ALONG THE ENDLESS RIVER

The clock read 7:45am and it stared at RJ like a disapproving schoolteacher. Lying on his back, the strength in his body zapped from another long night, he contemplated what kind of conjuring it would require to get through another day.

The girl next to him was in her late twenties, with shoulder length, straight blonde hair. Even in the darkness of the bedroom, her summer tan cast a bronzed glow across the skin of her back, accentuated by the white sheet that half- covered her.. RJ’s head was pounding and his gut felt twisted like the roots of some old tree.

7:45 was an hour later than usual, but with his work slowing to a close, he didn’t mind these late starts. In fact, he wished he could have slept in longer. His body was tired, not just from the bourbon, or the work, but from the disease that had spread through him like a spilled glass of wine. It had stained his entire insides- stomach, liver, colon- and there was no getting it out.

The girl next to him wouldn’t know. She didn’t know last night when he flashed his money at the bar, buying rounds with a smile. They danced, he sang along with every song. The young girls thought anybody over 40 with a few hundreds in his pocket was a rich catch. She still didn’t know when he manhandled her on his bed like a man twenty years younger, fueled by whiskey and the wildness that raged inside him against his disease. Pounding away like a piston between her legs, he had channeled enough strength for one last rodeo. And she wouldn’t know in a week or two weeks, when she looked for him at a bar he would never step foot in again. He would vanish from her life as quickly as he appeared in it, not to be seen or heard from again. No, he thought, I’m not gonna let ’em catch me Lord, not gonna let ’em catch the Midnight Rider.

Summoning the strength to his legs he threw them over the side of the bed and popped himself into place, upright. He was bare chested and in his boxers, and everything about him was cold. His feet were blocks of ice, and his hands felt like they had been hanging out of a car window. As he walked from the room, he peered back over his shoulder at his sleeping bedmate, who barely flinched at his waking. Her face was obscured by a tangle of pillow and hair, and RJ hoped she was as pretty as his fuzzy mind painted her to be.

He found a tee shirt in a laundry basket in the hallway, slipped it on and padded softly to the kitchen to make coffee. The ‘Fog Cutter’ had been his father’s right hand man. A super strong cup of joe with a big dollop of Maker’s Mark , after a hard night drinking. He got to work at the coffee maker , doling out five thick scoops for only 4 cups of water. As he gripped the red wax of the Maker’s Mark bottle top, RJ’s head spun and he stamped his other hand onto the counter for balance. Something like a wave of nausea hit him, but it didn’t make him want to throw up. It just washed over him, buckling his knees, and pushing his brow into an instant sweat.

Before he knew it he was on the floor, gripping the Makers bottle, the smell of brewing coffee flooding his nose. He was curled in the fetal position, pressing his face against the cool Brazillian cherry wood, and the world went black.

He spiraled down into a deep, lightless place where the noises that had just been around him swirled away like water down a drain. Maybe he was falling, maybe he was flying, it was hard to tell. Then, the feeling of a motion ceased, like the train he had been on had come to a stop. He was still now, barely aware that he was aware at all, and suspended in some silent, black void.

There in the darkness of his mind, RJ’s felt someone standing next to him. The figure appeared like a shadow within the mist of his mind, then slowly, RJ realized he was sitting at a table. Across the table , the shadowy figure took shape. Bright eyes, salt and pepper hair, and his father’s unmistakable scoundrel’s grin came into focus. He wore a white and blue checked button down shirt, and RJ saw the gleam from his wedding ring as his hands rested on the table between them.

" Funny how it just cuts right through the fog,” his father said, his sky blue eyes smiling at RJ.

“I have missed you boy, more than you can ever know.”

RJ felt the air rushing from his mouth, but he could not hear his voice. The Man was here, there was so much he wanted to say.

" You know Bobby, I had thought that someday you might have settled into the family life. What a dad you would have been.“, his father continued.

Somehow RJ was shouting that he loved him with his mind, and here on this astral plane everything was just simply understood by his father. He poured his heart out to him without words being spoken. Their minds were one now, connected.

“I know, I love you too. The love you have for your children is like an endless river, it flows forever. I wished for you to feel that one day, to feel the river.”

There at this table in the darkness , RJ could feel his soul bursting. Staring into his father’s smiling face, images flashed around him like an old projector reel. He remembered sitting on a charter boat together, his father wearing sunglasses and a cigarette hanging from his lips, as their lines bobbed in the ocean. He saw his father asleep on the back porch, newspaper folded across his chest. He could see himself sitting on the floor of their family room, seven years old and watching cartoons as he heard his father car pull into the garage, the sound of dress shoes on concrete, the garage refrigerator door opening, the pop of a beer can. He could hear his father telling stories at the kitchen table, his mother laughing that boisterous, infectious laugh. He saw them all standing next to each other at Christmas mass, he could smell the incense, the candles burning. He felt himself standing in that same church at his mother’s funeral, his father standing like an oak tree next to him, tears on his cheeks. The weight of the memories pounded over him and he felt himself weeping in the silence, suddenly understanding everything he had ever questioned.

Then his father turned his head into the darkness behind him, as if being beckoned by some unheard call. He nodded silently, looking into the darkness. Then he turned back toward RJ , smiling again and blinking those pale blue eyes.

“Its time boy. Time for you to come on home,....you have made me proud son, proud of the man I raised. Proud of who you have become.”

With that his father backed away from the table, almost floating back into the darkness, and RJ felt himself screaming for him. “I Love you ! Dad, stay! Please!“. But the sound of his own voice eluded him and soon enough he felt himself alone again in darkness. Then, in a rush, the darkness began to evaporate and RJ found himself awash in muddied light and distorted, echoing noise. The light and sound pinched together, and were then evened out, like they were on a cord being pulled tight. They held there, the light and sound , taught together and he felt himself again lying on the cool, wood floor. But, he knew, it was only for one last moment. A peace flooded him and then all of the weight that held him to the floor started to wash away like child’s sand castle captured by the tide.

" Hey , sweetie, can you hear me?!!” , the girl’s voice was frantic and sharp in his ears.

RJ opened his eyes and found her kneeling over him, dressed in his old grey KENTUCKY BASKETBALL t-shirt . She smelled like coconut-scented lotion, and her face was even a little prettier than he had remembered. Soft feminine features, kind ,feline eyes. The kind of face he had always found refuge in.

“Oh my God!, Are you OK sweetie?” , she pleaded at him with those sweet, big brown eyes and white teeth, but RJ could only mouth back at her. Moving lips without sound, just air. The time for words was at an end.

The girl was straddling him now, cradling his head in her small hands. Tears were flowing and RJ could feel her bare buttocks under the t-shirt press down against his stomach. She was starting to scream at him now, begging for him to answer. He could feel the cord breaking free, and the light and sound again began fall slack around him. As he re- joined the darkness his final thought was of the girl crying, wishing she could smile one last time for him. God, she really was much prettier than he remembered. She was beautiful. As beautiful as the river.

II

The cars on the highway moved in slow motion as Elizabeth made her way down I-75 in the X-5. The car had enough power to slip in and out of the gaps in traffic with ease, and it sat up high enough that she never felt like the semis would swallow her up.

Her hands were still a little tingly from the day’s early practice at Shooter’s World. Her palms itched as she gripped the wheel of the BMW, still stirring from the vibration of the 100 rounds she put through her P220. At first, she had resented the shooting, resented the way her hands felt afterward. It had seemed crude to her, like she had been forced to take a step back toward the small-town, Kentucky lifestyle they had worked so hard to get beyond. But, in time, she had learned to appreciate the time spent at the shooting range. It had become a place of peace for her, and over time, it had brought her a pleasure that came from the control and power she found in mastering the handgun her brother had bought her.

The fact was that control and power were long lost friends. They had been put aside for her commitments to family and to Paul, and having them back now in some private fashion was a welcome change. And it was a turn on. As much as she tried to deny it sometimes, there was a tangible sizzle to gripping her gun and feeling it explode at Shooter’s World. She was thankful that the staff there were old, cigarette smoking vets, because there were times that she would put ten straight rounds into the target, and something would click inside her. An urge of powerful energy that felt almost predatory. Risky, dangerous, alive. Thankfully, no prey of note was around to create any confusing feelings.

Paul and RJ had asked that she go once a week and practice, especially with all of the insanity that was popping up across the country. The ‘zombie’ attacks in Florida, the Batman shooting, terrorists everywhere- there was some sort of epidemic happening, an outbreak of nightmares becoming reality. So, she agreed, and every Tuesday morning she had made the trek to Shooter’s World, the way she did to the gym or the salon. Becoming proficient with the Sig had given her some sense of security in the wake of everything that was going on, and it gave her a guilty pleasure that was hers alone to enjoy.

So with an early morning session under her belt, she headed to Bobby’s condo. He had been a little off lately, and she was sure something was up. Since childhood, she and her brother had shared a special bond, something that only a few siblings ever experienced. It was a connection that meant they knew each other’s minds as well as their own. There really could be nothing hidden between them- almost nothing- and often times they didn’t even need to say a word to communicate.

For her whole life, Bobby was her protector and closest confidant. He never judged, never complained to her more than the small stuff, and he could make her laugh like no one else could. She watched him bounce around from one hayseed prom queen to the next, knowing that he would never find one that he could live with. This cycle never ended for Bobby but when she fell unexpectedly in love with Paul Kemper, Bobby and Paul had become best friends overnight.

Two years ago, when Bobby had revealed his illness to her, after telling Paul, she was caught off guard by his secrecy. But then she understood that he had to tell Paul first, out of respect for Paul as the leader of his family. And, it was a family matter. It was the way their father had raised them, to be respectful of a man’s place as head of his household. But Bobby was as tough as nails and she knew that as long as he followed the doctor’s directions and the treatment plan, he would beat whatever was in front of him.

Their father had taught them other things as well. For his Bethy, he had taught her that no man would ever be to her standard, and that when she married she would simply have to accept that she wed below her station. She was the smartest and prettiest girl in the Commonwealth of Kentucky, and the lucky fool that she gave her heart to had better spend the rest of his life paying her back for his good fortune. It wasn’t until she became a parent that she realized the preciousness of the gift her father had given her. Self-confidence, supreme and firm had been a pillar in her life that she never paid attention to. It was just there, because he had built it for her without telling her he had done so. Her father was an intelligent man, and after her own children began to grow she understood his gushing on her. He knew people weren’t perfect, but he wanted to make sure his daughter thought she might be the exception.

The truth was she never really believed in Paul because of her father. Paul could never live up to the expectations for her man that she had built up in her mind. And although she loved Paul, and had been in love with him, she always felt sorry for him in some way because she knew he would never quite measure up to what she felt she deserved. It made her sad sometimes, to think of living in a marriage where you feel more pity than passion. But, every time a girlfriend at the country club made an awkward remark that revealed some deep self- doubt, she was grateful to her father for giving her the bulletproof confidence she had. Some women might walk around not believing in themselves and simply mastering the art of concealment. That would never be her cross to bear.

With Bobby, her father’s lessons were different. Men weren’t worth a damn thing if they answered to anyone else. Being your own man was the foundation of a life well-lived. Men were decisive, men were strong, and competition separated the men from the boys. When Bobby had made all-district as a wide receiver, her father asked him why he didn’t make All-State. When Bobby got caught with a girl in the art-room closet his senior year, her father took him out for a steak dinner. It was all macho, all the time with Bobby. And where some boys might have wilted under this pressure, Bobby ate it up because he idolized the man. Her father wasn’t an uneducated man- there was a method to his over-the-top madness. He took a full-bore , direct approach with Bobby that would leave nothing to chance. His son would be a Man , Godamnit. Unfortunately, Bobby abandoned the idea of higher education and couldn’t care less about social refinement- so he would be forever stuck in high school macho mode. But, she thought perhaps that is the way her father would have liked it.

As she rounded the corner onto the street where Bobby’s condo was located, she took in the late- summer blooms that adorned the finely groomed beds. One of Bobby’s side businesses had the contract for the landscaping in the development, and the plantings and yards were looking manicured. Elizabeth felt a twinge of pride for her brother’s hard work as she admired a fine bed of azaleas, then she caught her first glimpse of the flashing ambulance lights in the street ahead. They were down the block a half dozen house or so, and –Oh My God- in front of Bobby’s house.

As she pulled to a stop on the curb behind the ambulance, Elizabeth saw an over-tanned blonde girl in shorts and a tee-shirt talking through tears with a police officer in the driveway. An EMT hustled past the two silently, carrying a canvas duffel bag and heading thru Bobby’s open front door. She sat there staring at the tan twenty-something, her hand frozen on the key in the BMW’s ignition. She knew. Just as she had known as soon as the phone rang, that day that Bobby called her while she was cleaning out her refrigerator to tell her Dad had died. She knew her brother was gone now too.

The car was parked and the ignition off, but she couldn’t remember how. She was in a fog, bludgeoned by the collapse of everything she had always assumed was going to happen. There would be no cup of coffee in Bobby’s kitchen while he patched himself together from the night before. There would be no watching his face light up when she told him that Mallory made Junior Teen Board, and that it would be in the paper Sunday. No more funny Bobby wisecracks about his neighbor’s hairpiece or their Aunt Lucy’s big ass. No more hugs from a man who only ever hugged four people that she knew of.

She stepped out of the car and made her way towards the driveway, feeling her hand running through her hair but not remembering directing it to do so. The tears were leaking from the outside corners of her eyes now, and she could feel her nose filling up, her normal breath giving way to small, rising and falling gasps. The police officer saw her walking towards him, and he turned his attention from the tan girl. He was young, with his sunglasses propped up on the top of his head, a notepad and pen in his hands.

“Ma’am, can I??..“, he barely got a word out before she started.

“I’m Robert Kelly’s sister, is there a problem?”

She knew the answer already, but her brain, mouth, and body were on auto-pilot. The young police officer looked down at his shoes, then back at her with a puppy-dog sincerity that she imagined worked pretty well with the ladies. Maybe he had been using it with the tanning bed queen.

“Ma’am , I’m sorry. Mr. Kelley passed away this morning. We just arrived a few minutes ago, and we are trying to put together what happened. ”

Elizabeth felt the first wave hit her, a weakness in her knees and blankness in her head. Suddenly things were still, like being outside during an eclipse, and she felt the last foothold of hope slip out from beneath her. Her hands went to her face, again on autopilot, and for one suspended instant she could feel the grooves of her fingertips against her nose, the band of her wedding ring against her lips.

Hours later , they sat around their kitchen table, making phone calls to family and friends. Mallory’s eyes were puffy and red, and every few minutes she would drop her chin and start crying. She was still so young, too young to lose somebody special. Bobby had doted on Mallory, always ready with a hug and a compliment- she was like his little princess. Jacob was handling it well, but he had that stoic gene that the Kemper Men all seemed born with. He had been close with his uncle, Bobby had almost never missed a basketball, baseball, or now football game. There was an immense pride that Bobby had always felt with Jacob, and by showing it he had helped to build her son’s self image. Elizabeth was forever grateful to her brother for that.

Paul seemed a little withdrawn. They had all relaxed after Bobby had told him that the disease was in remission, that he was feeling better. Elizabeth thought Paul must have assumed things would be OK, that his best buddy RJ would come through unscathed again. It was the weight of disappointment that she saw in her husband’s eyes, the realization that things would not work out as he had hoped.

People stopped by, some stayed , some just gave a few hugs and left. The group hung around the kitchen and great room, telling stories in between long, sad phone calls all the way into the evening. At some point, Paul had left, then re-appeared with a big box full of Chines takeout. Elizabeth found herself working pushing Kung Pao Chicken around her plate, glancing at the clock above their microwave, which read 8:12. It was like the day had been a dream that she couldn’t remember, save a few pictures stuck in her head.

That night, she laid in her bed with her back to Paul. She was awake, eyes staring at the wall, watching the moonlight that crept thru the curtains paint soft edges in the darkness. Her eyes were open, but she was lost in a deep forest of memories and fears. Her mind had wandered into a dark cave to the thoughts of playing in their backyard on Maple Shade Dr. She and Bobby were kids, him spraying her with a hose. Staring at this memory portrait in her mind, she prayed that he was alright. Prayed that everything they had learned on Sundays was true, and that Bobby was in a place of peace and happiness. But, it was a fear that this might not be, that he was simply gone that flickered in her heart. She tried not to imagine him, lying silent in a cold, dark room. She tried not to imagine that he wasn’t smiling somewhere, that the light within him wasn’t gone. Paul laid an arm across her, running his hand down her arm and cradling her waist.

“You OK?” he said, his voice was empty and sad.

She stared at the wall, feeling her husband draw closer to her, pressing his warm, firm body against her. This was a place she should feel safe, a place that should feel like home. Tonight, however, she felt like she was lost at sea. She felt adrift and absolutely alone.

The fact was, that she had been feeling quite alone for as long as you she could now remember. The fire with Paul had burned down over time. Her heart just didn’t ache for him anymore. He was a good enough man. He was committed to his children, committed to his work, always willing to give a little more of himself when asked. But their relationship had suffered over time, as his work had kept him away from home, on the road, and not in touch with the demands she faced every day. There was a disconnect, and then when he was home he was often too tired, or stressed, or in some foul mood that he couldn’t put down to just enjoy his family. And, then there was the drinking. It never really stopped since they were kids, since they had first met. Her father had been a drinker and a hell-raiser, so at first she actually loved that Paul seemed to be cut of the same cloth. But over time, she saw flaws in him that were not the flaws she ever saw in her father, and the drinking began to make him look pathetic and weak. It was a crutch, and across the years it only looked worse and worse. If she had never really believed in Paul to begin with, now the lack of faith was as certain as the sunset.

The closeness between them had, subsequently, just faded out. It had started to take hold as the kids became a little older, a little less immediately dependent all of the time. Back when the kids were dominating the calendar, there just wasn’t enough spare time to dwell on much for very long. But then that changed, and the excuse of “no time to dwell on things” became vapid. There still was never a good time to talk. But, when the time seemed to become available, it was spent in disagreement. Arguments drug out and had second, and third acts. They could not kiss and make up anymore. Partly because Paul never seemed to really get over anything. And partly because she couldn’t fake the spark when they were in repair mode, were trying to make it up. Sex became about going through the motions. It wasn’t something she found herself making time or devoting energy to pursue. She still found him attractive. He kept himself in good shape and he always looked dashing in a suit. But he didn’t grab her breath the way he once did, because she just knew too much now. He could never, ever be the handsome, mysterious stranger again. He would always just be tired, drunk, and angry Paul.

The days when Paul would try to do something romantic, or even just sweet, it felt forced and unnatural- and thus had the total opposite effect on her. His attempts at re-kindling the fire seemed repulsive and insincere. And the more that this series of hollow, half-intimacies repeated itself, the more she felt like things were just swirling around, down a long, and inevitable drain. What she wished-more than anything- was that she could go back in time to maybe only seven or eight years before, when their love was still strong. She would have set it right then, dealt with everything head on and secured the love between them so it could grow with them as their lives changed. But, there was no way to go back in time and too much time wasting away, drifting from each other had passed.

It had been exhausting worrying so much about the crumbling state of her marriage. The crying when she had moments to herself, the injury brought on by songs on the radio or movies that promoted storybook love. She had spent too much time fixated on why things had gone in this direction, and more importantly why it had happened to her. The contemplation was tiring work, and at some point, she just resigned. She knew that deep down, Bobby had known she was truly unhappy. His relationship with Paul was such that he could never admit it to her, yet he knew. There was a little extra care in his voice, a little extra checking in that had developed over the last few years. That kindness had meant so much to her. It was a together-ness and a friendship that helped to fill the void. And now, she found herself staring into the void again, all by herself.

Paul squeezed gently pulling her just a little closer, “Hey, you OK?”

“I’m alright, we need to sleep. Its going to be a long few days.“, she said. Elizabeth turned her head and kissed Paul’s shoulder of the arm that was wrapped around her. Then, she put her head back onto the pillow and stared again at the wall. Still adrift and alone, more alone than she had ever been.