{"id":1594,"date":"2020-11-26T00:35:37","date_gmt":"2020-11-26T00:35:37","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/?page_id=1594"},"modified":"2020-11-26T00:35:37","modified_gmt":"2020-11-26T00:35:37","slug":"hungerford","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/?page_id=1594","title":{"rendered":"Wynne Hungerford"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Seventies Celebrities<\/em>, Chris Gavaler<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Stick shift<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Jessie was still in bed when her dad pulled up. It was eight o\u2019clock in the morning and she was supposed to be awake and dressed already so they could go to the mountains and spend the day kicking around, a phrase her dad liked to use, but she hadn\u2019t made a move yet. Her dad honked in the driveway, then Jessie\u2019s cell phone rang on the bedside table. She silenced it and burrowed under the covers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her mom came into the bedroom and said, \u201cYour father\u2019s here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Jessie didn\u2019t respond or show signs of life, her mom sat on the edge of the bed and said, \u201cYou\u2019re not fooling anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie said, \u201cTell him I don\u2019t want to go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not telling him anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHoney,\u201d she said. \u201cYou\u2019ll be home before you know it.\u201d Then she stuck her hand under the covers and scratched the bottom of Jessie\u2019s foot. Jessie shrieked and then flung the covers off the bed. She muttered, \u201cFine,\u201d and her mom said, \u201cI can\u2019t hear you,\u201d and Jessie said, \u201cI\u2019m getting up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie changed into clothes she wouldn\u2019t mind getting dirty and then put on the hand-me-down hiking boots that had previously belonged to her mother. The boots were soft and flexible and still water-resistant after all these years. She brushed her teeth and, before heading to the kitchen, grabbed an elastic hair tie out of the mother-of-pearl on her dresser dish that held her little earrings, necklaces, and bobby pins. She went into the kitchen, where her mother was drinking coffee, probably her third or fourth cup already, and held up the hair tie. At twelve years old, Jessie still hadn\u2019t mastered the art of pulling her hair into a ponytail. Her ponytails were the messiest of all the girls in gym class and even Dallas, a boy who had long flowing hair, could do it better than her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With a few twists of the hair tie, Jessie\u2019s mom had her hair whipped into a perfect ponytail. \u201cAre you getting breakfast on the way?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie shrugged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were three honks from the driveway and her mom said, \u201cThat\u2019s the most impatient man I ever met in my life.\u201d She rushed to make sandwiches out of graham crackers and peanut butter, each with a dash of cinnamon, and then put them in a plastic baggie. Jessie grabbed the bag, took a deep breath, and went out the kitchen door. She didn\u2019t say goodbye. She didn\u2019t say thank you. This was her first outing with her father since he\u2019d moved out and her parents had started the divorce proceedings. He\u2019d come over to eat supper once or twice, to fix the garbage disposal when it quit working, and to bring Jessie her birthday present, but this was her first time being alone with him in three months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the driveway, her dad leaned out of the driver\u2019s side window and tapped his watch. He drove an old, dinged-up Ford. She\u2019d once heard him brag that the property tax on the truck was only sixty dollars. The seat was covered in a dark teal material that stuck to your legs and got scalding hot in the sun. Jessie got in and closed the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said, \u201cI honked.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 She said, \u201cI heard.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs something wrong with your phone? I was calling you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt works.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her dad shook his head. \u201cOkay, then.\u201d It looked like he hadn\u2019t gotten a haircut since he\u2019d moved. His hair was the longest she\u2019d ever seen it. It grew well over his ears and down into a little point at the back of his neck. His hair was a dark copper color and the ends were beginning to turn blond. Jessie flipped the end of her ponytail over her shoulder and checked the color of her hair, which now that she\u2019d been apart from him for some time, was clearly the same color as his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They headed north on Highway 25 with the windows cracked. He asked if she was going to eat the graham crackers and when she said no, he held out his hand and waited for her to give him one. He kept holding out his hand for more until they were gone and then Jessie put the empty bag, streaked with peanut butter, in the glove box. That tiny compartment was packed with road atlases, napkins, ketchup packets, mustard packets, salt and pepper packets, Chick-fil-A sauce, a rusted pocketknife, a tin of Skoal, toothpicks, matchbooks, and a handful of loose BBs that rolled around when he turned off the highway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mountain property was a stone\u2019s throw from the North Carolina state line, and there was little in the way of towns or developments nearby. At the gate, Jessie had to get out of the truck, unlock and relock the gate once her father had driven through, and then get back in the truck. The road leading up to the property was very steep. Most of it was covered in gravel, although the steepest portion was paved and in that stretch Jessie could look out the window and see the mountainside giving way beside them, a hundred-foot drop into a deep ravine. She gripped the door handle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They parked at the top of a ridge that overlooked low, rolling mountains. They could see distant power lines strung like gold thread through the trees and a hawk skimming the wind. They got out of the truck and Jessie\u2019s dad made a show of breathing the clean mountain air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She kicked the ground and said, \u201cWhat am I supposed to do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said, \u201cYou could help me dig up a stump. Or cut some boards. I\u2019ve got a lot of boards that need cutting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, thanks,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He pulled out a fishing rod from the back of the truck, then lifted the seat inside and took out a BB gun and an old paperback of The Lords of Discipline<\/em> by Pat Conroy. He said, \u201cHere\u2019s your options.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She asked what the book was about, but when her dad told her it was about The Citadel, a military college he seemed to admire, even though he had never graduated from college himself, she rejected it immediately. She asked what she was supposed to shoot with the gun and he picked up a few empty Bug Light cans from the truck bed. She didn\u2019t feel like shooting his old beer cans, so she took the fishing rod. There was a path that went down the ridge to a creek, and he handed her a tiny plastic case full of fishing flies. She took the equipment and started down the path, remembering the way from the last time she\u2019d been to the mountains, back when her mom had come along, too. They\u2019d gone hiking, then cooked hot dogs over a fire and camped out beneath a clear sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her dad said, \u201cHoller if you need me. I\u2019ll hear the echo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She followed the trail at first, which was full of roots and forced you to pay attention to every step, and then she reached the stack of rocks, which signaled that it was time to turn into a grove of rhododendron. She had to duck in order to navigate through the trees. The canopy of leaves grew overhead and she yelped when cold drops of water dripped on her head or whenever insects brushed her arms or legs. About thirty minutes later, the air became very cool and she reached the creek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were boulders covered in moss with spring water flowing over and around them. Jessie found a rock to sit on and took the little plastic case of flies out of her pocket. She picked one at random, because the various shapes, sizes, and types of flies meant nothing to her, and she tied it onto the end of the line with a couple of knots. She used a pair of little scissors that had been in the box to cut the excess line then admired her handiwork before she dropped it into the pool at her feet. The water wasn\u2019t very deep, only three or four feet, but this seemed like the most promising spot since everywhere else was so shallow, just that clear, biting water running a reckless course over dark rocks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie sat for a while. As the sun moved across the sky, the spots of water dappled with light shifted in time and space. She didn\u2019t know how many hours had passed because she made no attempt to measure the passage of time. She looked up through the trees, up to the mountain ridge where her father was working on whatever task he\u2019d set himself to. As if on cue, she heard his voice. The sound echoed down the mountain and it was her name that he was saying. Jessie. Jessie. Jessie. <\/em>There was an urgency she\u2019d never heard before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She reeled in the line and found a trout on the hook. In all that time, she had never felt a tug or pull. She hadn\u2019t even known the fish was there. It was so small that the entirety of its body fit in her hand. As it lay there, over her lifeline, over her heartline, she was able to see the pale pink stripe on its side. She got the hook out of its mouth and dropped the fish into the water. It disappeared immediately and she already missed what it felt like to hold the creature in her loose grip and feel its soft, heaving belly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She picked up her things, following the trail back up the mountain. She moved quickly, never breaking into a full run, but jogging as best she could without tripping over the rocks and roots. Once she got up to the property, she saw the old Ford sitting on the ridge. She saw the little shed off to the side, where her father kept wood and tools. She saw the other little shed, where an old tractor was kept. She saw the area that was staked off, where he hoped to build a cabin one day with all of the wood he was accumulating. The driver\u2019s side door of the truck was open and she saw her father\u2019s leg hanging outside. She ran to him. \u201cDaddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She hadn\u2019t called him that in a long time. It slipped out of her mouth without her even thinking about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He held a towel to the side of his head. Both the towel and his hand were soaked with blood. The truck was already running. He\u2019d been waiting for her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As soon as she saw him, she took a step back. She clutched the fishing rod with both hands, raising it to her chest as if to protect herself. She asked what happened and he said that he\u2019d been in the shed with all of his wood and one of the boards at the top of the stack had fallen off, coming down on him in an instant. He turned and managed to cover his eyes, but the board swept down the side of his head and had almost taken his ear off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe have to go to the hospital,\u201d he said. She threw the rod in the back and got in the passenger\u2019s seat. At first, she stayed as close to the door as possible. Then her father said that if they were going to get down the mountain safely, she would have to help him. The old Ford was a stick-shift. He would have to hold the towel to his head with one hand to try and stop the bleeding, and steer with his other hand. That meant he needed Jessie to scoot closer and change gears for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know about stick shifts?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shook her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not that hard. I\u2019ll tell you what to change it to and when to change it. All you have to do is listen to my directions. Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s alright. I\u2019m gonna be alright.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stared at him expressionless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow,\u201d he said, \u201cgrab the gear shift.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She did what she was told.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said, \u201cShift from neutral to first gear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shifted to first gear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He gave it a little gas and the truck rolled forward. He drove through the plot where he hoped to build a little cabin one day, making a big circle through that area of flattened land. Jessie glanced out the window and saw the view that would be visible from the front porch of the cabin, if there was a cabin. Her father had already cleared some of the trees so that you could see the mountains rolling below, a rise and fall of deep blue-green. They continued down the driveway, the clearing was behind them. All she saw was trees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSecond gear now,\u201d he said. \u201cOkay\u2013\u20131, 2, 3.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She moved to second gear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll stay in second \u2018till we\u2019re at the bottom. We don\u2019t want to pick up too much speed going down the driveway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her father steered with one hand. Blood made a pat pat<\/em> sound as it dripped on the seat. They went down the mountain, him steering around the curves in the road, pumping the brakes going down the steepest section that was paved, and Jessie keeping her hand on the hard, round, lifeless gear shift the entire time. Never once did she bring herself to look out the windows where she would have been able to see the steep drop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In barely a whisper, she said, \u201cIs it still there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d he asked. \u201cMy ear?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The gear shift felt like a pool ball in her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s still hanging on. I think they\u2019ll be able to reattach it.\u201d He sniffed hard. \u201cLet\u2019s hope.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDoes it hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can handle it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once they got to the bottom of the mountain, she had to shift gears again so he could stop the truck and she could get out and open the gate again. Once through, she helped shift gears as they gained more and more speed and got on the highway, heading for the nearest hospital in Hendersonville.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the hospital, they parked the truck together and headed for the emergency room entrance. Jessie kept some distance between herself and her father. She glanced at him every now and then, but didn\u2019t touch him. There was blood down the side of his shirt and he leaned to one side when he walked as if leaning into the pain. There wasn\u2019t much of a crowd, so he was seen within forty-five minutes. Jessie stayed in the waiting room because her father didn\u2019t want her to see what it looked like. \u201cI\u2019m not calling you a baby, alright?\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m just saying it\u2019s an image that\u2019d probably get stuck in your head and I\u2019d rather avoid that if we can.\u201d   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was taken down the hallway to an exam room. Jessie sat in an uncomfortable chair, waiting. Her hand, which had held first a fish and then a gear shift knob, was still in a fist.       <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Across the room, there was an old man with his hand on his chest. A woman in her late twenties carrying a can of Diet Coke and a Milky Way sat down beside him. \u201cThe pain still there?\u201d she asked, and the old man gave a little nod. It could have been a heart attack or maybe something that happened in his life, some rift between people that hurt him equally as bad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was late in the afternoon when they pulled into Jessie\u2019s driveway. They\u2019d stopped at a Taco Bell on the way home. Jessie had packed the empty wrappers into a ball and set the ball on the seat between her and her father. He asked if she wouldn\u2019t mind taking it inside so the smell wouldn\u2019t linger in the cab. She held the ball in her hands, pressing it into an even tighter ball, hearing the sound that the wrappers made, the anguish of being pressed tighter and tighter, of being condensed, managed, squeezed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a bandage on his ear now and the bloody towel had been left at the hospital to be disposed of. A biohazard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be damned,\u201d he said, laughing. \u201cI guess that was your first driving lesson. How do you think it went?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With only one ear in good condition, she wasn\u2019t sure how well he could hear. \u201cFine,\u201d she said loudly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to holler. I can still hear, you know.\u201d     <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo serious. I\u2019m just teasing.\u201d He reached over and shook her arm. \u201cThanks for helping me back there. You did good today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie could see the blinds part in the living room window. She opened the passenger door and stepped outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou saved me.\u201d He smiled. \u201cWithout you, I\u2019d have been toast.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She said, \u201cI hope it feels better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, don\u2019t worry about me,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll call you this week?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded. \u201cBye.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie went into her room, crawled on her bed, and sat the ball of wrappers in front of her. She could smell the fried tortillas, the ground beef, the tang of sour cream. Her mom came into the room, too, and asked how it had been. She gave the wrapper ball a funny look and then tossed it into the little trash can beside Jessie\u2019s desk. She looked at the trail of dirt crumbs on the flooring, leading up to the pair of hiking boots that had been kicked off, and grimaced. When Jessie didn\u2019t offer an answer, her mom said, \u201cYou don\u2019t know how it was?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie explained that her father\u2019s ear had nearly been torn off by a piece of falling wood. She\u2019d helped him drive down the mountain, operating the gear shift the whole time, and went with him to the emergency room in Hendersonville. Her mom\u2019s eyes widened as she heard what had happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She said, \u201cI should call him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie shook her head. Her chin started to tremble and her eyes filled with tears. \u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d she said. \u201cDon\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her mother grabbed her hands. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas it scary? Is that why you\u2019re upset?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie said, \u201cHe said that I saved him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her mom brushed a piece of hair that had fallen out of Jessie\u2019s ponytail behind her ear. \u201cThat\u2019s good, honey. You should be proud of yourself for helping your daddy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessie pushed her mom\u2019s hand away. She started to sob. \u201cI wish I hadn\u2019t saved him. I wish he was dead. I wish he\u2019d died and I wish I\u2019d killed him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t mean that,\u201d her mother said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou only get one daddy,\u201d she said, holding up a finger, \u201cand no matter how mad you are at him, he\u2019s the only one you\u2019ve got.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou wish it, too,\u201d Jessie said. \u201cI\u2019ve heard you say it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Her mother\u2019s eyes remained fixed, unblinking. \u201cYou heard me say that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cI know you meant it,\u201d Jessie said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat else did you hear me say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA lot of things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a vent in Jessie\u2019s bedroom. Before her father moved out, her parents often argued and wished each other dead. They had discussed the manner in which they hoped the other would die, like car wrecks and fires and lightning strikes, and also the different instruments that could use to kill one another, like hammers and axes and the Colt .45 that was kept on the top shelf of the master bedroom closet. Back then, when all three of them had lived together in the house as a family, Jessie had heard everything through the vent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut who hears me?\u201d Jessie said, wiping her eyes. She hugged her knees to her chest. \u201cI caught a fish today.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her mom leaned over, resting her forehead on the heel of her hand. \u201cTell me,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere was a pink stripe on it,\u201d Jessie said, and then drew an imaginary line on her skin. The tears stopped flowing and she swallowed. \u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan we paint my room?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They looked around the pale green room. It had been that color before her parents even bought the house thirteen years earlier. It had been that color for what felt like forever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her mom nodded. \u201cYes,\u201d she said. \u201cWe can.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wynne Hungerford’s<\/strong> work has appeared in Epoch<\/em>, Subtropics,<\/em> Blackbird<\/em>, The Brooklyn Review<\/em>, American Literary Review<\/em>, Iron Horse Literary Review<\/em>, The Normal School<\/em>, and SmokeLong Quarterly<\/em>, among other places. She received her MFA from the University of Florida. Learn more at\u00a0www.wynnehungerford.com<\/a>.\u00a0<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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