J. DAVID THAYER - SHORT-STORIES

J. David Thayer is an educator living in Texas. His works have appeared in 24-Hour Short Story Contest (2nd Place), The First Line, The Last Line, Fantasy/Sci-Fi Film Festival, Flash Fiction Magazine, Bewildering Stories, 101 Word Stories, Tall Tale TV, Black Petals, Farther Stars Than These, Terror House Magazine, 50-Word Stories, The Drabble, 365 Tomorrows, 42 Stories Anthology, and Pilcrow & Dagger.

A Fiddler in the Mountains
​

    Lawson Riley found himself an empty booth at the Red Spruce Lounge. He knew the place would be mostly deserted this time of year. A few locals only. Two at the pool table, a handful at the bar itself. Sports news on the house flat screen and Patsy Cline from the jukebox competed with each other until neither audio could be distinguished. Not that he was attempting to listen to either. A tall draft of Hamm’s sat undisturbed beside him, slowly edging its way towards room temperature. His left hand steadied a crudely shaped coin upright on its edge, while his right thumb and index finger flicked at it randomly, spinning it to its opposite face each time. His eyes, fixed and vacant, stared at the slivery February sky through the plate glass. Leaves were gone from most of the trees, and their sleeping bones somehow added to the bleakness of his mood. He welcomed it. Today was not a day for cheer. 
    He knew what he had to do. Knew it as soon as he got the phone call the night before. All day long he searched for ways to avoid it. Following a night void of productive sleep, Lawson busied himself with useful tasks that were in no way urgent, and so his calculated  procrastination wore a smug veneer of purpose. As soon as the shop opened, he climbed into his barber’s chair a week ahead of schedule. Del called him on it instantly, and, in so doing, talked himself into a tip two dollars lighter than usual. Then at noon, Lawson stood watch over his defecating dog just to make certain all systems were fully functional. He had introduced a new food some months earlier, and perhaps Caesar was still experiencing adjustment issues. We can now report, definitively, the dog is fine. Next he went to Sitoburg Grocery and purchased as many nonperishable items on his March list as he could predict. Even took a chance on some honey ham stamped with an ambitious expiration date. During all these errands, and in between, and right up to the present, sitting in that worn-out booth, Lawson’s head spun itself around the same fruitless loop of logic, always terminating at the same conclusion: the thing had to be done. Every other consideration was noise changing exactly nothing. There was no way out.
    The door opened. A man Lawson knew very well stepped inside the Red Spruce Lounge, undoubtedly looking for him. A flood of outdoor light obscured his face, but even in silhouette, there was no mistaking that hat. 
    “Ah, hell.” 
    The man scanned the room, saw Lawson sitting there, and walked right up to his black leather booth. Big hole in the opposite cushion patched with failing tape, foam rubber spilling out.
    “Well, there he is! Had a feeling I’d find you sitting up here. O’course, I known that bike out front, so that took the guesswork out of it. Evening, deputy.”
    “Hello, Sheriff.”
#
     “Rr. Riley? Tht. That you?”
    “Dougie? What the hell time is it?” He sat up in bed and fumbled at the spinny switch on the nightstand lamp. It was just after 3:00 AM.
    “Li. Listen, Riley. I’m in trouble. Bad trouble. I. I’s makin’ m’rounds little bit ago, oh, God!, and th. [Chokes] This girl. She ju. Jus up’n runs out in fron’ o’me! I hit her, Riley! They’s takin’ her to the E.R., but I knowed what I saw. Sh. She’s gone ‘fore the ambulance got there. Oh! Lawson, I killt somebody! That’s somebody’s baby! Wasn’t my fault! She just ran ‘cross the street an’ I couldn’t stop! Oh, God! No! No, no, no, no, no! This can’t be hap’ning!” He was sobbing now, uncontrollably.  Grief and terror washed over Douglas Craig in unrelenting waves, and he could barely speak. But that was not the whole of it. Lawson had heard that same speech pattern before. The memory sickened him. He knew exactly what it meant, and it made the story even worse. If such a thing were possible.
    “Dougie. Listen to me, Dougie. You have to go to the hospital. Hang up and go right now. You’ve called your chief, right?”
    “‘Course I have! He’s on his way up there now.” Doug’s right hand fumbled inside his front jeans pocket, and it knew what it was after. Sifting through an assortment of loose change, his fingers came upon a coin different from the rest. It was not quite round, and it was much lighter than its peers. He squeezed the coin in his pocketed fist, tightly, and the familiarity somehow made things just a touch more tolerable. 
    “Good! That’s good. He’ll know what to do. He’s a good man; you’ve told me that many times. Get out in front of this, Douglas. Don’t hide a thing, don’t make excuses. Stick to the facts. You’re a lawman, same as me. You know it's facts, not emotions, that ends up having its say, when all’s said and done. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    “Okay. Okay. Mm. I’m really scared, Riley. Can’t believe this jus’ hap’ned. Oh, God, no!”
    “‘Course, you’re scared. And I gotta be real here, Dougie: you should be. But you’ll get through this. Plenty of awful dead ahead of you, and no mistake. But you’ll get through this, y’hear? Now, I got some days comin’. Gonna ask Lex can I take ‘em all right now, and I’m coming out there to he’p ya! Stand right beside ya the whole way.  Just hang in there, Brother. Main thing is, you gotta do what you know is right, and right from the start. You understand?”
    “Yeah. Oh, God! Please help me! Okay, okay. I’m-a head up th. There n. Now. Bye, Riley.”
    “Now, I’ll call you tomorrow, Dougie. It’s going to be alright. Really. G’bye.” But Lawson Riley knew that was a lie while fixing his mouth to spit it out. Things were never going to be alright again; how could they be? Should they be, even? A girl was dead now, and she didn’t have to be. You don’t fix things like that. You gotta do what you know is right, and right from the start! It played over and over in his head, all day long. With each passing hour, he felt himself all the more a hypocrite. Why’d he have to say such a stupid thing? Big talk. “[Sigh] Me and my damned mouth.”
#
    Sitoburg, Tennessee sat hard against the edge of Smoky Mountains National Forest in Sevier County. A place of tourists and cabins in the summer and piles of nothing in the winter. Lawson Riley and Douglas Craig grew up together, right here. Native sons, the both of them. When Lawson decided, as a sophomore in high school, that he would apply to the police academy in Nashville after graduation, no one was surprised to learn that Dougie suddenly had the same ambition. Neither had a brother except the other, and neither wanted for anything extra. Somehow Lawson always knew Dougie would need his help, and he was good with that. Least he could do. He could be a handful at times, Dougie, but if loyalty were a thing to pour, his measure would spill over the top of any container. Lawson was always the smarter of the two, and that meant he was smart enough to recognize Dougie had deeper qualities that put his to shame. Now his brother really needed him, and he felt utterly inadequate to meet the challenge. The facts as stated were awful enough. Beyond that, there was a dreadful possibility in play that would render moot any realistic hope of defense. Lawson was almost ready to go there when Sheriff Jasper Lexington, his boss and mentor, walked through the door of the Red Spruce Lounge.
    Sheriff Lex knew Douglas as well as he knew Lawson. Watched them grow up together. He hired both of them on as deputies fresh out of the academy, and things were perfect for three years or so. Then something happened. 
    Under suspicious conditions, Dougie drove his squad car through the storefront of Neer’s Department Store, right across the square from the sheriff station. City Hall was two doors over, and the post office was next to that; this was no small scandal. When help arrived, onlookers said Dougie slurred his speech and appeared completely disoriented. No one was injured, and no charges were filed. No field sobriety test. People whispered at first and made bold accusations later. The thing took on a life of its own, and Sheriff Lex couldn’t slow it down. Small towns are like that. Dougie figured out on his own he couldn’t stay on as deputy in Sevier County, but the good news was Jasper knew a man out West. His friend had taken a job as campus police chief at New Mexico State University in Las Cruces. Calls and texts were exchanged, details worked out. Chief Wilson assured Lex that he’d look after Dougie and said he sounded like a perfect fit for the campus force. And he was! Everyone loved Dougie, like everyone does. Then Dougie put through a call to his adoptive brother regarding the preventable death of a student. And by his own hand. Funny how often things are perfect, right up to the moment they aren’t anymore.
#
    “I expect what’s botherin’ you is the same thing a-botherin’ me, huh, Lawson?” Lawson considered playing it coy, but that requires energy. 
    “Yeah. I Reckon.” Silence. “You hear from Chief Wilson?”
    “Yep. Alex tells me a poor girl just ran out in front of Dougie’s squad car last night. Killt. [Shakes head] Looks like she was being carless, silly. Not lookin’. You know, like kids do. It’s awful.” 
    “Sure is.”
    Then he said it. 
    “I don’t suppose Dougie ever came clean with his boss about his past struggles, did he?”
    “Did you?!” Lawson was surprised at his own combative tone, but he was instantly hot all over. Sheriff Lex would have to cut him some slack. “He’s your friend! You’re the one fixed him up with that job right ‘fore this town ran him outta here on a rail! Did YOU come clean, Sheriff?”
    “Deputy Riley, do I suddenly have to explain to you how HIPPA works? You know there are things I can say and things I can’t say. I told Alex everything I could say within the law, and probably one or two details just over that mark. But what we’re talking about here? I couldn’t say that much. The law says, as you well know, that’s up to Douglas to disclose. However, I did let on that Alex might should hold off issuing the boy a set a car keys. I mean, hell, it’s a college campus, not a whole damn town! Give him a bicycle. Let walk. Whatever. [Sigh] I guess Dougie charmed him right out of that advice. Of course he did. Quick, too.”
    “When did you first know, Sheriff?” Jasper considered the question.
    “Oh, I suppose I knew somethin’ was bad wrong when Dougie started stayin’ up nights. He’d walk all over town! 2, 3, 4, in the mornin’. Later, some days. Then he’d come in to work looking like Hell’s cat found him first. Remember them times?”
    “Yeah. [Laughs] Yeah, I do.”
    “Remember how, when he would get particularly upset, seem like he couldn’t talk no more?”
    “Sure do. Heard that again last night.”
    “You don’t say! I expect you did, too. Doc Jenkins said they call that cataplexy. Folks like him lose control of certain muscles during emotional times. Plays hell with their speech, he said. [Sigh] That poor boy. That poor girl. Lordy. Have mercy.”
    “Yeah.”
    “He ever tell whether Doc Jenkins forbade him to ev’r drive a vehicle again?”
    “[Shakes his head] No. But I think we can prolly guess that much, can’t we?”
    “Yeah, I suppose. Well, that’s gonna come out. And you know how much harder that’s going to make things on Dougie, don’t cha? That’s why you’re a-sitting here, letting good beer go bad.”
    “I can’t let that happen, Sheriff. Here’s my brother! He don’t deserve to go to jail!”
    “Ain’t for us to decide, son. But you gotta call him. Tell him to come clean. To tell it all. If they have to find that out through diggin’, that D.A.’s liable to get irritated. Feel like he’s been lied to. Dougie don’t want that. Now theys no one on the planet he’d listen to ahead of you. Same bolt of cloth, you two. You love him; you want what’s best for him. That ain’t runnin’. That ain’t hiding and hoping. That’s facing this thing head on. That’s what he deserves, since you brought it up. It’s what that girl deserves, too.”
    Lawson was crying now, very hard.
    “I can’t do that, Sheriff! I can’t tell my brother to go into the courthouse tomorrow morning and hang hissef! Right to Remain Silent is just as much a thing as HIPPA ever was, sir! More of a thing, actually, comes down to it.”
    “[Heavy sigh] The boy has narcolepsy, son. You know it, and I know it. Most of all, he knows it. Based on that, we can make a pretty fair guess what took place. The girl stepped into the street right when Dougie was having a [snaps fingers]… what did Jenkins call them damn things…microsleeps! Dougie had a microsleep come up on him, and at the worst possible time. Only has to last a few seconds. Anyway, Dougie didn’t see her, and not because she did something wrong. He didn’t see her because he fell asleep, just for a second or two, while he was behind the wheel of a squad car, and he struck her down. Sometimes it happens; they don’t know it! Could be Dougie don’t have a clue. But that’s what happened, sure as the world. [Sigh] He knew better, too. Doc surely told him. You know he did.”
    Sheriff Lex noticed the coin now sitting on the table. Lawson stopped fiddling with it as soon as he sat down.
    “Hey, lookee there! Don’t tell me ol’ Lee Zingus over in Nashville still hands them things out to cadets as they graduate!”
    Lawson was thankful for the break.
    “Yessir! Sure does!”
    “And the speech? No!”
    [Nods head. Laughs] “This is one Denarius! It symbolizes a day’s wages—”
    Now Both men together.
    “…for an honest day of hard work!” 
    “You know it too! [Laughs] He strikes those himself. Every year. For each and every cadet!”
    “Strikes them, hell! He buys them off Amazon Prime!”
    “No sir!”
    “Oh, yeah! Found some outfit in the Czech Republic or some damn place, I dunno. Sends ‘em to him in bulk. Hundreds in a single envelope, pennies on the dollar. You don’t need to spread that around, now. Boys like believing he makes ‘em up special.”
    “I know! Not sure you shoulda told me.”
    “The fellar on the front a that coin: who is that?”
    “Nero, sir.”
    “Right! Ain’t he the boy was playing on his fiddle whilest Rome burned to the ground?”
    “That story ain’t true, Sheriff.”
    “Yet here we are, two thousands years later, talking about it at the Red Spruce Lodge in Sitoburg, Tennessee. You expect he planned on all that?”
    “No, I’m guessing he didn’t.”
    “Some stories live on way past us, son. True or not true, don’t matter. People say Nero neglected his duty. Looked t’other way when he shoulda been protecting his own.”
    “Killed the early Christians, too.”
    “Well, he’s a bastard, ain’t he! Point is, duty is hard, but duty is clear. Yours is right in front of ya. You gonna call your brother, when he needs you to call him? Tell him what he don’t wanna hear, but needs to hear? Or do I need to scare you up a fiddle somewheres? Pawn shop’s across the street, I do believe. Probably open for another fifteen minutes or so. What’s it gonna be, Deputy?”
    “Damn.”
    “Yep. Listen: when time comes, I’ll drive out to Las Cruces with you. HIPPA or no HIPPA, I have a part in this. If I don’t make that call to Alex, I wager Dougie never even steps foot in New Mexico. Not ever. Change that equation, and that poor girl lives out her whole life, just like she was meant to. I’ll be chewing on that from now on. Lots of hands get dirty, times like these. Besides, you and Dougie are as kin to me as any blood relation. Ain’t neither of you doing this alone. Promise.” He picked up his hat. “Okay, then. I’m headed to the house. Aubrey Kate’s making meatloaf tonight, and my missing it won’t help nobody. Call me when you need to.”
#
    Lawson Riley looked at his beer. He pushed it aside. Picking up his phone, he passed through the back door of the Red Spruce Lounge and out to the loading dock and the dumpsters. The tears rallied, but he chocked them back down. Swallowed hard, made the call.
    “Hello, Dougie? Hey, Brother! How’d today go? Uh huh. Uh huh. Good! Yeah, I know. I’m sure. Hey, listen. You know I Love you, right? Brothers to the grave? Good, ‘cause here’s where it gets really hard.”    

​

​THE DEPUTY AND 61

    As she trudged down the alley, Cenessa saw a small black metal box sitting unattended on a loading dock. There it was. Good chance it had cash inside, or something else amounting to the same, judging by its sturdy construction. She supposed it must have been set there by the only other person in sight: a middle aged overweight white man, smoking away and leaning on dumpster some fifty feet away. Perhaps he was waiting on someone or something, but for whatever reason, he hadn’t noticed her yet. She ducked down behind a waist-high cinderblock wall and watched him carefully, weighing the risks. Then he started talking on his phone. And pacing. Coming to the nearest end of his distracted circuit, he made an about face and began walking back in the opposite direction. Now he was smoking, talking on the phone, and walking further away with his back to her. The box in between. She was hungry and down to loose change. There was nothing left think about.
    She made four full strides before the man noticed her at all. Two more strides before it registered that she was running, and with a metal box in her right hand. Three more strides before he remembered once he had been steward of a box very similar to the one she carried. And four more strides before all of these facts rendered their terrifying conclusion. Of course, any lead at all was moot; he couldn’t have caught her had she been running towards him. Still, he knew this was his ass, and a flood of adrenaline summoned muscles that had not been called upon in over a decade to wake from their pizza and atrophy and give chase. It was valiant, if pitiful. She turned left onto O Street towards the north entrance of Quadrangle Square, and certainly would have gotten away forever, had she not collided with Sheriff’s Deputy Rowan Callabaugh walking up the sidewalk at that same moment. Both hit the deck. 
    She dropped the cashbox; he recognized it instantly.
    “Well! Hey, Miss! [Grabbing her by the wrist] So glad you found this! I know a man who is desperately missing this valuable item right about now. He’ll be so happy to have it returned. Let’s take it right to him, shall we?”
    “Let me go, pig! That suitcase is mine! Get your hands off me!”
    “Oh, I’m sure it is! And I’m sure there are no receipts labeled ‘Clemens Department Store’ on the inside a your luggage, neither. Just jeans and undies and such, right?”
    “None of your damn business what I packed; you got no probable cause! Let me go, damn it!”
    “Ma’am! You’ve got ten or twelve seconds to change your attitude real quick! Otherwise that fat man I hear stomping down the alley is gonna be around that corner and your day’s about to get a whole lot worse. Believe that! Up to you, sister.”
    Before she could respond, the box’s previous owner spilled his spent and asphyxiated soul onto O Street. Seeing the welcomed sight approaching, he allowed himself to stumble to a full stop, lowered his head between his knees, and panted like one-dog sled team. He actually raised one hand, apparently calling for a timeout. Speaking first was out of the question, which gave the deputy the advantage. 
    “There you are, Wilbur Hollister! This young lady found your drop box back in the alley! Can you believe that?! She stopped by the station house and asked us where she might return it to its rightful owner! Well, I thought it looked like what y’all at Clemens give to the Loomis man of a mornin’, so we were just on our way to pay you a visit! Here it is! Yours, ain’t it? You’re welcome! Have a good day, now!”
    “Buh! Buh! Buh! Bullshit, Rowan! Huh! Huh! Huh! Th.. [swallows] That tramp stole it from me!”
    “Kiss my ass, you fat walrus!”
    “Easy.”
     “Ruh! Right off the dock! Now, damn, it! Put the cu. Cu. Cuffs on her and take her to ja. Jail!”
    “I’m sorry, Wilbur. She stole it? How could she steal it? Did she come up behind you and hit you over the head? Punch you in the face, maybe? I’m confused, see… How did she wrestle this box outta that death grip you keep on it at all times? Do we have an assault to investigate?”
    “Huh. Huh. She stole it, I tell ya! Huh. We have cameras! [swallows] Let’s go look at ‘em!”
    “Oh, I think that’s a good idea! Clear this right up! But you know, whatever is on that feed we’ll have to show to Old Man Clemens, just to keep him in the loop where our investigation is concerned. I’m sure he’ll be very interested to see how diligently you look after his deposits ever’ day. Good idea, Wilbur. Let’s go take a look!”
    “Huh! Huh! [all stop] Just a damn minute, now!”
    “That’s right, ‘Just a damn minute, now!’ Sheriff and me been telling you forever that the daily drop ain’t also your personal smoke break, but you don’t listen. Today something happened that we can fix, so let’s fix it. But tomorrow you might not be so lucky. So huff and puff your fat ass back to work and be glad you still have a job, Day Manager. If you haven’t learned to be more careful after this then you’re too damn dumb to help anyway. Get, now.”
    “Aah. Aah. Asshole.” But the point was taken. No more daily deposits were transacted in the Gullet Avenue alley.
    “Thank you. Now will you please let me go, officer? Please?”
    “Not quite. Now, I’m gonna turn loose a your wrist, but you better stand right where you are, and no foolin’. Get me? I ain’t no over-fed under-walked department store day manager! I’m a new deputy three months outta th’cademy and I’m in my prime! Try to run on me and I’ll catch you, tase you, cuff you, and tase you again just for good measure. We clear?”
    She didn’t answer. He let go her wrist. She stood still.
    “Good. Now, what’s your name and where ya from? Don’t bother lyin’, ‘cause I’m gonna check out everthin’ you say. Go on, now.”
    “[Sigh] My name is Cenessa Marietta. I was from Memphis once, but I ain’t going back there. Ever. Was in St. Louis for a while, but turns out, it was too much like Memphis, so I thumbed my way up Highway 61 and here I am. But not for long. I’ll pass right on through as soon as you let me go, I promise. This shithole ain’t my idea of home, that’s for sure. I saw a chance and I took it is all.”
    “You hitchhiked here up 61 from St. Louis?”
    “Yeah. So?”
    “Did you hitch all the way from Memphis to St. Louis before that?”
    “Duh. I mean.. Yes.”
    “Well girl, that’s dangerous! All kinds of things can happen to a young girl hitchhiking across America by herself!”
    “Yeah, I know that. And one or two of them did. Look, if I had a car I’d drive it. But I don’t. I’m twenty-five; I can take care of myself. Anyway, whatever. Just let me go and I’ll never bother you again. I don’t even know the name of this stupid town, but I promise I’ll never come back.”
    “I don’t know. I think I need you to come across the square to the station. I want the Sheriff to talk to you.”
    “You’re going to arrest me anyway, after all that? I knew it! Pigs are all the same [Kicks his left shin]!”
    “Ow! Damn it, Girl! I never said you was arrested but you’re making it awful tempting! I said I want him to talk to you. You ain’t in no trouble over that cashbox; did us a favor! Showed ol’ Wilbur what we could never teach him by talking. So relax. Just the same, I want you to speak to the sheriff to see if we can’t find some other kinda way to help you. That’s all. Don’t kick me again or I swear I’ll try out a few new moves I’ve been savin’!”
    “Okay, okay. I won’t kick you. Chill. But you can save it. I don’t need no help, least of all from the local hayseed sheriff.”
    “We’ll see. [Shakes head] You hitchhiked from Memphis to Shippley, MO up Highway 61. What are you, a walking Bob Dylan song?”
    “Who’s Bob Dylan?”
    “Okay! Girlie. Now you’ve done two bad things today and stealing that cashbox wasn’t the worst of it!  Start walking.”

    
    Sheriff Bill Adams did get a kick out the borrowed cashbox story, and he too felt Cenessa had done the county some small bit of service. He also agreed that allowing her to continue hitchhiking north on Highway 61 just didn’t seem right, twenty-five or no twenty-five. But more than all of this, he knew news of strangers travels fast in Shippley, and sooner or later word of this girl would reach Geraldine Adams. The thought of having to explain to his wife why he let a young girl carry on drifting alone gave the man a cold shiver. He wanted no part of that. She came home with him for supper. 
    
    After meatloaf and mashed potatoes, Geraldine provided Cenessa with a robe and some new pajamas and instructed her to take a nice long bath. Cenessa wasn’t really the robe-and-pajamas type of girl. She wasn’t the take-a-nice-long-bath type of girl either, for that matter, but she didn’t argue. Geraldine had that effect on people. She also washed all of Cenessa’s clothes while she soaked in the tub—which normally would have been received as an egregious and presumptuous infringement on her personal space, but this was okay too. Somehow she kind of warmed herself at Geraldine’s motherly fire. And it felt really nice. The next morning found the two women alone. Geraldine made them breakfast and they spent several hours talking at the kitchen table. 
    It could be argued that there has never been a more nosey human being than Geraldine Adams, but she was nosey without an ounce of judgement. Which changes everything. She made you look forward to the next question. 
    “Babygirl, what’s waiting for you up north of here?”
    “I don’t know. Nothin’, I suppose.”
    “Why, we got plenty of nothing right here in Shippley. Miles of it in every direction. Why don’t you stay a while until you’re ready to trade in nothing for something?”
    “Yes ma’am (she had never heard herself say that), I think I might. At least a day or two, if you don’t mind me staying here with you and Mister Sheriff for just a bit. I’m outta money.”
    “If you had money I still wouldn’t let you leave. This afternoon we’ll head into town and get you some new clothes, and no arguing. Only, I hear there’s one store at least we should probably steer clear of. Ha! I wished I coulda seen that!”
    “I’m really sorry, looking back on it. Wasn’t right. And I coulda been in so much trouble. I just didn’t see no other way.”
    “Well, seems to me it was the only way to get what you needed. Only what you needed wasn’t that ol’ box a other-people’s money. But it got you there just the same. Gave Wilbur what he needed too, I’d imagine. Known that boy since he was in diapers and he never did have a lick of sense. His mamma neither. But he’s not all bad. Few people are.”
    “Oh, I could name you a few, ma’am! Met several. I don’t know about that manager, but that deputy was nice to help me like that.”
    “Oh, yes. He’s a nice boy. Good looking, too. As a matter of fact.”
    “[Spits coffee] If you say so. I didn’t really notice.”

    On Quadrangle Square there are two drinking establishments: Heer’s Pub (mostly catering to students from Missouri Northeast Southern State University) and The Sweetgum Lounge (mostly catering to everyone else). Somewhere along the way Cenessa had once tended bar, and she was quite good at it. The MNSSU crowd wasn’t really her speed. The Sweetgum Lounge, on the other hand, was Goldilocks’ porridge. She took to the place right away, and Buddy Gaffrey was glad to have her. Regulars were more chatty those nights she worked, which usually equalled better moods and higher tabs. Some people just seem to add their own light to any room. Even in a dimly-lighted dive of a lounge. She’d been working there for about a week or so before Rowan Callabaugh got up the nerve to stop in for a Löwenbräu after quitting time.
    “Hey there, 61. How you been getting on?”
    “61? Oh, right! I get it. Cute. Um, I’m doing okay. [Pulls on a draft handle] You?”
    “Oh, I’m good. Still staying at the Adams’ place?”
    “Ha, ha. Yes. I am still staying at your boss’ house. But then you know that as well as I do. Gee, you were much better at making conversation when I was stealing stuff. Now I have a job and suddenly you’re all awkward and shit. What’s up with that?”
    “Ha. Yeah. That was bad. I don’t know. I’m not good at this, I guess.”
    “Not good at what? Ordering beer?”
    “I guess not. Suppose I’ll just have the one and
head on home.”
    “Okay. Oh, by the way. I get off at 11:00, just in case you can think of anything to talk about between now and then.”
    “Really? Okay! Well, I’ll see how it goes. Few things I have to do. I’ll be back if I have time, I mean.” He was back at 10:15. New shirt, fresh haircut.

    Rowan would have taken her anywhere she wanted to go; she wanted a park with a swing set. Cenessa believed people tell different stories while sitting on swings. Stories closer to the truth. Something about the rhythm, the weightlessness, the looking straight ahead. Even the pauses mean something. Nighttime made it even better.
    “I’ve been studying up on Bob Dylan since you got all offended I didn’t know who he was. I’ve listened to a few songs. They’re okay. I don’t really get it, though. Kinda old, isn’t he? And is he serious with that voice? Why do you like him so much?”
    “Heh. An acquired taste, I guess. My Old Man loved him. Played his records constantly when I was a kid. Me and my kid brother Gavin know his whole catalogue. You might say Bob Dylan is the only thing the three of us ever had in common. He passed about five months ago, my Old Man, while I was down at th’cademy. Stroked out at Lexington Sawmill working a planer. Friend of mine works at Terrapin County Regional; he was there the day they brought him in. Said he was gone long before the ambulance got there. Never had a chance. Anyway, since I could talk I knowed all those old Dylan tunes back to front. Every album. But they mean a bit more to me these days. Ha. My Old Man’s favorite album, as a matter of fact, was Highway 61 Revisited. I’m a Blonde on Blonde man myself, but 61 is a great, great record. Your story coulda been an extra verse in that song.”
    “No it couldn’t, neither. I heard that song. I mean, no disrespect; I understand why you like it and all, but it doesn’t really make a lot of sense. Can you explain it to me?”
    “No. Not really. So, you thinking ‘bout staying in Shippley now? I figured you’d be gone as soon as you cashed a couple paychecks.”
    “I know, right? I should! I mean, what am I doing here? Can’t even find this town on a map! But every time I start thinking on leaving, I realize I kinda don’t want to go no more. I’m too tired inside to fool with all that again. I guess I stopped running long enough to realize one place is the same as another, so long as you’re taking yourself along with you. So Shippley’s as good a place as any, for now at least.. I guess I’m waiting around to find something.”
    “Like what?”
    “I don’t know. Something real.” They continued swinging in silence for several very long seconds.
    “Is this real?”
    “Ha! Slow down, Deputy. We just met. But it ain’t a bad start.”

    One of the regulars at The Sweetgum Lounge was Walter Redman. You could count on him to arrive at his favorite barstool, by 6:15 at the latest, each and every evening excluding weekends. Stinky Walt’s Gun & Pawn closed up shop at 5:00 through the week, and he’d be there as soon as the register balanced. Johnny Walker Red. Three. Gone by 7:30, and then back the next night. After about three months, he had really taken a shine to Cenessa Marietta. But then again, who hadn’t? Even Wilbur Hollister learned to pass her on the sidewalk without putting his hand over his billfold. One day she stopped in at Stinky Walt’s looking for a special gift.
    “Well, Missy, what brings you here this morning? Miss me?”
    “Of course I did, Walter! [Laughs] I’ve always loved pawn shops. So much unique stuff from who knows where. I feel like all of these things have stories leading to how they got here, except no one remembers them. Once they meant something to somebody; then they didn’t anymore. Or not enough, anyway. I get that. Anyway, I’m here to look at your guitars. Got any good deals?”
    “Oh, I always have good deals. Ask anyone!” She had asked several, but she gave Walter a chance notwithstanding. “Have you been playing long?”
    “Oh, no! It’s not for me. I wouldn’t have a clue. It’s for the deputy. Music means a lot to him.”
    “Rowan! Yes, it does. I guess I knew that much, but I didn’t know he played. Hmm. Well, what does he like in a guitar? You want to bring him by and let him strum a few?”
    “Walter, I ain’t got no idea what makes a guitar good or bad, but I want to surprise him. Today makes three months since we’ve been talking.”
    “Talking.”
    “[Laughs] That’s what they call it now when you’re clearly dating but no one has bothered to say so yet. Anyway, can you help me choose one? I just want something he can take with us to the park of an evening, or over to the Nothing Significant Diner, hell—even to The Sweetgum on open mic nights. Wherever. Something he’ll like playing but won’t be too afraid a gettin’ scratched up or stolen or whatever. Does that help?”
    “Believe they call that a ‘beater’ guitar, honey. As in ‘it won’t hurt it none to beat on it.’ ’Tween you and me [leans in] my whole inventory is beater guitars. When I get something in worth having I keep it m’self or sell it on eBay; these yokels’d never give what good is worth. E’r’body thinks I owe ‘em a hometown discount, like I should starve ‘cause they live on 9th Avenue or something. But Yeah, I think I got one that’ll do real nice.” 
    Looking through his impressive collection of over-priced low-end acoustic guitars, he pulled down one marked “Seville.” Hangtag price: $189.99.
    “This here’s a Korean made guitar that plays real nice. It sounds… [Strums a G major chord] Well, like a cheap acoustic guitar sounds. But within that expectation, it sounds pretty good. The main thing is, it’s got what they call ‘low action,’ so he can play it all day without getting hand cramps or blisters or carpal tunnel.”
    “I like it! I like the color. ‘Seville’? Is that a good brand?”
    “Never heard of it. Truth is, some of these cheap companies put out guitars with all kinds of different names slapped onto the headstock. Same exact guitar, mind you. I think it helps them diversify should one name get a bad rap or get sued for patent infringements or who knows what else. Anyway, no. This ain’t a name brand guitar. It’s a good beater guitar, but that’s all it is. Now, if you don’t buy it, my story will change for the next girl comes in here lookin’. So, you best buy it. Don’t be responsible for making me a liar.”
    “[Laughs] I don’t have that much money, and I don’t want a works-at-The-Sweetgum discount. Do you have anything else? How are these other ones?”
    “About the same. But this one is yours. Or Rowan’s, I guess. I’ve said too much now.” 
    Cenessa left Stinky Walt’s Gun & Pawn with a Seville acoustic guitar and $60 less in her purse. Rowan was thrilled beyond measure, and name brand or not, he was indeed worried about scratching it or having it stolen. She finally had to bluff returning the thing before he loosened up enough to do with it what she bought it for. Some nights she listened to him play for hours. Not a great voice; an average one at best. Didn’t matter. She still didn’t get those Bob Dylan songs, but she sure loved the way he got them. 

    Summer was hotter and even more humid than usual that year. Everyone bitched and moaned about it. Except for Rowan and Cenessa. Somehow they never noticed. One year ago she hitched her way into town and never left. On the anniversary of this event, Bill and Geraldine Adams invited them to dinner at The White House Porterhouse Steakhouse. It was a time to celebrate, and The White House was a sufficient venue to let out of the bag the worst-kept secret in all of Terrapin County.
    “Sheriff, Miss Geraldine, 61 and I have an announcement to make.”
    “You’re picking up the check for the first time in your life?”
    “[Slaps his hand] Willie!”
    “Um, no, sir. And uh, that was both unfair and inaccurate. Anyway, I’ve asked Cenessa to marry me this fall, and she doesn’t have the sense to turn me down.”
    “We’ll talk, honey.”
    “Willie Arthur Adams, you best hush up! Go on, dear.”
    Cenessa showed off a ring Rowan bought for her at Stinky Walt’s (hometown discount). It was a nice, modest stone. But it looked much more brilliant sitting upon her finger.
    “I asked Deputy to get me a pawn shop ring. This ring had a story before it came to me. I don’t know what it was. But it has a new story now. Just like we do.”
    Bill Adams actually began to tear up. He reached for his dinner napkin, and Geraldine kicked him under the table.
    “Let it sit there. They’ve earned it.”
    “[Scoffs] Okay. Well that’s fine. I’m real happy for you. The both of you. So, you planning of having that long-winded preacher over at Shippley Full Gospel officiate like everybody else in town? Please don’t! We’ll be there all day, and I’ll likely have stuff to do. Matter of fact, the court house is right across the square from the station—you wanna just walk over there on lunch or something?”
    “No, sir. That sounds nice and all. But we ain’t gonna do neither a them things. Got other plans. In fact, I don’t think we’ll actually tie the knot here in town at all. 
    “Really?” Asked Sheriff Adams. And then, completely unaware, he set the ball right onto the tee. “Well, where do you want this wedding done?”
    “Sigh.”
    “Out on Highway 61!”
    “Never shoulda bought that stupid guitar.”
    

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