Page 83 of Demon Copperhead

Four of us in the cab were a crowd. Dragging Main for entertainment purposes, fine, but this was the entire state of Virginia we had to get across with legs going to sleep, breathing the stale beer breath of others.

Emmy complained the most, even though cozied up by choice.

It was decided that after our next gas-up, one of us would ride in the truck bed.

I was dead set on no more stops till we passed Christiansburg.

I explained how my previous shot at seeing the ocean went down there in flames of Jesus songs and puke.

They all said I was superstitious, and empty is empty.

We took an exit with signs for the usual things, gas, food.

And colleges. Two. You’d not think they would put two of them so close together.

I thought of Angus. She was dead set on moving out after her two years at Mountain Empire, to go to so-called real college.

Maybe she’d end up someplace this close, not the far side of the moon.

Still though, who would her people be? College would change her. In due time she wouldn’t come back.

Fast Forward told me to fill it up while he went inside to pay.

Maggot and I rearranged the mess in the truck bed to make room for a passenger.

We’d just thrown all our shit back there, since none of us had any suitcase.

Well, probably Emmy did, but it would have looked suspicious.

The Marathon station was bustling. At the pump behind us a guy in a suit and tie, blue hanky sticking out of his pocket like he’s the president of something, tanked up his BMW.

On the other side of the pumps, a Mercedes SUV pulled up with a bright green plastic boat of some small kind strapped on top.

A tall, skinny kid with a man-bun sprang out of it like gassing vehicles is a sport event, bouncing on his toes as he fed in his credit card.

He had on athletic shorts over black long johns, and these rubber shoes with individual toes.

Seriously. He looked like he’d been genetically born with black rubber feet.

I helped Maggot make a nest in our blankets and grocery bags of clothes and cases of beer.

He was riding in back. I’d have flipped a coin, but he volunteered.

Trying to impress Fast Forward was bringing out a previously unseen side to Maggot: unselfish and agreeable.

Also, he must have given himself a little bump of something to get through the day, because he was raring to get on with it.

While I filled the tank, Maggot bounced on his pile of crap like he was bronco busting up there, pounding the back of the cab, yelling “Giddyup, let’s get these dogies on the road!

Yeehaw children,” etc. Emmy told him repeatedly to shut up, and after that failed, went inside to use the ladies.

I ignored him. President Hanky behind us snapped his gas cap shut and rolled his eyes as he got in his car.

Man Bun stuck his head between the pumps and peered at us.

“What’s this, guys, some deeply committed episode of Jackass?”

The kid is standing there in rubber feet, gassing up his eighty-thousand-dollar SUV for the purpose of hauling around his fucking kiddie boat, and we are the freaks.

Fast Forward and Emmy got back and we continued east. Atlantic Ocean, dead ahead.

But first, Richmond. Fast Forward had some written directions that led to confusion.

We passed through the skyscraper and doom castle portion of the city, across a big river, through areas of houses, then back over the bridge.

Fast Forward was pissed. Another slow start, then five hours of driving, now it was getting dark.

He pulled over and made a call on his cell phone.

Fast Forward was first of us to have one of those, him and Emmy.

It was Mouse we were trying to locate. After the call we circled around through a whole other type of doom castle, rows of exactly-alike brick apartment buildings and more Black people than I’d ever known to see.

Street lights were popping on. Fast Forward pulled over again, this time next to a paved square with benches and kid equipment and a tall chain-link fence around it.

No guess as to what the fence was meant to keep in or out.

There were kids inside, the older ones playing basketball, Black each and all, as entirely as we up home were white, and from the looks of that street, just about as broke.

All of us living where we got born. Maybe you have to pay extra to mingle.

Fast Forward must have thought we couldn’t hear him outside the truck cursing Mouse.

A little girl let her yellow hula hoop drop to the ground, and stared at him through the chain link.

Braids stuck out all over her head like a cartoon surprised kid.

We watched the basketball boys in the fading light, admiring their interesting hair and superior tennis shoes.

The upshot of all this was arriving not in the best of moods at the Mouse abode.

If it was even her house. Two other guys were there, one being some form of giant, as tall as she was small.

The other one, who knows, he never got off the couch.

The house had a front porch, driveway, regular type place if you overlooked the fact of other houses standing just inches on either side of it.

These people could lean out their bedroom windows and shake hands.

The Bible says love your neighbor and you have to think city people have their ways of it, but in the two days we were there I saw no evidence.

Closed blinds, the sound of dogs barking.

Mouse was unthrilled that Fast Forward had turned up with his underage fan club in tow, quote-unquote.

She stood in the middle of her living room squinting up at us through her cigarette smoke, waiting for further explanation.

Nobody on the planet talked down to Fast Forward, except for this four-foot-tall woman in her long pink claws and rhinestoned jeans.

She was barefoot whenever we got there but hustled into her tall shoes, so. Four foot four.

“How do I know they’re not going to narc me out to their mommies?” she asked.

Fast Forward suggested he would put a bullet in our heads if that happened. Emmy blew out a sharp laugh like she’d been socked in the gut.

“Our mothers are dead,” I clarified.

Maggot bugged his eyes at me.

“Oh wait. One of them is in Goochland Women’s. Sorry, man. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Fast Forward located his manhood and told Mouse he had lucrative connections in an untapped part of the state, and could certainly take them elsewhere.

Mouse said if he was thinking we could all crash here, good luck finding a place to do it in this turdbone house.

Which it was. The couch was broken in the middle and there were white kitchen trash bags, filled and lumpy, piled against one wall.

A floor lamp stood bald and forlorn with no lampshade.

The giant guy was named Leon and not completely right in his head.

He came out of the kitchen carrying a yellow cat and put it down on the glass table in front of the couch.

“Here you go,” he said, and smiled at us.

He was in a hoodie and boxers and had the physique you come to recognize: bad teeth, caved-in chest, skinniest legs imaginable.

After Leon broke the ice, Mouse rolled her eyes and said “Whatever.” She threw the cat off the table and spread some powder for us all to get down there to snort lines.

All except Couch Guy that was leaning over at an angle with his eyes closed and one hand over his face.

I’d not seen Fast Forward do drugs before, only beer and weed.

Emmy was hesitant, but Maggot got on it like a pro.

Then I felt the peer pressure of Fast Forward glaring at me, and understood it was a politeness issue.

Like Mrs. Peggot cooking you one of her hams: you better stay and eat or you’re not one of her people.

So I went ahead and got coked out of my brain box.

I was already kind of awake-dreaming due to no sleep since we left home, and now it took on a nightmare aspect, with prospects of future sleep slim to none.

For the record, I do not and never will relish the feeling of the engine outrunning the chassis.

I don’t think much sleeping was done by anybody that night.

Maggot and I were assigned to a room with no furniture in it other than a bicycle.

We fetched our blankets and plastic bags of clothes to use as pillows, but the room smelled like gasoline and I kept seeing explosions in my mind’s eye.

Explosion, explosion. Maggot told me to chill out, it was just the smell of ass combined with bike tire.

He could fall asleep on any amount of uppers, one of his superpowers.

That and snoring. I had no idea what Fast might be up to.

Part of me thought I should go rescue Emmy, and the rest of me felt like, Who did I think I was? Emmy had the world by the balls.