by Chris Keane
When he arrived, Angie was waiting for him at the door.
“How’s the fam’?” she asked, with a smirk.
“How’d you know?” he said, plopping down on the couch.
“Every time you talk to your brother or I mention anything about your family you get stiff,” she said, massaging his shoulders.
“It’s Kurt. He’s gonna burn down the frigging house! And then somehow I’ll be blamed for it.”
“Partier, huh?”
“Big time. I mean we all drink and smoke occasionally-“
“You smoke?”
“My brother does. I only do sometimes.”
“Not pot, right?”
“Just the occasional cigarette. Now I mainly vape. My brother’s offered me drugs before, but I haven’t taken him up on it.”
“Really? How old is this kid?”
“Your age.”
“What a loser.”
Dante craned his neck around, “Hey, hold up! He’s no loser. He’s a hell of a lot more popular than I am.”
“What’s it matter? High school’s over.”
Dante paused for a moment. “So, you never do drugs?”
“No, I read a lot. There are no heroines on heroin!”
“Cute. So, what are we watching?”
“Well, I LOVE old school horror: Halloween, Friday the 13th…CHRISTINE!”
“Cool!” Dante replied, feigning enthusiasm. Angie’s excitement was palpable and the last thing Dante wanted to do was let on that horror films always left him sleeping with the lights on for days afterwards.
“I hope you don’t mind. I’m wearing comfy clothes.”
Angie’s comfy clothes, consisted of a skimpy night shirt and cut-off sweat shorts. As unknowing victims settled in at a remote campsite, Dante struggled to get settled on the couch; it was too difficult to concentrate on a movie with a scantily clad Angie a few short inches away. Finally, he just leaned into Angie for a kiss, hoping his brother knew what the hell he was talking about. He did.
She pulled him towards her, locking him in a deep French kiss. Before Dante knew what happened, she had pulled his hands onto her chest. He pressed his palms to her breasts. With a soft moan, she raised her arms over her head. Seeing an obvious cue, he slid his hands underneath her shirt and began massaging her breasts through a thin bra.
“Take it off,” she whispered.
“What about your dad?” Dante asked, concerned.
“He’s hunting.”
“At night?”
“He’s an odd duck. Don’t worry, he won’t be back until early morning.”
Dante tried to unclasp her bra but couldn’t figure it out, so Angie took over. With the bra off, he felt her massive breasts skin-to-skin and half-expected to wake up back in his tiny bed alone. In that moment, all the malaise he had experienced since unceremoniously leaving high school two years ago was gone. He was alive and kicking!
When the young couple on the TV stripped down and started having sex in a boathouse, Angie took off to her room, returning a few minutes later with a small blanket and bottle of lotion. She pumped some strawberry-smelling gel into her hand and slid her hands into his shorts; he immediately stiffened. She unbuckled his pants and stroked his nether region until he felt like a dam about to burst.
“Wait!”
“Don’t worry about the blanket. It’s mine,” she replied quickly.
He muttered some guttural response. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his breathing increased rapidly. A hot minute later, he exploded. He choked a scream, worried her father would come busting through the door with a hunting rifle.
Eventually, Dante’s breathing slowed. He sat self-consciously on the couch, unsure of what to do next.
“You needed that,” she said, reassuringly. She nuzzled closely to his side, her beautiful red locks brushing against his face. It was so serene in the house with the lights off, and moonlight splintering through the window shade. His senses had become amplified. Dante could hear the faint sound of her breathing, feel her hot breath on his neck, and smell the sweet perfume of her body.
At some point, Dante had fallen asleep. He woke up, entangled with Angie. When he returned from using the bathroom, she stirred.
“Hey.”
“I’ve gotta go. My Gram’s gonna be worried.”
“So sweet. Come on. I’ll walk you to the door.”
Dante took a deep breath. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Besides you?” Angie asked.
“Yeah.”
“No. There was that lifeguard from Lake Placid. He’s a dick though.”
“Good.”
For a while, they stood facing each other in the door frame. Dante couldn’t bring himself to leave. It didn’t help that Angie was right there taunting him in a number of cruel and unusual ways: putting her hand on the curve of her hip, leaning forward to give him a view of her breasts spilling out of her t-shirt, or simply running her fingers through her long red hair. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“There you go again…” he sighed.
“Oh I’m sorry,” she said coyly. “Am I doing something?”
He turned to walk away but some magnetic force pulled his mouth to hers. He couldn’t get enough of her warm lips, her velvet tongue, and the perfection of her body. He was insatiable.
In the wee hours of the morning, he stumbled out onto the dark trail leading home. A full moon hung in the sky. Sparks of a campfire burned a little way up the mountain. He figured it was probably Angie’s father up to who knows what. He scanned the area for threats. Everywhere he looked he pictured the dude from Friday the 13th, Jason Voorhees, lurking in the shadows. Even if he were made up, the film had to inspire copycats. When he heard leaves crackle, Dante took off sprinting like a madman.
Everything in the background seemed to blur. Still, he felt like he was in slow motion. His throat burned from the night air. His heart raced, and he was severely out of breath. Looking over his shoulder he spotted them—a pair of squirrels wrestling on the ground.
Dante snorted.
“Guess everyone is getting busy tonight.”
12
nature
Dr. Sewall woke up on the cold hard ground with a sharp pain in his groin. He really needed to urinate, which was difficult when your prostate had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, the result of too many cocktails and revolutions around the sun. He made a mental note to forage for some palmetto herbs next time he was at the pharmacy. Camping out wasn’t what it used to be. He had come to the woods seeking peace and comfort and had woken up achy and hung-over from the whisky he had downed before passing out.
Sometime during the night, the campfire had died. Now all that remained of the thick maple branches was some black soot scattered over stones. He threw a few things into his backpack and headed out on a hike, still hopeful he’d be able to find some peace of mind before starting another week at the practice, not to mention figure out what the hell to do about Crystal.
What would a young, beautiful girl want with an old broken-down guy like himself? Even if he had saved her life at one point, it didn’t add up. He had read cautionary tales about stunning mail-order brides fleeing poverty into the arms of elderly gentlemen looking for love. With the ink barely dry on their marriage certificates, they ditched their new hubbies for younger, richer guys in the States. He wondered what would happen if some suave, age-appropriate guy pursued Crystal. Or she somehow managed to get over her daddy issues. Then he’d be in a bad way…again.
The trail was overgrown and rockier than he remembered, but it was starting to come back to him when he passed the spot where he and Marybeth had come across a bear birthing baby cubs. Not much further down the trail, he encountered the waterfall where they liked to skinny dip at night. Then he passed a precipice where Marybeth had carved their initials on a rock. But what he really wanted to find was the spot.
As he climbed higher up the mountain, his heart raced and he f
elt severely winded. A grim thought entered his mind: if he had a heart attack there would be no one here to save him. Hell, pretty much all his thoughts were dark lately. It was all well and good to be young and idealistic and want to change the world. But at a certain point it all just caved in on itself. He had hunting buddies that partied it up, refusing to give into “the man” for a nine-to-five job. Some people he knew had been raising kids while acting like one themselves. But there was no escaping time. It was glorious to be young and in love; it was abysmal to be old and alone.
He sat on a flat stone, sipping tin-flavored water out of his chipped, olive hunting canteen. By the time he had gotten to this point in the hike, all the little inconveniences of camping had long melted away, replaced by the majesty of nature. But damn if he still didn’t long for his leather recliner and vodka on the rocks. Nonetheless, he had many obstacles yet to overcome.
By the time he made it to the Mount Marjorie dam, he was nearly spent. The dam was the midpoint, where he and Marybeth would stop and take some quick photos before heading to the top of the mountain. It was also the touristy part of the trail that they had always hated. Here, hikers, mostly yuppies wearing spandex suits, would be downing Evian water and munching granola bars. The trail to the summit split into a Y-shape; one trail was well equipped with guardrails and bike trails, the other was barely visible. Somewhere along that overgrown path was his destination, the secret spot where he and Marybeth had hid from the world.
A fallen tree offered a promising bridge across the mountain stream just ahead. Carefully, he tred his way across the tree, until a branch stub caught the bottom of one of his work boots. He tumbled, gashing his arm on a jagged rock. His pride hurt more than the gash though. In the fading sunlight he trudged on with equally fading hope. It hurt to breathe. His legs felt heavy. And he was no closer to understanding the present, reconnecting with his past, or leaving them both behind.
The spot where he had gotten down on one knee and proposed – and where Angie had been conceived immediately after - was now trapped under a mass of dense bark and wild plants. Dr. Sewall was disappointed, even distraught. He had hoped to be baptized by the sacred land, leaving behind his years of bitterness and cynicism.
He chided himself for such foolishness. What had he expected to find? Some discarded junk from their hike? Even if he had, it wouldn’t matter. Marybeth was gone and she wasn’t coming back. A cool wind rushed through the trees as darkness enveloped the mountain. He heard noises echoing through the tree tops. In the distance, thunder crackled as rain water began to piss on his head.
He picked up his pace, heading down the trail with black storm clouds shadowing him. The moss-covered rocks, slick with water, landed him on his ass for the second time, as if he hadn’t been humiliated enough. Nature and wildlife had been both inspirational and hopeful until Marybeth’s death had poisoned the well. Instead of finding answers, the world seemed more messed up than ever.
God allowed some creatures to live on for years, while perfectly good ones withered away. Christ. Did alligators need to see seventy? What was the grand plan? For those nasty beasts to gobble up a few more dogs, or the occasional infant? Meanwhile, his own sweet wife barely reached fifty years. The doctor had realized that, in general, life started out okay. But as you aged your body and your mind broke down. He saw humans like the boiling frog that’s unable to detect the slowly rising temperatures until it was too late.
Coming down the mountain, he came upon a gray-haired bobcat batting around a helpless rabbit. Then came the kill: dark red blood squirting over pristine white fur. The bobcat easily devoured the helpless creature, leaving strips of intestines hanging from its mouth.
As the bobcat gracefully scaled the mountain, Dr. Sewall struggled to remember the best defense against its kind, which he had seldom encountered up this way. He thought of running. Suddenly, a wave of calm washed over him. He studied the bobcat rapidly approaching. At the last second, the bobcat stopped in front of the doctor and stared at him like it could see his soul. The animal was strikingly beautiful up-close. Then Dr. Sewall watched dumbfounded as it brushed by him and sprinted toward a nearby stream.
Still unbelieving, he grabbed his things and headed back down the trail hoping to outrun the darkness. When he finally emerged from the woods in back of his home, he grunted and broke into a sprint. He dropped his things by the side of the house and took a deep breath. He was thirsty but didn’t want to waste time going inside. Instead, he hopped in his car and drove, making a beeline to Crystal.
13
digging
Dante was up early. He was way too excited to sleep, so he decided to walk into town to pick up a few groceries for Gram. Coming down the hill, he spotted Angie’s dad on the side of the road poking at a dead deer with a stick.
“Hello, Doctor Sewall.”
“Hey there! Dante, right?”
“Yeah,” Dante replied.
“My daughter’s been talking about you an awful lot lately.”
“Yeah,” Dante replied awkwardly, picturing himself and Angie going at it on the doctor’s living room couch.
The trunk to Dr. Sewall’s shiny gray Saab popped open. The doctor scooped the deer off of the road in his arms and dropped it into his garbage-bag-lined trunk. “A real hit and run,” he chuckled. “Up here, this guy could sit here all season.”
“There aren’t many deer where I’m from.”
“So, how’s your grandma?”
“Eh, she’s okay, I guess. Actually, I’m not really sure. Her behavior has been a bit odd lately.”
The doctor sighed, “Yes. Well, if you ever need help or just want to talk things out, stop by any time.”
“Can you recommend anything to help her memory?”
He reached into his glove box, scribbled something down on a sheet from a memo pad and then handed it to Dante.
“Here, try this on for size. The general store should have it. If not, try the pharmacy in Petersburg. It’s just the next town over. Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks. Tell Angie I said ‘hi.’”
“You betcha,” he called, as he climbed into his car.
Dante was pretty jealous of Angie’s dad. He was so much cooler than his own dad and much friendlier. Dante figured being a doctor was a fatter field than finance, if you could hack it. Blood and guts and who knows what else were daily occurrences. The stories he must tell Angie at dinnertime! His own father didn’t say much, and what he did was pretty brutal. For a quick minute, his mind drifted to his parents vacationing in Europe, wondering when he would see them again. Not that he was in any rush.
One thing Dante appreciated about living in a one-horse town was you didn’t waste any time going over your options. Dante headed for the general store, racking his brain to remember the laundry list of things Grandma had asked him to pick up. But that was before last weekend, before the greatest date of his entire life. His head was still floating in the clouds most of the time. When it wasn’t, he was having flashbacks to his erotic experience with Angie. He wanted to feel her touch so badly. Everything else was basically killing time until he could be with her again — preferably alone.
At the front of the store, the same old-sounding yet surprisingly young clerk sat at the register thumbing through yesterday’s newspaper. Dante said “good morning,” but the kid just ignored him, taking a huge swig from a can of Cola.
“Excuse me, do you have any Omega-3 pills?”
“Nope, never heard of ‘em.”
“Doctor Sewall told me it’s good for brain function.”
“Doctor Sewall?” He replied, skeptically. “I wouldn’t listen to a damn thing he had to say.”
“Why not?”
“He’s an evil man. Dabbles in the dark arts.”
“That’s crazy! He’s the greatest man I’ve ever met. I wish he would adopt me.”
“Don’t be fooled. He is not on the right path. In fact, he is on the exact wrong
path…away from God.”
“OK. Well, I’ll just take these things then.” Dante headed towards the door quickly.
“Sir, you forgot your change!”
“Oh, geez, thanks.”
Handing Dante a stack of bills he whispered, “Dig deeper…”
“Huh?”
“You’ll find the truth.”
Dante was pretty sure the kid was a crack-pot, a real hick, not a good source of info. But Dante didn’t have anything else on the agenda, so he wandered down to the library. He combed through shelves and shelves of local papers, searching for any mention of Dr. Sewall.
A white-haired woman was behind the desk. As soon as Dante got closer, she jumped five feet off the ground.
“You startled me!” she screamed.
“Sorry.”
“In the future, try to make a little more noise when you’re walking.”
“Do you have any other papers, other than what’s out on the shelves there?”
“The rest is on microfiche.”
“Micro-fish?”
She rolled her eyes, “Micro-fiche. Machine’s in the basement.”
Dante’s nostrils burned with the stench of mold and mildew. Immediately, he felt claustrophobic. Unlike the ones that housed the ridiculous man-caves sprouting up in basements all over Jersey, the ceiling was insanely low and the floor consisted of chunks of cracked concrete mixed with dirt. A small light bulb fixture hung from a brown rope in the center of the room, which was otherwise packed with old junk. In the shadows he saw creepy silhouettes of paper mache masks, china dolls, and Halloween costumes. In the corner sat the microfiche machine.
When he fired it up, a yellow glow illuminated the center of the screen. There was no touch screen or even a search window to use, so he started to crank film through the machine, producing somewhat-clear images on its dust-covered screen. It was actually a lot easier than wrestling with the yellow-stained papers falling apart on the racks of the main floor. The microfiche technology, while positively prehistoric, sped Dante through day after day of uneventful town life. Eventually, he decided to check just the covers as the rest of the paper was mainly filler.
