By The River: Blue (4)

The ridges of the truck bed bit into his palms as Jesse struggled out of the stopped Ford pickup. He winced as he dropped the tailgate. Then he grabbed his side as his boots hit the dirt. His messed-up rib hurt so badly that the pain brought tears to his eyes. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure his rib was broken, maybe cracked, but whichever it was didn’t matter. Every part of his body ached like hell as he stood on the ground, catching his breath.

The air here held the same scent of parched dirt and stagnant river weeds that had choked the town of Grand River. It was as if he’d simply dragged his misery across the county line. Briefly, he scanned the area as he slammed the tailgate shut. The metallic clang echoed off the empty storefronts, a jarring, lonely sound that made his teeth grind. The storefront windows looked tired, with curled paper signs sun-bleached near white. Even the gas pumps looked worn out.

He’d hitchhiked to a small town that appeared like another sleepy group of houses along the river. Jesse waved to the driver. The man sped away in a puff of dust.

Standing before the corner gas station, he caught his reflection in the glass of the entry doors. Shit. He looked black-and-blue. One side of his jaw looked wrong somehow, swollen thick as if somebody had stuffed cotton under the skin. Dried blood crusted beneath his nose. His right eye was trying to swell shut. His shirt was torn at the bottom.

The guy working in the convenience store gave him a curious glance. Jesse lowered his baseball cap and ducked his head. It was time to get going. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and guessed that he was in the next county over from his hometown.

Though Jesse couldn’t read the sign announcing the town’s name, he’d crossed the river and hitchhiked for a few hours. He had an idea of where the county line started. He glanced around again. Where he ended up wasn’t much different from where he’d left. There was a gas station, a tiny grocery store, a church, and a bar. That was correct for what he recollected.

For three summers in a row, Jesse had worked for an older man in the area. He didn’t know the fella’s last name, only that his first name was Wendell. The old farmer was Pa’s friend back when Pa was alive. Wendell’s farmland was near here.

Somewhere.

Shaking off the stifling heat that threatened to have him sit down and sleep, Jesse adjusted his pack on both shoulders and started down the street. He’d remember where he was going as he got on. Something would come back to him. Besides, anywhere was better than home. He couldn’t take his brothers anymore.

Hours trudged on as he shuffled along and kicked rocks. Time crawled by, measured in fence posts, mailboxes, and the ache in his knees. Every mile felt baked onto him.

Jesse had long since left the small town. Now, he trotted down a winding country road. Dust flew up in his face. His skin felt brittle. The heat radiating off the blacktop shimmered, distorting the horizon into a wavy, mocking line. The sun beat him, as if he were being punished for his life choices. That seemed about right.

Taking off his hoodie, he tucked the garment in his bag. Sweat ran down his ribs in itchy trails, sticking dust to his skin. His jeans clung damply around the waistband. Pausing, Jesse removed his shirt and hung the top around his neck. Now he was only wearing his jeans and boots, but he was still hot.

Jesse kept walking.

His socks were damp, abrasive rags against his skin. His boots smelled like old sweat and river mud. Every step forced him to acknowledge the sting of the blister on his heel. Ignoring the ache in his feet was easy since his face throbbed. The sun turned his mouth into parched sand. A car flew by, pelting him with gravel, and he rubbed the grit off his face. The bruises on his skin and around his eyes were still so tender that his hands caused him to gasp with shock. No more touching his face.

Stopping for a rest, he stuffed his ball cap into his bag and then headed to the side of the road. This part of the lane was familiar, and he wondered if he was close to Wendell’s farm. The man owned a hundred acres around here, so he could be on the property now and not even know it.

Staring into the trees, he heard, water? Yeah, water. Underneath the relentless drone of cicadas, he heard that low rushing. The sound of water tumbling over worn-down river rocks was a cooling balm on his frayed nerves. He sighed. Jesse remembered the river and how he would swim on the hot afternoons. The river wound through Wendell’s place, and he recalled how he could see it in the distance when he was up in the hayloft. Intently, he listened and then stepped toward the sound of a steady flow.

The air changed near the trees. Cooler. Wet. Like the earth itself was breathing differently down here. He pushed through a wall of waist-high brush. The air smelled of damp earth, rotted leaves, and the riverbed. Tramping along, Jesse spotted the water and the dense plants between him and a drink. Mud stuck to his boots as mosquitoes whined. He kept an eye out for snakes and then found a place to get near the water.

Crouching, Jesse flicked at the green slime as it created swirls on the surface. A cloud of gnats hovered. He paused from reaching into the goop. He was thirsty, but the mucky color was about as unappetizing as it got.

Time to get over his disgust. The chances of getting clean water were slim, and he needed a drink badly.

Reaching for his backbone, he started to dip his hand past the plants. Just then, he heard splashing. He paused. A woman’s husky laughter rolled in the air. Retracting his hand, he glanced through the thick trees.

Though he didn’t see anyone, Jesse heard the woman’s laughter again. He lifted his head and moved away from the abundant foliage beside the water’s edge.

Walking, Jesse stepped onto what appeared to be a narrow path. When he heard more giggles, he followed the noise. He wasn’t sure how far he’d gotten when he spotted them.

The river had an open spot. A gentle sandy shore led into the deep water. Two beautiful young women spoke rapidly in Spanish, playing and splashing each other. Jesse guessed the tan, maybe Mexican, females were in their early twenties. He scanned the dark tan skin of their naked torsos and then shrugged. He didn’t care, but maybe he could ask them for directions. That is, if they spoke English.

He didn’t care.

The realization that he didn’t care about these women hit him like a tree trunk to the forehead. Jesse was so into men that he couldn’t even feel bothered to look at two naked women frolicking in the river.

His eyes shot to his crotch. Yeah. Not even a twitch.

What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t get rid of his attraction. Jesse tried so damn hard to be straight. He wanted to want women. He desperately yearned to be normal, that’s what his brother called it, but he couldn’t do it. No matter how many times his brothers beat him, every strike didn’t change what turned him on.

That was it. Jesse made up his mind. He would live as a monk. Men didn’t need sex. Men needed air, water, and food. That’s all. Jesse wouldn’t ever have any kind of relationship. Life was fine without sex or love or someone caring about him. His family never cared about him, so he was used to feeling lonely.

His new plan would be to move to a new town and never talk to anyone ever again. That was called a hermit, right? He would make a great hermit. At least a hermit wouldn’t feel all the pain that badgered him. Jesse couldn’t take both the emotional turmoil and the physical beatings anymore. Much more of his life like this, and he would off himself.

He knew that deep in his soul. And maybe… being alone forever wouldn’t hurt so bad after a while.

Ignoring the giggling females, Jesse decided he wouldn’t ask them for directions. A lot of Spanish was coming from their lips, and there were too many risks, especially if they didn’t understand him. A man coming out of the woods onto two naked women would be a creep at best and a serial killer at worst. He would move on, and maybe down the way, he could find a better place to drink water.

The idea of leaving was cemented in his head, but then he paused.

That was a food cooler.

His stomach cramped so hard it folded him a little. Sitting near a black SUV was a bright red cooler—the condensation on its lid catching the sun like a beacon of salvation. He could almost taste cheap white bread and baloney.

Oh yeah. His stomach rumbled. Maybe the women were on a picnic. He crouched low and slipped closer to the vehicle, picturing sandwiches in plastic baggies or chips. And what if they had bottled water?

Water would hit the spot right now.

Stealing wasn’t his norm, but he was damn hungry and even more thirsty. He didn’t like what he was about to do, but his stomach insisted that these women could miss one or two items. They looked healthy and curvy. He only hoped that there wasn’t beer.

Besides giving up sex or having a relationship, Jesse planned to kick the alcohol. Memory after memory of his stupid choices while drinking reared up to point out his mistakes after mistakes. Yup. He was done with liquor.

He pushed all that out of his head and focused on stealing stale crackers or cheese sticks. He’d ask God to forgive him later—not that God ever paid much attention to him.

Keeping an eye on the women in the water, Jesse ducked lower and maneuvered quietly through the bushes. He shifted downward again, checking that the women never looked at him.

The ladies dipped under the water. He looked because a straight man was supposed to look. They wore the bottom half of their bathing suits. They popped up, laughing. Their breasts bounced and swung. He stared at his crotch. Seriously? Nothing? He was so damn gay that it made him want to puke. He couldn’t even appreciate boobs.

God hated him.

The women turned their backs on him. Good. He eased closer with his eyes on the prize. He could picture a sandwich in his mouth and fresh, clean water cooling his tongue.

A sharp crack of a dry branch underfoot shattered the peaceful lull of the river. The sound was followed by the thud of boots crushing the brush. Jesse turned around and looked up. Broad shoulders blocked the sunlight. Before he could speak, an enormous, angry, tan man loomed over him. Shit. A fist came toward his face. Jesse’s head snapped back with the strike. His face blazed in agony.

Then—everything went black.