The Drowned Forest (12 page)

The song creeps up my spine like frost. It makes me think of you, Holly, lost in the drowned forest. But just before I crumple under the sadness of the strange tune, Jessie lets out a triumphant whoop and launches into “Over the Wall.” The band plays so loud behind her, I half expect Jessie to whirl offstage like a dead leaf.

I recognize the songs from their CD, but music is different live. I can taste the steel strings in the air. Some people crowd around the stage and I join them, stomping my feet against the floor until it hurts. I enjoy the hurt. I start pogoing up and down. I can’t help it. My heart pounds in my chest, keeping time with the song.

A guy starts dancing with me, grinning wide. He’s slim and hard, arms and hips just brushing mine. When the song ends, he leans close. “Hey, what’s up? I’m Jello.”

“Jello?” I giggle.

“Uh-huh. So how’s it feel being the prettiest girl in the room?”

I laugh out loud at that, and Ultimate Steve and Max appear on either side of me. Ultimate says, “I give up, Jello. How does it feel?”

“The hell’s your problem?” Jello bows up his shoulders and jerks his arms toward his chest, swaying in Ultimate’s face like a cobra.

Ultimate shrugs. “No problem. Unless you want one.”

LeighAnn tugs me back to our corner. “Damn, Sesame Street. Gonna put a leash on you.”

“He didn’t do anything. We were just having fun.”

“Yeah, you and Jello have different ideas about fun. Stick with us, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She wraps an arm around my shoulders. Ultimate and Max come back, and Jello slinks to the bar.

The show leaves a ringing in my ears, almost painful but not quite. Afterward, Against the Dawn hangs around the bar, chatting with people, selling CDs and T-shirts. Stratofortress orders another round. I sip my Mountain Dew and walk around, still too wound up to sit still.

The stage is small, just plywood boards covered in white scratches. I lie back, staring up at the mic stand and warm lights. I stretch my hands out and feel the stage’s hardness and the energy beneath the hardness. The stage holds life inside it, like a mussel shell or a seed.

“Jane, you okay?” LeighAnn leans over me.

I sit up. “Yeah, I just … I love you.”

One side of LeighAnn’s mouth curls up like a sideways question mark. “Did you have something to drink? Did one of the guys—”

“No. You took me in, and you didn’t have to, and maybe didn’t even want to, but you treat me like I’m your sister, and you’re—I just love you is all.” I hug her.

“It’s okay. Don’t even worry about it.” She pats my back. “And you sure you haven’t been drinking?”

“No. I mean, yes, I’m sure.”

“Good, because someone needs to drive home.”

“Huh? Not me. I’m fifteen.”

“And we’re all drunk.” She shrugs. “But we can’t leave Against the Dawn’s gear in this neighborhood, so you’ve got to get us and it and everything home.”

“I don’t have my learner’s permit yet.”

“It’s only a few miles, and there’s basically no traffic this late. It’ll be easy. Just remember, left pedal goes, right pedal slows.” She takes a few steps, then shakes her head. “No, wait. That’s backward. Remember it, but remember it backward.”

We help Against the Dawn load their gear into the 4Runner that’s been their home for a month. The guitarist, Kirk, gives us the grand tour. Two people can sleep stretched out if one of them lies on top of the road cases. The only food is a plastic tub of pretzels—payment from their Birmingham gig.

Ultimate drives the Florence Utilities van home, with Britney beside him looking out for cops. I climb into the 4Runner’s driver’s seat. LeighAnn, Max, Jessie, and Against the Dawn’s drummer—a blonde girl whose name I didn’t catch—crowd into the backseat. Kirk sits in the passenger seat. Feeling very small behind the wheel, I roll over the curb while turning out of the parking lot and lurch down the road. Kirk says, “Um. You probably want to turn on your headlights.”

“Dang it.” I tug on a lever. The windshield wipers come on. “Dang, dang, dang it.”

Reaching around me, Kirk turns the wipers off and switches on the headlights. “Relax, you’re doing great.”

The traffic light turns yellow, and I jam the brakes. Cuss words fly as we’re tossed forward.

Jessie says, “Hey, Sesame Street, turn here. I wanna see the Indian mound.”

Kirk turns around. “The what?”

Drunk, Jessie struggles with the words. “It’s a Mith— Missith—Mississippian mound by Wilson Lake. It’s right up here.”

I butt in. “Actually, I think I should just get you guys—”

“No, no, I’m curious now,” Kirk says. “Come on, Ses
ame Street.”

“It’ll be okay, Jane,” Max says. “Just keep an eye out for cops, and it’ll be okay.”

So I turn and cross the train tracks to where the thousand-year-old earthwork heaves up between warehouses and an office complex. There’s the semi-circular embankment protecting a grassy field as flat as a cake. Inside lies the steep, hexagonal mound. Once, a mighty warrior was entombed here. He was buried with a club that was embedded with shark teeth and fishhooks made from antler. They dug him up and put him in the museum decades ago, though, so all that’s left is the half-forgotten mound. We climb single-file up the steps cut into its clay, up above the streetlights, and look out over the river.

Stratofortress and Against the Dawn stand around drinking beers and telling jokes. They don’t talk about how bad Stratofortress’s set was, but it doesn’t seem like Against the Dawn is mad or anything. Jessie plonks down on the mound’s weedy crown, tucking her legs under her. “I used to bike out here after class. Loved it, wrote so many good songs up here. Max! You need to come out here to write your songs.”

“All right.”

“Dude, seriously!”

“All right!”

I sit down beside Jessie. “Did you write that ‘where did you sleep’ song up here?”

“Huh? ‘In the Pines’? No … no, no.” Her head wags back and forth. “I didn’t write that. Nobody knows who wrote that. It’s so good, though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It actually scared me a little.”

Jessie laughs at that. Kirk says, “If you want to hear a really good version of ‘In the Pines,’ go find Leadbelly’s cover.”

LeighAnn says, “Yeah, Nirvana did a version of it too that’s really good.”

Max starts singing, and Jessie joins in. “Oh darling, oh darling, don’t tell me no lie. Where did you sleep last night? I slept in the pines where the sun never shines and shivered when the cold wind blowed.”

I listen, staring out at the river, dark and shining like knapped flint. The song is even more haunting out here, as the notes mingle with the thick, fetid smell blowing off the water. We know the smell from fishing trips, Holly, from wading thigh-deep through inlets boiling with frogspawn. And for the rest of my life, I’ll know it as the smell you carried up from the drowned forest with you. It filled the houseboat’s cabin until my eyes watered.

It’s the smell of rot. It’s fish, leaves, and a million dead things turning to muck. But it’s also the smell of life, isn’t it, Holly? The river breaks dead things down into humus, into raw life-stuff. Before they built the dam, the river would flood its banks every summer, covering the land with the soft black soil that turns our valley green. It’s why the Indians lived along the river and why farmers settled in the holler. It’s why the kudzu vines twist their way up power lines and swallow abandoned houses. It grows so thick, you can hardly keep it cut back.

The river takes dead things and coaxes new life from them. It’s why the Mississippians buried their beloved here, on the banks of immortality. It’s why, every summer at Rivercall, we drown people so they can be reborn into a Christ-centered life. We depend on the water’s power to grow new green shoots from old, sin-rotten wood. Maybe that’s what gives the river its mojo, Holly. Maybe it’s why you didn’t quite die when you drowned.

Squealing laughter behind me makes me turn. Drummer Girl is rolling down the mound, followed by LeighAnn. Jessie and Max ignore them and keep singing. “You’ve slighted me once, you’ve slighted me twice. You’ll never slight me no more … ”

“You’ve caused me to weep, you’ve caused me to mourn, you’ve caused me to leave my home … ” Pouring water into the coffeemaker, I sing softly and sway my hips.

I gave Drummer Girl the couch last night. She’s stretched out, one arm draped over her eyes. Jessie and Kirk lie on the floor. None of them snore. That’s probably a huge advantage if you’re touring with people.

While the coffee is brewing, I lean my elbows on the rough wood table and clasp my hands together. I’ve prayed, a couple minutes at least, every day I’ve been here, even though my mind constantly wanders—like right now. Still, I ask God to comfort my family and to protect Against the Dawn when they head out on the road today. I try to think of things to be thankful for. I try to ignore the part of my brain moaning that God isn’t listening.

Done with that chore, I step outside. Even this ragged neighborhood seems beautiful in the wash of cool, early sunlight. I head to Piggly Wiggly, singing the whole way.

Just me and some stock boys in the store. I walk up and down the aisles, getting bologna, bread, sliced cheese, and the biggest head of lettuce they’ve got. When I step back outside, I have forty-three cents to my name.

Stratofortress and Britney have already shuffled off, red-eyed and hungover, for long days at work. Against the Dawn is still asleep. I make sandwiches, spreading on mayonnaise and mustard from the little packets LeighAnn swipes from restaurants. The lettuce smells good, still faintly like the earth. The bread is soft and supple. It all smells good.

I keep singing, under my breath so I won’t wake anyone up. Somewhere, “In the Pines” turns into “Five Loaves and Two Fishes.”

An alarm chirps in the living room, and I hear mumbling. Kirk comes into the kitchen. “Hey, Sesame Street, you’re already up?”

“Didn’t go to bed.”

“And now you’re making a tower of sandwiches.”

“They’re for you. For the road.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Your clothes are all folded on the table. I don’t know what belongs to who, so you’ll have to sort it out.”

He looks at them, then looks at me. “Sesame Street, you’re the best groupie ever.”

But they’ve got a gig in St. Louis tonight and need to get moving. Jessie leaves some band stickers on the table, writing a note to LeighAnn on the back of one. While they take turns in the bathroom, I hurry up with the sandwiches. I run out of bologna, so the last three are peanut butter.

When I carry them out in the Piggly Wiggly sack, the band has almost finished loading the 4Runner. Grinning, Drummer Girl takes the sandwiches and hugs me. I hug my way down the line. “Bye. Be careful, okay? The show was great last night, and I’m going to tell everybody to buy your—your—”

My voice cracks. Jessie is skinny the way you were skinny, Holly. When I hug her I feel the points of her shoulder blades, the energy humming through her like a live wire. You might have gone on tour like this too, huh? If you’d lived a few more years? Tears blur my vision. I squeeze Jessie tighter.

“You … you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. It’s—it’s just—” Now? Weeks of not being able to cry, and I start now? This is so stupid. I’m weirding them out. “Just be careful, okay? And you were great. And go kick butt in St. Louis.”

“Okay. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” But I can’t stop crying. My heart is too full, Holly. I have nothing, and all I want to do is give everything—hugs, my spot on the couch, sandwiches. I’d give them the forty-three cents if I thought they’d take it. Instead, I wave as the 4Runner turns at the end of the street and disappears.

Alone in the quiet house, I keep crying while sipping steel-wool coffee. I don’t have any people left to hug, so I head out back and hug Hobbit and Cookie.

“I love you, Hobbit. Yes, I love you too, Cookie, oh yes, oh yes.”

It’s strange, Holly. Last night, before the show, I felt guilty about going. I didn’t think it was right to enjoy myself while you were still lost. I guess maybe it’s the same guilt Jessie felt after drinking that Coke, the shame of being made from weak, craving flesh. But you don’t know what it’s like when your heart’s numb, when you can’t laugh or cry. Carrying that useless lump around in my chest felt a lot more like Hell, like being cast into the outer darkness, than any sin ever has.

Last night, I danced, Holly. I yelled, I sang, I felt my heart beating for the first time in a long time. That’s what I give thanks for today, Holly—my heart isn’t broken all the way. It’s still beating, even when it beats out an aching melody like “In the Pines.”

Seventeen

Stratofortress’s house is empty, and I’m back to practicing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” A car passes by trailing rap music. A bottle rocket left over from Fourth of July whistles into the sky and explodes.

It’s afternoon when Tyler shows up. I step out on the porch to meet him, and we head to Swallow’s Nest Bluff.

“So, have they said anything?” Tyler asks once we’re on the road.

“Not really. I don’t think … it really wasn’t that bad, you know?” Except it was. Those seconds of silence when he just stopped playing, they seemed to stretch forever.

“They shouldn’t have asked me to play with them. I shouldn’t have said yes. I let them down. I … ” Tyler shakes his head and doesn’t say anything else. At the bluff, we clamber down the slope and draw our protective circle through the tough wild grass. We play music for you and watch the water lap at the stones.

Tyler plays the “The Drowned Forest” over and over, flawlessly, then “Down by the Riverside.” When he stops for a sip of water, I ask, “So why can you play great here, but not last night?”

“Don’t know. I just—I don’t know. I made one mistake, then another, and then I was panicking and just kept making mistakes.”

“Well, it was your first time playing a real gig. It’s not surprising you got nervous.”

“Yeah.” He fidgets with the water-bottle cap. “I thought it’d be like church, but I know everybody at church. I don’t have to win them over, you know?”

“Sure.”

“Same thing with the Banana Hammocks. We mostly just played for friends, mostly just goofed around. Last night was the first gig that really, really mattered, and I blew it. I totally froze up.”

I nod. “Still, I wish you’d stayed last night. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, since Holly died.”

“Against the Dawn’s a great band. I just—”

“No. I mean, it was the most alive I’ve felt. And I wish you’d felt it too.”

Tyler chuckles and nudges me with his shoulder. “I’m alive. Trust me, I know.” He starts playing again, but I put my hand on the strings to silence them.

“It also made me realize death can’t stop life. Death ends one life, but it just starts another.”

“What?”

I’m not explaining it right. It all seemed crystal clear sitting on the Indian mound. “It’s just, we’re going to put Holly to rest sooner or later. And then we’re going to move on, you know? We’re going to have to figure out new lives without her. That’s scary to think about.”

“So, what? You think I messed up last night on purpose so I wouldn’t have to move on? Like, I sabotaged myself because I’m scared?”

“No. But being scared makes it easier to run away after you screwed up. It makes it easy to just curl up inside old memories. It’s the same as not coming to church now. Or not joining the praise band when Bo asked you.”

“Quit! You don’t know what you’re talking about. Just watch the water, okay?”

“Yes, I do know what I’m talking about. I know because I feel it too. It’s scary. Holly’s been my best friend since forever. I don’t even know who I am without her. And when this is over, I’m going to have to let go of her, and that’s scary, Tyler.”

“Just watch, Jane.” He starts to play.

“No. I want to talk.” But Tyler ignores me and keeps playing. I cross my arms and watch the water as evening settles around us like ash. A tear stings the corner of my eye. Too mad to let Tyler see me cry, I wipe it away quickly. For the millionth time, I wish you were here, Holly. Not your ghost, but really you. I wish you could tell us how you survived after your parents’ death, how you found the courage to build a new life all on your own.

Except you weren’t all on your own, were you?

“Tyler, stop. Stop! Holly’s not coming. She’s not here.”

“What?”

I rap my knuckles against my head, hard enough to hurt. “Think about it. Auntie Peake said Holly was just lost. But she was lost before—I mean, she must have felt lost when her parents died—and
that
time, her grandparents took her in.”

Tyler puts his hand to his mouth. “So she’d go looking for them this time, too. She’s not coming out of the river because she’s already gone home.”