The Drip, a novel by Michael Gullo
“So, that settles it. Three weeks in, and now you gotta call Sevier County Electric to cancel the permit.”
“Michael, don’t be bleak. It’s not a total loss. Without that, we wouldn’t have an address.”
“True, and without the mailbox, I wouldn’t have my renewed driver’s license on the way with the star and the voter registration, and…”
“On top of all that, you’re in the rolls now, baby. Your jury duty summons will be here any day.”
“Imagine that. The wheels of justice as dictated by me.”
“All my hard work, undone.”
“Terrifying. Plus we can get our septic permit now. Did you call the soil scientist?”
“That mailbox is busy. Is it a new watch for work? G-Shock. Mint green. The one with the date. Not this year’s model, last year’s. It’s on Amazon.”
“Oh, brother!”
“He’s meeting you there first thing tomorrow.”
“So we got one appointment in before Christmas.”
“How’d Chris look?”
“It was ugly. The guys were unpacking all the solar gear. Cody bought it up in the skidsteer…”
“Brought it up?”
“It was a huge box truck, no lift gate. I was with Peter, and the driver called having a fit, not driving up that driveway. So, we got the forks just in time yesterday, and Cody went down to get the stuff.”
“Fragile, it says, Big neon green stickers…”
“Orange.”
“Big Orange fragile stickers. And you send Cody to pick up, how many panels did you say?”
“Who’s telling this story, Stefanie?”
“Not you, Mr. parables and misdirections. I’m coming at it straight. Cody goes down the driveway a professional driver will not attempt, and he’s driving my skidsteer…”
“Your skidsteer?”
“Shh, this is the short version, and I don’t want to waste time with your interruptions…”
“My interruptions? I was telling about Chris, and you hijacked my solar story with this charade masquerading as news worthy.”
“So Cody is heading down the drive, halfway home with my machine, and the best outcome possible is to never realize he could just keep going with it.”
“None of this happened.”
“Oh, it happened. So he gets my solar panels that promise to get me in my new house by my forty-second birthday. - Glass solar panels on pallet forks that Cody is driving. The same Cody that peoples just about your every heartache and sarcasm? That Cody, with my glass solar panels?”
“Well he does pretty good with a meth pipe.”
“Have you ever seen one of those things in the wild? Just about every one I see is cracked and broken. Anyway, interrupting me. Cody running rabbit in the– why do they call the settings turtle and rabbit? I mean it’s a John ---Deere?”
“You’re on to something.”
“So Cody pulls up, and I hear the glass shards rattling around inside the wood frame and plastic wrap.”
“That guy is a menace.”
“And here comes Chris, sounds like a plane crash coming up the driveway. You had to see his windshield. It was like someone threw a bear at it. Crack running the whole width, the driver side top corner star cracked – clearly a separate event.”
“Registration expired, driver’s license suspended or revoked. A rolling pull-me-over sign…”
“Okay, so you’re telling the Chris side too, now?”
“Contextualizing.”
“So, his brother, remember the one had the scabies that time, you got Brittany to prescribe you permethrin? He’s in the back with the tools. I swear to god, passed out.”
“You know that’s in my medical abstract now, scabies.”
“You’re nasty, but you are Southern Belle compared to that insane girlfriend or wife or whatever she is in the passenger seat as always. Hoodie up, face scabs not quite hidden. And he gets out…”
“I was in the middle of my Cody story. What did he say about the solar panel?”
“Well, I’m in the middle of my Cody’s future story, and I was too scared to cut the plastic, so I just went with the Chris scene.”
“Chris. Cody. Future. Got it.”
“He got out of the truck.”
“Which truck was it?”
“The white one. The red one’s cracked windshield was the subject of our last Chris cut-scene.”
“Yeah, yeah. Not the Land Rover though.”
“I forgot about that thing. No, this was the pickup.”
“The one with the different size bald tires and the thread showing. He got new used tires though. I guess those gave up somewhere between the pandemic drilling job and today’s Drip encore.”
“I see what you’re doing there, cutting into my description, further the plot because you sense you don’t have enough lines.”
“Maybe if you ask me about my day at work, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“I do, but you only answer, it’s confidential.”
“I tell you everything.”
“Wait, say that again, I don’t think the recorder caught the whole meaning.”
“If you’re on my jury, they’ll never convict me.”
“So, Chris gets out.”
“Is he high?”
“I don’t speak in parables and misdirections, I speak in interruptions and restarts.”
“Parables.”
“Nope, it’s like I’m in the box, and you’re trying to trip me up. Worst part is how well it works. All these years, I know it’s coming, and it still works.”
“Now you know how I feel, dick.”
“Chris gets out.”
“You said that.”
“And a comet came down from the sky and wiped out all my miseries in a flash of light.”
“At least that was fast. The light got lucky didn’t have to sit and listen to you ramble on for ten minutes repeating over and over, Chris got out. And never going anywhere with it.”
“What are we having for dinner?”
“Aww, don’t give up. I’ll stop. Promise.”
“So Chris gets out, and he’s like, pointing at his brother, can you believe this guy? He could sleep anywhere.”
“Me, I’m wondering if the guy’s even alive. No shit, he’s stretched across the greasy rust deck. He’s literally spanning a hole through to the open undercarriage. And he’s out. I mean out. We’ve walked back that way as we’re saying howdy, and I’m standing two literal feet from his face, and he’s snoring like a death rattle, honest to goodness terminal secretions. And his head is half in and half on a collapsed bucket edge like it started as some kind of pillow, so the sound is amplified too. The wife is looking through the cab window, a specter in her own right, only proof she’s alive is one of the face scabs is weeping, and her eyes can see the size of the rock to come at the end of the paycheck Chris is about to earn them. I’d say Scout’s honor, but I can’t bring them kids into this scene, not even as a cautionary tale. So I’m about to head for the Narcan when he wakes up like - it was just like I’d already – it was just like on TV.”
“Just like at work. They snap out in a breath that has been waiting for centuries to come alive. And those fucking eyes.”
“Yeah – sorry - It was like that. But I hadn’t given him – I hadn’t gotten the Narcan. He just snapped out. And there’s Chris, just talking. I don’t know what the hell he was saying. Mid sentence about some dumb shit, beacon’s broken or whatever. Next words I hear, got any D-batteries? And I’m supposed to just snap out of it. And we’re mid problem solve, and even that’s wrong. I’m lucky I have a phone charger in the truck up here. It’s like he’s not looking around. It’s the forest. There’s a shed, a truck, some heavy equipment and a shed’s half finished. Dude’s brother just died and came back to life in front of my eyes, and this guy is asking me if there’s anything else I need bored, not so deep this time. And I’m lost.
Whaddya mean?
Well, it’s all rock, Michael, I almost lost the head trying to get through.
What?
I fished it out, I pushed back in, and grabbed a thread, got lucky. Do you have any other bores? Can’t get that one.
And I’m back. Turns out he’s been down in the easement for the last hour, set up the machine, pushed a few bores, and gave up. Apparently he walked the bore up the driveway, and that’s why I never heard the gravel pop. I heard the train motor of the thing, but I thought it was just that old junk yard, and the guy resurrected some long dead train engine I hadn’t seen behind the trailers or something. Turns out it was Chris in the driveway trying to earn a rock without all the howdies and what-not. And now he’s up the hill, bore on the trailer, wife in the window, and the brother putting new duct tape on the beacon handle.”
“That’s about right.”
“Yup. If this man won’t try the bore, it can’t be done.”