The Cloud Seeders, page 17
"I'll get her. It's okay. I'll get her." I can see his mind working, trying to figure out how he'll do it. He looks up at me and his eyes are wet, shining. "She's alive, Thomas. My wife is alive."
Hopefully, I think to myself but say nothing and pat him on the back.
I don't mention Dustin's nickname for her.
*
Dustin has decided to stay with Twink.
Twink says he's going to put him to work fixing the place up, wants to start a legit business again, maybe convert classic cars to electric for when things get back to normal.
"And besides," he says, "Have to clean this place up for when the little lady comes home. Who knows, they could start freeing folks any time now."
We just smile at him.
It's too heartbreaking to even think about.
When Dustin asks me if it's okay, I want to tell him no, that he's only a kid, that he needs his older brother to look after him.
But that isn't true.
It hasn't been for some time now.
As for me and Jerusha, we decide to leave in the morning. Now might be the best time to sneak back and take care of certain things. Things like giving Mom and Dad a proper burial.
Twink insists on us taking one of his cars even though the chatter on the CB is that most of the check-points are going unguarded now. The fact that the charging stations are unmanned has me wondering how many people in our government really knew what was going on. Is it possible that only a very few at the top knew what was happening? It would explain why only Dumb cop was allowed in the Cloud Lab.
Why the President "worked from home."
It's not much, but it's something.
Either way, this isn't over by a long shot. If the President could control the weather, there's no telling what else, who else, he can control.
*
For our last night, Twink borrows a VCR from a local friend so we can watch Return of the Jedi. We all watch it together, and, once I see Dustin glued to the couch again, I find myself wishing they made a hundred episodes.
I'd buy the entire set for him.
*
In the morning, Twink stands in the doorway watching us say our goodbyes in the pouring rain. I hang back a bit as Jerusha hugs Dustin, probably telling him to be safe, not to get into any more trouble. Then, from over Jerusha's shoulder, just as she's giving him one last squeeze, Dustin rolls his eyes at me.
How touching.
When Jerusha finally tears herself away and goes to wait in the car, I'm left standing alone with Dustin. The eye-roll I've just witnessed suddenly makes the speech I've prepared seem hugely stupid.
"I guess every cloud has a shitty lining," I say, trying out what I considered to be my best line.
"What?"
"Never mind. You going to be okay out here?"
"Stop asking me that."
I nod.
"I wrote you a poem," Dustin says and hands me a folded-up piece of paper.
"You're kidding."
"It's not a big deal. Don't get all weepy about it."
When I start to open it, he tells me to wait, to read it after I leave, that he wants me to savor it.
I tuck it into my jacket. "You've still got Mom's book, right?"
"Yep," he says. "Haven't lost it since the last time you asked."
"Right. Well…" I can't think of anything more to say, but then I remember the CB. "Twink gave us a CB so we can keep in touch. How about channel 2? Nobody's ever on that one. I think it's Delaware or something like that."
"Channel 2. Check."
"Every night at six. That way we can keep tabs on each other."
"Six. Check."
"I have to do this, Dustin. I have to give Mom and Dad a decent burial. They would have wanted that."
"No, yeah, I know. I get it. I just can't is all. Besides, I think Twink sort of needs me right now."
I hadn't thought about it that way, but Dustin's right. If two people ever needed each other…
"We'll be back before you know it," I say. "I promise."
"And then what?"
This wasn't anywhere in my speech. "Listen, I'm not going to lie to you. You're an adult now. I don't know what's going to happen. Things could get ugly."
"Uglier, you mean."
"What I mean is I don't think this will be over any time soon. It could get a lot worse."
Dustin taps his shoe in a small puddle. "Just make sure you come back."
"Okay," I say.
He taps his foot some more, then holds out his hand like he wants to shake. "So, I'll be seeing you then." "Yeah," I say and take his hand.
I don't shake it though.
I kneel down in the mud, pull him close to me, wrap my arms around his back and hug him for all I'm worth. He fights it a little at first, isn't sure what I'm up to, then, when he realizes I mean it, I can feel his body relax into mine.
Then, ever so slightly, him hugging me back.
"You know you're not a bad person because of what happened, right?"
"Then what am I?"
I remember something Mom told us once. How the world's made up of two kinds of people: steak knives and butter knives. For the steak knives life is easy, they cut right through things without any trouble. For the butter knives, things are a little harder, take a little longer. But they always get the job done.
She told us this not long before she died.
"You're the steak knife, D. A very sharp, very good, steak knife."
"And you're the butter knife," he says and allows himself a small smile.
"That's right. I'm the butter knife."
"Yeah," he says. "I remember."
I give him another hug and I can feel his Stamp against my cheek. I swear it feels hot, like it's burning. When I pull back, I can see the welt glistening in the rain. He never mentions it, but I know it still has to hurt.
"Don't forget to take good care of that, okay?"
He nods, looks down.
"I love you, D. You know that, right?"
"I know."
I let him go and he turns, starts back toward the house. Twink is still standing there, his hand over his mouth all grandma-ish, like he's trying not to cry.
"Hey, D," I say when he reaches the door. "We did it, huh."
He looks up at the sky, winces as the rain courses down his cheek. "Water is good," he says.
"Water is great," I say back and it takes all of the five steps back to the car before I start missing him.
*
Jerusha and I are both quiet on the drive, both of us watching the windshield wipers like they're some strange new invention. I wait as long as I can, then dig out Dustin's poem from my pocket, hold it over the steering wheel.
I read the poem first, then turn it over.
On the back it says:
Send me a postcard sometime.
And don't forget to use a Stamp! Ha Ha Ha!
-i love you,
Dustin.
I hand it to Jerusha.
"Looks like you've got another poet in the family."
"Yeah," I say. "Mom would be proud."
We go back to watching the landscape pass by and Jerusha takes out her pencil, starts flipping away.
"Seriously though," she says. "You think he'll be okay?"
I want to tell her that I don't know what that word means anymore, that being okay might no longer be an option, that after what's happened I don't know if you can stop a person's heart from going bad, but, instead, I lie and say, "He'll be alright. Dustin's a steak knife."
I explain Mom's theory about cutlery and when I finish Jerusha asks what kind I am. When I tell her that Mom always called me the butter knife, she laughs, says, "I don't think so."
"Sure I am. Take me and you. I knew a long time ago I wanted to be with you but look how long that took."
"But you got me."
"I did?"
She leans over, kisses my cheek. "You're a butcher knife, Thomas. You just don't know it yet."
Babies. Lots of them.
I turn the radio on to see if there's any more updates, but a commercial's on.
Be sure to buy Water-conscious apparel. It knows whether you've been naughty or nice! Only at participating stores…
I turn it off, say, "Are you wearing Water-conscious undergarments, Jerusha?"
She waits a few beats, then says, "Would you rather find out now or wait until we get home?"
For an answer, I pull the car over onto the shoulder.
Easiest Would You Rather ever.
A Poem
by Dustin Banks
Thomas is staring at Jerusha
Thomas loves Jerusha
Thomas is an asshole
Zerndt, James, The Cloud Seeders
