Authors: Travis Thrasher
Kay shook her head and let out a cynical chuckle. “No. But he’ll drive anyway.”
Norah knew it would take a while to adjust to this new place. Not just to the Joint or the Lakeside Grill. Or even to Gun Lake. But to being here on her own.
The thing was, she was lonely. And she knew the loneliness would have to remain with her for a while.
The question was, how long?
“WE SHOULD GO TO CHURCH,” Sean said.
Kurt looked up from the table and the sheet of paper in front of him and acted as though he hadn’t caught that.
“Church,” Sean repeated, looking at Kurt as he dropped the pen from his hand. “You know—singing hymns, reading the Good Book, putting money in the plate, praying for the souls of all those poor sinners.”
“What for?”
“I thought of this last night. Should’ve thought of it before. But here we are, four men. Five, counting Oz. Grown men who don’t look or act gay. And we come up here posing as youth pastors. That’s not too suspicious at first glance, but then again, some could think it’s a little strange. We’re doing the things we should
do. Going out. Getting out on the lake. Doing things campers would do. But if we’re supposed to be youth pastors, don’t you think one of those things should be church?”
“Wouldn’t we risk getting noticed?”
“It’s more to blend in,” Sean said confidently. “You think anybody’s going to imagine the Stagworth Five—now, of course, the Stagworth Four—sitting in the pews on a Sunday morning?”
“I hate that name, Stagworth Five. Sounds like some bad cable movie.”
“No. Gun Lake sounds like a bad cable movie. It’s kinda funny that a bunch of escaped convicts would end up at a place called Gun Lake, huh?”
Kurt only nodded as Sean let out a chuckle.
“Look, the church thing,” Sean said. “That’s still a good idea.”
“Is there a church anywhere around here?” Kurt asked.
“There’s this little chapel not far away from here. Don’t know what brand it is. But it’s crowded on Sunday mornings.”
“So we just go and blend in—that easy, huh?”
“Not Wes. He doesn’t blend in. You and me and Craig will go, just like any good churchgoing folk do. We’ll smile, meet some people—just so people don’t think we’re a bunch of unabombers out here thinking up evil to do.”
“What about Oz?”
“Now
he
stands out around here,” Sean said. “Not a lot of brothers around here. I don’t know. He’ll actually want to go.”
“Do you actually want to?”
“No, I don’t
want
to do it. I just think it’d be a good idea.”
“Nobody’s bothered us so far,” Kurt said.
“I know. And nobody’s going to, either. This is just insurance. We just go, check it out. Blend in. Act like we’re decent guys.”
“Whatever,” Kurt said, picking up the pen again.
“What’re you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Kurt had been writing. Sean looked down on the table but couldn’t see what was on the paper underneath Kurt’s hand.
“I’m heading out on the lake,” Sean said.
“To blend in?” Kurt said, a bit sarcastically.
“No. To enjoy this gorgeous day.”
Kurt shook his head and laughed in a condescending way.
“What’s that for?” Sean asked.
“You keep acting like this is vacation.”
“What do you want me to do? Hide out in this sweltering cabin doing weird things? Walk around with a cloud over my head?”
“I just want to lay low.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere, man. Look around you. People aren’t looking for guys like us. The news has died down. They’re looking in Mexico and California. We’re okay.”
“I just don’t want to do anything stupid.”
“You won’t. I won’t.”
“And Lonnie?”
“He’s probably a thousand miles away from us.”
Kurt looked at him, gave him one of his sad puppy looks, and Sean laughed and told him he’d see him later.
OUT ON THE DECK, you could feel the silence. You could stand there and see the still lake waiting, sleeping, stretching out in front of you. Michelle walked out to find Jared facing the water, a tiny orange glow in his hand.
“Hey,” she said to him as she walked up on the creaking boards.
He turned and didn’t say anything, the cigarette in his hand tucked down by his side.
“It’s okay,” Michelle said. “Don’t throw it away. That’s just a cigarette, right?”
He nodded. “Want one?”
“Nah, I just finished smoking a stogie in the house.”
“Right,” Jared said.
She stood beside him and looked out over the water, then up into the sky, the transition almost seamless. Out here, the moon seemed brighter, the stars more defined, more real than back at home. At home you stepped outside your door and were greeted with street lamps and passing cars and barking dogs and typical suburban glow. The sky didn’t seem as majestic or impressive.
“Nice out here, isn’t it?” she asked Jared.
“Very.”
“So you don’t mind being up here?”
“It’ll be nice to get home.”
“The rest of the gang might be coming up next week.”
“Wonderful.”
Michelle couldn’t tell if Jared was being sarcastic or not. She looked at his full head of hair, wavy and uncombed after a long day on the lake.
“I was thinking … maybe we could go to church tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“There are several around.”
“Whatever,” Jared said.
“You don’t want to?”
“Not especially.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I? I’d rather sleep.”
“The service starts at ten-thirty.”
“I’d rather be on the lake. Or anywhere.”
“Well, that’s probably good,” she said to him.
“What is?’
“You being honest.”
“It’s just how I feel.”
“Fair enough. But I feel we should go, and I get the final say.”
“Says who?” he asked.
“Says who? Says me.”
“I’m old enough to say no.”
Michelle laughed. “So you’re saying you’re an adult?”
“Almost. Two years, and then I’m legal. To vote, anyway.”
“Okay, so you’re an adult. Adults can be trusted. Adults have
responsibilities. Have you ever been trustworthy? Really, truly? Have you ever had any real responsibilities?”
Jared cursed.
“No, that’s right. All you know to do is smoke and curse. That’s what adults do, right? Smoke and drink and curse.”
“I didn’t start this,” Jared said.
“Why can’t you for once just—”
“Just what?”
“Just—I don’t know. Just care.”
“Care about what? Going to church? Why should I? A bunch of old people singing boring hymns and then someone getting up and blabbing on about a bunch of stuff that has no relevance.”
“You don’t know that.”
Jared laughed, took a last draw from his cigarette, then flicked it into the water. “Oh, yes I do know that.”
“Jare,” she asked, “why do you think we came up here?”
“So I wouldn’t start growing marijuana in our backyard and wouldn’t get some schoolgirl pregnant and so you could—”
“Stop it.”
“It’s true, Mom,” he said, looking at her.
For a moment, there was complete silence. Somewhere in the background was a car engine, then it passed. Then the stillness came again, haunting and piercing in its rush of emptiness.
“You know it’s true,” Jared said.
“Do you want to go home tomorrow?” she finally asked. “Is that what you want?”
“Honestly? Yeah, I do.”
“Next year, when you go off to school, what’s going to happen then?”
“Huh?”
“Is it just going to be more of the same?”
“The same what?”
“The same. The same everything. The same nonchalant, blase, nothing-matters attitude.”
“Just because I don’t get all excited about going to church with you—”
“It’s more than that.”
“What is it then? What do you want me to do? It’s like you’re judging me for stuff I haven’t done yet. It’s like—I don’t know.” He cursed again.
“Jare, I just want to protect you.”
“But I don’t
want
to be protected. I just want to live my own life. Why can’t you guys let me do that?”
“Because—”
“Because what?” he spat back, his head shaking, his eyes glaring at her.
“Because I don’t want you hurting yourself. Hurting somebody else.”
“I’m not going to hurt anyone.”
“Jare—”
“No, listen. You and Dad can think and believe what you want. You may think I’ve got problems, but I don’t. You should see some of the kids around—”
“But those are not—”
“I don’t care who they are. Just because I want to—just because I
choose
to do things you don’t believe in—that doesn’t make me a bad kid. I’m not out there sleeping around or holding up liquor stores or shooting up. And I’m so sick and tired of you guys judging me, especially for things that you
think
I’m going to do next year, or the following year. It just makes me wanna—”
He gave up and stalked inside. Michelle wanted to say something else but couldn’t. She just let him pass and then stayed out there on the deck, underneath a sheet of stars and a large pillow of a moon. She hadn’t meant for this conversation to go astray like this, like so many of them did. She wanted, she wished, that she had the right things to say, the right buttons to push. But she always seemed to fall into the nagging mother role, and he ended up angry or tuning her out.
The worst thing was, she didn’t have a clue how to change things.
She didn’t pray like she usually did. Sometimes she wondered if God heard all of her prayers, or if they mattered to someone who had so many other, bigger things to think about.
IN ANOTHER LIFE, you might have stepped into a place like this and smiled and greeted fellow lake dwellers and sat in one of the many chairs in the large, airy hall with your family sitting next to you. You might have sung familiar hymns and listened with interest to the morning announcements and the opening prayer and the prayer requests. You might even have shared some of your own. You would have closed your eyes during the prayers and sung out loud during the songs and listened to the chubby, middle-aged pastor talk about Moses and read from the book of Exodus. And it all might have meant something to you—in another life.
But this was not your life, and it never would be, and you didn’t want anything even remotely to do with this because you knew what it all was and what it all meant.
Cotton candy. That’s all it is—soft and sweet and airy and full of nothing. You can eat it and it will taste good, but afterward you just end up feeling sticky and empty.
Kurt exited Gun Lake Chapel as if he were swimming to the surface after being held underwater for several minutes. He sucked in huge, heaving gasps of air. Inside, they were still singing the last hymn, but he couldn’t take it anymore. The song was something called “Jesus Cares.” And if Kurt knew one thing, it was that no imaginary Jesus cared for anybody. Profanity ran through his head and he couldn’t help thinking it. That’s what all of the past hour stood for. Nothing else.
It was a clear, sunny August day. A gravel road connected the chapel with the main road that circled the lake. They had driven here today in Ossie’s car—all of them but Wes, who didn’t mind being left behind. Craig thought coming might be good for them. Ossie, of course, encouraged them to go. And Sean still thought the whole thing was good cover. Escaped convicts didn’t attend Sunday morning chapel services.
But the people in there just made Kurt sick. He was sure most of them believed all that—here the profanity filled his mind again; he couldn’t help it. They all believed it and that was fine for
them and maybe it helped them cope with the daily stresses and nightly heartaches and get along better in the world. But Kurt no more believed that any of it was true than he believed he was a good person.
Come on
, he thought. They made movies about people like Moses. They weren’t real. They were as real as Santa Claus and Freddy Krueger and all the heroes and villains Craig talked about in the movies. They were made-up characters in made-up stories full of made-up hope. Hope like that wasn’t real and never would be.
Never
.
Kurt began to walk down the gravel path. He reached the main road and decided to start walking back to the camp. It was a long way, several miles at least. Perhaps he’d end up turning back or perhaps the guys would drive by and pick him up. He didn’t care. He felt angry, deeply resentful from the past hour and needed to walk things off.
What’s with the anger, anyway?
He didn’t know. It was a fury building in him. He clenched his fists and he felt helpless and lied to. He wanted to reach out and hit something and strike it down. He wanted to hurl insults and throw curses in someone’s face and tell them what they could do with their hope and their religion.
All those pathetic people with their beliefs
.
There was one thing and one thing only that Kurt believed—that he was going to die. That eventually everyone died. That was all he knew, all he journeyed toward, all he expected now. He’d gotten out of prison mainly because he didn’t want to die in a decrepit place like Stagworth. Even a guy like him should be able to die somewhere decent, somewhere out in the open. Somewhere like this.
you deserve to rot in prison
He shrugged off the voice in his head, the voice of his dead father. No matter what he did, that voice would stay in his mind forever. That’s what he had to look forward to the rest of his life. However long that lasted.
Those other people—the masses around him could go on believing
all the things they needed to believe. They could pray to a limitless sky and have their prayers fly off into oblivion like deep-space probes, never heard from again. They could go on believing their lies and could go on living their normal, safe, happy little lives.
Cotton candy
, he thought again in anger.
He heard a car approaching from behind as he walked next to the road on a patch of overgrown grass. The engine slowed and stopped next to him, and he wondered if it might be the guys already.