The Drip, a novel by Michael Gullo
Emma hasn’t found the combo yet, that secret code when her head and her lived moment come together in just the right order to solve the Community Center puzzle. How to get it painted, how to get those doors replaced. But here she is, parked out front, Mernie in the passenger seat. Think on it long enough, and something’s gonna give. In the back seat, Mernie’s great-granddaughter, Bernice, they call her Bernie for baby Mernie. And like all kids her age, she’s on her phone. But she’s not like all kids her age. She’s Mernie in smooth skin. If she’s not a doppelganger, she’s the living breathing epitome of what a doppelganger would aspire to be. She’s wise and strong willed and curious; curiosity not only for the answer at hand, but in search of the next question and the whole network of questions and answers that come from the exploration. She’s not all knowing of earned time on task, she’s artificial intelligence without all the feigned compliments. She’s Claude and Copilot and Gemini rolled into one with a conscience and a consciousness.
She graduated high school early at fifteen, and she chose not to go to college, opting instead to self school. Not by any negative connotation, but by the simple realization that she would teach herself better in place (shelter in place allusion – needs a sign post somewhere) without all the beer bongs and exams that, more so than test the student’s knowledge, are designed to test whether the institution taught the student and gave them the right experiences. Bernice isn’t about those experiences. All she needs are Mernie and Emma. No beer bongs required.
“So I pick up the phone,” Emma has been saying, “and it’s Lonnie Norman! Here I am working to settle the church budget, tryin’ find a few bucks, buy a raffle or some bake-goods seed money to jump start a git-er-done on that Community Center. And lookin’ at them books, I’m asking the Lord for a sign. And here my phone rings, and it’s Lonnie Norman of all people.”
“God works in mysterious ways,” Mernie chimed in.
“He sure enough does. Well, you know how I do. I got one on the line, and I set the hook. I don’t even think about it, whuther it’s a big healthy Trout or an eel. I set the hook and I land him. And poor Lonnie floppin’ on the beach flaring his gills tryin’ figure out how he called for some gossip on the Yankee up the old Trail holler, and I got him.”
Bernice jumped in, “I never asked, Why do they call it The Old Trail Holler?”
Mernie took the student’s question, “It’s only called that ’roun here by them that knows the story.”
“So, it’s folklore.”
“Sure, it’s lore of the folks, but it’s more’n that too. It’s real history that went through the wash of man and the time that shaped him. The story comes off the clothes line dry with a fresh Spring scent of more than was there on the story when it went into the wash. Sometime it’s less, and some stains just can’t wash off, like gas on a rag. That’s not only a forever stain, but it’s a stink too.”
“Okay, but the words of the name, they’re an anagram for something bigger.”
“It’s bigger, alright. Ain’t it always?”
“There he is.”
Mernie wrinkled her nose, “That old truck smoke up the whole valley.”
Emma carried the connotation, “Wasn’t like that when Jed had it.”
“He come in hot. Almost expect that jalopy won’t stop before it’s in the building.”
“Lonnie’s not a very good driver. Have you ever been behind him? He outside the lines more than Bernie here with her first coloring book.”
Bernie gave the bombastic side eye, “You two should talk. I ride in the backseat because my face is too close to the road up there.”
All eight feet landed on the parking lot blacktop at about the same time; Lonnie with the clipped step of a man with purpose, Bernie with the ease of youth, Mernie plotting her placement like Emma outlines her next steps with Lonnie. She had gotten him here, and now landed, the man in form competed with the reality of him and the notion to shake free of her own hook.
“Miss Mernie.” Lonnie nodded.
“Lonnie. It’s a long time since I seen you.”
“Yes, ma’am I feel healed of the absence with you here and now though.”
“Lonnie, you talk in big words when you’re with the ladies,” Emma stepped in.
“Mr. Norman,” Bernie nodded.
“Nothing so formal, little Bernie. How have you been these past months?”
“I still need a stool to reach the top shelf in the cabinet, but everything else is good.”
They all chuckled.
“Well, Emma, I guess you wonder why I called.”
“That’s a fact…”
“Well, I knew if anyone had the scoop on that Yankee up…”
“Wait, before we get your full interruption on that subject, I met you here for a reason.”
“Looks like the two of you both got reasons,” Mernie said. “But the rain’s getting started, and I don’t prefer to get wet while you two drown in your motives.”
“Yes, ma’am, let’s get you up under the roof on that porch.” Lonnie offered with haste.
“Lonnie, look at them clapboards up there. You see ’em?”
“Yes, ma’am. I been thinking on those since you asked to meet here. I thought, sure, you recruitin’ a team clean up somethin’ like you invite Cody that one time for roadside clean up.”
“Well, Lonnie, and you come right down when I suggested we meet? That’s so sweet of you. Bless your heart.” Emma cajoled, but on the inside, she knew just what roadside cleanup Lonnie was talking about because that had indeed been her idea, got on the phone with Sheriff Hodges and set it up herself. She hadn’t got Cody, the judge had, and here’s Lonnie believing that boy’s story explaining how he volunteering.
“Yep, I knew you had an agenda, and I was down the Co-op getting propane for the heater last evenin’, and I drove by, and it caught my eye. Sure enough, Emma suggest we meet here next day instead’a just talk on the phone about that Yankee so she can fill out her helpin’ list. Prolly wanna scrape and paint the community center.”
“And you came right down. Ain’t you sweet.”
“Well, I came down, but I have to say, I ain’t much for ladders these days. But Cody. That boy can paint.”
And there it was, that regret niggling at her stepping out of the car now home and landed on the dock stinking up the place with fish.
“Well, that’s wonderful! Look there, Mama you got your first recruit.” Bernice chimed in. “And on the first call too. If you dig into those address books of yours, you’re sure to have this place cleaned up in no time.” She looked up at Lonnie, “Mr. Norman, why don’t you give me Cody’s number so I can put it down here in the project notes?”
Lonnie shifted, “Truth be told, little Bernie, Cody don’t keep up so good with phones. You never do know when he’s paid the bill er lost the blame-thing. How’s ’bout you just take mine for the notes?”
Mernie muttered, “Oh brother.”
“What’s that, ma’am?”
She pointed, and like another answered prayer, this one rang true. “That bear sitting over there on the side like he eavesdropping.” And the Cody subject fell off.
Emma filled the gap fast, “So yer curious about the family that bought the trail holler.”
“It’s a family?”
“Yeah, trail holler, let’s get back to that. Why’s it called that?” Bernice poked.
Emma jumped in, “Whoa, plot twist, it was actually my turn.”
“Don’t skip the cutscenes, Mama, the lore is important. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“Alright you two. It’s the Trail of Tears, sweetheart. You see, all them stories in school and historical markers, they’s about the Battle of Boyd’s Creek and the actual march of the Cherokee – and all them others – and the relocation, but they don’t think what got ’em all into them columns heading west or how it was that all ’a them Indians got gathered up in the first place. You won’t find the Trail Holler in your ai phone neither.”
“Yep,” Lonnie took the spotlight, “You gotta be from here know the story ’a that holler.”
“The holler got its name from the people that escaped,” Emma continued. “This was their hunting grounds. They knew that holler was a natural fortress, hidden and defensible.” She looked to Lonnie.
“Yep, they kep the women and the youngin’s down in the valley safe and sound, and they put them fighters up on the ridges fer lookout for John Sevier’s Boyd’s Creek soldiers.”
“And that’s how they stayed, and the folklore says, they’re the ones that owns the whole area up there near the four-oh-seven today,” Emma finished up.
For Lonnie the story needed more. “It’s ghost irony a man name of Boyd, picture of evil himself, is the man owns the land marks the only entrance to the place in the present time.”
“Well, Lonnie, the rain stopped,” Mernie offered, “an’ I need’a get back the house start with supper.”
“Wait, juss one thing. You say they was a family gonna move in up there?”
“Well, Lonnie, I didn’t exactly say that. I was summarizing and moving quick on the subject. I don’t really know any more than you do, ’cept all them dump trucks been coming and going and some drainage pipes got delivered that I had to wait behind in traffic because they didn’t have nobody out there in the road let me know the blind curve was safe.”
And just like that it was over, eight less feet on the pavement, and the cars gone too, and the land went back to holding up its charge.
In the car, Emma, Mernie, and Bernie held up their burden too.
“Mamaw Mernie, you know Lonnie a long time don’t you?”
“I’d say. We live in this valley a long time, me and him, since back when your grandma was first married, before your grandma had your mama here. Lonnie worked at the lumber yard with your grand dad, your mama’s daddy. Lonnie was younger than him, and Lonnie was a good man back then. I know’d him a long time. But ’bout twenty year ago, his wife die of cancer and leave him all alone with the baby, and the lumber yard close, and he start drinkin’ an’ he struggle ever since. He was a good man fer a long time, and he just change.”
“Phone says, the oldest known record of paleo people in the area dates back 10,000 years and was found on Buckingham Island on Boyd’s Creek, which itself derives its name from a Virginian trader killed by a band of Cherokee.”
“Who needs college? Our little girl has a Samsung.”
Mernie laughed, “She’s got more than that, she’s got 10,000 years of humans repeating themselves.”
“So tell me about Cody.”
“Cody’s the monster under his own bed,” Mernie began.
Emma flipped her brow, “Cody’s that kid never let anything like fear an common sense stop him from a bad decision. Don’t you remember him?”
“No, I remember him, but he never really was in the active context window. I was a Freshman, and he was a – in his last year. I remember he didn’t graduate.”
“Well, I remember him,” Emma said. “I remember the world around him. I never knew the boy, but he was the subject of conversation more times than I could count. And that graduation thing. It was to be expected, but I remember Cody in particular because Mrs. Wiggins was his school counselor. And she poured it into that boy. She always said he was smart, but try as she might, she could never get through to him. One day we were talking about you kids, all of you, and like she did so often she put the Cody Norman topic out there. And that’s how I know him. I’ve seen him around, of course, but other than to exchange the pleasantries, I never spent a word with Cody.”
“Well, here’s yer big chance.” Mernie cut in.
“I know, Mama, but these teams gotta be curated right. You pick the wrong apple, and next thing you know, you have a half painted building and the wood’s gonna rot where the paint’s scraped clean.”
“Apple, ha?”
“Yeah, he spoil – “
“I know’d what you mean.”
“So anyway, Mrs. Wiggins, this one time, she’s at Lady’s Club, and she’s fretting over the kids, like normal – you kids were our favorite subject – but here she goes and she’s on the Cody subject again. The boy had his own whole subject. Anyhow, she’s fretting because she knows now who’s not graduating this year, and Cody’s on the list. And somehow it just breaks her heart. She don’t know the boy; got no special connection to the family or the history. She don’t even have a reflection in her own family’s got the same problems as his family, and that’s rare these days. Everybody has drugs and jail time in the family tree somewhere. But not Betty. Somehow, this one boy raise up a rash on her she just can’t itch. She been workin’ on him all four years, and she try this program and that technique, and she tell us all about it the whole time. And this one day, the day the list came out, she described him in one sentence, that boy don’t just make bad decisions, he collects them like prizes. And when it comes to wigglin’ out of the consequences, he’s got more tricks than a clown’s pocket – but not this time. And that’s how she described him.”