The Haunting Hour

4. Tricker Lake, Tn-1

Dad’s been motorin’ all the way up to Bristol and all points in between a lot more lately. I’m pretty sure Deliah has been in tow. She likes to think she’s lookin’ out for him, I guess. Lucky for her, she isn’t stuck in a whitewashed classroom like me and Lea were. Mom and Dad figured out a while back that there wasn’t much point in puttin’ Deliah in school. They tried, but she would just sit and stare into space the whole time and the teacher thought she was a vegetable till it was time to go home and she would snap awake and give the teacher an apple as she strolled on out. Least Mom had one less lunch to pack.

Now, it’s not like the two of us sentenced to schoolin’ are saints. I get paddled at least once a week for some kinda monkeyin’ around and there ain’t much in the buildin’ that Lea hasn’t tried to set on fire. The teachers can’t even enjoy a smoke in their classrooms any more, ‘case Lea snatches some matches or a zippo and lites her pop quiz on fire right in the middle of test takin’ time. Old Mrs. Winters learned the hard way last year that Lea ain’t fond of long division, and I don’t think any of the faculty was all too pleased about it, either. I know for a fact a group of ‘em got together to talk the principal into gettin’ both of us Barretts out of school permanently. ‘Course mom and dad wouldn’t lift a hand to any of us and just pretended that what they knew they didn’t. I think, deep down, they’re proud as hell that they got some special young ‘uns and to hell with the rest of the world. Now, this special young ‘un wouldn’t mind gettin’ booted out of the fun dungeon once and for all. I learnt more out there sittin’ with a baby doe in a mornin’ meadow than I ever did listenin’ to them beehive crab apples talkin’ about the Coal Creek Wars. I figure it’s just a matter of time ‘fore Lea burns the whole thing down to the ground anyway. Guess I’d just have to survive till then.

The rest of the kids get a kick outta me cuttin’ up in class, but I wouldn’t say I got any friends. Of course, if you see a kid like me sittin’ in a tree conversin’ with a blue bird or layin’ my belly on the grass to see what’s what with a prayin’ mantis, you probably ain’t comin’ up to see if I wanna play some tether ball after school. Even my own flesh and blood Lea—hell—she barely even talks to me anymore, much less anybody else. I doubt she has had a conversation longer than a minute in over a year. She acts creepy enough to make you sleep with one eye open, that’s for sure. Sometimes I thank the stars we live on water, if you know what I mean. Dad keeps bringin’ her matches from the road, too. Just a matter of time. You keep puttin’ your hand in the wolf’s mouth, sooner or later it’s gonna bite down.

The other day, I was sharin’ my meatloaf sammich with an opossum that goes by the handle Carl, out behind the school tool shed. I was not too fond of cold meatloaf with mustard on thick bread, but that fell on deaf ears when it came to my mom.

‘Whoa, is that an opossum? He got a name?’ The sudden sound of her voice scared me, but I didn’t let it show—it wasn’t all because she had sneaked up on us, either. There was something else. Made my stomach flutter.

‘He likes the name Carl.’

‘Ain’t ya worried he’s gonna bite ya?’ As she came a step closer, I saw her goose-bumped. creamy legs sproutin’ out of a stretched-out pair of bobby socks and figured who she was. I knew I would look up to see a cheerleader skirt, then all the way on up to the bouncy red curls of one Celeste McMurphy. I suppose it was the first time I had ever heard her speak. We didn’t particularly run in the same crowd, especially since she was a junior. and mine usually had fur or at least a tail.

‘Even though I don’t agree with Carl’s tastes, I think he prefers meatloaf to my finger.’

‘Opossums are pretty gross. Don’t they give you lice or rabies?’ Saw her instinctively scratch through that gorgeous head of hair.

‘Nah, I think Carl is pretty clean. You know opossums can eat 5,000 ticks in a summer?’

Carl looked up at me like I may have some in my pocket. Makin’ sure that I noted his disappointment, he got back to the meatloaf. Celeste took a knee next to me and her smell of lavender and bubble gum made me feel weak, like when you wake up next to a creek you had been followin’ and realize you haven"t eaten in over a day. Carl caught the hint it was an A-B conversation and started to meander back to the tree line.

‘Guess Carl’s gettin’ back to tick huntin.’ She offered a hand. ‘I’m Celeste.’

I would have taken it, but that wasn’t the way to share mustard.

‘Sorry, my hand is kinda dirty. I’m Stanton. Stanton Barrett.’

‘Yeah, I’ve heard about you. Weird duck is the prevailing wisdom.’

Weird duck‘That’s kinda redundant. I’ve known a lot of ducks—just about all of them are weird.’

That made her giggle, and I even caught a small snort from her upturned freckled nose. God, what skin. Like a pearl in a saucer of cinnamon milk.

‘Your sister tried to light my pompom on fire last month.’

‘Yeah, that’s kind of her thing. Is it still able to pom?’

‘Oh, yeah. Just the smell of burnt plastic really ruined the girls’ bathroom for the day.’ Didn’t seem like she was holdin’ it against me. I wouldn’t have minded what she held against me as long as she was on the other end. I was swimmin’ laps in her emerald eyes when the worst possible thing happened: the school bell rang. Celeste jumped up and smoothed out her skirt as I also stood and wiped what mustard I could onto the side of the shed. One of her b*a straps had gone astray down her shoulder and I couldn’t help slidin’ it back up. I may have gotten a lick of mustard on her skin, but she didn’t seem to care.

‘I gotta go. It was a pleasure, Stanton. Tell Carl it was nice to meet him, too.’

‘He will be happy to hear that.’

She waited awkwardly for a beat or two, then shrugged her shoulders and spun around to walk on back to the building. Seein’ as there was no way to follow her and not seem strange, I went the other way straight into the trees. I was sure excited to tell my friends every single detail of the day that I met me an Irish angel.

Stanton looks like when a cartoon character gets hit in the head with an anvil. All goofy and glassy-eyed—only the little blue birds that are flutterin’ around his head today are all too real. Good thing we were in the middle of the forest, or they would already have him fitted for a straitjacket and headin’ for the big looney bin down in Knoxville they always be threatenin’ me with. Suppose that as long as I don’t kill or crisp up somebody bad, they’re gonna try and ride the wave and let things be. One thing I do know: you wind up down there, you get forgotten in a hurry. You live the rest of your days in a fog, playin’ checkers with a broom handle, then one day you die and they drop you in a hole in the ground with not even a marker that says you ever existed.

They could build a new wing just to hold the Barrett clan, ‘course Deliah would be out on the wind off the coast of Portugal, following a ship as soon as she arrived. Stanton would be talkin’ like a basset hound, or the president, or all three of the three stooges, and I’d have the whole damn thing burnt to ashes before the paint would dry. The powers that be know better than to try and uproot this family, even if those roots are danglin’ loose in lake water.

This kind of bullshit Stanton’s pullin’ calls for the big stick matches outta the long box. Luckily, I brought the big guns to school today. 28 left. I grab them out of my bag, drag one hard and slow against the side, and that beautiful sulphur hits my nose with a little sting. I pick up a leaf and catch it aflame. I’m the unrivaled queen of changin’ leaves into dust in a matter of seconds.

‘Hey, Lea—you start a dang forest fire, I’m gonna wring your little neck! Ain’t that right, Boo-Boo, huh?’ Brother’s playin’ up the cartoon theme.

‘That’s Yogi, you big bozo. Yogi doesn’t give a s**t about fires, he just wants to get into picnic baskets. You want to be Smokey. Two totally different bears with totally different missions.’

‘Hey, Boo-Boo, she speaks! Don’t you think I would be pretty sad if you burnt my home up, huh? Boo-Boo would be too, huh little guy? Plus, I’ve, uh, never heard Smokey talk.’

‘Smokey talks.’ I light another match and protect the flame as we walk. 26 left, now. There’s a steady breeze that makes the world noisy as the leaves let go of their branches to settle on the ground. Even though I would never tell Stanton, I love it out here. I love the colors, the yellows, the reds, the colors of flame. This place don’t need any help from me, it was already blazin’ with fall. The wind sneaks behind my hand and blows out my match. Probably Deliah up there spyin’ on us comin’ home. For someone who never gets out of her damn rockin’ chair, she sure gets around. Too bad the wind can’t wash dishes, or mop the floor, or fold clothes. Apparently, that has become my department. Pretty selfish of sis, if you ask this bear. How about I pour a can of gas on that rocker and put it on a raft—have a Vikin’ funeral for it?

Maybe that would get my sister off her a*s and back in the world of doin’ chores and homework, and gettin’ stares from the old men down at the store when you walk in to buy some charcoal and lighter fluid, wearin’ your yellow bathin’ suit ‘cause it’s hotter than hades outside. Guess they don’t give no never mind that I’m only 39 days past 12 years old, but I could sure burn up their stupid boat they got tied right outside in a New York minute.

Got home earlier this afternoon, brandishin’ steaks for the whole family. I had a pretty fruitful trip comin’ back from Kyle’s Ford through Tazewell, and bought ‘em off a guy sellin’ on the side of highway 32. Seein’ as it’s a high probability they fell off a truck or were better yet butchered in the back of his truck, I figured the safe bet was to get ‘em on the grill sooner rather than later. Of course, lil’ Lea demanded to start the grill. She came back from the store with the ignitin’ supplies while I went to grab a beer with some giddy-up, as I don’t want to come back to a damn bonfire.