Riapoke

by Bryan Nowak

  “On Earth, we call it a beard. And yes, I did.”

  “Good, then let’s go.” He’d begged to stay home. Kyle wanted nothing more than to spend time at home this summer, hanging out with friends and playing video games. A little guilt from Mom, though, and Kyle conceded the battle. “I’m only asking you to sacrifice a couple of days with your mother. You know, someday I’ll be dead and you are going to feel bad for not spending more time with me. Besides, the lake will have a beach and on that beach will likely be girls.” Girls weren’t necessarily the motivation she wanted to hone in on; however, they always seemed to do the trick.

  A few minutes later Meghan and her progeny drove through the outskirts of town, toward the wilds of Virginia. Selected destination; a resort which contacted them off a waiting list of candidates desiring a discounted rate. Ordinarily out of their price range, for the last three years they found their way onto a summer waiting list for people interested in simply filling up empty rooms when a sudden vacancy became available. This year the phone call, available funds, and a week off of work all coincided.

  They got the room for a steal since the resort had a cancellation. The stay included a breakfast buffet and free boat rental. It had a small beach and water park. They had nothing planned beyond playing board games and her working on a tan while he ran off and enjoyed the lake.

  The outside soon morphed from cityscape to countryside. Soon the forests gave way to the foothills of the Shenandoah valley. She glanced over at Kyle and tussled his hair while he read a book. He batted her hand away and said in an annoyed tone, “Mom, stop.” Then went right back to reading.

  A string of dead-end jobs, an abusive husband who left them, and a mortgage which sometimes threatened to overwhelm their meager resources stood out as the normal state of life. But, all of that faded when Meghan watched her rambunctious son grow up before her. Kyle had been a great kid and turned into a great man. For every bad thing or difficult situation she’d endured, Kyle made up for all of it.

  “You know, Kyle, I’m going to miss this.”

  “Miss what?” he asked, not taking his eyes off his book.

  “This, you know; us, taking a trip together. This is our real last chance to hang out as mom and son. After this, you’re all grown up.”

  “Mom, I’m pretty much already there.”

  She laughed. Of course, he was right. “Not to me. You’re always going to be my little guy.”

  He made a face that couldn’t quite hide a tiny smirk. “That’s embarrassing.”

  “Of course, it is. I get to embarrass you. That’s my job. When you were born, the doctor said, ‘Here ya go, now embarrass the hell out of him.’”

  “Well, while you’re busy embarrassing me, can we get something to eat? I’m starving.”

  “Sure, honey.”

  Along the roadside, two giant signs for a truck-stop called the Starlight promised the best root beer floats in the galaxy. Meghan pulled the car into the packed parking lot. Feeding Kyle became more of a challenge as he grew. A switch flipped somewhere in Kyle when he hit the age of twelve and the boy hadn’t stopped eating since. On top of that, the kid perpetually needed new clothes and shoes which generally kept the families meager budget near the breaking point.

  The diner itself featured a sprawling parking lot with plenty of spaces for cars and several longer spaces for semi-trucks to pull into. The diner’s booths and tables teemed with life. Every stool at the counter was appropriately topped with truckers sipping down coffee and swapping stories of the latest hauls to Poughkeepsie, Dearborn, Cleveland, or any number of other places. Many proudly showed off pictures of their family’s latest achievements while others sat at tables talking to their wives on cell phones. They looked sad to Meghan. Like they’d do anything to be home at that moment rather than on a lonely piece of road somewhere.

  Meghan and Kyle took seats in a booth right next to an old trucker who just put away his cell phone. He regarded them both for a moment and said, “Evening’ ma'am, evening son.”

  “Good Evening,” they said, in unison.

  He went back to reading his paper and she and Kyle opened the menus the waitress set before them.

  “So, Kyle,” she teased, “what’s your pleasure or are you just going to order one of everything?”

  Kyle patted his belly for emphasis. “I saw the pot roast special on the board. It spoke to my soul.”

  “Pot roast is gone, sorry,” the waitress said, overhearing their conversation. “But Charlie was the prep-cook this morning and makes one hell of a meatloaf. Open faced meatloaf sandwich should be out of this world.”

  Kyle smiled. “Oh well, if Charlie made it, then who are we to argue? I’ll have that and one of those famous root beer floats to go with it.”

  Meghan rolled her eyes. “I’ll have the meatloaf sandwich and a cup of coffee.”

  “Alright then, be up in a couple of minutes.” The waitress walked back to the window separating the kitchen from the dining area, clipping the order to the wheel, and left to make the root beer float.

  Kyle studied the top of the table. Once a Formica tabletop, someone had refinished it with several layers of clear laminate coating covering a collection of local newspaper articles. He perused a story from eight years ago featuring a rash of mysterious disappearances. “Kind of an odd thing to put on a table in a restaurant.”

  The trucker in the booth next to them lowered the paper and eyed Kyle for a moment. “You know the story behind that newspaper article you’re reading, young man?”

  “No, sir, I don’t.”

  “The man who owns this place is Fred Stephens. Navy man in Vietnam, took shrapnel and got sent home. He did alright, though. Got married and had a couple of kids. Lived here a long time. He built those tables. About ten years ago, people disappeared from town. You know, under odd circumstances. Made every paper in the state.”

  “This sounds like a ghost story to me,” Meghan said. The old trucker’s story made her a bit uncomfortable.

  “You could be right,” the old man said. “See, no one knows what happened to those people. They all went missing. Right under the noses of everyone in town. One day they were here and the next, just gone. Well, one of those people who went missing was Mrs. Stephens. Old Fred kept every newspaper and every bit of information on the case. At one point they made copies of the articles and made them into the table tops in case someone, passing through town might remember a small detail; anything that will help bring his wife home.”

  “How many went missing?” Kyle said.

  “About twenty-five total. At least one of them we think may have run off with a girlfriend.”

  “Sounds like kind of a far-fetched story if you ask me.” Meghan said. “I mean, how can twenty-five people just go missing. Didn’t they ever find any evidence of what happened to them?”

  The old man took a deep sip of coffee and stared out the window toward the trees on the other side of the highway, pondering what string of words would be best to answer a difficult question. Putting the cup down and letting out a heavy sigh, he stared into Meghan’s eyes, searching for answers he himself struggled with for years. “You know, there are people in this world who go on around us who are essentially non-people. Let me ask you this; the last delivery driver who came to your house, do you know his name? Of course, you don’t. You only cared that they were there on time, were fast, and then left. The waitress who gave you coffee, do you remember her name?”

  “It’s Rose. Her name is Rose,” Kyle said.

  “Very good, young man. I’m impressed. Most people don’t notice the little things that matter most in life. You know, I have over thirty years of trucking behind me, and I can count on one hand the number of repeat deliveries where the manager of the store even knew I’d been there before, or even my name for that matter. Many people scurry in and out of our lives and we never even notice them, not even if they go missing. All we know is that a different waitress brought us our coffee. Or
a different delivery driver came to our door. No one ever misses them.”

  “Tank, quit scaring the customers you old codger.” Rose said, approaching with two plates full of food and a tall, frosty root beer float. “Excuse me, ma'am, I have your meatloaf. Fresh and hot from the oven. And, for the young man, his is on us tonight.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Meghan protested.

  “Oh ma'am, your son remembered my name. That’s more than can be said for half the brain-dead fart-weasels who come through these doors most nights. He’s a fine boy and really classed up the joint.”

  “And the lady’s on me,” the man called Tank spoke up, raising a hand to cut off Meghan’s impending protest. “And before you go arguing, you’d be insulting a retired truck driver and army veteran if you refuse.”

  “I’d take it, sweetie,” Rose said. “The Tank has never picked up a check for anyone.”

  Outnumbered two to one, Meghan smiled as she gave in. “Wow, thank you both. I don’t know what to say.” She took a whiff of the food as Rose set it in front of her.

  “So, where you headed?” Rose continued. “I’m assuming you’re on your way to the mountains?”

  “Yep, you’d be right. We are taking a mother-son vacation for a few days.”

  At her use of the words “mother-son vacation”, Kyle squinted at his mother and took a deep slurp of his float.

  “Any place in particular, or just anywhere that strikes your fancy to stop?” Tank asked.

  She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “A place called Hideaway Resort on Lake Oleander. We got a great deal on a recent cancellation.”

  As Meghan took a sip of the coffee, Tank and Rose exchanged a knowing glance. Barely perceptible, yet still enough to convey a hidden meaning.

  “Just be careful up that way. On the other side of the lake, there is a little town called Riapoke. I’d steer clear of it. They are not particularly friendly to strangers up that way.” Tank pushed the empty coffee cup toward Rose, still standing next to their table. “Anyway, I have to go.” Tank stood and slapped thirty dollars on the table, and grabbed a John Deere hat from next to his empty coffee cup. “Pleasure meeting you folks. You have a nice vacation. Just stick to the resort while you’re up there and you’ll be fine.” Without another word, Tank walked out the door, disappearing into the late afternoon.

  “That seemed a little weird-ish,” Kyle said. Meghan nodded in agreement.

  “Oh, that’s just old Tank. Being a trucker for thirty years fries your brain. Too many pulled pork sandwiches and cups of diner coffee will do that to you. But, he’s right about one thing, it’s not a friendly bunch of people you’ll find up there in Riapoke. Just be careful is all.” Her face brightened. “Say, you know. I need to get y’all some pecan pie.”

  “Oh geeze, no. We don’t want to impose,” Meghan said, putting up a hand in protest.

  “No imposition, I’m about to throw it out anyway. Besides, it’s store-bought. Not the greatest pie in the world. You’d be saving me space in the trash.”

  For a while, they both sat in silence and ate their dinners. Meghan thought about what Tank said. It had been a really strange conversation, it was even stranger that Rose had done nothing to counter the odd story. Maybe it was one of those local legends which pervaded the countryside.

  Rose wasn’t kidding about the pie. It was good, but definitely store bought. Thankfully, it came with two scoops of vanilla bean ice cream. Meghan only ate about half of the meatloaf and half a slice of pie and felt like she was about to burst. Kyle, being the typical teenage boy, finished his meal first and then the rest of her dinner. The boy was a garbage disposal with feet.

  Meghan glanced over at his plate. “Are you full for once?”

  “For a little while. Do you think we can get meatloaf to go?” he said.

  Her eyes got as big as saucers. “Are you kidding me? Please tell me you’re kidding me.”

  “Well, maybe I am.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  Rose came over to the table again. Any more coffee, Meghan?” Rose and Meghan had become fast friends when the conversation moved past Oleander Lake.

  “Thanks, Rose. I think I’m good.”

  “Kyle, I don’t think even the truck drivers ever eat that much. I don’t know where you put it all. You have to keep eating though, you handsome devil you. I swear, if I was seventeen again, I’d be hanging all over you. You are just the most handsome thing in the world.”

  Kyle blushed at Rose’s over-the-top flirtations. “Thank you, ma'am.”

  “And polite to boot. He’s a keeper, that boy of yours.” She winked at Meghan before tending to other customers.

  Back in the car, Kyle instantly fell asleep. Blessed with the ability to fall asleep anywhere and at any time, the car proved an irresistible napping place for him. They didn’t have far to go. Still, the sun would set before they pulled into the resort. Lingering longer at the truck stop than expected, Meghan nonetheless enjoyed the visit. It was a delightful place filled with delightful people and the food was actually pretty good.

  She thought long and hard about what Tank said. The nice, yet somewhat odd, retiree made a really good point. People do go through their lives in a veritable fog, never really knowing who’s coming and who’s going. The pizza delivery guy, the last time they ordered, was a stranger to them even though there’s a good chance he lived in their neighborhood. Although certain they had the same mailman for the last few years, she drew a blank on his name. The same was true of the UPS driver who worked their route. They just all faded into the background. If any of them failed to live up to her expectations, however, she’d call them out in an instant.

  It wasn’t that they really did anything wrong. She had a tendency to vent her frustration at the entire world, as if bringing someone else down made her feel better about herself. It would be easy for one of them to go missing and she’d never notice.

  Still Waters Run Deep

  Waylon Anderson took a few more sips from his flask before reaching the Riapoke municipal boat ramp. The warmth of the whiskey helped shield his nerves and replenish his courage. Nothing like that was ever supposed to happen. Asked about it in a local meeting one day they said, “Lake Oleander never exposed its dead and never would.” Today, it did just that. One moment the sun cascaded down from the cloudless sky, radiating off the placid lake on a perfect day. Now the situation completely changed. Something terrible happened to Lake Oleander and by extension, the tiny town of Riapoke.

  Approaching the boat ramp, he saw the normal cast of characters hanging around. A couple of boys fished from the docks as well as a couple of old men. A husband and wife, trying to launch a boat from the larger ramp, argued about the proper technique. Jack Snow, the local boat mechanic, was fixing someone’s impeller in the parking lot.

  Matthew Tanner, the regional conservation officer and friend of Waylon’s, stood guard over all of it. Waylon and Matthew were both in their thirties. Matthew, took better care of himself than Waylon though, giving him a muscular build and the appearance of only being in his mid twenties. With light brown hair and hazel eyes, Waylon always wondered why his friend never settled down and married. Oleander Lake was his favorite base of operation since moving back to Riapoke.

  Matthew stepped forward and eyed Waylon with suspicion. Even on his worst day, Waylon handled any boat as an extension of his own body, with the ease and familiarity of a man whose life was spent on the water. Today, the boat’s aluminum hull bounced off the recycled composite decking with a deafening boom. Waylon could barely tie off the boat, practically falling off the dock and almost head-butting Matthew as he tried to regain his balance.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you, Waylon?” Matthew said, offering a hand up off the deck.

  Waylon waved the officer off. “I need to speak with Donny.” He lurched forward and grabbed onto the officer’s arm for stability.

  “Whew, Waylon, what the hell are you doing? I should arrest yo
u for drinking while operating a boat. You are drunker than a five dollar hooker in Singapore.”

  Waylon stood to his full height, easily four inches taller than Matthew and twice as intimidating. “Go ahead and arrest me. I’ll probably be safer in a cell than out there.” Waylon pointed over his shoulder at Lake Oleander.

  “Okay, okay. Just tell me you ain’t driving anywhere. I’ll have someone put your boat on the trailer and you can pick it up tomorrow. Stay out of your truck or I really will have to arrest you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me, you’re driving us anyway. We need to talk to Donny right away.”

  Matthew replaced the annoyed look on his face with one of concern. Something uncharacteristically worried his friend. “Waylon, what’s this all about? Have you seen a ghost or something? You’re kind of scaring me a little; I don’t mind telling you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

  “Just drive and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Matthew climbed behind the wheel of the squad truck while Waylon slumped into the passenger seat and took out his flask and threw back another sip. “Waylon, you can’t do that in here, you know that. What has you so rattled, anyway?”

  Waylon glanced out the window at nothing and shook his head. Matthew and Waylon attended the same elementary and secondary schools together. They had been very close as kids. In high school, however, they separated into different cliques. Waylon went to hang out with the jocks of the school and Matthew became interested in law enforcement. As a result, the two grew apart. When Matthew moved back to the area, they were able to rekindle their friendship. In spite of running in different social circles, Waylon still confided in Matthew and never feared his judgment.

  “Matt, out there, in the lake. I was … just casting. You know, out by the bend. The big bass stump out there. Just casting … you know. Hoping something would bite. Like I’ve done, I don’t know, hundreds of times before.”

  “Okay, so what? You saw the biggest monster bass of your life? The thing had fangs, fur, and hit the surface singing Sinatra tunes?”