Finn woke before dawn, not a cloud in the sky. He let the ache crawl over him, then fade. He flicked the radio on, then dragged his clothes off the floor. Three songs and the room was bare, save the duffel bag by the door, the coat on the hook. He gave the room the a once over, then turned the switch off and headed out the door.
He walked down his home town street, the bag feeling good on his shoulder. He walked past the shops, each one he’d known all his life, like a school class or a song. He nodded to the keepers, Mr. Brier, Mrs. Poppy. He made his way to the diner, looking at the shapes of last night’s puddle drying in the light, running his thumb along the chrome of the cars parked along the street, the Dodge, the T-Bird.
Megan woke with the rain. Three a.m. She looked out the window, followed the streaking lightning, wondering where it hit. She slipped on the dress, kept her shoes in her hand, tip-toed past her roommates. Outside she slipped them on, then quickly walked to the car, keys in hand. It started first time. She flicked on the radio. She waited a few seconds until the song finished, her thumb and finger tapping along, then drove into the breaking day. She wondered if Finn had caught the same song.
She headed down the long roads, listened to the music and followed the news. Listened to the war stories, the people arguing for and against. She thought about the postcards, tributes pinned on campus walls, letters gathered in uneasy piles by the dorm phone-box. Megan wondered what family today was hearing about their son, their brother.
Julianne Mist with the beautiful long red hair, who sat close by Meg in class each day, winking and drawing pictures, ‘dashboard confessionals’, of their classmates, teachers. Who drew a picture of her boyfriend from the photo in her wallet. And then he was gone forever. She put her foot down and turned up the music.
Finn sat in the diner, ordered a milkshake, ordered Meg one. He looked out the window, to the town full of people, smiling, frowning, talking, walking alone. He saw George Fillman, big and mean, the bully to beat them all. Who picked on the weakest, making everyone edge into the fading puddles, upsetting their day. He called over to Alice, asked her to watch his bag and stepped into the street.
“You did what?” Meg’s voice was loud enough to let a few sports pages slip around them.
“Come on Meg, he was up his ass before I crossed the road. You used to call him everything under the sun, anyway.” He put up his hands up in defense; Meg saw the knuckles, newly torn and raw.
“You think it’s smart to draw attention to yourself, today of all days? What if he calls the cops, Finn? You think about that?” She looked at him straight, with dead eyes.
“He’s not calling anybody. He’s down to his elbow in the till, trust me. Didn’t you used to call him, pig-face, anyway?” He looked her back, raised an eyebrow.
“Pig-Ass face, it we’re being precise.” She lifted her glass. Then he made the biggest oink-oink noise he could muster.
“How come you always cause trouble and I’m always caught up in it, anyway?” She said. They stopped at the pet shop, run by the spinster twins. They never sold the kittens to kids ‘cause they weren’t much older than the animals themselves.’ Only to responsible families and the oldsters who sat with them in church.
“Because you’re the pretty college girl and I snort like a pig.” He said, tipping the window. He caught a glimpse over to Meg, who always looked sad at the down at heel kittens and always threw daggers at the old women, who threw them straight back.
“Those old bitches haven’t sold one since I was back last year..” She looked over; he laughed at how angry she was. He offered up his arm and they walked up the street. They saw the banner, bright yellow, with uneven black letters, attached on to every lamppost going.
“Fireworks at ten…means an all evening event, drinking to midnight. All the town’s going to be involved. The streets will all be empty apart from us and the babysitters and most of them will be drunk. Come on.” They walked on, waving to the kittens, the morning fading and midday coming up.
They made their way through the town, Meg stopping and being stopped by friends, keepers, teachers. Finn watched, saw how they talked differently to her. Meg was the same as before she left; polite, interested. She was bigger than the whole town put together. By the time they reached the park gates he was exhausted just being around her. They walked past the swings, the slides. They took a few turns and walked the hill. Soon they were level with the clock tower, overlooking the whole town.
He pitched the food out onto his outstretched coat, dividing things up, while she pulled the beers out of the bag. They sat down. He sprinkled grass on his sandwich, so it tasted like outdoor food. Meg, picked apart her own, crusts separate, patting the centre down. They sat and ate a little while, tuning in to the low hum of the town below, all the small scale commotion and tidy traffic.“Where are you going to go?” She’d waited three months to ask the question, the question that was going to shape the rest of their lives.
“Canada, until it runs out.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the letter, four times folded and already looking a little scuffed. He handed it over to her, his fingers shaking at the tips. She took it, her hand moving too quickly.
“They spelt your middle name wrong.” It was all she could thing to say.
“Think that’ll get me off? I could claim it’s someone else. Or I could be a consciousness objector, a pacifist on grounds of poor grammar.” He smiled out, but she wasn’t ready to, not yet. “It’ll be fine sis. Don’t worry. Just keep going. Good grades, a good job. Don’t get caught up in it. It’ll be over soon over.”
“But what if it’s not?” She said sharply. “There’s no signs…no signs of anything changing. You listen to the radio? The papers…” She trailed off and put her fingers in the dirt, started scratching it. He followed her in silence, both digging a hole as quick as they could. They kept on until it was deep enough for him to take the letter and push it in the dirt.
“Here lies Finn, miss-spelt and down in the dirt, fingernails and all.” They raised their cans, pushed the dirt over the hole and patted it all together. He pushed himself up and firmed it down with his foot, then jammed a beer can on top for a tombstone.
They sat finishing off the food, working their way through the pack of the beer. They went through their times up on the hill; the first drink, the first joint. They laid back and followed the thin cloud trails as they raced through the sky. She told him about college, didn’t tell him other things about college. They finished the beers and picked out places in town; places they loved, places they wanted to be, places neither would see again.
He led her down to the footpath back to town. The haze of the afternoon was starting to spread over the concrete, filtering through the windows. As they made their way to the bar, Denny’s, they saw Billy, their old classmate and Jeanie, who Finn had always been sweet on. They flagged each other down and pointed to the bar and they met at the door, shaking hands and hugging hellos.
They raised their glasses in the booth. The pitcher sat in the middle of the table, Billy loosening his tie, Jeannie pushing her hair back and lighting a cigarette. They talked about the town, the fireworks, the local gossip; everything but the papers. They moved over to the pool table, just the four of them in the empty bar, Denny wiping down the glasses and emptying the ashtrays as Meg racked them up.
Finn idled up to the jukebox, emptying his change into it and, turning round to the others, each of them flicking coins for him to catch, taking requests. He loaded them up and turned round. Finn smiled wondered if this was the last time he’d know all this. Then he collected up his glass and made his way over as the first song kicked in.
They ordered another pitcher and bought another pack of cigarettes. They sang along to the songs, even after a few regulars moved into their grooved stools. Outside, the sun began to drop. Meg led Billy into the space between the tables and danced as the slow song kicked in. Finn stood by Jeannie; her engagement ring brightly lit amid the dirty pool stick. He kissed her. She didn’t move. She kissed back. They looked at each other for a beat and then looked away, looked to the other two dancing, the smoke against the baize, and the noise of glasses dripping into the tub.
Standing at Denny’s doorway, they said goodbye, making promises they couldn’t keep. Then they made their way through the crowds. Soon it thinned out as they reached the long path that led to the cemetery. Neither of them spoke for a long while, until they reached the locked gates.
“You going to boost me?” She said, but he was already crouching. She stepped on his hands, went over the top. “Why’d they even lock it? Who’s going to break out?”
Finn pitched the duffle bag over; clambering up, he fell directly onto it. “Beats me. I think old Kenny the grounds man’s seen Dawn of the Dead three times too many. Seriously.” He picked up alongside her, looked up, and stopped. “Have you still not seen it? Jesus, Meg! I told you to go and see that thing…”
“I know, I know. I just haven’t got round to it.” She looked away, a sure sign of guilt. He walked on, the duffel bag close, not looking back.
She stood tall, he crouched, both facing the stone. He leant forward, picked a little moss from the dent of the letters. He patted the top, checked there were no cracks starting out along the top. She put her hand on his shoulder. He patted it, then pulled himself up to be next to her.
“You miss them as bad?” He said, picking at the stitching of the bag, pulling the thread.
“Yeah.” She didn’t ask back. She knew he did. She watched him as he pulled a piece of paper out of the bag, the pencil. He laid it against the stone, traced it until the rubbing came through. He folded it back up, then put it into the bag.
“Don’t know when I’ll get the chance, you know?” He jammed the pencil in his pocket and hauled the bag onto his shoulder.
“I’ll come down and make sure it’s kept okay.” She looked over and he nodded. It was nearing twilight, the clouds lowering. The mill of the crowd was in the distance, a murmur, starting to pick up. He pulled out a joint, lit it and passed it over.
“Town’s starting to fill up. I’ll give it the time it takes us to get back to town before it’s empty. You need anything?” He took it back, killed it off.
“No, I’m good Finn. I’m going to miss you.” She said, without thinking, her eyes thickening.
“I’ll write. I don’t think the Feds’ll hunt me through the postmark.” He ground it underfoot. “What would they think of us, Meg?” He said, looking back to the stone.
“I don’t know. I guess that’s why we’ll keep wondering all the time. Come on, let’s go.”
They walked the path, away from the growing clutter and rumble of the display. By the time they walked to the square the town had emptied. As the evening settled the two of them walked the streets, turning corners and alleyways until they came to Merryweather Street.
“You’re sure it’s the same?” She had pulled her coat on, done up to the top button. He handed her one of the six packs.“You got a stereo in there as well?” She looked over, but he was already looking at the house, working on the beer.
“It’s a mobile party.” He reached into his pocket, unzipped his wallet and pulled out a key. “Ready? I can do this on my own if you want to wait guard…” He looked at her long and hard.
“No. Let’s go.” She grabbed the key from his fingers and walked up to the door. The snap of the lock seemed to echo and then, a few seconds later, it tidily slammed shut.
Finn pushed over everything as they walked through the corridor, upturning books, pictures off the walls. He pulled a knife from his pocket and ran it along the pictures. For a long moment Meg just watched him; no longer his brother but someone else, a dangerous stranger she had chanced upon. He put his foot through the kitchen cupboards that sat at the end of the corridor. He turned and grabbed her by the hand and headed into the living room. He drew the curtains, put down his bag and pulled it open. He looked up and tossed her the spray can. Then he pulled out the portable radio, flicked on a station.
“Give me a break.” Was all she could say as she felt the smile on her face appear. Then she popped the tops off the canisters. “Turn it up, Finn.” She walked towards the walls, full of family photographs and high
white walls.
She walked the stairs slowly, forever spraying, listening to the rattle of the cans. She reached the top of the stairwell and looked to her fingers, drenched yellow, red, blue. She went into the empty bedroom. As she opened the door the scent of the room fell on her, but she didn’t look away. She walked inside, climbed on top of the bed and stood looking down on it. She flipped the lid and watched as her yellow letters fell onto dark sheets.
Breathless, the two of them met in the corridor. The house was a kaleidoscope now, words breaking out of the wreckage. Finn’s face was marked, smudged, his clothes all messed up. He walked to the bathroom and began to change. Meg turned and began to collect up the cans, dumping them in the sink. She idly upturned a few of the drawers. She pulled the band out of her hair and let it fall to her shoulders. She looked at her watch. She called out to Finn, listened to his footsteps padding on the stairs.
“All set?” He looked round, face rusty and fresh, clothes good as new. “We’d better split, the crapper’s going to boom in about ten seconds.” He picked up the bag and pulled the last two beers free.
“You mean-” She began to say, before a gurgling sound kicked in, the sound of lapping water building as the two bolted for the door.
Back out on the deserted street, all they could hear was the display, the commotion, the anticipation of the fireworks. As they moved to the top of the street, away for the final time, the countdown began from ten.
The two of them counted to each other, giggling into their beer, imitating the excited hush of the crowd. It got to the five when Finn stopped and told her to wait.
It got to three as he put down the can, slipped his bag off his shoulder. He raised it above his head. On ‘one’ he pitched it directly into the centre of the window, the first rocket kicking up into the air as the glass exploded everywhere.
They walked over to her car as the fireworks died away in the cheers. Finn let out a long, hard whistle, then ran up and slid along the bonnet.
“Jesus, Meg, you didn’t tell me you had such a ride, man! Look at this thing!” He leant in, patted down
the interior, wrestled with the steering wheel.
“A month slapping cloth on the college dining tables. Worth every penny.” She picked his bag up, threw it in the back seat. She poured coffee out of the thermos and called him over with a cup.
“These have to go down before you go.” She put it in his hand.
“Jesus, Meg. If I have another coffee I won’t stop at Canada. I’ll end up in Sweden or something…” But he blew on it, sipped it all the same. “Crowds gonna be breaking about now.” He said, looking up from his cup.
“Yeah, I know.” She fished into her pocket, pulled out the gold door key. “Won’t be needing that anymore. Can’t see us being invited back.”
“Guess this is it, sis,” he said. “Great display this year.” He looked up to the embers of smoke from the fireworks.
“Best yet, I reckon.” She said, throwing her cup to the side.They closed their eyes, opened their arms and listened to the sound of the display slowly dying away someplace far from where they stood.
*
He reached out to the radio, flicked the switch, keeping an eye on the still, empty road. The sun was coming up as the station kicked into life. The song that played was one of his favorites. He tapped his colour stained fingers on the wheel, started humming to the tune. He couldn’t help himself.
“You gonna join me, Meg?” He broke away to ask, looking over to the passenger seat. The kitten in the cage just looked at him, then away. She carried on licking her paws. “Guess not, huh?” He said, then turned back to the road.
“One, please,” She said, climbing onto the bus. She saw the driver look at her colour stained fingertips as she handed over the money, but he didn’t say anything. She walked to the back of the near empty bus. She threw down her stuff next to her. She’d caught the driver’s radio, heard the song. The bus pulled out onto the road, caught the sun coming up and over the horizon. She reached into her bag, pulled out the portable radio, tuned in the station. Sat back, humming the tune, quietly singing. She looked over to the kitten in the cage and smiled.
“One of my favorites, Finn.” She looked back out to the window, the new morning and the sun.
***
Chris Castle is English but works in Greece. His influences include Ray Carver and PT Anderson. He can be reached at chriscastle76@hotmail.com.
