24. Thin Soup

For the last hour, it’s been nothing but wheat and horizon on either side of the road. I’d started off awestruck when the fields opened up. It’s so vast; a golden sea. That was early in the morning, around sunrise. The sight seemed new again, for a little while. The prairies are incredibly something, either beautiful or boring. Maybe I’ve got used to it now. Maybe beauty becomes redundant. Just another thing I’ve seen enough of.

From a convertible, the road feels different. You’re really on it, like you could get out and run. In a hardtop, there’s glass on every side, you're inside a television. I hate TV. I like this.

Carter’s driving fast, but I can’t see the speedometer. “How fast are we?”
“Buck and a half,” he says, without looking away. “What’s the posted limit?”
“The sky,” I say. “Hasn’t been a sign since never.”


The wind’s blowing my hair around; Carter’s is short and doesn’t go anywhere. He doesn’t seem to notice how long he’s been driving. Once he gets tired or bored, I’ll take the wheel. Looking forward to it. The road’s so straight you barely have to turn. It looks easy and I think it might help.

“Man, are we ever gonna eat when we get there. It’ll be a real banquet.” Carter wipes his nose on his wrist.
“Donna went all-out for the reception, eh?”
“Sure. Can’t wait. I’m hungry already.”
“Jesus, man, you put away five jam busters at Tim Horton’s, how can you be hungry?”
“Driving, I guess. Burns through your sugars?” He laughs. “There's enough of this fucking wheat. I wish I was a cow.”
“Guess you don't take after your mom.” I laugh and Carter punches my arm.

The sun’s glaring pretty hard. We're heading straight east, so Carter bought some American-looking sunglasses at a gas station when it was still dark. It won’t be so bad soon. The sun’s rising straight into a cloudbank. Carter flicks his shades off and onto the dash. “Fucking eh,” he laughs, “seriously!” He’s looking at the thunderheads all over the south of us, a real curtain call.
“Better put up the top.” I’ve forgotten that we never put up the top on this car.
“Haven’t got one!” That’s right. He’s smiling now, a little boy grin from years ago.
“Shit.”
“Yeah!” The same old smart-ass smirk. Now I have to laugh. Nothing to do for it; just keep going. I lit a cigarette without really thinking about it. Happens when you’re thinking about something else. Habit.

Carter chucks my shoulder. “Got another one of those?” I try to remember which pocket the pack’s in. He punches the lighter in the dash; I give him the smoke anyways.
“Don’t use the dash lighter. I got a zippo.”
“Wind, man. And I can’t cover it.” He points at the road. That’s right, I used both hands on mine.
“I’ll light it for you. Don’t use the dash.”
“Why’s it matter?”

I point at the moon-shaped scar between my lip and my chin. The plug pops out with a click and I know there’s a red-orange coil right there, so goddamn hot it sickens me to think about.

“Ah. Don’t stress. Man, it’s not the lighter’s fault, you gotta let that stuff go.”
I don’t say anything. Carter replies for me, saying, “It’s all right. How far off is the storm, how much time’ve we got?”

The whole field is rippling like a yellow-brown bedsheet with someone holding the end and waving. Way off, on the far end, something dark crawled over the horizon. I think about when I’d make the bed with Karen, imagining it from her perspective.

“Five, six miles. Hits us in twenty minutes.” I look over and Carter’s smoking. Tightness of a suppressed smile in his cheek. “Fucker.”
He laughs.

It’s quiet for a bit and then he’s chuckling again. “Remember stealing smokes from my mom?” He shakes his head.
“Yeah, Christ, I can’t believe we started smoking on KOOLs.”
“I can still taste the menthol.”
“Your house reeked to the walls.”
“So did half the neighbourhood. Hell, yours too.”
“Can’t believe how long it took for her to catch on.”
He laughs. “Yeah, it was just her trying to quit that she started counting ‘em!” We laugh. He says “yeah” again. “God rest her,” and there’s some silence.

“Christ, Saturday morning cartoons.” Carter says after. "Remember those days, eh?"
“Remember the Ty-D-Bol man?” It was a commercial from about seventy-one, we were nine.
“Every time I took a shit I thought he was gonna ride up in his goddamn boat. Remember Detective Dog?”
“He was a dumbass.”
“Donna’s favourite.”
“No.” It was such a stupid show. Donna was a smart kid. Well, I guess she was young enough.
“Serious.”
“You remember that?”
“She used to play about it, say she was Detective Donna. Only we never had a dog.”
“I never knew that.”
“We would have forgotten by high school.”
“How do you remember that? It was so long.”
“Some things stand out. I think it was Deputy Dog, actually. Maybe he never made detective, ‘cause he was such a retard.” Carter chuckles about it, but I'm thinking of something else.
“So who’s the guy now?”
“What guy? Donna’s fiancée?”
“Karen’s husband.”
“You heard about that, eh? Well, don’t start about it. And don’t act sore, you’re not.”
“I’m not!”
“Not sore or not acting?”
“Either, both. Christ, it’s been five years since I even talked to her, and he must be good enough of a guy or she wouldn’t.”
“You got it. Well. His name’s Ethan. And he’s a damn decent guy, too; she could do worse. No offense.”
“Ain’t it funny, eh?”
“How’s that, you mean life?”
“Yeah, life and everything. You go away, you come back, things change. It’s what they say, you really can’t go home again.”
“Thank God for that, though, eh? You wouldn’t really go back if you could.”
“Oh yeah? Why not?”
“Well, you weren’t happy, for starters.”
“Not to, yeah, when you’re thinking of. Not to the middle, no.”
“So what, then? Back to Deputy Dog?”
“Eh. You said it yourself. So what.” A wet circle appears on the windshield with a ‘spack’ sound.

“So did you want to hear about my other sister’s fiancée, or what?” Carter asks. It seems like a long time later. Maybe a minute.
“Eh. Not really.” I’m picturing some clean-cut guy in a tux with better things to do. “I’ll meet him soon enough.”
He’s quiet for a few moments. “She wanted you to come.”
“Yeah, I heard. Just seems strange. Thought I’d never see her again.”
“When was the last time you talked? I guess she got a phone call?”
I laugh a little but it feels hollow. “Yeah, she got a couple phone calls,” I say as I stretch my shoulders. “The first ones I don’t remember too well, the last one I do, and that’s been it.” I put my elbows on my knees, which isn’t very comfortable in a car.
“Good thing for that last call, or you’d have about fallen off the map.”
“Eh, I don’t know. I’m not convinced I like the idea of her knowing I was in recovery.”
“What, like she didn’t know you needed it? Don’t be stupid.”
“That’s not the part that eats at me.”
“Of course not, it’s your pride. The whole thing’s a head fake so you admit to yourself that you have a problem.”
“Bullshit.”
“You think so? Tell me something then, when you made your calls, how many of them were surprised? How many already knew?”
I don’t say anything. He’s right.

It's starting to rain. Every now and then I feel a little touch on my skin like a mosquito taking a bite out of me.

“Wait a sec, did you talk to Karen? You would’ve had to’ve called her, but she never mentioned…”
Damn it, Carter. “She didn’t pick up.”
“Really!”
“Yes. Really. Some guy did. He asked who was calling and I hung up.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Guess that’d be Ethan.” I smile so he knows he didn’t piss me off. “Hey, how about I drive for a bit?”

It’s getting darker now and even though the dashboard clock reads eleven thirty with a seven halfway rolled to an eight, the sky looks like it’s almost night. The sound of the wind whipping over the road is outdone by thunder. The flatness of the land beats it back like a drum, and it feels like a punch in the chest. I roll my fingers on the Bakelite steering wheel, and God, it’s good to be back. If Carter had asked, I’d have had to tell him my license was suspended. I’d have to tell him I haven’t driven a car in three years. He didn’t ask.

The rain starts into a staccato on the windshield and gets heavy enough that I throw on the wipers. Carter laughs. “We’ve got the wipers on and the rain’s still hitting us in the face. That’s so fucked.”
“Nothing to do except go through with it.”
“Think you can out-drive the storm? Like, go in between the drops or something?”
I laugh. "Let's give it a try." The car shakes from side to side as I jiggle the wheel. "Nah, still getting us."
"Hey, wait, maybe you can," he pauses, thinking. "I read once that if you drive fast enough, it makes an air pocket that pushes the rain overtop, so it doesn't actually land on the car? You just have to go fast. Think that'll work?"
“Sure.” The sensation of pressing the pedal and watching the needle pass one-sixty makes my heart flutter.

Guess it was around eighty-seven, that night I pulled into Shep’s on the way home from work. That is, The Bad Shepherd, that dive off of Main & McDougal. Used to do that a lot in those days. “Double Walker Red and a Blue” was my order, and “right on” the bartender’d say as he poured them, and I’d drink my whisky and beer and smoke half a pack and maybe play shitty pool and fill the glasses a few more times. “That’s game, round’s on you,” as the eight ball dropped into the pocket too early, then I’d have to have another because I was buying. It all gave me that heart fluttering feeling. Seemed to be about the only reason I did anything.

“You’re home,” she said, trying to smile. If that was her trying to patch things up, or if she was just scared of me, I wish I knew.
“I had a lot of work to do. Lot of work, paying the bills.”
“Can I move the car?”
“Why?”
“It’s half on the lawn. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it, just take it easy and give me the keys.”
“It don’t need fixing.”
“The neighbours will see.”
“Fuck them.” That was pretty typical for when we hit the splits. I remember that night, but there are others I don’t. It was probably worse than I know. Of course I’d never meant for things to get that way, of course not. Change is like acceleration; as long as it’s consistent, you don’t really notice.

“Jesus Christ, you drive fast.” Carter’s sitting up with his hands on the dash, looking about ready to leap out.
“How about that aerodynamic pocket thing?”
“Still getting wet. How about you?”
“Yeah. I don’t think it’s working.”
“Maybe because we’re driving a fucking brick.” The box-cornered front of the ’84 Monte Carlo doesn’t seem to generate the air pocket Carter was hoping for. The rain just climbs the windscreen and comes at us from there.
“Think we can get out from under it?”
“I fucking hope so, yes.” He snorts. “Speaking of getting out from under things, you talk to your family lately?”
“No.”
“Really? Not even in step seven or…”
“Step nine. Nah, you only call people you’ve wronged.”
“That’s cold.”
“You think? Hell, half the time I was over at your place, it was because I was avoiding them. If your old man was anything like mine, shit, you’re lucky he walked out.”
Carter looks at me for a second without saying anything. Then he laughs. “Buddy! Glad I could offer a safe haven. We got through it together, eh?” He laughs again, but I saw the look on his face before this front came up and I already feel sorry for what I said.
“It was a tough time. You guys helped me.”
“Hey, remember when you flunked math and wound up in the same class as Karen?”
“Oh yeah, man, I would have flunked again if she hadn’t’ve sat next to me. I think she used to write big just so it’d be easier for me to cheat.”
We both laugh. Carter says, “Yeah, she had a generous streak, where it came to you.” This hurts a little.

Pretty soon it’s really coming down hard, and Carter’s howling with his hands over his head. It’s the kind of rain that stings when it hits you; we’re going through it at close to two hundred clicks. I think Carter wants me to slow down, rain or no rain. Something inside is saying no. I can handle this. A bone-white pillar of lightning crackles into existence right in front of me with the sound of ribs breaking. Rain hits my face and my lips and I open my mouth and it hits my tongue; the wet sting reminds me of shooters and I like it. I swallow some of the water and spit the rest on the floor. It doesn’t matter; the water’s just getting deeper anyways. The sloughs in the fields are so swollen they nearly reach the road.

“Jesus, we’ll be a sight when we get to the rentals place, eh?” Carter shouts over the sound of the storm, which has become a dull roar. “Hey, I’ll have a tuxedo, and do you have a towel?”
“I’ll just dry myself off on one tux, and then ask if they’ve got another.”
“Wring out the cummerbund. Yeah, they’d love that.”
“At least we didn’t get the suits first.”
“This is fucked.”
“That would be an accurate description, yeah.” It’s getting cold, I know, but somehow I just don’t feel it getting through.

The tires throw off tall rooster tails whenever the puddles get thick. Puddles isn’t the word once they’re this continuous, the whole road is one big slough. I was imagining before that the rain was every shot of liquor, every whiskey neat and beer chaser that I ever drank, and now I’m sitting up to my calves in it. There’s gin pouring from a great hole in the sky and hundreds of bottles worth of porch climber moonshine covering the road. I can still hear Carter’s teeth chattering, even with the road noise and the wind. He’s freezing his ass off. I feel like the scar on my chin is the only warm part of me and I touch it with one hand. My hand is numb.

“Hey Carter, do you believe in God?”
“I believe he’s taking the piss out of us right now, yeah.” He shivers. “How about you?”
“Nah. I faked it through step two.” I laugh. Fuck, it doesn’t even sound funny, and all of a sudden I’m thinking of the booze-warm belly that could just be waiting for me on the other end of this drive.

I think we’re going to crash. I can’t see the road anymore; it’s all water. I’m shivering like a cold-turkey detox case but I don’t feel anything. My body is like rubber. I take my foot off the pedal and cross my legs on the seat. The tach drops until it's just above idling, the speed decays to a crawl. Water sloshes around the bottom of the car. I take my hands off the wheel and curl up in the seat, and soon it fades away.

The whole time, I was thinking the rain would get worse if we slowed, that maybe the air pocket thing was protecting us to some extent, maybe we were holding off the worst of it by fighting, but it seems to lighten up as soon as we stop. While I’m out, I have this dream that I’m in the house I lived in with Karen, and it’s raining inside even though it’s sunny out. She tells me I have to fix the leaks, and I go up to the attic, and my father’s in there, pounding nails into the floor with this big sledgehammer, but he looks so frail I don’t know how he can lift it. When I come to, the sun’s warm on my back. I open the door and all the water rushes out to spill on the wet road.

All across, the fields are flooded and it just looks like a thin soup of grain with the still surfaces of sloughs glowing golden in the afternoon sun. The car’s gone in the ditch, of course, but there’s a town ahead where we’ll be able to call a tow. Not too far to walk, and the sky looks clear enough. I walk over to the passenger side, where Carter’s still asleep, and touch his shoulder.

“Come on, buddy. I know how to get us out of this hole we’re in.”