My memories were indistinct here. I couldn’t remember the exact order, so the order didn’t feel like it mattered. I could go to the church and check the bin, only to discover there was barely anything I could wear. I could go to the clothing stores, hoping for cheap overstock, for stuff that was being thrown out or discarded, only to be disappointed. I could go to the hill and stare out at the distant lake, at houses separated by quarter-miles of dense foliage or broad fields. The me of then might wonder about the future, morose, doing his best not to think about the days he’d been beaten, shot with pellet guns, had his things stolen. Days he’d nearly died.
But one building loomed, larger than it should have been. Restaurant, cafe, tavern, all of the above, none of the above. The lights inside were brighter, and the illumination extended further, reaching across the street to where I stood.
Fuck this place.
I crossed the street, not sure I’d have the conviction if I put it off. Skip the unimportant steps. This was where this place wanted me to go.
Laughter, one goofy laugh. Genuine laughter.
More actors. Three girls, all alien or monstrous in their own ways. One with a crest of what might have been a hard fungus, shaped like horns, but growing over her eyes, over to and behind the corners of her forehead, her flesh was pallid. Another looked almost normal, but never blinked, the whites of her eyes visible. The third had teeth about twice the normal length. The guy opposite them had scalded, peeling flesh. They were supposed to be in their early- to mid-twenties.
They were arranged in a booth with a table, three seats with cushioned backs surrounding the three sides of the table. Each had beers, and overfat, burned french fries sat in a basket lined with paper. They took turns grabbing the french fries, biting into them.
The actors weren’t my concern. My attention was on the man at the far end of the booth, opposite the opening, girls on his right, the boy on his left.
Carl. Just as he’d appeared in the drains, utterly normal, except the colors were off. Black hair and beard, black turtleneck sweater, black jeans, black scarf around his neck, more for fashion than for wealth. His arms were draped on the back of the booth, extended out to either side.
The look on his face was different than it should have been. Or so I thought. I couldn’t remember the exact expression, or I was remembering it wrong because my perspective had been tainted.
For me, then, it had been a long, long time since I’d dealt with people my age in anything but a hostile context.
“Hey there,” Carl said.
“Who’s this?” Fungus-face asked.
“I thought we’d seen all of the local boys,” Teeth commented. “Hey you.”
“Uh,” I said.
“Don’t worry. We don’t bite,” Carl said, smiling. He looked at Teeth, “Right?”
“Right,” she said.
I couldn’t shake the notion that he was in on this. That he saw what I saw and accepted it. His expression and posture… he was on this stage that the Drains had created, but he wasn’t an actor any more than I was. Not really.
“Listen, I feel dumb for asking, but-“
“The only dumb question is the question to which you don’t know the answer,” Carl said.
I hadn’t known how to reply to that.
“I do, though,” I said. “I’m pretty certain I know what you’ll say.”
“Then why ask?” he said, cutting me off from elaborating without actively interrupting.
“I have to,” I said.
Was it hindsight that colored my view of his words and his attitudes? The me of then had kicked himself for handling the conversation so badly. He’d almost walked away.
“Then ask,” he said, serious but still smiling. “We won’t laugh at you or judge you. Promise.”
“I’m doing some work for a local farmer, and I’m-” their attention made it hard to press on. The me of then had stuttered. The me of now decided not to. “-sort of underequipped for the winter. I’m sort of asking around, seeing if anyone has a jacket or boots to spare.”
They hadn’t laughed at me, just as Carl had promised. That somehow made it worse. The awkward silence was made doubly worse by the fact that I had no idea what they were thinking.
Except the present me sort of knew. I could see Carl studying me, very much in the way he’d studied me then.
“Not cool,” Carl said.
I was supposed to say something, to sputter. I didn’t.
“Before you ask for a favor, you should tell us your name,” he finished.
I resisted, but something in the atmosphere told me I couldn’t bend the rules this much. I couldn’t improvise here, refuse an answer and expect this test to continue. Every second I waited, the contrast between light and dark seemed to sharpen, the noise of the light rain outside more intense, until it all felt like it might start to come apart at the seams.
“Blake,” I said.
This shadow reality seemed to sigh. I blinked, and the contrasts eased up, the patter of rain against window growing quieter.
“Hi, Blake, I’m Carl. These are my friends.”
I was caught for a second, tripped up because his words didn’t line up with my memories. Hadn’t he introduced them?
I didn’t complain. Easier if I didn’t think about it, and they weren’t the focus of all this.
“Hi, Carl’s friends,” I said.
They smiled or gave me little waves by way of greeting.
Carl smiled. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, Blake, I actually do think I can help you out.”
I remained silent.
“It’s not a problem, Blake,” he said, smiling. “We’ve got some spare stuff. One boot might need some glue where a flap is sticking off, and it’s not pretty, but it should do you. What size are your feet?”
“Ten.”
“Perfect,” he said. “You got a car?”
“No. I can borrow a bike.”
“If you can get here, you can get there. It’s west off the forty-one rural. You’ll see a sign. Loon Lake. We’ll get you set up, Blake.”
My expression was stern, my gaze hard, as I met his eyes.