Cicada Spring

by Christian Galacar

  “We haven’t even really done anything, yet. We basically are just friends,” he said, and laughed.

  But she didn’t. She didn’t laugh because she had done something. Not that it was on her terms—if she wanted to get technical, it had been done to her. But any way she looked at it, one thing remained true: she was no longer pure. What she had been saving for Ryan had been taken from her, and now she didn’t know if she had anything left to give. Or if she wanted to. Whatever desires she had felt were extinguished, and she doubted they would ever return.

  “So, what’s wrong with you? You don’t look sick. And if you are I’ll take my chances.” He leaned down to kiss her, hooking a finger under her chin, and lifting her face to meet his.

  Something automatic responded inside Kara, a new reflex. Her stomach tightened and she pulled away. “Don’t,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?” Ryan said. But before she could say anything, his attention shifted. “What happened to your face?” He leaned in, inspecting.

  Kara pulled away completely, bringing her hand to the side of her face.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I was sleepwalking when I had a fever and fell. I don’t remember it, but my mom said it could’ve been worse. I was a little delirious.” Where had this lie come from? She hadn’t thought about it once; it just came to her.

  Ryan’s eyes thinned as he looked her over. For a moment, Kara was certain she was about to have a talk she wasn’t ready to have. Eventually she would have to tell Ryan about what had happened to her, but it would be when she was ready. And she was not ready. But then he said: “Oh well. Looks like it hurt, klutz. Maybe they should strap you in like at the loony bin.” He turned away from her, looking vaguely around the room.

  “It did—it does,” Kara said, keeping her fingers over the wound. “My mom gave me some stuff to put on it, and it’s helping.”

  “Is that why you won’t let me kiss those beautiful lips?” Ryan turned back to her with his charming smile.

  Kara volleyed one back and nodded. Her lip cracked, and she flinched. “Yes,” she said. “Only until it heals. Then it’ll be okay. Are you mad?”

  “Of course not. I can wait. We got all summer, baby.”

  “Thank you. Did I miss anything at school today?”

  Ryan began wandering around her room, picking things up, inspecting them and putting them back down.

  “Nah, nothing really. Alex Holt and Philip Lang almost got into a scrap in the parking lot after school. Got broken up before anything real interesting happened, though.”

  “What were they arguing over?” Kara asked. It felt good to get back in the loop of gossip.

  “Who knows? Probably a girl… it’s always a girl.” Ryan scanned through the clutter on top of her bureau.

  “They’re idiots, if you ask me… the both of ’em. What girl could possibly be involved with them?”

  Ryan laughed, thumbing through a yearbook he’d found sitting on her bureau. “No idea. I didn’t care enough to ask. This you?” He held the yearbook toward her, the spine propped open with his index and middle finger.

  Kara saw the picture he meant. It was her class photo from the year before, when she was still in middle school. Her dark hair was in pigtails. Although it was only twelve short months in the past, it seemed like a lifetime ago. “Put that down,” she said, and grabbed it out of Ryan’s hand.

  “Jesus. Okay. I didn’t mean to get you all worked up.”

  Kara’s face went cold, and she shushed him. “Quiet. I think someone’s awake.” She turned and looked nervously at her closed bedroom door. Someone was stirring.

  “What? I don’t hear—” Ryan was saying when the sound of footsteps started coming down the hall. His eyes widened.

  “Hide. Lay down underneath my bed.”

  Ryan got on his back and slipped under her bed, drawing his feet up.

  Kara got under the covers and shut off the light.

  The footsteps stopped outside her room, and for a moment, Kara was sure her door was going to swing open. But after a few seconds the footfalls picked up again and passed. Distantly, she heard her father clear his throat and go into the bathroom, his slippers shuffling across the floor.

  She flicked the lights back on. “C’mon, Ryan. You gotta go. Trust me. It just isn’t a good time for this.”

  “Okay, okay, fine,” he said, and slid out from under the bed.

  “Hurry, before he comes back. He’ll probably come check on me.” She knew her father wouldn’t, not after what she had told her mother that morning. He hadn’t even said goodbye to her in the morning when he left for work, and for as long as she could remember, he had never failed to do that. He was keeping his distance, and Kara could feel it like a cold and hollow cloud between them.

  Ryan went to the window, lifting a leg over, riding the sill between his legs. He searched for footing on the top rung of the ladder below. “Will you be in school tomorrow?” he asked urgently as Kara shooed him out.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. If not tomorrow, Wednesday or Thursday. I’m starting to feel better so I’m sure it will be soon. And put the ladder back.”

  “Okay. Geez. Relax. You want me to fall and break my neck? You know you really don’t seem sick.”

  Kara ignored him. “Just hurry,” she said. Her father might not come in and check on her, but her mother certainly would. Hearing the footsteps outside her door had spooked her.

  “Fine, fine, all right.” And like that, Ryan was back on the ladder, looking into her room as if he had never entered in the first place. He pinched the screen clasps and carefully slid the window back into place. His face became a haze behind the gray mesh of the screen, floating like an apparition in the night. “I hope you feel better,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said, bringing her hand once more to her lip. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Then he smiled that charming smile and descended. “Later, alligator,” he whispered.

  She stayed at the window and watched him until he faded into the darkness. A moment later the ladder pulled away from the house without a noise, and he was gone.

  A few minutes went by, then very faintly she heard a car door shut, and an engine rumbled to life in the distance.

  She listened with a faint smile on her face as the car drove away. Maybe there was hope for her, after all. Maybe life could just pick up where it had left off. What had happened to her did not need to define her. It didn’t have to be who she was. And it didn’t have to determine who she would become, either. It was time to move on.

  Gone and forgotten.

  The sound of the car faded into the night. When her room was still again, Kara shut off the light and closed her eyes. Sleep didn’t come easily for her, but eventually it found her and held her in a dark, dreamless embrace.

  CHAPTER 20

  David awoke at four o’clock on Tuesday morning with a dull headache and a sour, rough tongue. His mind was a grim slog. It felt as if his brain had been switched out for a wet, cardboard replica that threatened to disintegrate into a pile of mush if not handled gently. Fragmented recollections of the previous evening wandered through his head. A conversation with Calvin Gaines in a parking lot. An argument with Ellie. Kara didn’t want to be around him. The motel. Lucky Lucky Room 7. What a fine fresh scent, Daddy. He hadn’t even had that much to drink: six or seven beers, tops… maybe a few whiskey backs. He owed the hangover to lost tolerance; it had been a while since he’d put that many down. He was no longer the sort of practiced drinker he’d been as a bachelor. A good thing, he thought.

  But among these hazy, formless memories and post-booze morning thoughts, one stuck out the most. It was a thought with crisp, clean edges, one that didn’t pass on through but instead lingered ominously without any promise of fading. It was something he’d concocted in drunken anger the night before, bits and pieces of rationality and irrationality stitched seamlessly together by the threads of alcohol into something illusively coherent. David
had fallen asleep turning it over in his mind, but he’d expected his enthusiasm for it to be gone when the sun rose on the new day. That was the way things like that usually worked, he’d thought—like running into an old friend drunk at a bar and making plans that both parties know in their hearts will never be carried out. In the morning the plans were forgotten, and everyone moved on with their lives. No harm, no foul.

  This wasn’t like that, though. The idea had followed him through sleep, anchoring itself to his mind in an almost obsessive way. It had followed him—stalked him—into sobriety, enthusiasm and all. In the early-morning twilight, it retained its appeal, making more sense now than it had when it was merely the mad whiskey dream of a desperate man.

  Beside him, Ellie slept, snoring gently with her leg kicked out above the covers. He would not wake her.

  Swinging his lower half off the bed, he sat up and rubbed his face, working the sleep out of his eyes. After a moment, he rose to his feet quietly.

  By 5:05 David Price had done six things: taken a shower; brushed his teeth; gotten dressed in his work clothes; downed three glasses of lukewarm water (for the hangover, of course); popped two aspirin (also for the hangover); and grabbed the pistol from the safe in the basement.

  A half-hour later, he was pulling into the motel parking lot, parking in the same spot as the day before. The red truck was there again, and for some reason this pleased him. He didn’t know who it belonged to, but he found comfort in knowing that at least he wasn’t alone. Somewhere, in some secret vein of his consciousness, he thought: You and me, pal. We’re in this together.

  David killed the ignition and his car grumbled to a stop, revealing the still silence of the early morning. It was 5:33, and the sun remained just below the horizon. The cicadas had yet to awake and resume their noise. David found their absence deafening, as if a pair of invisible hands were cupped around his ears. He was one of the few who enjoyed the sound of the bugs, but not because he thought it was beautiful or sappy or nostalgic or anything like that. No, he liked them because their sound was a distraction. It was something arbitrary to focus on, such as how even in the winter he needed the sound of a fan in his bedroom to fall asleep, white noise to cut through dark thoughts. Without something to occupy his mind, he felt as if he might just disappear from the world, fade into some still, silent void of nothingness—oblivion.

  The pistol, a Smith & Wesson .38 Special, sat on the seat beside him wrapped in an old red bandana. David picked it up, slid it into his pocket, and then stepped out of the car.

  The DO NOT DISTURB sign hung askew on the door handle just as he’d left it. Lucky Lucky Room 7. There was the faint sound of music coming from beyond the door. For a moment he was confused, but then he remembered he’d forgotten to shut off the alarm he’d set for himself the day before. David removed the key from his jacket pocket, pushed it in the lock and turned it. The music sharpened as he walked into the room. It was Carly Simon singing “You’re So Vain.” Kara loved Carly Simon. He grimaced. David shut the door behind him and moved to the clock radio. He pressed the off button. Carly’s voice vanished abruptly. Silence again. David looked around the room, the stale cigarette smell like a dirty sweat sock under his nose. After a moment, he pressed the button again. He let the music play as he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Kara loved Carly Simon.

  With a hand on top of the Smith & Wesson, David fell back to sleep, his heart on fire.

  CHAPTER 21

  Bill was watching her.

  Joanna, her body long and arched, reached for the plastic flatware sorter high on the shelf behind the counter.

  “Be right with you, hon,” she said, her head turned slightly so Bill could see only a suggestion of her face. It was a nice suggestion, he thought.

  “Take your time.”

  Joanna’s calves were so smooth and well shaped, like two teardrops. He stared as she raised up on her toes, then on to one foot, the frill of her server’s uniform brushing delicately against her legs.

  She got a finger on the sorter, tipped it toward her and brought it down into her hands. She placed it on the counter beside Bill and offered a smile. “Life would be a whole lot easier if I were six inches taller,” she said. “I should fire whoever put that up there.” She laughed.

  “Suppose you should,” Bill said, perching a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He took a drag and smiled behind the smoke.

  Joanna slid an ashtray in front of him. “Truth be told, I’m probably the one who put it up there. Coffee?”

  “Black.”

  “Menu?”

  “Not today.”

  “All right, well, that was easy. One black coffee it is, Bill.”

  He warmed inside. “You remembered,” he said.

  “Of course I did. You’ve been coming in here the last few days. I never forget a face or a name. How’s the big bug shoot? Glamorous? Everything you’d hoped? Is our little town going to be in National Geographic?”

  “It’s coming along just fine. I’ve got some great pictures back at the motel,” Bill said, leaning forward onto the counter and grinning. “But I don’t think you’ll be seeing anything in National Geographic.”

  Joanna laughed. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I hope you’re enjoying it here.”

  “I am. I’m thinking I may stick around ’til Thursday. Maybe do another piece on your festival. That seems to be the real story here.”

  “Well, look at you. We might make a local of you yet.”

  A man in a faded black-and-red Texaco hat interrupted. “Thanks, Jo,” he said, and dropped a dollar and some change on the counter.

  Joanna lent her attention to the older man. “Thanks, Paul. Take care, now.”

  Bill looked up at the man. I should fucking kill you! We were talking. Get lost before I put this goddamned cigarette out in your fucking eye, you old faggot! Bill moved a hand to his lap where he could feel the shape of the switchblade (click-click… click…) in his pocket. It would be so easy to just stand up and drive the blade into the side of the man’s head, right in the temple. But he stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He couldn’t lose focus. He was here for Joanna, to study her, not to kill some old hick who could never understand their connection. He was too smart to ever act on an urge brought about by anger, though. That was how people got caught. Their emotions got the best of them, and consequence took a backseat to satisfying a rabid craving for blood.

  The man turned and walked away.

  Bill shifted in his seat, watching as he exited the diner. How easy it would be to follow him out to the street and bash his brains in with a chunk of asphalt. Maybe another time. He was here for something far more important. He was here to work on his craft. He would capture Joanna’s essence. He would soon immortalize her, and someday people would be able to see what he saw and understand why he’d had to kill her. But like any great artist, he needed to be able to understand his subject—his muse—before he attempted to define her to the world.

  “That was Paul Donniger,” Joanna said, recapturing Bill’s attention. “Old fool’s been drinking himself stupid for as long as I can remember. Last week he rear-ended a school bus. No one was hurt, but I think they’re finally going to take his license for good.”

  “Every town has one,” Bill said, immediately thinking of his father.

  “That’s the truth,” Joanna said, sighing. “Okay, one coffee, coming up.” She turned and headed to the waitress station.

  She walked so gracefully, each step so purposeful and clean. Pure. Perfect. And she’d remembered his name. Oh God, how good that had felt. He couldn’t believe she remembered.

  “I remembered too,” Bill said softly, so completely lost in the idea of her.

  Joanna stopped and turned back. “You say something, hon?”

  His words were never meant to be spoken aloud. He’d got caught up in his own thoughts. But instead of retreating from the situation, he repeated hi
mself awkwardly. He couldn’t control himself; he needed her to know. “I remembered too,” he said, almost yelled, leaning forward on the counter.

  “Remembered what?” she said, puzzled.

  “Your name… I remembered your name. It’s Joanna.”

  Joanna looked at the waitress standing at the end of the counter, and the two exchanged a funny look. She turned back to Bill. “Oh. Okay. Glad to hear it.” She continued to the coffee machine.

  Too eager. She doesn’t care that you know her name. She knew yours because it’s her job. It’s all a job to her. That’s it. Can’t you see that?

  It was his father’s voice again.

  Bill tamped out his cigarette in the ashtray, reached into his pack, and fingered out another. He lit it while Joanna poured his coffee and talked with the waitress down at the other end. The two women giggled a few times, looking his way.

  They’re laughing at you. They think you’re a fool. A stupid, pathetic little fool who couldn’t even get a hard-on if he tried.

  Bill squeezed his temples and closed his eyes, tipping his head down.

  “So you remembered my name, huh?” Joanna set the mug in front of him. “That’s more than I can say for most of the folks just passing through. I’m usually ‘Hey You’ or ‘Miss’ or my favorite, ‘Hey, Toots.’”

  Bill didn’t answer. His head was pounding.

  “You okay?” Joanna asked.

  After a few seconds, he removed his fingers from his temples and looked up. “Headache,” he said. “Migraine. I get ’em bad sometimes.”

  “Oh, geez, I get those every so often. They’re godawful. I might have some Excedrin in the back, if you need it.”

  “I’ll be okay. The caffeine in this coffee should do the trick.” Then without missing a beat he glanced at the nametag on Joanna’s blouse and changed the subject. “I know it says it on your shirt, but I remembered your name, too. I just wanted you to know.”

  Joanna cocked her head half-sideways and wrinkled her nose. “Okay, I believe you. You sure you don’t want any Excedrin or something to eat? You look a little pale. Got some fresh pies from Peggy Joslin. She makes the best in town.”