“Any stores or anything here?”
“Well, it ain’t bigger than a stone’s throw when you compare it to other parts of Kentucky, but they’ve got four or five spots, even a little museum, I believe. There’s a small grocery store down the way. Webb’s, I think it’s called.”
“Is somebody going to try ’nd do something to me if they see me, Axel?” She turned to him fast, as if the thought just came over her and grabbed her by the gut.
“What do you mean? Because you’re Black?”
“Yes. You know some of these people out in these isolated areas probably haven’t seen a Black person in their entire lives, unless you include when their great grandpa was in the coal mine and came home covered in soot!” They were both laughing now. “I’m serious, though.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna do nothing to you, girl, and you know if somethin’ strange goes down, I’ll handle it. They may not uh seen many Black people in their lifetimes, but they damn sure know they exist.”
“How you figure? They could think we’re some myth, like the Loch Ness monster… or be cross burning racists, thinking they can redo the Civil War. They might be some of those mountain people that haven’t stepped outside their own town ever, and just regurgitate what their racist mamas and papas taught them. The generational curse.”
“First of all, this is the birthplace of Loretta Lynn.”
“Bad example, buddy. She’s the same woman who during one of her concerts told the crowd that if they wanted to know what coal looked like, to look at the Black security guard, and the light shined down on him. This place ain’t produced no woke folks, Axel. You act as if you just said the man that stopped Apartheid or cured Sickle Cell was born here. Something beneficial for Black people.”
“I didn’t know anything about her saying that, so if it’s true, and that really happened, just forget I brought it up. Secondly, they’re—”
“Ain’t no ‘if it’s true, and if that really happened.’ You know I read and research periodicals, books, and legal information regarding racism and race relations incessantly for a living, right? I think you need to be reminded. She did this in front of hundreds of people, while on stage, and admitted it. Sayin’ she was just trying to put on a good show. Fuck Loretta Lynn and the broken one string banjo she sailed out this place on. Now what’s your next excuse for me to feel safe out here with these people that are probably hand-washing their KKK white sheets as we speak?”
“Why would you bring this up just now, when we’re here, English? A three-hour drive?!”
She shrugged, looking at him as if to say, “That’s a damn good question.”
He’d driven the three hours from Louisville to the Butcher holler, planning to camp out with her in the truck and enjoy their night. But here she went, bringing all of this up.
“We can still turn around and go back, Axel. This isn’t Gilligan’s Island. Three-hour drive, not a three-hour tour. We’re not stranded.”
He could tell she was trying to keep from laughing. She grates my nerves so damn bad… And yet, I can’t leave her alone. She’s like a bad itch.
“Stop it. They’re Appalachian, not brain-dead, ravenous monkeys. Not everybody from out here is racist. You’re acting like they don’t have any TVs ’round here. Like it’s just an old 1940s radio that fifty people crowd around to listen to reruns of, ‘The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet,’ and they communicate by making grunting noises and tongue clicks. Stop being paranoid and silly.”
That landed them both in ribbons again, laughing their asses off. It was truly beautiful, this time they were sharing, and the sky and land they passed on their drive. This was a true getaway—a bit of one-on-one time together after a couple of weeks of working himself to death. There’d been a terrible fire from an electric heater at an old man’s house, and multiple car accidents—including one where he knew the victims—a couple of messy natural deaths, and a shoot up at an apartment building. It was call after call after call. The money was good, but there was little time for much else. He’d missed his baby.
“This is a good spot to take that walk in the woods.” He pulled his truck into a small clearing, and they got out. “We should go up this way,” he pointed up ahead, “so we won’t accidentally be on nobody’s land, and we can finish and be back ’fore dark. There’s a restaurant not far from here, so after the hike, we can go get a bite to eat. That sound good, baby?”
“That sounds fine.” English put her jacket on and zipped it up. Tossing her hood over her head, she tucked her ponytail inside. “You believe in Bigfoot? You sure look like him,” she teased, poking at him as they often did to each other for sport. In that respect, she reminded him of his sister, which gave him a sense of comfort. A sense of trust.