Michael Smith - Rivers

Cohen uncrossed his arms and looked at his hands and he thought of the knife in his hands and the baby’s mother and her screaming and her pleading and her blood. In this blackest night, her blood flowed across his mind and turned his thoughts crimson, and he saw crimson on the walls and on the floor and dripping from the ceiling and puddled on the floor and blowing in from the windows and he felt it dripping from his beard. He saw crimson and he heard her begging for somebody to do something and then her voice became his voice and he heard himself cry out as he sat on the road with Elisa’s head in his hands, crying out for somebody to do something but there was no one who could do anything as it had already been done. The choice for her to die and for the baby to die had already been made and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it. He heard his own voice and now the blood that flowed in his mind was Elisa’s blood and he felt it on his hands and he felt it across his legs and he cupped his hands and felt her head resting in them and he begged for help but there was none and he felt her heartbeat disappear and then he felt the heartbeat of his little girl disappear.

He brought his hands to his face and he touched his fingertips to his cheeks as if to make sure that he was real. He held them there. Closed his eyes and the spirit of renewal that had filled him earlier in the day was buried under all else.

She sat in the seat with her legs crossed while they drove on Highway 90. Summer sun and the windows down and they went to Ocean Springs and parked downtown and walked to a patio bar and sat down and drank draft beer and ate crab claws and then they got up and walked to another patio bar and drank more beer and ate boiled shrimp. A white-bearded man sat on a stool in the corner and played his guitar and the day faded and when they were done they got up and walked again, underneath the moss trees and past the two-story houses and once or twice they exchanged waves with people sitting on an upstairs balcony. They walked on, pushing and pulling at each other, laughing at stupid jokes and stopping now and then to kiss and then slapping and grabbing at one another as they walked on and then they came to the beach and it was getting dark. They left their flip-flops at the sidewalk and stepped into the white sand, holding hands and smiling devilish smiles at one another. A mother was corralling the kids and packing up towels and plastic buckets and shovels and some teenage girls sat in a circle and passed around a cigarette. The two of them walked on until there was no one around and then they sat down in the sand and watched the last of the light drift away. The stars appeared and he lay on his back and she lay her head on his stomach and stretched out and they made the letter T. The water washed gently onto the shore. Down the beach somewhere a dog barked. Elisa hummed a song he didn’t quite recognize. He slipped his hand into his pocket and eased out the ring box. He reached over and lifted her shirt and ran his hand across her tan stomach, and then he set the ring box on her bare skin. She stopped humming. Sat up and looked at him and smiled and he smiled back and she didn’t open it but squeezed it in her hand and fell back on top of him and they rolled in the sand, laughing and kissing and crying a little.

Cohen moved his fingertips from his face and opened his eyes. He opened his coat, reached inside, and took out the pistol. It was cold in his damp hand. Everything was cold and damp in his hand. Everything was cold and damp. Or cold and wet. Or cold and soaked. Or cold and underwater. Or cold and wet and knocked over. Or cold and wet and shattered or cracked or busted or gone. Or just gone. Everything was gone. Everything was gone but for his very real Jeep and it was his very real chance if they ever got the hell out of here but none of that mattered because he had panicked and left it behind. He had to go and get it, wanted to go and get it, but the chance of getting back down there and out with it didn’t warm him with confidence. It was his and he didn’t have to share it. He had his chance and missed it and now here he was, with them, stuck in the middle of this, and somewhere was his life, but he didn’t know where.

He lifted the pistol and touched its nose to the bottom of his chin. He held in a breath. The water was all around them and the wind was all around them and hell seemed to be closing in and if there was a darker place on the face of the earth he didn’t know where it could be.

“Jesus Christ,” Kris said with a start and then she let out a quick shout of pain.

Cohen jerked at the sound of her voice and he lowered the pistol and put it back inside his coat. She yelled out again and Evan hopped down off the counter and moved to her and she was grabbing at her sides again. Cohen stepped around the shelves and came to her and said, “Same shit?”

“Oh yeah. Oh yeah,” she said. Her breaths were quick and had little moans in between.

The others sat up and they all formed a circle around her. Oh God, oh God, she kept saying. She rocked back and forth, took deep breaths. Oh God, oh God.

Mariposa stood behind her and put her hands on Kris’s shoulders. She rocked and moaned, rocked and moaned. They stood there and watched because there was nothing else they could do. And then the baby woke up and started crying.

“Shit,” Cohen said.

Nadine talked to the infant and put her lips on his forehead. “Damn, he’s hot as fire,” she said.

“Ooooooh, hell,” Kris said and Mariposa told her to hold on. Hold on.

Cohen reached over and touched the baby’s face. “Goshdamn,” he said.

“Yeah,” Nadine said. “Goshdamn. He’s smoking.”

The baby wailed and Kris grunted and said Oh God and squeezed Mariposa’s hands. Brisco made a sound like he might start crying and Cohen went to reach over and touch his shoulder but they all jumped at the loud thwack from the back of the store.

“What the fuck!” Cohen yelled.

Evan stood at the metal door with part of a busted shelf. “I wanna see what’s in here,” he yelled back.

“Leave it alone,” Cohen said.

“Quit messing around, Evan,” Mariposa said.

He drew back the shelf and whacked the door again.

“Oh God, oh God,” Kris said.

“Quit that shit!” Nadine yelled over the crying baby.

Evan drew back and whacked the door again and this time Cohen walked over to him, kicking at whatever was in his way, and he tried to yank the piece of shelf from Evan but Evan didn’t let go.

“I wanna see what’s in there,” he said defiantly.

“Why the hell you gotta see what’s in there right this damn second?”

“I just wanna see.”

“You might not.”

Kris yelled out and Cohen let go of the shelf piece and turned to look in her direction.

Thwack!

Cohen grabbed Evan by the collar of his coat and yanked him back. He shined the flashlight on the padlock and pulled out the pistol and fired. The lock busted and he fired again and the doorframe exploded.

“There,” he told Evan and the gunshots sent Brisco crying and Nadine and Mariposa were both yelling something and the baby screamed and Kris gripped her sides and said Oh God oh God.

“Here,” Cohen said and he shoved the flashlight into Evan. “Go see for yourself, you little shit.”

Evan took the light and told Brisco to calm down but the boy didn’t listen. Cohen stood there and waited to see if he would open the door. Evan shined the light on the busted lock and frame, then he stepped over to the door. He pushed, but it wouldn’t open. He pushed a little harder, and the top of the door opened but the bottom was stuck.

“Listen,” Cohen said.

“What?” Evan asked.

They stood still a moment.