Rainbow River

I’m sitting outside of my uncle’s bungalow, thinking about how massively I destroyed my life in New York. I had two options; to move back to my hometown of farmers, or stay with my uncle in middle-of-the state Florida.

The plastic beach chair overlooks the Rainbow River. I watch the bubbles rise out of the natural spring water, clear and turquoise, the deepest parts must feel like ice…I only ever dip my toe in. I think about the Brooklyn warehouse holiday party I’d probably be at tonight if I still lived in New York. I liked the grit of a New York winter. The early nightfall at 4pm.

It’s humid and muggier than a normal December in Florida, the plastic of the chair sticks to my legs, the cigarette I’m smoking makes me hotter. Laying out here, with my fresh mani and Saint Laurent shades, I realize it’s a waste. I know I’m going to stay here, there isn’t an “after I get through this” for me. This is “It.”

By now the neighbors (which is a generous term since they live at least a mile away) know who I am, some remembering me from past visits when I was a child. They wave to me when they drive by the house, catching me outside, mowing grass, getting mail. They remember another version of me. When I was happier and loved people. When I called adults by their first names as a 5 year old. I’m reminded of something my mom recently told me:

- You always had to run up to everybody and sit on their laps, asking them to be your boyfriend. Look where it’s gotten you.

I hear the screen door slam. My uncle Francis steps out, stretching after waking up at 3 in the afternoon. He’s a hippie, like all of the men in my family. My mom’s brothers are all musicians. Jason playing the guitar, Francis - the drums. 

- You think you can run into town? I know you’re off, but I need some shit. And the store gives you that discount.

My job is at the Piggly Wiggly, a cashier. How the mighty have fallen.

- I’m busy.

I feel Francis throw a chair down next to me and smell the patchouli or whatever incense he was burning drift off his skin. 

- Doing what.

- Thinking about my life. How much it sucks ass.

- Come on, look at this view. The river. It’s healing. It’s the energy that comes from a natural spring. Don’t you feel it? Get in. It’s hot out and you’ll feel refreshed.

- No thanks.

I feel a hand stroke my hair, squeezing my head. It’s firm, loving. The tears come, they always do.

- How long are you going to punish yourself? It was a mistake.

- Forever, I guess.

We sit in silence.

-  He’ll forgive you.

- I don’t want him to. It’s past that. It’s done.

He grabs a cigarette from my pack of Camel Crushes, lights one for himself and then another for me. 

- I was on the phone before I came out here, talking to Dwayne. He’s got a bug on his lung. That’s why he’s been so sick.

- A what? You mean like a virus? An infection.

- No, like an actual bug. An insect. It’s been feeding off of him, making him sick. The doctor said he’s never seen anything like it. I guess the spot on his lung a month ago wasn’t cancer. It was a larva, an egg or something. They said he might have more.

This place is a fucking nightmare.

- What do you need at the store? 

- I’ll text you the list by the time you get there.

I grab my jean shorts, the keys to his truck and don’t bother with a shirt. It’s Florida and I’m back in my white trash era.

I drive down the 13 miles of a straight, two-lane highway, passing three cars in the time I leave Francis’ bungalow till I get to Piggly Wiggly. The same stretch that “Jeepers Creepers” was filmed on. I pass some houses. Their blow up Christmas decorations deflated, waiting for their timed existence to begin at nighttime. 

As I walk through the automatic doors, I check my texts to see Francis’ list. It’s bacon and rolling papers. 

I pass by my manager, Will. He eyes the bikini top. Within the first two months he’s told me that he’s newly single, broken-hearted, a horror fan, a “big reader”, loves Italian food, and is free essentially every night after work. The ways my uncle has set me up could rival Michael Corleone.

I give a wave and head to the back of the store. Unsurprisingly, he follows.

- You know this technically is a write up…the attire. But since I’m a cool boss I’ll let it go.

I roll my eyes, grab the bacon and head up front. 

- Frank’s got you running out for bacon on a day off? Brutal.

I look up at Will. He’s actually not bad looking in a “local-hottie” kind of way.

- Yeah… I guess he thought I was going to drown myself in the Rainbow River.

I eye him, watching for the uncertain, nervous chuckle. A blank stare. 

Instead it’s a hearty laugh, full and deep. He eyes my bikini top once more.

- And I’m kidding about the “attire” thing. I get it, it’s your time off. 

Will winks and grabs the rolling papers from the cigarette racks. He doesn’t ring up any of my items, just putting both in the bag. The “employee discount” that Francis loves.

- Well unless you have plans to still drown yourself later, I thought I’d offer an invite to Holiday Movie Trivia Night at The Blue Lagoon.

- I’ll think about it.

- Don’t think too hard.

I wave and walk back out into the damp heat. 

While I drive back I’m analyzing the entire interaction I just had with Will. I know Francis has told him things about me, clearly all of my interests. I wonder what else. 

As I pull in the front yard, “I’m No Angel” by Gregg Allman is about to end, the speakers most likely about to blow out. I turn it down when I walk in. Weed smoke drifts around. Francis is untangling Christmas lights.

- Um what’s up with the order, you totally wasted gas.

- You waste gas every month you drive to Gainesville to get those nails done. Judy lives down the road and can do them for less.

- She can’t do acrylics.

- So… did anything interesting happen?

- I’m invited to trivia night.

- At The Blue Lagoon? I have to be there tonight. I'm drumming for the band I’ve been jamming with. Theirs quit a few weeks ago. They mainly do covers of that emo music you used to listen to.

- Is there like… an audience for that here?

- There are people younger than 65 that live here. We just live far out of town.

I go to the kitchen and clean up some dishes, putting a shirt on.

- I know you’re going to ask who invited me and it’s Will, from work.

- He’s a nice guy. 

- How much does he know about me? Like what have you told him?

- Just stuff about you so people could know you better when you moved here. Even though it’s short-term, I just want you to feel welcome.

- Okay that’s…nice. But, what else.

- Nothing. Let’s hang these lights, it’s still Christmas you know.

We hang the multicolored lights on the palm trees out front and I consider all of the information Francis decided to dump on me. Mainly that he’s been drumming for a Fall Out Boy cover band. I take it as a celestial sign that I’m supposed to go to The Blue Lagoon tonight, if only to listen to my uncle play. We talk about his life in the Florida Keys, playing in different clubs. The stories I love to hear about Tennessee Williams coming to listen to his band countless times. 

Before we know it, it’s 9:00 and Francis is due to meet his “bandmates” at the bar soon. I get ready quickly, slicking on winged liner, black jeans and a black tube top, along with black boots. I go out back to have a last cigarette before we leave. The moon is full, and reflecting off the river. The warmth in the air feels electric, like a storm is approaching, although there’s nothing in the forecast to show it. I tell myself to be a good person tonight. 

The Blue Lagoon is shockingly crowded, I scan the room, and spot Will easily. He’s surrounded by a large group of people, laughing, cheersing. Some in Santa hats and reindeer ears. It’s a tacky Hallmark moment that I don’t fit into. I walk to the bar and order a tequila and club soda, then turn around to watch Francis warm up with the band on stage, the name of which I don’t take the energy to remember. I feel eyes on me and realize it’s Will, along with the large group he’s with. He’s enthusiastically waving me over, a smile on his face. I make my way over.

- Hey I guess I should’ve been more specific, the trivia started at 7 so it’s long over now. The band is going on soon. I didn’t realize Frank was playing with them. Seems like that wouldn’t be his style.

- Frank can play anything. 

- I don’t doubt it.

Will introduces me to his group. The men seem drunk and horny, eager to be noticed. The wives link arms with their husbands, one demands a trip to the bar. Their eyes say, “I know who you are, what you do.” I hold their gaze. They don’t know the half of it.

A few minutes later the lead singer of the band announces their members, and Francis, as guest drummer. Several people make their way to the dance floor. They play several covers of emo hits, but Will and I hang back, making small talk about people at work, movies, shows we like. I can tell he’s trying to make me feel welcomed here, in this dive bar, under the turquoise lights. He offers to get us more drinks. I let him. Foxey, apparently the local drunk, stumbles over and keeps asking me  if I “fell from heaven.” Will and I suppress laughs as the band switches to “That’s What You Get” by Paramore, Francis hyping up the crowd. 

For a moment I forget what I’ve done. The way I am. I lead Will to the small dance floor and we move into the front row. I sing along to the lyrics about letting your heart win and burning every bridge. One song leads to another. Will appears with more drinks, shots. I let him put an arm around me. I feel his nose and mouth on the top of my head, inhaling, a satisfied moan vibrating against my skin. For this moment I think I could be happy here. I let myself linger in this alternate fantasy, until reality comes back in thick waves. Memories that alcohol makes more vivid. I excuse myself to the bathroom, and vape in the stall. If I didn’t have Francis to think of, I’d leave now. I know where this goes next. What I’ll do.

I’m fixing my lipstick in the bathroom when Will’s ex, Tish, walks in scoffing with some of the women I was introduced to earlier, their stretchy Walmart sundresses almost identical to each other. JCPenney sandals clicking on the tile. Tish walks up to me, the Regina George of the group. I respect her for it. But she doesn’t really know what she’s dealing with.

- You should probably know, woman to woman, Will and I are getting back together. So you can stop embarrassing yourself now.

I finish my lipstick and look her over, head to toe. There’s a lot I could say. Her cheap makeup, unblended. The deodorant stains on her dress. The fact she can’t begin to compare herself to me, nor should she. At least she’s had a pedicure. 

But I don’t say any of it. I’ll be like her soon enough. A cashier at a grocery store, buying my makeup off the Maybelline rack instead of inside Saks. I’m nauseous at the thought. I walk through them, feeling drunker than I like to be. I could cry, but I don’t. Not here. I leave the bar and head out front to the truck. I lean against it. I can’t drive, so I stand here looking around at nothing.  

- Leaving already?

Will is outside, walking up with a beer. He’s not really in shape, he’s got the beginnings of a dad bod. But he’s happy, his smile is radiant. I know he loves his life here.  He’s nice, and he has my full attention now. 

- I can’t drive or I would leave. No offense, but this kind of sucks. For me.

- I’ll take you home. I’m good.

I eye him. 

- I don’t want Tish to get jealous. 

- It’s over with us. We don’t even talk.

- Okay fine…take me home then.

He nods his head, and grabs my hand, pulling me toward his car. He opens the passenger door and I get in. I’m crying of course, quietly. The sobs will come later, when I’m home under my comforter. 

- I know you don’t like it here, and it’s temporary… but I wouldn’t mind if you changed your mind. About living here, I mean.

- It’s really not temporary. I don’t know what Francis has told you, but I ruined everything I worked for in New York. That part of my life is over.

- Well whatever happened, you’re still you. You have to face whatever you do, live with it, and go on.

I look out the window. The long stretch of road getting darker, the holiday blow up characters fully inflated. Some houses are lit up, but few. Then at one point there’s nothing. Just empty road. Will turns on the radio (no internet here) and the familiar tune of “I’m No Angel” plays. For the second time today. I laugh and light a Camel Crush. 

Will looks over at me, his eyes are questioning. I can tell he’s the type to like difficult women. The kind that wants to fix and save a tormented soul. The kind that are fun to break. Difficult men have never been fun for me, never my type. I need a devotee. And if I’m supposed to live here forever, why shouldn’t I see what Will has to offer? I don’t need to exile myself forever, I’ve served enough time.

We finally get to Francis’ house. Will turns the engine off, looking at the palm trees, still lit from earlier. I know he wants to go inside, but there’s something else I need to do first.

- Want to go for a swim?

- Right now? In the dark? The gators…

I get out and unzip my boots, my jeans next. I walk behind the house. Will follows, getting undressed along the way.

The river is still lit by the moonlight, looking ethereal. 

I step in the water, Will behind me. We wade further out till I submerge myself. 

Will’s right…I am still me and I do need to go on.

I pull him under with me, like I always do.