Seven Years a Jig

A gris-gris and the underpowered headlamps had somehow got her home. Her rust-riddled mini-van found the grooves nearly by itself, into what must be the lowest reaches of the Deepest South. She stopped, opened the trailer park gate, and drove down into the depression upon which her double-wide rested. She laughed out loud at the thought of kings and queens dismounting her carriage. Sometimes she thought her brain was getting as twisty as Lucy’s. She parked the van under the sagging carport, collected the groceries and her purse.

The park was such a dark it could put a fright to most; the Christmas and cayenne lights had long ago blown. A neon cross hung from a cypress bent over the water. The dogwood flowers had long gone to ground. There were fireflies; plenty for Lucy but she saw no jars. She climbed the four steps. The door was unlocked, as always. She threw it open.

“Home!” No answer. The low lights of electronics flickered off walls and under doors, TV murmurings and exploding screens were all there was to greet her.

She dumped the groceries on the counter. She checked the double wide, room by room. Caleb was in the closet, as usual, online shopping, porn surfing, or building up the militia he and Jimmy Rabbit, Bruno and Bastion had started to cook up. They had a manifesto and an Excel sheet with members, potential members, enemies, strengths, weapons. Bastion had set it up for them, him being the only one with a serviceable brain, and they had built it up until it contained a third of the trailer park and a list and specs of its arsenals. When I told Caleb we could not afford them, he would always reply we could not afford not to have them. Sometimes he would slip over to Jimmy Rabbit’s for the afternoon and mutter under his breath, about converting kits, Ciener-styles, letters, numbers, grinning all the while, his hands literally shaking. Jimmy had a table clamp and a drill press with all manner of odd files, rasps and tools. She opened the closet door, and the screen flickered, showing that Caleb was up to something. He was at least half a case deep into Ol’ Sou’ Paw empties.

“Hey, hun.” He did not look up. She leaned down and kissed his balding head. “Good day? Work good?”

“Busy. Stiffed mostly. Money’s on the counter. Going back soon. You?”

“Looking for work, like always. Nothing for line cooks. Damn immigrants—“

“—Yeh, yeh. Taking the lumberyard jobs too?”

“Don’t got me started, Lucinda. You know my back—“

“Yeh, I know ‘bout your back and your plans for bringing down the guv’ment in a wheelchair.”

“Lucinda. Do not set me off. I am in a high holy froth as it is. Get yer fat ass outta here.”

“All fed?”

“Guess. Boys had dogs and tots. Lucy prolly had cat food ’n’ liver mush.”

“Caleb. Stop it. Was she was fed?”

“Been busy. She complains if she’s hungry.”

I slammed the closet door.

“Knock that off, Lucinda!”

She went to the boys room. They were gaming.

Caleb, Jr. and Stevie were in their room, each on a separate bunk, rapt, souls invested in places and violence unimaginable.

“You boys eat?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Stevie looked up.

“What?”

“Dogs and tots, Mama! Did it ourselves.”

“I bought ice cream sandwiches.”

They paused their machines, leapt from their beds and ran to the kitchen. She followed them and found the oven still on, set to 500º.

“Damn, son of a bi— Boys. I told you to turn the oven off when you use it. You gonna burn the house down!”

The boys looked up and said ’sorry,’ in unison.

“We know.” They downed the desserts and ran back to their room.

She followed and leaned in. “No games until your homework is finished. Make sure Diddy looks it over when you’re done.”

Silence.

“Ya hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There were more parent-teacher conferences in her future. She went back into the kitchen to make sure the boys had put the ice cream back. They hadn’t. She called them to take care of it. The money that had been on the counter was gone. Caleb was buying another weapon.

She went to the den and tosseled Lucy’s hair. She was rocking in the recliner in the dark, staring off where nobody knows. Lucinda kissed her. “Hey, baby doll.”

“Hey mama.”

“What’s up, little girl?”

Lucy shrugged. “Nothing, I s’pose, smiled, and locked back onto the TV. Lucinda rubbed her feet a minute, then leaned back against the cushions.

It would be six months before she saw a doctor again. Counsellor tomorrow. By then, Lucy might be having her first period. What would Caleb do?

“Anybody talk to you today? Any whispers?” Lucy did not answer, but stared through the TV. You know we seeing Mrs. Sakai tomorrow?”

“Yeh.”

We were lucky, Lucinda supposed. They said what Lucy had was rare. They had her in a school that recognized her illness, and did not bump her straight to juvey. The medications helped but did not shore up this falling manse. Caleb brought in what he picked up, whatever he chose; mags from the garbage about IEDs and freak sex on his computer. Lucinda feared Lucy was going to be ‘institutionalized,’ and though she could not fathom what it was, from what she had taken away, she was sure it meant she would lose her.

“Well, ok, Papillion. Mama’s gonna watch a little TV and go back to work. You feel like talkin’, we’ll talk. Okay?”

Lucy was gone. Her body was in the recliner, but no soul inhabited the flesh in the chair.

Lucinda had nearly dozed when there was a knock on the back door.

“Caleb !” She yelled. “The door!” No answer.

She got up, cursed and checked the peephole. Nothing. She got the Glock from the closet and peeked out the windows. No shadow flitted over their porch across the moon. The door jambs had swoll and the door was stuck. She pulled hard and it finally gave.

She flipped the porchlight but the filament was long popped. She went back to the laundry room and found the flashlight. She set foot on the extended first step and nearly tripped. There was a box. Cardboard. Taped tight. No address, no label. She bent to pick it up, but it would not move or even slide. It held something very heavy.

“Caleb!” She called. “You got a bomb!” A nifty item for the back porch. He was Jeggy weggy’s of the outfit. Right, slick. Off mah porch. Messier. Cool beans.

He was behind her and slapped her ear. “Shut up. Lucinda. You want the Feds here?”

Sooner or later. Better get it. Ain't Waitin'. Wet. Might go off

He bent over and tested the box. He stood up. “Ain’t for me.”

“Chido Zab Man-whore. Bastion came over.

“Brown paper packages tied up with string!.”

“Caleb!”

“What?!”

"You a might Sharon, Lucinda."

“This is your package.”

“Fine. It aint goin’ nowhere.”

“What if someone steals it?”

“Well. I didn’t order nuthin, so it ain’t ours to be stole from. Right? Jeez, Lucinda, leave a man in peace for ten minutes.

“Get Bastion’s high coonass off my stoop?”

"Throw me some doubloons, Bastion."

Lucinda was running out of time. She went to the living room and napped her hour with the Glock tucked into her armpit. She called out she was leaving for her next job. No one answered.

It was a hard rain that night, and when she entered the carport the fog was low and thick. She grabbed her purse, dropped her Glock and her flashlight inside. She climbed down the steps, opened the door. Most of the lights in the house were on. No one bothered. She went to the back of the house. She cut off all the lights, and opened the door. She gasped. A Faery ring had grown atop the box and a cottonmouth was wove through it. "Caleb!" He did not answer. She aimed and shot. Half the faerie ring was gone and the snake had vanished. Folks came to see where the shot came from.

"What the hell?" said Caleb. She brushed passed him and went out the door.

"Cottonmouth," she muttered. She came home four hours later. And checked the backdoor. The faerie ring had come back. She closed and locked the backdoor, secured the Glock and covered herself on the couch. “Pandora,” muttered Lucy. Lucinda’d never heard such a word in all her days. Within minutes she was asleep.

Next morning, the boys were arguing over the shower. It had gone cold while they goofed around. Caleb was face down on the bed, barely breathing. She pulled on her stocking overalls from last night, smoothed any wrinkles, and checked Lucy. She was combing her hair, parting it. Lucinda led her to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. Spit, rinsed, and smiles, sayin they were going to see Mrs. Sakai.

"Maybe, gabby, they were terrible late! Boys! Clothes on. Slick back yer hair!"

They ran out the front door, smoothing and buckling up.

"You got your home work?"

“Yes, Mama." As she pulled out she saw Caleb tugging the back of the box. It crumbled under his fingers. Boys first, than Mrs. Sakai. They were an hour late.

Someone stopped her. “Whatcha shoot tonight?"

"Caleb," I answered and rushed down the mud way.

They went over her new daily schedule home life assistance.

"Anything else," asked Mrs. Mary Sakai, as she gathered up her take-home things and leftover lunch and picked up her keys to lock up.

"No. I don’t guess so. Wait, yes. Yes, I do." Mrs. Sakai settled back behind her desk.

"Well, lately, Lucy’s been sayin’ the same over and over again. It’s new. I don’t know why."

"What’s she say?"

"Pandora."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Huh. There’s a box on your back porch, yes?"

"Been there days. I know its Caleb ’s but he won’t fess. Heavier ’n I can lift or I’d’a cleared it off a long time ago."

"Lucy mentioned it."

“She did?”

“Yes.”

“All the boxes in the room here. Not like that. Not sure where she got that from. There’s a Jack-In-The-Box over there. Maybe she saw it on TV." Lucinda shrugged.

“Caleb pays her no mind unless she’s acting out. Lot of supernatural shows on the TV now. I don’t see that as so good.”

“Me neither.”

“And no help from Caleb?”

Lucinda laughed so hard she embarrassed herself. Mrs. Sakai laughed with her.

“Oh. I know. We tossed the box here. We don’t like the kids to fixate. She didn’t notice.”

“Oo, it’s fine. Sometimes it’s all ya got.”

“Yes, I’ll get Caleb to move it.”

“Seems like a good idea.”

“Seems.”

They shook hands and left.

I kicked the box with when I got home. The snake shuffled inside.

“Hey! Don’t, don’t do that.”

Lucy jumped.

“’Sposin’ you'd know. What’s hid there.”

"Knock it off, Lu! You’ll kill us all."

“O, Sweet Jesus—!”

I’ll get the guys to come pick it up tomorrow. I tried today. My back...

"Do it now. If you got a bomb in there, so help me God—"

"—Lucinda."

"Jack in the box!"

“Now! Caleb! Now!”

Lucy climbed atop the oversized box, dead center of the fairy rings. She sank. It was now soaked, and dusted with moss and clover patch. She was jumping and dervishin’ in dark green satin toppers.

A light went off. Lucy went through the tree canopy lickety-split. She cracked the sky. It turned orange as she broke the trees.

Caleb ran away, screaming up blue streak, as did the other Patriots with him.

Lucy was blown clear through the canopy and never came back down far as Lucinda could tell.

Seven years in the faerie ring they say. That is how long the fairy dance lasts unless someone pulls you from the circle. Nobody did me that singular favor.

“She only does what she is formed to do.”

All gifts, but hope.

All gone.