Bendable
Flash Fiction 04
A steel-toed boot rocketed over the kitchen table, knocking over a vase of dead flowers in moldy water. Grasping my flimsy guitar case, I tripped over a trash bag of fabric scraps.
“Newsflash, Keith: you’ll never make it to California!” Mama wailed over Bob Barker on the blaring TV. With a cigarette in one hand, she hurled a little red box with the other. It nicked my forehead on its way to a pile of cat poop.
A Ken doll smiled from the box, undisturbed by the chaos or the poop. New! Bendable legs! was his banner. Mama bought the doll when I was born but never let me open it, like all her other “collections” in the house.
“Mama, I can’t live here like this. I gotta get out and make a home somewhere, see who I can be. And it’s gonna be with Shelley.”
Mama settled, leaning on the edge of the brown couch. “See who you can be away from me.” After a long drag, a tap sent ashes fluttering. “You won’t be no musician. You’re just a 19-year old hillbilly and you’re better off here with your people.” Smoke twirled around her as her voice ratcheted into a laugh. “And she won’t be no actress! She’ll either leave you or make you stay in her podunk town just like I got stuck here!”
At that, I kept towards the door. The chilly air refreshed my resolve to stick to my plan. As soon as I had Shelley with me, we were getting out of Appalachia.
I stole a last glance as Mama snuffed out the cigarette on the busted porchlight. “You won’t make it there!”
“Guess we’ll see!” I called back. The Plymouth started after some complaining. Slush and gravel churned underneath my car.
As I neared the end of our holler, I ached knowing Dad would come home from the night shift to find out I’d left without a goodbye. But had I waited, I wouldn’t have moved on. Never understood how he stayed, always bending towards her.
Driving the country roads, singing with Johnny and Hank cleared my head of the morning’s chaos. At the state line truck stop I bought an Ohio map and scrounged up some quarters for the payphone.
“Sorry I kept you waiting, Shells. Took a while to get on.”
“Did she freak out?”
“Yeah.”
“She doesn’t wanna lose you. But it’s good you got out.”
“Guess so.” I sighed. “I’m lookin’ at the spot where I first saw you, in all your hitchhiker glory.”
“You were all scruffy and handsome in that green flannel. I think the guitar is what got me, though.”
“Thank God I’m a Country Boy.” I smiled, realizing I was wearing said flannel.
She giggled. “Not for long. You’ll be singing Going to California soon enough.”
“That’s the plan.” I dragged my thumbnail through the phone cord ridges.
“Actually, could we meet at my parents’ church instead of my house? It’s the little one just inside the city limit sign.”
“Already have the route circled on the map, so that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be hugging you in an hour or so, baby!”
The lower mountains shrank into rugged foothills. Factories, painted quilt barns, blink-and-miss-em towns, and sleeping fields repeated in a soothing pattern. Each bend and slope in the road renewed my anticipation for my new life.
A cardinal swooped by my windshield, landing on the sign:
Welcome to Hackberry, Ohio!
Founded 1772
Population 1,320
The church appeared with the road’s curve. The parking lot crackled like my driveway. Stained glass panels flanked a red door. The weathered steeple pointed up to a silvery sky.
From the empty foyer, my eyes were immediately drawn to a pretty quilt hanging on the wall behind the preacher’s stand. Floorboards creaked as I moved towards it, studying the colorful mosaic of squares arranged as a starburst around a large cross. The only decoration in the sanctuary, it was stunning. A name was stitched in the corner along a cluster of roses: Dottie. Shelley’s mom.
My mom had a sewing machine—three, actually. Never once saw her sew or make anything, though I did see her hand stitch repairs and replace buttons. I wondered if she could make something pretty if she tried. Maybe she could now that I was gone.
“Well, aren’t you a vision?” Shelley called from the doorway. She hurried into my arms and settled into my chest. We silently swayed for a moment. Then she looked up at me, her forehead set into a wrinkle.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She moved my hair, grazing the nick on my forehead.
“What would you think of just getting married here before we go?”
My mind started spinning.
She started pacing. “We were going to eventually, so we might as well do it here. It’ll save money and honestly we’ll need every bit if we plan to be starving artists anyway.”
With this surprise hurled at me, my mind tripped over various scenarios. My plans were already fraying. But I looked around the empty church and imagined Shelley, crowned with fresh flowers, floating towards me between neat rows of calm people. We could still cross the melting winter Rockies and find the spring air of the coast. We would have each other’s hands to hold while we stretched our legs, reaching for whatever we wanted to. The plan could still go on, just with a different order.
“Yeah, why not? Let’s get married here.” I reached for her hands. “Tomorrow?”
She licked her lips. “We still need to plan and get some things together. Shouldn’t keep us here too long though.”
“Guess we’ll see.”
It’s never been clear to me whether the right choice is bending towards people or bending towards best-laid plans.
Has any day gone by when a man has kept himself perfectly balanced between the two?
Well I decided which way to bend and collected a driver’s license that says I’m a resident of Hackberry, OH. I’ve yet to get west of the Mississippi.
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Read Next: Wild and Weary
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Songs Keith and Shelley reference:
“Thank God I’m a Country Boy,” written by J. Summers and performed by John Denver.
“Going to California,” written and performed by Led Zeppelin.
I love your writing, Alexis! Beautiful piece!
You are a beautiful writer! I love your vivid details!