I am a white man. Middle aged, married, father of one. A son, tweenaged. I am a writer and English professor. My wife is pretty, nice, and I love her. But I am resentful because she had an affair. A long term affair of years, not months, with a friend. My friend. My best friend. It is part of the reason for our move to the new town.
Something strange is going on in the town. Many of the residents have left, especially those with deep roots here. I’ve been urged to leave as well. Get away for a weekend with the family and relax. But finals need to be graded and my mother-in-law is in for a visit.
A big haired woman with an even bigger heart and a ready smile she is a lot like her daughter. I find her irritating but know it is me, not her. She knows about her daughter’s affair, though she says she didn’t know until the end. She also knows about my student flings. My wife knows as well. Apparently, I was less than discreet. My indulgences are the reason my wife consoled herself with my friend. I really miss my friend.
I am walking home from downtown, the place really is that small. Think Mayberry. Things are damned weird. Even more people seem to be leaving though it’s not a holiday weekend. The college is out but younger kids still have to be in school Monday. I see one of the few connections I’ve managed to make in our short time in town. An older black man.
“Why are you still here?” He asks.
“I’ve no time to take a break,” I reply. “There are almost a hundred student essays that need to be graded before the weekend is out.”
He looks over my shoulder at a flyer on the bulletin board. I glance as well. It looks like it’s for a church revival. The kind done in tents with preachers, not ministers, who speak in tongues or are overcome with the Holy Spirit to the point of seizures.
Tonight!
We will know the wrath of GOD.
Be cleansed!
9:00
The page is ringed in fire.
“Doesn’t sound very inviting,” I say with a laugh.
He doesn’t even crack a smile. “These things can get a little rowdy. Y’all should leave town for the evening.”
“What will you be doing?”
“It’s time for me to make it right with the Lord.” He leaves. I see him head into the liquor store. He doesn’t drink.
It’s still sunny so I’m shocked to realize it is after eight by the time I get to my street. A small swamp, the size of a Volkswagon, has formed on the asphalt a few houses up. Two young men, one no older than his late 20s the other barely out of his teens, pale skin corded with muscle, are pulling another free. He is screaming. I jog over.
“Can I help?”
The one on the right, the older, just grunts. “Started early this year.”
The other looks a bit wild eyed. “I didn’t think it would be like this.”
The older one, closer it is obvious they are related. Cousins, at least. Probably brothers. He says, “You had to stay, had to see. You and this idiot,” he says gesturing with his chin to the still screaming teen they have almost freed. He also looks to be a relative.
Finally liberated the young man stands on the pavement shivering in the heat and covered with muck. His screams have turned into a harsh mewling that is somehow worse. “Too late now,” the eldest continues with a glance at the sky. “You’ll never make it to the border in time. You’re in it good.”
To me he says, “Good luck to you and your family. You’ve only got to last to midnight.”
I finish the walk home in a daze. What could have caused that swamp, I think. Climate change? And what did he mean by that last bit?
At home my mother-in-law is cleaning up the dregs of dinner. “Your wife is reading with your son.” Her voice drips with disproval.
I go into his room and find them both curled together on the bed. He’s reading aloud to her. This is an increasingly rare acurance as he’s gotten older and begun to eschew what he deems babyish things. I can tell my wife is pleased. She looks up at me and smiles. Perhaps the first real smile she’s given me in a while.
“Join us,” she invites.
I kick off my shoes and squeeze onto the narrow bed. That’s when the screaming starts.