I retreated into the kitchen and set the kettle on the stove, then lit a cigarette on the flame and turned back to him. It's so damn early, I said blowing a long stream of smoke. Are you still awake from last night, I asked. My voice vibrated low as the hot cigarette smoke seeped out of my dry throat. He sat there counting frets. Then he started a rhythm and climbed a scale. You think she's gonna stay with him?
No, he said stopping his song with an abrupt twang and cocking his head my way. His eyes were lifeless with exhaustion. He began to strum. Then he searched for the scale again.
You upset about what he said? I let my voice rise a bit when I spoke. He stood and came into the kitchen. When he stepped in, he slapped at the puffs lingering in halo above.
You don't like the smoke, I asked.
He knit his brow, I'm trying to practice.
With a wave of his hands he passed by and took the whistling kettle off the stove. After taking a cup down from the shelf he poured out hot water and took a sip. I blew smoke and stubbed out the cigarette.
Y'all fare all right out on them streets, I asked.
He eyed me over the glass at his mouth then smacked his lips as he finished. Why? You got a problem with me being a white here?
No, I said. He sidestepped me into the other room and sat down again with his guitar. I'm just saying, maybe you should try and get yourself a job today.
He shook his head. I'm gonna play music today. I'm gonna do this music thing.
Then he stopped and glanced at me. He focused on me for a moment. I'm sorry, he said.
What are you sorry for, I asked and as I did so I saw the answer play out in my mind.
He stared at the wall again for a moment then said, I ain't gonna get drunk no more so I can get better. That's what you wanted, isn't it?
I hardened inside hearing the tiny slivering noises. I shut my eyes and pictured all the explosions heard on the radio. He made a short sigh and threw his head back. Then he began to grate the strings with his fingernails.
It sure as hell don't sound like you're getting better, I heard myself yell at him.
With a loud twang he dropped the neck of the guitar and let it slide off his lap, strode up to me, and slapped. I clutched the chair by my side having turned my head in that direction. After a few breaths he put his arm around me and began to apologize.
I pushed him back and pressed myself against the stove. At least that soldier knows what it's like in the world. You're living some fantasy! You ain't special! None of them people who died are special! They might of thought they were til they went over.
Look, I ain't goin to no war. I'll get me a job. Don't you worry bout that. I told you not to, he said coming close. He kissed my lips, hot from the yelling. He kissed a trail across my cheek and down my neck. Then he unbuttoned my shirt and kissed my collar bone.
Look I got you by your chicken bone here. I know how much you like that, he said.
But I shrugged away from him with a glare then pushed past. I squeezed myself as I hurried back into the bedroom and slammed the door. My face hit the pillow crying. Then the metallic plinks began again like a revisited nightmare. I crushed the pillow over my ears and waited. The soft pressure relieved me and I held the pillow tight.
An hour passed while the guitar clicked and buzzed then stopped and mocked itself at a slower rhythm. I lay there with my eyes shut and my head buried under the pillow thinking of the winks and smiles and pretty-boned cheeks of the girlfriend. Then my thoughts became noisier than those of the girlfriend. I wound the sheets around myself. The war had come to my brain. I buried my head deeper but the whole world shook, marching up from a distant crackle and nearing into a thunderous rumble. There was no escape. Then the storm switched. There was a calm whir about the room.
I felt his body near mine. I remained still while the chaos thudded far away. When I opened my eyes I saw that rain had come and made the street wet and raw. I sat up and waited to hear any noise in the apartment. He was gone. I dressed and hurried out. I would be an hour and a half late to work.
Billy was leaning against a table in the dining room when I sloshed through the door. I continued behind his back towards the kitchen until I heard his voice and turned.
You expect us to wait for you? Bonnie already back there cooking. You best go home.
Sitting in front of Billy was Uriah the soldier. What are you doing here, I asked.
I said git on, said Billy.
The soldier nodded at me. Billy saw him. You know her?
Yes. I do.
Fella who else you know round these parts, Billy asked.
None. I just know her is all.
How you know him, Billy asked me with eyes wider than ever. I could hear in his voice that his mind was turning over conspiracy theories.
I just know him cause of a friend of my man's, Billy. He a soldier.
I know. He done told me bout Francis, Billy said then stopped himself and hung his head. He touched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. After a moment, he darted into the back of the restaurant.
You work here, asked the soldier.
Yes.
He stared at me and sighed.
What'd you say to Billy?
I just, he paused. I told him about his son. He. Frank. He and I served together.
In the war?
That's right, April.
It was the first time he had used my name. I pondered the moment as if the words echoed against the diner walls.
What are you gonna do now, I asked.
Well I just came cause I decided I would do this for Frank. He was a good soldier.
Billy stepped in the door with his usual long face. April, you can just have yoself the day off. Ain't nobody coming today anyways.
I nodded at Billy before he slipped back through the porthole door.
Where you going to? I can give you a ride.
I nodded without considering whether it was a good idea. My thoughts had begun to fill with visions of Billy's son Francis in a uniform, carrying a gun. The broken figure of Billy with his shadowed eyes and nearly open mouth alongside the soldier Uriah appeared as two wise men though I had never before understood. There had been glimpses but it was as if the death of Francis should have meant what it did to me then much earlier.
Once inside the truck, the soldier's face took on a slight grin and his voice changed. So, you came round to me.
I was watching the rain splatter the windshield. Mist reflected the truck's lights and I realized how empty the streets were.
Shannon don't talk to me no more.
I'm sorry, I said still mesmerized by the empty sidewalks. Despite everything that had happened, the dank cab of the truck reminded me of Eugene.
You know. I always thought you were a real good looking woman.
I snuffed and turned to Uriah. What'd you say?
I mean it.
You crazy, I said facing the windshield again.
Wind whipped against the truck and I felt it rock on its axles. Rain gushed across the asphalt.
You have beautiful eyes. There, he said. I caught glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and the sight reminded me of where I was.
Goddamn, I muttered shaking my head.
Well now. I never figured you'd be a cursin woman. I figured you'd be a churchgoer.
I lowered my gaze at him again. You figured I was just another country girl, I said.
He bared his teeth in a smile like Eugene's and nodded.
I always wondered what you were doing with that redneck piece of trash like him.
Don't you say that, I hissed again before I could judge whether it was right to do so. My head was out of sorts. I realized that he had driven too far and we were downtown. He stopped at the light and I saw the glass walls of Reynold's Diner across the street. Inside sat my man and the girlfriend holding hands across the table, rubbing their fingers together.
Maybe you could help me, the soldier said. He set his hand on my thigh. I tell you, he whispered, I seen some horrors.
I focused on the diner window. Car horns blared.
Peoples' arms and legs just blown off. Little kids laying there naked. I seen people tortured. You reckon he could handle all them guts hanging out like the fourth of July parade?
I opened the door of the car and stepped into the stream of water shooting down the street. The rain took the soldier's hard hands away. Lightning cracked as tall as the sky above the traffic lights. All around me were thunder, sirens, honking, but I focused on the diner window and aimed for that direction. The soldier called to me. I saw the light flicker against the white street sign, beating against the faces of the two of them. The door to the restaurant opened in front of me. A voice said, What's that nigger doing? The clank of people eating off white porcelain broke off for a moment. I glared back at all of them but they only jeered at me. Our country was at war but everyone sat eating peacefully, writing pretty songs.
I was speechless before them. Each wanted to see the war, not its end.