, I wonder if they’re gonna be decent or downright nasty.”

  As smiling women poured them sweet iced tea and heaped up their plates with fried ramps, brown beans, ham, fried potatoes, cornbread, and applesauce, Brice surveyed the room.

  “No rabid reporters or fundamentalist assassin squads that I can see,” Brice said as they headed, plates full, toward the long lines of communal tables.

  “Good. How you’ve stood being the center of hostile attention for months, I can’t imagine.” Lucas shook his head. “Every time we leave the compound, I tense up with screaming paranoia. There’s some spots over in that corner, away from people. Let’s head over there and snarf up this chow. I’m ravenous.”

  The two men took a seat at the far end of a long table and dug in. Every now and then, Brice looked up to scan the noisy room for hateful glares. He found a few, but fortunately, most people, including those seated closest to them, were too busy devouring their meals and interacting with family and friends to notice that a notorious homosexual singer and his young lover were feasting with them.

  “As usual, it looks like we’re the only queers in the entire room. I’d hoped that Grace and Amie might show up,” Brice said, forking up potatoes. “I’d call them if there were any cell phone service around here.”

  “They said they might drive down if business was slow at the store, but if they didn’t show up by three-thirty, they weren’t coming. If we miss ‘em, they’ll be up later to have coconut cake with us and Phil. Hey, Brice?”

  “Umm, yep?” Brice mumbled around a piece of cornbread he’d topped with applesauce.

  Lucas lowered his voice. “You get tired of being the only queers in the room? I mean, if we’re gonna stay in the country, that’s gonna be pretty much the way it’ll be all the time.”

  Brice shrugged. “Sure, I get tired of it sometimes. I sure felt isolated growing up in Hinton knowing I liked guys, though it was easier in college. The gay bars in Morgantown were mighty fun. When I was in Nashville, though, I was too closeted to take advantage of any gay life there. Now, well, I don’t think I want to live in a city again. It’ll be hard to stay here, yeah, and isolated some, but as long as I’m with you, and I have a few cool friends like Grace and Amie, I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah. Having someone makes a big difference.” Lucas’s eyes met Brice’s own. “I really want to hold your hand right now, but I can’t, ‘cause I’m afraid.”

  “You insisted that I hold your hand at the Hutte on Valentine’s Day. You practically dared me. What’s changed?”

  Lucas looked around the crowded room and scowled. “I don’t know. With the Star publicity and reporters hounding us and all that shit, I just feel…. I don’t know. Exposed? Outnumbered?”

  “Yeah.” Brice took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry about that.”

  “Stop apologizing.” Lucas chewed on a morsel of ham. “I ain’t got no regrets. I just get tired of being on my guard. I was on my guard all the time before, but now….”

  “It’s even worse.”

  “Yeah.” Lucas scooped up a spoonful of brown beans. “Sometimes I wish I could live in a city, where folks might be more accepting, but I know I can’t. The few times I’ve left the country—some family trips when I was a kid, a couple school field trips…. Ugh. I hated it. Damn crowds and noise and traffic, red lights and delays, prissy people with fancy clothes looking down on me, making fun of the way I talk. Those big-city gay boys can have their discos and glamorous ghettos and expensive lifestyle. Besides, how would a penniless redneck like me even afford to live in those places? It’s small-town West Virginia for me, no doubt about it.”

  “Whither thou goest…as I’ve said before.” Brice checked his wristwatch. “It’s three fifteen. I don’t think Grace and Amie are coming. How about we get them some plates to go and drop by Radclyffe’s Roost on the way home?”

  “Good idea. Grace does love her some ramps. Lemme just gobble up the rest of this ham and finish this tea.”

  BRICE AND LUCAS, CARRYING PAPER plates covered in plastic wrap, trudged up the Pickens Road, enjoying the leafy shade, the soft breezes, and the purling of the brook in the gully below. They’d nearly reached Lucas’s vehicle when a much larger truck, bright red with a double cab, came around the turn in the road uphill. It drove slowly past them. Two men sat in the front seat and two men sat in the back. All of them were staring.

  Brice’s stomach constricted. He looked up and down the road. Wooded hillsides and lines of empty cars. No one else was around. Instead of continuing down the slope toward Helvetia, the big vehicle pulled into a turn-around, reversed direction, and crawled past them again. It slid off the road and crunched into gravel only a few yards uphill, right behind Lucas’s truck.

  “Lucas, we might want to move a little faster. I think—”

  The driver of the red truck, a big man with glossy black hair and a thick goatee, leaned out his open window. “Hey! Don’t I know you?” In a less remote, less potentially perilous context, Brice would have found him handsome.

  “Oh, hell,” Lucas muttered. “Great. Just fucking great.”

  Fight or flight. This is how it feels, Brice thought. There are four of them to two of us. I can’t yet tell how big they are.

  “Know me? No, I don’t think so,” Brice said loudly. Though his voice was steady, both his feet and his heart picked up their pace.

  “Yeah, I recognize you! Aren’t you Brice Brown? The queer singer?”

  “Here we go,” Brice muttered. “Lucas, get out of here, okay? Get in the truck fast, or run back toward town. With your parole—”

  “Fuck my parole.” Lucas gritted his teeth. “Leave you? Are you crazy?”

  All four men clambered out, with wide grins on their faces. The dark-haired driver sneered. “Oh, yeah! It is you. The famous Brice Brown! We’ve read lots of shit about you. Hell, I used to hear you on the radio when I drove to work.”

  In a split-second, Brice had assessed them, studying their physiques, their fac
es, and their postures. That’s malice in their eyes, no question. In their thirties, I’d say, all of them. Those two—the driver and that other guy—are as big as I am, though the bald one’s more fat than muscle. Those two, the blond and the redhead, are smaller than me, but they look scrappy, hard, and lean. They’re all four bigger than Lucas. Goddamn it. Where’s Amie and her deadly purse when we need her?

  Brice gave Lucas a glance full of warning and stepped in front of him. For the thousandth time in his life, he was torn between two wildly disparate impulses: should he prepare for a brawl or drag Lucas into the truck and urge him to drive off as fast as he could?

  I won’t be a coward. Not in the eyes of the man I love. Fuck that. Brice placed the wrapped plate of food in the open truck bed and crossed his arms, regarding the quartet of strangers.

  “Yeah, I’m Brice Brown. So?”

  The four men exchanged grins and glances. “So we’re big fans of yours, man,” said the driver. “You and that little sweetie there. Word is he’s real talented in some departments.”

  Brice curled his lip. “Why don’t y’all get on down the road, boys? Before you miss the ramps. I think they’re almost out.”

  “Ain’t you gonna give us your autograph first?” said the little blond guy, stepping closer. “It’s kinda hard to believe a thing like you exists. A faggot country singer. Will wonders never cease?”

  Lucas placed his plate of food on the hood of the truck, then moved over to stand beside Brice. “What’d you call him?”

  “A faggot,” replied the blond guy. “And you’re that little cocksucker who’s been selling hummers all up and down the interstate, aren’t you? I got some money in my pocket. Five dollars? Will that do you? You in the mood? You want to suck my cock, little man?”

  Brice’s curled lip quivered. “I’ll give you an autograph, you frog-faced sonofabitch, right across that nasty mouth of yours, if you don’t get the hell out of here and take your brain-dead buddies with you.”

  “You’re pretty ferocious for a fag,” the goateed driver said. “Big too. Too bad for y’all we outnumber you.” The four men moved closer, the two smaller ones fanning out to flank Brice and Lucas.

  “Of course you outnumber us,” Brice said, putting up his fists. “Your kind are like jackals. You always work in packs. Fucking cowards. None of you would dare take me on alone. I’d wipe up the fucking road with any one of you.”

  “No need to take you on alone,” the big bald man growled. “We’re buds, right, guys? One for all and all for one.”

  “Right,” said the redhead, pulling a knife from his jacket and unsheathing it.

  “Fuck off now. Fuck off,” Lucas snarled, lowering himself into fighting stance. Pulling his car keys from his pocket, he grasped them in his right fist, fanning them out threateningly between his fingers. “We don’t want no trouble, boys, but we’ll deal it out if we need to. I learned some pretty vicious things in prison. You mess with us, and I might just have to show y’all some. Gouge out some eyes, flatten some balls, break some windpipes.”

  “I doubt that,” the driver said. “Fetch that bat from the back, Ed.”

  “Well, fuck,” Lucas muttered as the blond man threw open the truck door and pulled out a baseball bat. “Really?”

  This is what I’ve been dreading ever since I realized I wanted men. This here, right now. This is the nightmare I always feared would come. Brice did his best to choke back the sick terror filling him. Lord, don’t let it all end like us. Give us the strength to fight. Nothing to do now but fight.

  “Back to back, Lucas,” Brice muttered. “Now.”

  “You got it.”

  The two larger men lunged forward simultaneously, the goateed driver swinging at Brice, the bald guy going for Lucas. Brice blocked his opponent’s blow with his forearm and then punched him smack dab in the belly, knocking him backward. Lucas dodged his foe’s blow, then swung his fist of clasped keys high, catching the bald man in the face. When he fell back howling, scrabbling at his bleeding cheek, Lucas kneed him in the crotch.

  “Shit!” the blond guy said, brandishing the bat. “Watch out, Fred. The little one’s mean as a snake.”

  Brice and Lucas regrouped, pressed back to back again.

  “Don’t pay to fight fair in circumstances like this,” Lucas said. “Tear ‘em up any way you can. Rip off their balls, if need be. Rip out their throats.”

  “Right. I love you.”

  “I love you too. Watch out!”

  The blond leaped forward and swung at Brice with the bat. Before he could dodge it, the hard wood glanced off Brice’s shoulder. “Fuck!” Brice yelled, staggering back against the truck.

  “Motherfucker!” Lucas swung at the blond, stabbing him in the neck with his sharp handful of keys. The man screamed, dropped the bat, and fell onto his knees, clutching his bloody wound. Snarling, Lucas kicked him twice in the ribs.

  The driver, on his feet again, charged forward, slamming into Lucas and knocking him backward. Gasping, Lucas dug his keyed fist into the man’s side. Cussing and grappling savagely, the two staggered around the hood of the truck, over the berm, and into the shallow ditch beside the road.

  Gripping his wounded shoulder, Brice pushed up off Lucas’s vehicle. The bald man was nearly on his feet. Brice brought his elbow down on the back of the man’s head, and the guy collapsed. As Brice turned, the redhead stepped forward and stabbed at Brice’s chest with his knife. Brice parried the blow with his left forearm, roaring as the steel slashed into him. Gritting his teeth, he drove his right fist into the man’s nose, knocking him flat.

  Brice turned toward the ditch. The big driver held Lucas several inches off the ground. The man had Lucas’s right arm twisted behind him and his own arm wrapped around Lucas’s throat. Lucas scrabbled at the man, gasping and kicking wildly.

  “Drop him, you bastard!” Brice shouted.

  Before he could charge forward, a great blow caught Brice on the left hip. He staggered sideways in agony, hit the hood of Lucas’s truck, and dropped to his knees. He had just enough time to turn, to see the big bald guy holding the baseball bat, before the man swung the bat, agony exploded inside Brice’s skull, his face slammed into gravel, and all his senses snuffed out.

  EYES CLOSED, BRICE BEGAN TO HUM ALONG.

  I know that song. Love it. Used to play it.

  Fare thee well, my own true love,

  Fare thee well for a while.

  I’m goin’ back where I came from

  But I’ll come back again

  Even if I go ten thousand mile.

  Brice licked his lips. “Whoa. Cotton mouth. My head hurts. How much’d we drink last night, Lucas?”

  Smiling, he opened his eyes. His smile faded as bits of memory returned.

  Brice sat bolt upright and took in his surroundings at a glance. Lime-green room. Medical machines. Tubes in his arms. Bandage on his left forearm. A man he’d never seen before was sitting in a chair by his bed.

  “Hey! You’re awake,” the stranger blurted. He was a short, stocky guy in his early thirties, with thick brown hair to his shoulders, hazel eyes, dense eyebrows meeting over the bridge of his nose, hillbilly-length sideburns, and a bushy biker goatee grading into several days’ worth of stubble.

  “Who’re you? Where’s Lucas? Where am I? Where’s Lucas?”

  The man stood and took Brice by the hand. “Hey, relax. Lucas is just downstairs in the cafeteria. I offered to sit with you while he got something to eat.”

  A wave of weakness washed over Brice. He rubbed his aching head, only to find his scalp shaven clean. “He’s all right? He’s all right?”

  “Well, his face was mighty bruised up, and his shoulder was dislocated, but otherwise—”

  “Dislocated? How? I—”

  “You don’t remember what happened?”

  Brice rubbed his jaw. His beard was shaggier than ever.

  “I, uh. I, uh. Yeah, some. I remember some. Those bastards. Those motherfucking—”<
br />
  The man released his hand. “I should probably fetch a nurse. We been waiting for two weeks for you to wake up.”

  “Wake up? Two weeks?”

  “Yeah. You been in a coma that long. You took a helluva blow to the—”

  “Where’s Lucas? So he’s all right? Find me Lucas. Will you find me Lucas? I need—”

  “Hey, man, relax. He should be back real soon, but, sure, I’ll—”

  At that moment, the door to the room opened. To Brice’s vast relief, Lucas stepped into the room. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans, and his arm was in a sling. He stared at Brice, open-mouthed.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, thank God. Oh, thank God. You’re awake. You came back!” Lucas was beside Brice in an instant, kissing his face all over.

  The stranger stood back and laughed. “Glad I was here for the reunion. I was just setting by the bed singing an old song I play on my guitar sometimes, and then who should start humming along but my favorite country-music star, Brice Brown.”

  “Oh, man, I’m so, so glad you’re awake! How do you feel?” Lucas asked.

  “Kinda shitty. My head hurts. I feel feeble. My arm throbs.”

  “Yeah. You got a big scar under that bandage. That prick with the knife cut you bad.”

  “But you’re all right?” Brice said, caressing Lucas’s cheek and kissing his hand.

  “Good enough. My shoulder’s still sorta tore-up, but otherwise I’m in good shape, considering what happened. God knows it coulda been worse. If Matt here hadn’t come along, we’d both be dead.”

  “Matt?”

  The stranger raised his hand. “That’s me. Matt Taylor.”

  “So what happened? I only remember bits and pieces.”

  “I’ll tell you here directly. Matt, would you go fetch a nurse? They’ll want to know Brice is conscious, and I’m sure they’ll want to check him out. They been poking and prodding him for half a month.”

  “Be glad to fetch ‘em. Mr. Brown, I’m damned glad you’re finally conscious. You scared the shit out of all of us.” With that, Matt shambled out of the room.