He wanted to disappear. That’s what he usually did and that’s what he
tried to do again. He went home and
slept and ate for two days and, except for calling in sick to work, saw or
talked to no one.
The only place he went that week was to Kerry’s wake at the Keg. There Doran met Kerry’s brother, Tom, who was down fromOhio
He’d assumed that she’d had it rough growing up. Who didn’t? But for her it had been worse than most. Her mom had died when she was only two. Her dad fell in the bottle after that and never crawled back out. He’d managed to keep a job and a roof but that was it. Tom, who was nine years older than Kerry, had done his best to raise her
“But,” he said, “I was just a kid myself and when I was sixteen, I got caught boostin’ a car. Spent a year in juvie hall down at Alto. She was only seven then and a guy grabbed her off the street. She was missing for three days till she climbed out a window and showed up back at the house. By the time I got out the guy was already in the joint. Our old man wouldn’t talk about it to me. Shit, to anyone. He just crawled farther in his fuckin’ bottle.” Tom took a pull from his beer, lit a smoke and continued. “Anyway, I never tried to talk to her about it and she never mentioned it to me. Just like it never happened.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The asshole got thirty years.” He shook his head and looked down at the bar. “She got life. She was never the same after that.”
They sat without speaking for a moment as Tom peeled the label from his beer. A hesitation was in his voice when he continued. “The guy, he got out, good behavior or some such shit, on the same day she did it.” His breath caught but he continued. “I don’t know how she found out. She must have. She didn’t need to know. She was no goddamn overdose. I know she killed herself. Goddamn it, I know.”
They sat silently together until their beers were empty. Doran knew that no words could help this man. The truth was as good as the lie to him. She’d still be gone.
Doran finally got up to leave. Tom stood, took his hand to shake it, and focused on him with eyes too much like his sister’s.
“Anyway, I just wanted someone who knew her to know that stuff. Maybe understand a little. We didn’t really talk much, ya’ know, and all those years that she was out runnin’, you’re the only person she ever even mentioned. She said you were good to her. And, well I thank you for that,” he said and released Doran’s hand.
Doran drove away thinking about what Tom had told him. He wondered whether it changed anything he thought about what Kerry’s death meant to him. While he’d felt a thousand things about it, the one thing that had never changed was admiration, his respect for the choice she’d made. She’d left on her own terms and in his eyes her courage had transformed her. And despite what she’d written in her note, he’d never felt guilt about it. Instead he’d felt strangely honored that she’d chosen to spend that day with him. She’d finally shown herself to him. That meant something, right?
But now he wondered. Had she denied her disease’s malevolence by running headlong toward death? Or was she running from a past that wouldn’t stay in the past?
Running to or from seemed like the same thing. In the end, it really didn’t matter. He decided that she was a beautiful and tragic hero.
Donna was dead. Donna had run
with them until she got pregnant the year before. She got clean till the baby came and she tried
to stay that way. For a while. Then she just pretended to stay that way,
trying to do right by her daughter. But
yesterday she’d gone to the drive through window at the bank to cash a check. After she didn’t take the money from the tube
for about ten minutes, with her car sitting and idling in the lane, the bank
manager had gone outside and found her dead behind the wheel with the baby
strapped in and sleeping in her car seat.
The coroner said cardiac arrest induced by an overdose of
methamphetamine had killed her.
So he went to another wake. Another funeral. And tried to disappear again.
Three months later it was Roger. Roger wasn’t dead. But he was a now a quadriplegic with an as yet undetermined amount of brain damage. Roger had beenDonna ’s
boyfriend and the father of the baby that had been taken by the state after she
died. Every since then Roger had been
acting crazy, even by his own rather extreme standards of what qualified as
crazy. He’d finally gotten good and
drunk and tried to beat a pickup through an intersection on his Harley. It had happened right in front of the Keg so
there were plenty of witnesses to retell the story at the bar. He never had a chance.
Doran visited the hospital where he was not sure Roger even recognized him. But it was clear that Roger recognized the bottle of Jack Daniels that Rat had snuck up to the room and was pouring into his mouth every time he groaned.
Doran disappeared yet again. He spent his time working and reading and wondering how his life had become guns and needles and drugs and all too casual violence and suddenly, all too common death.
And he kept hearing her, “You ain’t them. And you ain’t me.”
He tossed her note into the fire and let himself let her go with the smoke.
The only place he went that week was to Kerry’s wake at the Keg. There Doran met Kerry’s brother, Tom, who was down from
He’d assumed that she’d had it rough growing up. Who didn’t? But for her it had been worse than most. Her mom had died when she was only two. Her dad fell in the bottle after that and never crawled back out. He’d managed to keep a job and a roof but that was it. Tom, who was nine years older than Kerry, had done his best to raise her
“But,” he said, “I was just a kid myself and when I was sixteen, I got caught boostin’ a car. Spent a year in juvie hall down at Alto. She was only seven then and a guy grabbed her off the street. She was missing for three days till she climbed out a window and showed up back at the house. By the time I got out the guy was already in the joint. Our old man wouldn’t talk about it to me. Shit, to anyone. He just crawled farther in his fuckin’ bottle.” Tom took a pull from his beer, lit a smoke and continued. “Anyway, I never tried to talk to her about it and she never mentioned it to me. Just like it never happened.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The asshole got thirty years.” He shook his head and looked down at the bar. “She got life. She was never the same after that.”
They sat without speaking for a moment as Tom peeled the label from his beer. A hesitation was in his voice when he continued. “The guy, he got out, good behavior or some such shit, on the same day she did it.” His breath caught but he continued. “I don’t know how she found out. She must have. She didn’t need to know. She was no goddamn overdose. I know she killed herself. Goddamn it, I know.”
They sat silently together until their beers were empty. Doran knew that no words could help this man. The truth was as good as the lie to him. She’d still be gone.
Doran finally got up to leave. Tom stood, took his hand to shake it, and focused on him with eyes too much like his sister’s.
“Anyway, I just wanted someone who knew her to know that stuff. Maybe understand a little. We didn’t really talk much, ya’ know, and all those years that she was out runnin’, you’re the only person she ever even mentioned. She said you were good to her. And, well I thank you for that,” he said and released Doran’s hand.
Doran drove away thinking about what Tom had told him. He wondered whether it changed anything he thought about what Kerry’s death meant to him. While he’d felt a thousand things about it, the one thing that had never changed was admiration, his respect for the choice she’d made. She’d left on her own terms and in his eyes her courage had transformed her. And despite what she’d written in her note, he’d never felt guilt about it. Instead he’d felt strangely honored that she’d chosen to spend that day with him. She’d finally shown herself to him. That meant something, right?
But now he wondered. Had she denied her disease’s malevolence by running headlong toward death? Or was she running from a past that wouldn’t stay in the past?
Running to or from seemed like the same thing. In the end, it really didn’t matter. He decided that she was a beautiful and tragic hero.
After the wake, he did
disappear. He didn’t go to Jeff’s or
Rat’s or the Keg. Work and home and
books became his life. And wandering
around inside his own head. He kept
bumping into her up there.
A week later Jeff called and told
him So he went to another wake. Another funeral. And tried to disappear again.
Three months later it was Roger. Roger wasn’t dead. But he was a now a quadriplegic with an as yet undetermined amount of brain damage. Roger had been
Doran visited the hospital where he was not sure Roger even recognized him. But it was clear that Roger recognized the bottle of Jack Daniels that Rat had snuck up to the room and was pouring into his mouth every time he groaned.
Doran disappeared yet again. He spent his time working and reading and wondering how his life had become guns and needles and drugs and all too casual violence and suddenly, all too common death.
And he kept hearing her, “You ain’t them. And you ain’t me.”
Jeff eventually got a job on the
oil rigs in the Gulf and moved to Mississippi
On January 21, 1980 he sat alone in
front of the fireplace. He’d started
college the previous fall and hadn’t seen a needle or gun in almost a
year. He put Petty’s “Refugee” on low
and sipped a Jack. He took a crumpled
paper from his wallet and, reading it one final time said to the flames “I hope
you found it, baby.”He tossed her note into the fire and let himself let her go with the smoke.
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