Natural Bridges

by Debbie Lynn McCampbell

  “Yeah, but I did want to see you again.” He looked down, picked up my book, flipped aimlessly through the pages. He stopped on a page that showed an exploded view of a penis and testicles; the veins were labeled. “I thought you wanted to see me again, too,” he said.

  There was a guy sitting on the chair across from us. I could tell he was listening. I spoke softly. “Well, it’s been a couple of weeks. You never called. Can’t say I blame you, though.” I looked back over towards his sister. She was leaning on one elbow, tapping her eraser on the table. “Your sister’s waiting on you,” I said.

  “She’ll be fine. She’s supposed to be reading, anyway.” He looked back at her, held up a finger to tell her just a minute. “Fern, what do you mean, you can’t blame me for not calling you?”

  “Well, the way my family is. It’s easy to understand how you wouldn’t want to get involved with our bunch.”

  “Fern, that’s just it. I wanted to see you, and I’ve thought about you a lot, really. Last week, I even filled my gas tank just enough to get to your station so when I got there, I’d have to stop in and fill up again.” He sighed. “Then, well, it was just I got the clear impression your family didn’t want me, or anyone, hanging around. So I guess I didn’t want to create any problems for you.” He put his hand on my shoulder, drew me close to him.

  I moved away, shot a look at the guy sitting across from us.

  He looked back down at his magazine.

  “I know how important your family is to you, Fern,” said Culler. “I just didn’t want to make any more waves.” He leaned forward, looked at me, waited for a response. “Understand?”

  I shrugged.

  “Come on,” he said, suddenly standing up, “meet my sister.”

  I hesitated.

  “Come on.” His eyes pleaded.

  Against my better judgment, I picked up my book and followed Culler over to where the girl was sitting.

  “Connie, this is that girl, Fern, I was telling you about. The fishing trip?”

  Connie looked at Culler, eyes wide. “She’s the one?” She grinned. “You’re the one who hooked my brother?”

  I nodded.

  “He told me about you stitching him back together in a gas station. That’s great.” She started laughing out loud.

  “Shhhh,” said Culler, “this is a library.” He put his hand over Connie’s mouth. “Here’s an idea,” he whispered. “Let’s all read for another hour or so, then I’ll treat you both to lunch.”

  “I can’t get this paper done in an hour,” said Connie, still too loudly.

  “I’ll help you,” said Culler.

  “I have to finish this book today,” I said.

  “The whole thing?” Culler looked at me, frowned.

  I looked down. “I don’t have a library card here.”

  “Connie can check it out for you,” said Culler. “Take it home and read it, bring it back sometime.”

  “You mean on time,” said Connie. She looked at me and smiled. “Actually, I don’t mind. If it’s late, you pay the fine.”

  “I’ll have it back,” I said. “Thanks.”

  An hour later, we were seated in a cozy booth at an Italian restaurant in the Lexington Festival Market, sharing a pitcher of beer.

  “So who are you neutering?” asked Connie, leaning into her straw. She sipped hard, paging through the illustrations in my book.

  “Our dog, Heidi,” I said. “She’s getting too old to have another litter. A friend of ours is a veterinarian. He wants to teach me how to do it. Can’t say I’m thrilled about it, but I guess it will be interesting.” I glanced across the table at Culler, who was busy twirling spaghetti noodles around a large spoon. “Who knows, learning how to do this kind of operation may serve a bigger purpose one day.”

  “Somebody told me once that country people neuter their cows by tying a string around their balls so tight they just drop off from no circulation,” said Connie.

  Culler put down his spoon and fork, looked up.

  “That’s true. In some parts.” I grinned. “Parts of the country, that is. My Daddy always neutered our bulls, but he used a more scientific method. Razor blades.”

  Connie reached for another breadstick. “He’d cut them right off, just like that?”

  “Do we have to talk about this?” asked Culler.

  Connie laughed, slurped some more beer.

  I’d never met anyone who drank beer through a straw. I was starting to like her.

  “So, Fern, when are you going to take us all fishing?” she asked.

  I looked at Culler. “I don’t know if Culler would risk it again with me.”

  Culler sipped beer, licked the corners of his mouth. “I’d go,” he said. “As long as someone brings a first-aid kit.”

  “Let’s go tomorrow. It’s Sunday,” said Connie. “I’ll pack a lunch, and we could come pick you up at that station where you work. What time are you off?”

  “I don’t work Sundays. But we have church,” I said.

  “Well, after that,” said Connie.

  “What’s that state park you were telling us about that time we stopped in for gas?” asked Culler. “Let’s go there. If we don’t catch fish, at least we could have a good time exploring.”

  “Natural Bridge,” I said. “The one your girlfriend wanted to go to.”

  “Oh, that bitch,” said Connie. She looked over at Culler, sneered.

  He ignored her. “Will you go, Fern?”

  “I really do want to, but my sister just had a baby, and my Momma’s with her helping out. Someone has to take care of Birdie.” I really did want to go, but I knew what was facing me at home.

  “Who’s Birdie?” asked Connie.

  “Her little sister,” said Culler. “She’s a cutie. Fern, we could bring her with us.”

  I thought about that a second; that could work maybe. “I don’t know if that would be such a good idea,” I said.

  “She’d have a great time,” said Culler.

  “How old is she?” asked Connie.

  “Eight,” I said.

  “Well, then, that’s okay. As long as we won’t be having to change diapers all day,” she said.

  “No diapers,” I assured her. “It’s just that her puppy just died. She’s real upset. It may be hard to keep her interested in anything.”

  “That little dog died?” asked Culler, frowning. “So that blind one is the mother?”

  I nodded.

  “The one you’re fixing?” asked Connie.

  “Yes, she got hurt, too. A pack of strays came through. Attacked them both.”

  “That’s sad,” said Connie, stirring her third beer. “Don’t you have a fenced yard?”

  I shook my head. “We’re going to have to do something for Heidi, though, to protect her. I haven’t figured that one out yet.”

  No one spoke for a while, we just listened to the radio over the speakers. I really liked them both, and for a reason I couldn’t understand, I felt at ease with them. And I barely knew them; they were from completely different walks of life than mine. They were, in essence, from across the woods.

  “We’ll go Sunday,” I said. “Meet us at Clem’s.”

  22. Gone Fishing

  Birdie sat cross-legged in the center of her bed with Waylon Jennings.

  “Bird, come on,” I said. “You love to fish.”

  “I don’t like those people.”

  “You don’t even know the girl. They’re nice. They want you to go.”

  She shook her head. “Daddy said no.”

  “I’ll talk to him again,” I said. “He’ll let us go. He’s just mad at you over what happened in church.”

  Birdie had done nothing but pout all morning. I knew it was going to take time for her to get over Jimmy; it was a horrible thing. We had made a plaque in his honor and posted it on the trunk of the pecan tree over the grave. Hazel brought some roses from the nursing home that someone sent to a patient who no longer lived there, whi
ch Birdie put on the grave, too. But nothing seemed to help. I didn’t expect her to act this badly, though.

  It had been just Birdie, me, and Daddy at church that morning since Momma was up at Florabelle’s. And she had showed herself in front of a lot of people and Daddy was angry with her.

  She had taken a prayer request card out of the holder on the back of the pew in front of us, jotted something down, and turned it in. Reverend Whitaker, believing it to be in regards to Florabelle’s new unnamed baby, read aloud, “Dear Lord, please bless Jimmy, keep him safe, and forgive Daddy for trying to drown him.”

  This accusation, even though it was meant as a confession, of course took everyone by surprise, and the congregation turned to stare at us the rest of the service. Daddy was so angry that when we’d come home, he had gone straight upstairs to his room and slammed the door.

  I sat down on the bed beside Birdie. “Bird, I know you miss Jimmy. I do too. It’s going to take some time to get over him. But we still have Heidi, and she’s going to be better than ever now. No more puppies to have to get rid of neither.”

  Birdie looked at me, perplexed.

  “I’m going to fix her,” I explained. “A doctor is teaching me how.”

  “What if I want her to have more?”

  “Bird, you know what we went through with Jimmy Daddy will never let us keep them. Besides, she’s too old to be having any more babies.”

  “How old’s Florabelle?” she asked.

  “She’s only nineteen. She’s young enough to have plenty more.”

  “When can I see her baby?”

  “Soon, just as soon as she’s up to the company. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “When’s Heidi coming home?”

  “Next week.” I gave her a little shake. “Now come on, change your clothes and come out with us. We’re going to Natural Bridge State Park. Remember, they have that train that takes you around the picnic area. You can ride it.”

  “Can I take Hazel’s camera?”

  “I suppose. Do you know where it is?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, get changed, then run out to her trailer and get it. Leave a note we have it.” I stood up to leave. “Meet me in the garage, I’ll be getting our stuff together.”

  I didn’t feel like confronting Daddy after what had happened in church; he always needed some time alone to let off steam. I made a couple of sandwiches for Birdie and me, just in case Connie would forget to, made up two more for Daddy and left them with a note in the kitchen: “Gone Fishing, Fern & Bird, be back around four.”

  I had all the gear together and was looking for a few more things in the garage when Birdie came out. She was wearing overalls, with no shirt underneath. I stared at her. I had not noticed, really, even while sewing for her, how much she was growing up.

  “Bird, go put on a T-shirt.”

  “I’ll be too hot,” she whined.

  “I can see your boobs.”

  She glared at me, reluctant.

  “You can borrow one of my shirts,” I offered.

  She turned to go back inside.

  “Bird?”

  “What?”

  “Have you seen my Styrofoam cooler I use for fishing? I’ve searched this garage over.”

  She turned around to face me, but lowered her eyes. “Momma used it for Jimmy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A tear fell down her cheek. “The turkey buzzards started showing up, so she dug him back up to put him in something.”

  “She buried him in my cooler?”

  Birdie nodded.

  I let go a big sigh. “That’s all right. Now go pick out a shirt and hurry back.”

  We sat on the base of Clem’s “GAS” sign out front, waiting for Culler and Connie to pick us up. Dwayne Crabtree, Jason’s brother, drove by, saw us, pulled his truck to a screeching halt.

  “Shit,” I said, under my breath, but Birdie heard me.

  Dwayne was wearing dark glasses, tight jeans, and no shirt.

  “He must not have gone to church today,” whispered Birdie as he approached us.

  “Guess not,” I mumbled.

  “Hey, ladies,” Dwayne said. He blocked the sun where he stood in front of us. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  “No, thanks, Dwayne,” I said. “Our ride’s coming.”

  “Where are you off to? Fishing, it looks like.”

  “You’re sharp,” I said, and pointed the end of my pole at him.

  “Why aren’t you over at Jason’s and Florabelle’s with the baby?”

  “Our Momma’s there,” said Birdie.

  Dwayne shook his head slowly, side to side. “I don’t know, but I just can’t see Jason being a Daddy. I hear they ain’t even named the kid yet,” he added.

  “They’re still deciding,” I said.

  “The whole thing’s weird,” he said, “them two getting married. All’s they do is fight.”

  I looked up at Dwayne, pushed hair out of my eyes. “Well, we can all make the best of it.”

  “I’m its aunt,” said Birdie.

  “That’s right, you are, ain’t you,” said Dwayne. “World’s youngest I bet.”

  “And sassiest,” I added.

  “Just like her sisters,” said Dwayne.

  “If you came for gas,” I said, “we’re closed.”

  “No, I got a full tank, I just happened to see two good-looking women along the roadside, thought I’d stop.”

  Just about that time, Culler’s jeep pulled into the station. He honked. Connie waved.

  “What do we have here?” asked Dwayne.

  I stood up, gathered our gear. “That’s our ride. Let’s go, Bird. Good talking to you, Dwayne. Stay out of trouble. You’re an uncle now, time to get responsible.” I waved good-bye to him.

  But he didn’t leave. He followed us right over to the jeep. Culler got out and walked around to open the back hatch.

  “What the hell kind of ride is this?” asked Dwayne.

  I rolled my eyes at Culler. “Culler, this is Dwayne Crabtree, my sister’s husband’s brother. Dwayne, meet Culler.”

  Culler offered his hand; Dwayne ignored it.

  “Did you buy this from a toy maker?” asked Dwayne, circling the jeep.

  “No, U.S. government,” said Culler.

  “It was a mail truck,” I said.

  “I’ll be shitting,” said Dwayne.

  Connie got out of the jeep and came around to meet Birdie. “Aren’t you a cute little thing,” she said. “You look like Fern.” She looked at me and smiled. “Are you ready to catch some fish?”

  We loaded our gear into the jeep, tried to get going. Connie kept talking to Birdie, asking her about her school and all sorts of things.

  Dwayne wouldn’t leave.

  I was in the front seat; Birdie sat in the back with Connie. She seemed to have warmed up to her, a lot quicker than she had with Culler.

  “He’s not going with us, is he?” whispered Culler.

  Dwayne was still walking around the jeep, knocking on it, mumbling to himself.

  I rolled down my window. “Dwayne, move away. We need to go. Pull out,” I told Culler.

  “Got some mail to deliver?” Dwayne shouted as we left.

  “So, what’s his problem?” asked Culler, grinning. “Is he hot for you, or something?”

  “He’s a horse’s ass,” I said. I was embarrassed to have even been seen with him and figured Culler must have been equally impressed with my extended family as he was with the immediate folk.

  We found a grassy spot under a tall oak. Connie spread out a blanket; Birdie helped her. Culler and I unloaded the jeep.

  “Is she okay now?” asked Culler. “I mean about the dogs?”

  “She’s getting there. This outing will be good for her.”

  We were standing behind the jeep. Culler was handing me things. “I’m glad you decided to come,” he said. Then he kissed me. Twice.

  “Me too,” I said.

 
We threw a baseball around for a little while, until we got sweaty and thirsty. Connie had made ham and Swiss cheese sandwiches, and there were chips and dip, apples, and soda. As we ate, the little train that circled the grounds passed us every ten minutes or so. Each time it went by, Birdie waved to the kids in the cars. She seemed relaxed, enjoying herself.

  A cool breeze blew through the leaves above us, keeping the flies away, washing us over with the smell of charcoal. The park was fairly crowded; several families were grilling hamburgers.

  I remembered the one and only time our family had been here, back when we first moved to Kentucky. We drove down one afternoon and walked around, then bought pecan rolls in the gift shop and went home. There was a skylift that would take you to the top of the mountain where the bridge is, but it was those bench-type seats with no safety belts, suspended in midair over the mountainside. At the top of the mountain, just before disembarking, they take your picture, and for ten bucks, you can have an eight-by-ten of yourself in this thing with the valley in the background. That afternoon, a lot of people had been riding it and buying the photographs, but Momma had flat refused to let us ride.

  “Bird, get the camera out,” I said. “I’ll take your picture.”

  She scrounged through our bag, handed me the camera. “Let me swallow this bite,” she said, then wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

  I took her picture, then she took mine, then one of Connie.

  “Take one of Culler, too,” I told her.

  She dillydallied with the camera and took another extraordinary bite of her sandwich, but finally lifted the camera to snap his picture.

  As she did, Culler crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

  Birdie put down the camera and frowned at him. “You’ll ruin the film,” she said.

  Connie laughed.

  “He’s just messing with you, Bird,” I said.

  She didn’t like his joke. For quite some time, she sat eating, very seriously.

  When we were finished, I gave Birdie a dollar to go ride the train, and we cleaned up our lunch mess. We remembered to wave at her whenever the train passed us. She was amused, I could tell, but she was pretending not to be. She would roll her eyes each time we waved, pretending to be too sophisticated for this adventure.

  We had to drive up the river a few miles to fish, outside of the park, where it was legal. Culler helped Birdie rig up her cane pole, but she insisted on baiting her own worm. Culler pretended to eat one of the worms in front of her and she told him he was gross.