Bernie (Part Six)
Sunday, February 17th, 2008
Bernie is a poverty-stricken woman whose life takes an unexpected turn when an old friend returns to town. This is Part Six.
Related reading: Talk With a Killer, Wall
Part Six
As she ran past the tennis courts, Bernie again saw the couple with matching sweats, now playing tennis. They didn’t notice her.
Not far from them, a young woman aimed what looked like an expensive camera at a park bench. Next she held it so that the end of the lens was within inches of the chain link fence surrounding the courts. Bernie had no idea what the woman was trying to accomplish, but remembered what it was like to spend time doing things that seemed pointless to observers. For longer than she cared to admit to herself, her every action had a clear and practical purpose.
She picked up her two remaining water jugs and filled them, then walked along Main out of town and onto Highway 110. A bottle in each hand, the magnitude of Glenda’s trickery enraged her more with each step. Along with her wagon and two full bottles, Glenda had stolen the plastic crate that doubled as Bernie’s nightstand.
A few miles off sat Sugarloaf Mountain, its distinctive bare rock “loaf” perched atop its steep, tree-lined sides. One of Bernie’s favorite destinations as a little girl, she tried to remember the last time she had climbed it. It must have been that time with the Assembly of God youth group. More than that, she recalled the night she had sneaked out of her house to go there with Kenneth Wymer.
“Come on, baby, please. You’re giving me a rise in my Levi’s,” Kenneth said.
They sat next to each other, their legs hanging over the edge of the mountain’s highest sheer drop, about 100 feet. The moon shone half full in a cloudless sky, reflecting off the Little Red River in the valley below. In stark contrast, in the distance a greenish light reflected off the Greers Ferry Dam’s smooth concrete surface.
“I’m not going to have sex with you on this cliff, for God and everybody to see,” Bernie said.
“Ain’t nobody up here right now.” He unzipped his pants, leaving his desire’s manifestation bound only by tight white underwear. “See what you’re doin’ to me?”
“I haven’t done anything — yet.”
He turned and put his arms around her, his face close enough that beer breath made her crinkle her nose. “It’s so romantic up here. And I’m about to bust out of my BVD’s.”
“Let go, Kenneth.” She grabbed his hands and pulled them off her shoulders.
“Stop movin’ around or we’ll both fall,” he said.
“Shakespeare might think that’s romantic.”
“Hardy, har. Now, come on. We’ve been together almost a year and it’s time to move to the next level.”
“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, drunk or sober, and that’s saying something,” Bernie said.
Kenneth was on her before she could react. The back of her head smacked the rocks. Hard kisses bounced off her face as he tugged at the top button on her jeans.
“Kenneth, stop it!”
“I’m smart enough to know that you’re mine now! Stop movin’!”
His weight pressed her down against the unforgiving rock. Her feet still hung into nothing, leaving her with little leverage.
“No!” she screamed.
The button gave way and he grabbed jeans and panties in one fist and yanked. They moved down, but still didn’t reveal what he wanted. He raised up enough to lift her and pulled again, stripping her bare from her waist to just above her knees. With one hand on her hip, he used the other to free himself from his briefs.
Bernie pulled her legs up and put her knees on his chest and her hands on his head. She closed her eyes and pushed with everything she had.
She heard a shriek, but when she opened her eyes, nobody was there. Her pants still down, she wriggled onto her stomach and crawled to peer over the edge. Dirt and tiny pebbles ground into her thighs. She knew that large boulders, remnants of the mountain’s last sloughing, lay at the bottom, but she couldn’t see them. Blackness stared up at her.
She whispered, “Kenneth?”
Silence.
Louder this time. “Kenneth!”
She had heard of a boy surviving a fall from there, but he had been climbing and was less than half way up.
Bernie drew in the night air and screamed, “Kenneth!”
An 18-wheeler’s horn blew and Bernie looked down to see her right foot on the highway’s white borderline. She shook off the memory and continued on her way.
She crossed over to Pop’s One Stop, a trucker haven managed by another old friend. She feared ever moving from her hometown. If not for lifetime friendships, she wasn’t sure how she could have survived. Only those who had known her before her hardships talked to her like she was a person, and not all of those were dependable any more.
The automatic doorbell pealed loud enough for her to hear as she walked into the store. “Hey, Pop,” she said.
A man behind the counter, with a full head of gray hair and a matching scraggly beard that crawled down his neck, looked up at Bernie. He held a number 2 pencil, poised less than an inch above a newspaper’s crossword puzzle.
She plunked the full gallon jugs on the counter beside the cash register. “The Sun-Times still keeping your brain sharp?”
“As this pencil.” He said as he looked back down and pressed the lead inside a square.
“Okay, Pop, I’ll take your word for it.”
The lead broke. “Shit! They don’t make nothin’ like they used to.” He pulled a small pocket knife from the front of his faded blue Dickies overalls and started whittling the pencil’s tip.
Bernie sloshed the containers. “Mind stashing these back there for me, just for a little while? I can come back and get them tonight.”
“Sure, little Bernie.” He had called her that since her childhood, when he owned the convenience store down the road from her rural home. “You need any empties?”
“Yep. I’ll get them later, too. Is it okay if I use your showers in a little while?
A young man walked in through a door marked, “Employees Only.” He was shaking his head. “No more free showers, Bernie. I gotta follow the rules. Only for paying diesel customers or three dollars.”
Pop had carved away enough of the wood to reveal fresh lead. He pointed it at one of the tiny squares. “Help me with this one, little Bernie. Eight-letter word for ‘jerk.’ Starts with ‘d,’ ends with ‘head.’”
Bernie laughed. Pop was nothing if not crass. Her face quickly straightened. She needed that shower.
“The store might still be named after you, Pop, but I’m the owner now,” the young man said. He belched loudly and waved his hand in front of his face.
Bernie remembered earlier that day, at Lockard’s. “Fine, Nathan, I’ll pay,” she said and pulled out the five-dollar bill Jeannie had given her. “Now, can a paying customer use your phone?”
“No free calls.”
“Let’s see, seven-letter word, ending with ‘hole,’ means –”
“Okay, Pop, I get the hint,” Nathan said. Then, to Bernie, “I’m sure you know where it is.”
Bernie walked around the end of the counter, past the case of various fried foods kept warm by heat lamps. Potato skins, chicken strips, steak fingers. Chimichangas. Her stomach rumbled. She pulled a worn phone book from a slot beneath the register and flipped to the R’s. “Red Apple Inn,” she mumbled.
She cleared her throat and punched in the number. After the first ring, she read aloud a few labels on the impulse items. Started when she was a child learning to read, the habit of blurting out words had never faded. “Instant Energy. Packed with B-12. Alerticap.”
A faint voice came on the line. “Thank you for calling Red Apple Inn, how may I help you?
Bernie pushed a finger over her free ear. “I’ll need you to speak loud and slow, please,” she said.
“Okay, how may I help you?” the woman said, a little louder that time.
“Room 218, please.”
“I’ll transfer you. Thank you and have a nice day.”
“Thank you.” She glanced around to the displays in front of the register. “Ginseng Sammy. Slim Jim.”
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Oh, sorry, I thought you were gone.”
“I’m connecting you now.”
Bernie started figuring what food she could buy for two dollars.
“Hello?” came a woman’s voice.
“It’s Bernie. Is this Shonda?”
“Oh, Bernie, hi!” Shonda yelled.
Bernie picked up a bottle of Ginseng Sammy and turned it to read the ingredient list. “You can just speak up a little. I’m where it’s quiet now.”
“You’re not backing out on our night, are you?”
“No, I’m not. I just… well. I ran into Jeff at the park and — ”
“What did he say to you?” Shonda said, her tone heavier.
“Just that he would like to see me tonight. Why? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, we just have a little secret, and I wanted to be sure he didn’t ruin it.” Shonda sounded less severe. “What did you need?”
“I don’t really have anything that would be right to wear.”
“If you’re worried about it, don’t,” Shonda said, now back to her original level of enthusiasm. “I’ll have a friend lend you something.”
“Thanks.”
Bernie pulled a chimichanga from the glass case and handed Pop her five dollar bill. She wolfed it down and then went about the business of cleaning her dirty, worn body.
In the shower, with nothing to distract her mind, she couldn’t help thinking of Kenneth again. Since that night on the mountain, she hadn’t gone a day without being haunted by it.
(Continue to Part Seven)