Glowing water, my daughter

When I was four, Pa first took me to see the glow worms. You find them near standing water, he told me, and he held my shoulders as he led me through forest dense as butter at twilight. I could hear nothing but the sound of my feet sliding on pickleweed, and when we got to the lake he kept me awake by prodding me. I could tell that he didn’t do it in a nasty way.

When I was so tired my head slumped like those birds Pa brought home for supper, he said to look, so I did, and I saw thousands of lights dancing around me, twinkling above the rushes and illuminating the water’s edge like fireworks. I wanted to chase them but something stopped me, and I just watched, crouching like a frog, eyes wet with disbelief. I could feel Pa smiling as he looked on.

I was twelve when he started disappearing, and we stopped going to see the glow worms at summertime, even though we lived close-by. I remember watching him sat with lines on his brow, one withered leg slumped across the other, licking his index finger which flicked through a small black book containing his finances.

At nineteen, I was a long way from the lake, smothered by city heat. My bedsheets had fallen to the floor. I slept with the windows locked because Pa had always told me to, but it was so hot at night I often felt tempted to leave them open.

I slipped into beige dungarees and strode into the kitchen, where Nancy’s half-empty glass of juice stewed on the table. I put it in the fridge, next to some cakes Rick had shoved in my hands a few days before.

Nancy riled me up. She obsessed about ugly knitwear and steamed her face every time she got a pimple. Her voice was nasal, and it ricocheted around the room when she spoke about her job as a personal assistant or which television personality she wanted round for cocktails.

I kicked her sandals out of the way and opened the door to grab the newspaper sitting on the step. On my way back in, I took a look down the road, made up of small apartments stacked like shoeboxes and handmade signs nailed to collapsing gateways. It was quiet. A siren wailed somewhere in the distance and a beat-up saloon car slumped pathetically where it had been abandoned weeks ago. There was one person eating oily bacon and eggs at the Gum Inn a few doors down.

I turned back into the hot apartment and closed the door behind me. Cheap granules frothed in protest as I covered them in boiling water, and once they resembled a coffee, I sat down and scanned the paper’s front page.

The headline read ‘Crusader for Equality Buried’. Martin Luther King addressed a crowd, one arm extended to the sky as though he might grab heaven. I got Pa’s notebook. For your words, he had said, nodding to it, no longer able to write.

So I filled it for him, with words I didn’t get to learn at school. I finished my education at fourteen to look after Pa after my sister left for Philly. I was smart enough to know that a good vocabulary meant better work, and eventually I’d leave Rick’s bar for some nice writing job West. I whispered each new word one by one, and placed them slowly, neatly, onto the pages of the book. Every day, at least fifteen more from the newspaper, and wherever else I could find them.

I read for a while, until Nancy burst in through the door. She was chewing gum, and I saw it stick against her teeth, hard and slippery. He’s off today, on account of the heat. Gone off to the coast. Oh – learnin’, are we? Her tote fell from her shoulder with a thud.

You’re very motivated, lovie, teachin’ yourself words you should oughta know. You off to Rick’s today? She opened a cupboard and took a waffle out of cellophane, in which she placed her gum.

Yes. Always learnin’, Nancy.

Mind, you won’t ever need that where Rick’s concerned. Not part of the job description. Though, I’m sure you’ll end up in an office someday, darlin’. You and your notebook. Her voice was muffled with carbs, and she stepped outside again, probably for a cigarette.

I felt sweat drip down the back of my leg, and suddenly I needed to leave. I’d get to Rick’s an hour early, but I’d polish some of his tumblers or mop his floors. Maybe he’d pay me to clean his bungalow out back. Rick’s was seedy, but I made good tips.

The newspaper stayed put on the counter, and Pa’s book and pencil always came with me, so I put them in my satchel. My room was cooler now that I’d opened the window, but I locked it after I changed. I cycled through boulevards lined with dancing palms, past a gaggle of girls in leathers smoking in front of the picture house, and turned a corner to Rick’s.

I chained my bike up to a lamppost outside Dolly’s hair salon and stared across the road. The bar opened at midday because a few folks liked to start early, and Rick didn’t mind because he got to start too. But at this hour, the gate to Rick’s was normally shut, and he liked to lean a red-painted metal sheet against it to indicate he wasn’t open for business. I’d yell for him, and he’d come out to let me in.

Now, the gate was open and the metal plate lay flat on the pavement, its sharp corners gleaming crimson in the sun like poisonous insects. A pick-up truck I’d never seen before was parked outside.

I walked cautiously across the road, through the gate and up to the door. Rick? I said softly. I looked behind me. The street was empty other than a cat out looking for food. I inhaled and hit my fist against his door.

The door flew open a few centimetres, on the chain, and Rick’s nose poked out of darkness. Quiet, child. Or I swear to God. He opened the gap wide enough for me to slip into the bar. The lights were off and I could smell sweat. Another figure stood behind Rick.

Lina, this is Bennett. Bennett, Lina. Bennett nodded at me from the shadows. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he was twiddling his thumbs.

What’s goin’ on Mister Rick? You got yourself into a spot o’ trouble?

Don’t get wise with me, child. He paused for a second and considered me. I knew Rick liked me, and I liked him. I’d told him about my life with Pa, before I moved into town. Rick took his handkerchief out of the back pocket of his jeans. It was wet with sweat, but he used it to dab his eyebrows. Then he folded it into his palm and placed his thumb and index finger over the arch of his nose.

I’m gunna tell ya something now, and then – well, me and Bennett, we’ve gotta go, or we’re gunna get rumbled, ya hear me? We did some business with a guy, but this guy was trouble. Slickr’n any guy I’ve ever met. He paused. We had to boot him, Miss Lina. I thought I knew what Rick meant, but I didn’t reply.

Bennett’s leg started to shake. Rick, we need to get, he said. His voice was hoarse.

Listen Miss Lina. I’m gunna give ya something now. Hang on. Rick stepped behind the bar and sunk underneath the countertop for a moment or two. Me and Bennett watched him, tense as a bowstring. I thought about my bike, and how it sat outside Dolly’s, blissfully unaware of what was happening to its owner. He reappeared and treaded towards me, holding two wads of notes and his keys.

Look after the bar for me Lina. Look after my bar. I looked at the money, bound tightly with elastic, and then back to him. Rick had a look on his face I’d never seen before, his eyes lined with desperation. I nodded, and felt the wads press into my palms. It’s twenty thousand dollars. It’ll keep you goin’ until I’m back, but that prolly won’t be for a little while, alright? You should get out of here when we do, but be sure to come back, and don’t tell no one you saw us.

He straightened up, got his jacket, and strode with Bennett out of the bar, each carrying a bursting leather bag. I followed them outside and locked the door behind me. When they reached the truck, Rick turned around.

You’re a good girl Miss Lina. I know you won’t be spreadin’ no fibs bout us. He gestured towards Bennett, who nodded once more, his mind already on the road.

The men hopped into the truck, and Rick smiled at me from behind the glass. I raised a hand, just like Pa used to when he left me outside the school gates as a little girl. Bennett started the ignition, and I watched them drive down the main road until they turned at a junction.

I looked up and bathed my face in the sun for a moment. The money was still in my hand. I took my satchel off, and let it fall to the bottom with the keys, where they sat amongst wrappers, odd pens and a notebook, and started walking towards my bike.

-

Rick never came back, but his bar stood on that street corner for twelve more years until men in suits came by and offered to pay me off for the land. In the meantime, I served every walk of life, and when the day was done I drove fifteen minutes to a house I bought three years after that summer.

Every morning, I collected the paper from my doorstep and read it over coffee with Teddy, who stopped by the bar one day and asked my name.

Later, when I no longer ran the bar, we bought a house by the water, and every summer, we walked our son through the forest, over the pickleweed, and sat with Pa to watch the glow worms.