Back for Good

“Tallest man you’ll ever see,” Wally said. “I swear.”

“But that was fourteen years ago,” Laura said.

“Oh yeah, Mark was already old by then. If Mark’s alive, he’s at least retired. Scared the hell out of us kids though. He was literally twice our height.”

“Thank God you’re all grown now, huh?” Laura said and pinched his arm.

Wally looked at her just long enough to smile before returning his eyes to the road.

“His brother too. Officer Joe. Just as tall as Mark. Like some real creatures, the Schmidt twins.”

Wally glanced at her again but Laura was looking outside, watching the midwest fields roll by, waves of tan and faded green easing into civilization, a gas station here, a single story farm house there. Everything seemed deserted, apocalyptic. And it was somehow made worse by the occupants carrying on like life couldn’t be better, refusing to leave.

“It’s weird,” Wally said. “You seeing all this.”

“It’s about what I expected. Try as you might to hide it, it’s pretty obvious that you come from a place like this.”

Wally snorted. “Didn’t try that hard. Right back where I started.”

“Yes and with a hot wife and a new house. Poor, poor Wally.”

“It’s just weird. Just one after another with these fields. You almost gotta burn them all down just to get out of here.”

“And now you’re back.”

“And now I’m back.”

“How about you just worry about showing me this world’s tallest man.”

“Just don’t get your hopes up.”

They missed the turn off for the restaurant, but Wally circled back. Laura insisted that they eat inside just in case Mark Schmidt was indeed alive and well and still employed by Culver’s.

“Holy shit,” Wally said, as they walked inside.

“Wow. You weren’t lying.”

“I can help you over here.” The voice didn’t match the body, not really. It was too nasally, too weak sounding for such a goliath. His blue apron fit him like a bib, and his matching visor sat on his head like a tiara. “What can I get you guys?”

“Hey, uh…” Wally said. “Sorry this is weird, but are you Mark Schmidt?”

The giant raised an eyebrow. And that’s what he was, a giant. His eyes were just these little black beads pressed into his skull as if by thumb and into clay.

Mark tapped his name tag. “That’s me. Do I know you?”

“Uh, no, probably not. Well, I used to come here as a kid but that was—Wow. Mark Schmidt. You know, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day.”

Mark smiled and even his teeth seemed somehow bigger. “Well, I swapped to light beer a few years ago. Never looked back. What was your name? Might ring a bell.”

“Wally Johnson. But again it’s been awhile.”

“Nah. Don’t know a Wally. How about the young lady?”

“Laura Tessay. But I’m not from here.”

“Tessay?” Mark worked on something in his teeth as if actually chewing on the name. “No. Not from here at all, huh? Tessay. You’re sure that’s a last name?”

“It’s the one I got.”

“That’s certainly interesting.”

They ordered and Mark retreated into the kitchen.

“He got a list of okay last names or something?” Laura said.

“If it’s not a New Testament name slapped in front of a Norwegian or German last name, it doesn’t make the cut here. ‘Tessay’ must’ve been like seeing a new color.”

When Mark returned with their food, he was no longer smiling.

“Wally?” Mark said, handing the paper bags over then taking a step back. “Walter Johnson? I do remember you.”

“Really?”

“You aren’t sticking around, right?”

“We actually just bought a place north of here. Or I guess it was left to us.”

“Better keep your head down. My brother’s been looking for you.”

Wally laughed. “Officer Joe?”

Mark didn’t see anything funny about this. “I won’t tell him about you. But he’ll know. He’ll be looking for you. Just keep your head down.”

Back in the car, back on the road, there was a moment where the only noise was the crinkling paper food bags with their glowing patches of brown and purple rainbow grease stains.

“Big trouble with the law then?” Laura said. She held up a cheese curd, rotating it like a precious mineral.

“Just eat it. You’ll like it, I swear.”

“Does Tessay scream someone that can handle their cheese?” Laura put the curd back into the bag. “It seemed like that big guy really knew you. Should we expect Officer Joe for dinner?”

“Man, I’m just surprised he isn’t retired.”

“You must have really done something serious to piss him off this long.”

“No, literally there’s nothing. The Schmidts were always kind of weirdos.”

There was something. But that was over fourteen years ago. No one, not even Joe, could be mad about that still.

But Wally still had the nightmares, didn’t he?

They got to the house. Wally found it uncanny how empty it was. His uncles must have taken anything they could fit in a truck. Laura took her time exploring every corner of every room, trying to imagine herself in those rooms and her things in those corners.

Laura said Wally was distracted. He denied it at first, swearing there was nowhere else he’d rather be besides the childhood home he hadn’t seen since his father died. However, what Laura was doing with the empty house, Wally needed to do with the town, confirm what was still there, see what it would be like to fill the space. Double check the corners.

Laura told him to go, that she would call him if the movers got there early. Wally kissed her and headed for the car.

“Watch out for Officer Joe,” Laura said, laughing and waving from the top of the driveway.

He rolled through the little downtown area, mostly restaurants and grocery stores. There were plenty of places to shop but almost nothing to actually do. You ate or drank. None of the bars had a dance floor. Seeing everything unchanged, Wally felt an old sense of disgust he’d forgotten was there.

Wally checked his rear view mirror. He half expected to see flashing blues and reds pulling up behind him at any moment.

Wally drove out from downtown and headed toward one of the lakes. Most of the nearby lakes—and their adjoined parks—were named after trees. Occasionally, you got one paying homage to the tribes that had lost land for whatever picnic spot and playground took its place. But the best spots were the ones without names. The spots that didn’t show up on a map. The ones you only knew about because someone else took you there.

Wally and his buddies had a spot of their own. He headed there now, hoping it hadn’t been overgrown. Or worse, that he’d forgotten how to get there.

But once en route, the drive became instinctual. He eased the car down a dirt road, eventually pulling it off and getting out. Going down the road any faster than ten miles an hour and you were bound to see nothing but woodland on either side. But Wally knew where to look. There was a point at which the trees parted and a foot wide dirt trail snaked off from the road and into the woods. Wally followed it, feeling younger. Not quite fourteen years younger, but hey, getting there. Cody, Zach, John, and Wally himself—this was where they had hid after the fire.

Wally walked the trail, picturing what waited for him at the end, somehow knowing it would be the same as it had been. There would be a little clearing. There would be four massive tractor tires. One flat on the ground. The other three up right, leaning over the first. They formed this sort of pyramid, sturdy enough to climb on top of or slip inside. You just had to be able to put up with the hot rubber smell and the constant wasps that insisted on the bottom tire being the best place in the world to build a nest.

Wally stepped into the clearing and there it was. The tires hadn’t moved an inch. Except now—

“Shh,” someone hissed.

“Hello?” Wally said.

A head poked up from one of the tires and dipped back down.

“It’s not him,” a voice said.

“Hello?” Wally smiled.

A boy peaked over the tires. “You aren’t Officer Joe, right?”

Wally gestured to himself. “Guess not.”

“And you aren’t working with Officer Joe?”

Another boy popped up. “Like a deputy?”

“Nope. Not a deputy.”

A third boy now. “Well, you gotta go.” This third boy had a swollen lump on his cheek. Wally recognized a wasp sting when he saw one.

“I used to play here too.”

“Our spot now,” the third one said.

Wally laughed and put his hands up. “Alright. Alright. You guys just treat it well.” He started to head back.

“If you see Officer Joe, send him the other way, okay?” the third said.

“He ain’t happy about the fire,” the first said.

The third punched the first. “Told you shut up about that, Cody. Get out of here, mister. And if you see Wally Johnson, tell him to stay away from Joe.”

“Wally Johnson? I’m—”

“Get out of here, man!”

Wally’s head was a blur, and he found himself doing what he was told. His scalp was tingly. He fell into his car and didn’t remember starting it. But sure enough he was driving. He thought about the fire. He needed a drink and found himself already on the way to the nearest bar.

By the time Wally pulled into the parking lot, he had decided a few things. The first was that coincidences happen. Actually everything happens and it only becomes coincidence when we notice it. And second, he was jumpy because he had moved cross country and needed to relax. And this drink would probably do a lot of good.

He checked for Officer Joe’s squad car as he headed inside.

The local dive bar aesthetic was so dead-on—with the neon beer signs and pin-ups tasteful enough to keep the place family friendly for the dinner crowd—that Wally would have assumed it was cooked up in a board room by a marketing team. But he’d been here enough to know this was one of those places that was genuinely just like that.

He used to come here for his dad. Wally’s mom would get a call a few nights a month. She’d pack Wally up in the car because he was too young to be home alone. They would come pick his dad up and leave his dad’s truck in the parking lot. Mom would make him walk back for it in the morning. Then cancer got Mom. And Wally had already left. With no one around, Dad started driving home himself.

Wally heard somewhere that when someone gets a DUI, they’ve gotten away with driving drunk twenty times before, statistically or something. Wally wondered what the stats were for driving drunk and wrapping your truck around a tree and dying on impact. Maybe Dad was just an outlier.

“Just a Coors, please,” Wally said.

The bartender nodded. “ID?”

Wally laughed. “You know, it's been a couple years since anyone’s asked.”

The bartender took the ID. He flipped it over twice then bent it. “You’re thirty?”

“It’s what it says.”

“You look good for thirty,” he said skeptically, hesitating before handing the ID back. “Coors?”

“Coors. Gonna use your restroom quick though.”

Wally walked into the men’s. He froze cold in front of the mirror. He did look good for thirty. Damn good. Too good. He had been worrying about some wrinkles forming around his eyes, but there was no trace now. The hair on his face was thinner, but the hair on his head was thicker. They weren’t lying about the good a little fresh air can do. Only a day back home and he felt twenty-two again.

Someone had taken his seat back at the bar. Wally sat next to the man and slid the uncapped Coors over to himself. He took a sip. The man next to him polished off his glass and raised his finger for another.

This type of drinking at two P.M. on a Thursday had Wally thinking about his dad.

“Tough day at work?” Wally said and drank his beer.

The man grunted. “It’s fine.” Hunched over his drink, Wally could not see him speak.

“Landscaping?”

“That’s right.”

“Shitty boss?”

“Boss’s fine.” The man was silent, and Wally thought the conversation was dead. “My kid isn’t able to stay out of trouble.”

Wally could have sworn he met this guy somewhere. He tried to age the guy back fourteen years in order to place him.

“Kids grow out of it,” Wally said.

The man’s second drink hit the counter. His hand was on it in an instant. His lips an instant later. He finished the drink before he spoke again.

“Some trouble sticks around. Throwing your life away ain’t hard, you know?”

“Probably just needs some time.”

“He doesn’t got much.”

Wally frowned at that. But the man was already standing. He tossed some cash on the counter and waved at the bartender.

“Should I call your wife, Mr. Johnson?” the bartender said.

“Nah.”

“Mr. Johnson?” Wally said. A cousin maybe? Some lost uncle?

The man turned around at the door. “Relax. If I wasn’t good to drive I wouldn’t be doing it.”

Wally felt cold and watery in his gut. His mouth was dry. That was no cousin.

The man shook his head when Wally didn’t speak and left.

Dizzy, Wally looked at his bottle and pushed it away.

He had to force himself to ask: “Who was that?”

“Johnson?” the bartender said. “Oh you know, if you don’t already know him we can’t really go around telling you other people’s business.”

Wally was still staring at the door. “I’ll pay out.” He handed his credit card over.

The bartender stared at it just as he had the ID. “Hey, uh, I was only looking at the date with your ID. But I’m seeing here now….” The bartender adjusted to look Wally right in the face. “Wally Johnson?”

“Yeah?”

The bartender handed the card back without ringing anything up. “Go ahead and get out of here.”

“What? But you didn’t—”

“Legally, I gotta go back and give Officer Joe a call, I think. He’s looking for you. So I’m gonna go do that. Stay if you want or don’t.”

“Do it then,” Wally said. The cold uncertainty from a moment before had turned hot. “I’m not hiding! If Joe wants to talk, let's talk.”

The bartender went back to make the call. Wally heard the phone ringing. He felt less brave all of a sudden. He took up the offer to leave.

Wally needed to talk to Laura. This was a bad idea, coming back. He would tell Laura this was too much, too many ghosts. That’s what this was, right? Wally was seeing ghosts.

The moving truck wasn’t at his house yet. But there was someone parked in his driveway. Wally parked in the street and walked slowly past the empty black car. The world seemed much bigger than he remembered.

He went in through the front door.

“Laura?” he called. His voice sounded weird, pitchy.

“In the living room,” she called back. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Wally had to force himself to take each shaky step. He walked down the empty hallway, his breath loud against the bare walls.

In the living room, Laura spoke to a man. His back was to Wally, but he towered over Laura.

“Hey, Wally, this—” Laura took a step back from Wally. “Who are you? How’d you get—I don’t know this kid, officer.”

The giant turned around. He squinted black eyes at Wally.

“Hello, Walter. I’ve been looking for you.”

“No, officer, this isn’t Wally. I don’t know this kid.”

“It’s okay, Ms. Tessay. I’m just going to take Walter here for a drive.”

“No,” Wally said. He looked up at Laura. “No. I don’t want to go. Laura it’s me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Not to worry, Ms. Tessay. Thanks for having me inside for a bit.”

“It’s me, Laura. I swear.”

Officer Joe clasped an iron hand on Wally’s shoulder and directed him back toward the front door. Wally felt small and weak. His protests were squeaky. That couldn’t be his voice, could it?

Joe was silent, and it took him no effort to get Wally outside and into the passenger seat of the black car. Laura stayed in the house as Joe drove away.

Joe had to hunch over the steering wheel. They drove out of the neighborhood, then the town. Soon they were crunching over a dirt road.

“You’re in trouble, Walter.”

Wally knew where they were going. Part of him always knew that if he didn’t go back to this place, it would come to him.

He smelled the smoke first. It started as wafts of bonfire then became much more. Dark gray smoke billowed over the trees like a nuclear mushroom cloud.

Joe stopped the car. “Walk.”

They moved together, Joe’s hand on Wally’s shoulder.

When they got to the field, it was like the sun had fallen from the sky. They stood on a small hill, allowing Wally to see how far the flames spread. Acre after acre of corn and wheat were burning. The whole sky felt hot. It was the second coming. Armageddon.

“We were just boys. We were playing,” Wally said.

“Just playing, huh Walter? It’s not your home, right Walter?”

“It was just a little fire at first. It was an accident.”

The fire didn’t look like an accident. It looked too big to ever put out. All those midwest fields trapping him in, they were up in flames now.