American Rust

  Poe was quiet and he thought all you'd be telling him is the truth but then he reminded himself that it would not be the truth.

  They went along the river road, the glare coming off the water made it too much to look at, greenness everywhere there was so much growing, there was a person out trawling, a small boat, a retired person in his years of ease.

  Harris continued: “You know I got her a job in Philadelphia. Senior executive assistant at the State's Attorney's Office. Which is kind of ironic, given your situation, but either way she would have gotten thirty-four thousand a year, pension, I got the job lined up for her but you were doing good playing ball and she wasn't ready to separate you from your father. I tried to use logic on her, point out you could play ball anywhere and as for your father he's made about two child support payments in his life. That was six years ago, when you were a freshman. She'd said she'd leave when you went to college but then you were still living at home, sponging off her, couldn't even keep your hours as a stockboy”

  “The owner laid everyone off,” Poe said. He was numb to Harris. They were coming into town. He didn't want to be getting a lecture now, he wanted Harris to tell him what to say to the state police.

  “Your mother is a good woman,” said Harris. “You got no idea how many chances you've gotten because of her.”

  “My mother is married.”

  “Please,” said Harris. “Your father's diddled half the girls in town. Miracle you don't have twenty brothers and sisters.”

  “You're a real piece of shit, you know that?”

  They pulled into the police station parking lot but Harris didn't move to get out. He said, “Billy, do you remember all those times you and your football buddies got arrested for public consumption?”

  Poe snorted. “I never got busted for that,” he said.

  “Huh. I wonder. What about the time one of my guys pulled you over doing seventy in a thirty, too drunk to even remember to throw your empties out the window? Or even, let me see if I remember this correctly—you hit a young man in the head with a baseball bat, after he'd already gone down and was no longer a threat to you or anyone else, but still you got off with probation.”

  Poe didn't say anything.

  “Thought you were just that lucky, huh?”

  “I don't need to hear this right now.”

  “You aren't lucky. You're spoiled and you're stupid and I've been bending over backwards the last seven or eight years to keep you in one piece.”

  “You're just trying to make yourself feel better.”

  “You got too much of your father in you. And that is a goddamn shame for all of us, especially your mother.”

  “You're lucky I'm back here,” said Poe. “You're lucky there's a fuckin wall right now.”

  “Save that shit for the lockup,” Harris told him. “I'll pretty much guarantee you'll need it.”

  Harris got out of the truck and opened Poe's door and led him into the building. The fat cop, Ho, was sitting at the same desk, as if he hadn't moved in the last twenty- four hours.

  “The staties here?”

  “No,” Ho said. “Their chief dickhead called and they want us to drive him to Uniontown.”

  “Get his picture and prints,” said Harris, motioning to Poe.

  Harris disappeared and the other cop led Poe into a small white room with a waist- high shelf. Poe expected the short Chinese cop to be rough but he wasn't.

  “Make your hands loose and let me roll your fingers. If you smear them I'll just have to do it again.”

  “I ain't smearing them.”

  Harris stuck his head in.

  “Before you get this asshole's picture send him to the bathroom to shave and get cleaned up. The other asshole's gonna plaster it all over the newspapers, guaranteed.”

  Harris looked at Poe: “From here on out if anyone tries to ask you anything, you say ‘Lawyer.’ They ask you if the sky is blue, you don't say yes, you say lawyer. They ask you who the president is, you know what you say?”

  “Lawyer.”

  The deputy stood outside the bathroom while Poe shaved and then they took four sets of mugshots until Harris was satisfied with the picture. There's the schoolboy look, he said. Then they got back into Harris's truck and headed to Uniontown, the county seat. At least this time Harris didn't make him wear handcuffs. They didn't talk; he guessed Harris was doing him a favor now, taking the long way because he wouldn't see any of it again. The valley got a little flatter as they got south of Brownsville, when they got to the ferry in Fredericktown the river was nearly clear instead of brown, it was strange seeing the Mon that color. Usually the ferry driver made you wait until there was a full boat, six cars, but they just drove Harris across, there was only one other car on the boat and the ferry driver looked Poe over, ignorant fucking hick he was just staring at him, he looked about seventeen or so Poe wanted to get out and beat his skull in but he noticed the people in the other car staring at him too, it was a father and some little kid, Poe could tell that the kid was probably getting a lecture from his old man about what happens if you don't follow the rules. Poe being the example. He just looked at the floor of the truck, it was lined with rubber for easy cleanup. There was a bump as the ferry touched the other bank, and then they were driving again.

  “Why are we going this way,” Poe asked. “Uniontown is on the other side of the river.” He said it and got a faint hope that maybe Harris was going to help him escape, let him out at the West Virginia border.

  “I figured taking the scenic route might give us more time to talk,” said Harris. “Not to mention this might be your final chance to see this stuff before you turn fifty. Or at all.”

  Poe felt his stomach sink.

  “I already told you everything,” he said.

  Harris shrugged.

  Heading west away from the Mon it was more rolling hills, ancient barns and silos, it was farming and not industry. They were really taking the long way to Uniontown—they would have to cross back over the river again. The land changed quickly as you got away from the river, the old stone farmhouses, it reminded you people had been living here two, three hundred years, there were houses that old. His father claimed that was how long their people had been in the Valley, three hundred years, original founders, but it was more like the original drunkards. In the armpit of history there was always a horse thief Those were the Poes. He wished they had taken the shorter route. Then it occurred to him: this really is your last chance to see all this. That's how serious this is.

  Maybe the bum, it occurred to him now it must be Murray, the one who'd recognized him from the football team. Maybe he wouldn't pick Poe out of the lineup but Christ what were the odds of that, he'd known him on a chance meeting and now that he thought Poe had killed his buddy he'd recognize him for sure. Not to mention Poe had given him a good ass- kicking—there was nothing like payback. Murray was going to pay him back that was for goddamn sure and when Poe thought about it that way he was in no hurry to get there at all, he was glad Harris had taken the long drive. He tried to look at every tree, memorize it all. He wondered what the bail would be, it would be steep, he was sure of that, they'd make sure it was too high to pay. They passed a yard where someone had a collection of tractors, forty or fifty of them on a big lawn in front of a little house, he would remember that, and then they came into a town. They must have crossed the river again without him noticing. How long had he been in the back of the truck? They were in Union-town already, it was about to be over, his final ride.

  A few people in the street stared until they saw him staring back. There was a man, clearly crazy, walking down the street talking to someone who wasn't there. Let me switch places with him, he'll get three meals a day and a place to sleep. I'll fend for myself, wear animal skins. He wondered where Isaac was. On the road somewhere. He thought maybe Isaac should be here for a while, too, not the whole time, just share a few minutes. Maybe they were even. He had saved Isaac and then Isaac had saved him. Were
he and Isaac even or not? Harris opened the partition and passed back the bracelets.

  “Make em tight so it looks like I did it,” he said.

  A few minutes later they stopped behind a big brick building like the old police station in Buell. Harris led him inside.

  There was a tall desk and a cop behind it and some other cops loitering, talking to a man in a suit, a short good- looking young man with a full head of blond hair, he carried himself like a politician. He looked Poe over carefully, as if Poe was a car he was thinking of buying. Poe nodded but if the man noticed he didn't react at all.

  Poe was put in a holding cell with two benches; there was a middle-aged man lying on one of them, his hair mussed, wearing khakis and a golf shirt. He smelled like he'd been sweating booze for a long time, he had circles under his eyes and he'd thrown up on himself at some point in the recent past and he smelled of that, too. He glanced briefly at Poe and must have decided Poe wasn't a threat because he closed his eyes again. Poe felt slightly insulted.

  After a time Poe was taken out and stood in a room against a wall with five other men who were approximately his age and height. One of the other men standing with Poe was a cop who'd been in the lobby when Poe came in; now he wore streetclothes. They all faced a mirrored window. After a few minutes, Poe was led back to the cell. Eventually Harris came to the cell and knocked on the bars so Poe would look up.

  “Well,” said Poe.

  Harris shook his head. “Didn't take him long.”

  “I guess that's it, then.” He shrugged.

  “There's one good public defender around here. I'm trying to get her to take your case.”

  “I appreciate it,” said Poe.

  “I'll be seeing you.”

  “Wait,” said Poe. “Where are they sending me?”

  “Fayette.”

  “Not the jail?”

  “Bail's too high for the regular jail. Least that's what our friend the district attorney is saying.”

  “That's great.”

  “I'll keep your mother informed.”

  Poe shrugged.

  “Stay out of trouble if you can,” said Harris. “If you can't, just make sure the other guy gets it worse. First day's always the hardest.”

  After Harris left, the man in the golf shirt sat up and looked at Poe.

  “Who do you have to blow to get that kind of treatment,” he said. “None of those fuckers has said a single goddamn word to me.”

  “I doubt it's the kind of treatment you want,” said Poe.

  “I'm on my second DUI,” the man said.

  “Well, I'm sure they'll let you go again.”

  “I dunno. I said some dumb things to the cop.”

  “They got bigger things to worry about than you.”

  The man sat back down on the bench.

  “Christ,” he said. “I've got tenure committee next week.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The man looked at Poe. “I'm a professor. Actually I'm a poet.”

  “At CU?”

  The man shook his head.

  “I don't give a fuck,” Poe said. “It ain't like I'm going there.”

  “Why are you here anyway” the man said.

  “Don't worry yourself.”

  “C'mon, man. I don't care.”

  “Supposedly I killed someone,” said Poe. “Except I didn't.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Jesus,” said the man. But his mood seemed to brighten after that. He went to the sink and washed his face and lay down on the bench and closed his eyes.

  Poe felt himself getting angry, he thought you should belt this guy in the face, consoling himself on your situation. Except he was done with that behavior. No that wasn't true. Where he was going, most likely he was not done with that behavior at all. He watched the professor, smelling like puke but resting easily.

  Finally a cop came and took Poe to a garage where they put him in a van with a cage in the back of it. He waited there a long time, the cage was like a cage for large animals, bear dogs or something, he closed his eyes. He doubted it was past two in the afternoon but it felt like a long time since he'd been home. He didn't know how long he'd been in the van when he heard the driver's door open and close and then the garage opened and they drove out into the light. The driver didn't say a word and Poe didn't feel like waking up anyway, he was thinking about Lee, the last night, it was hard to figure her out. They'd gone to a motel and done it until morning, but there was something off about her. A married woman, what did you expect? He could see it clearly in his mind, her face in the dark, it was as clear as looking at a picture, that was how you remembered things, by thinking about them over and over, only sometimes you'd begin to remember them differently. He began to feel carsick with all the narrow swooping roads; it was an old van. He had no idea where they were, woods and fields, fields and woods, a never- ending succession, country roads, dipping and turning all the time, he would be sick. When they finally stopped they were at a large compound with low buildings at the top of a hill, it looked brand- new, could have been a school except for the forty- foot chainlink and razor wire. There was a good view of the river, four squat gun towers, and a man driving a white pickup truck down the space between the fences, patrolling. Inside the inner fence, in what was clearly the prisoners yard, there was no grass, only dirt, prisoners standing around in blue shirts and tan pants, there were two separate areas, it looked like weightlifting benches.

  The paint was fresh and bright white and the steel razors at the tops of the fences reflected the sun and the big windows on the guard towers were spotless. Someone came out to open the gate. Poe watched it close behind him and get farther and farther away. Inside one of the buildings they took the big manila envelope with his wallet and watch and counted the money again in front of him and made him strip. He stood naked facing the wall. There were two guards; both had their batons out. Here it comes, he thought.

  “Open your mouth and lift up your tongue. Run your fingers through your hair, all of your hair now. Turn around and pull your ears forward.”

  Poe complied.

  “Bend all the way over and spread your cheeks wide.”

  The men stood at a safe distance. Poe did everything they said.

  “You got anything in them boots?”

  “In what?”

  “Your shoes, boy. You got anything in em?”

  “No.”

  “Do I have to cut them open to look inside them?”

  “Please don't cut up my shoes.”

  Poe turned around. One of the guards was feeling around inside his shoes with blue latex gloves. Both guards wore gray uniform shirts and black pants, cheap material; their shirts were pilled from being washed.

  “Turn the fuck back around,” said the short guard. “I won't ask you again.”

  Poe did.

  “Alright. Now bend over three times quickly. All the way down to your toes.”

  Poe did.

  One of them rapped the baton against the wall.

  “Do it quick,” he said. “Doubletime.”

  Poe did.

  “Nice form,” said one of them.

  “What was that for?”

  “In case you had a shank up your ass. You put something up there and you bend over too quick it'll cut your guts open from the inside.”

  “I don't have anything,” said Poe.

  “So keep it in mind for the future. That's a regular part of the drill.”

  They gave him his boots back and tossed him an orange jumpsuit that smelled like someone else's sweat.

  “I don't have any socks or underwear,” Poe said. The men ignored him. They led him to another room where he was directed to stand in front of a large desk behind which sat a heavy- set black woman. He greeted her and she ignored him. She verified his name.

  “Do you feel suicidal?” she said.

  “No,” he said.

  “Are you a homosexual?”


  “No.”

  “Do you have any medical conditions or allergies?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?”

  “I just told you that,” he said.

  She gave him an exasperated look.

  “Whatever,” he said. “What about my lawyer?”

  She acted like she hadn't heard him. He sat there watching her write. He could feel the anger building up inside him but he kept his head on, it would not help him to let his fire get built up.

  The woman put his file aside and began looking at other papers that seemed to have nothing to do with him, then she was writing something in her day planner. He stood in front of her desk with his arms behind his back. He stood for a long time. He shifted from foot to foot; his leg fell asleep. Finally she motioned to one of the guards and Poe was taken into another room where an inmate trustee, a short gray- haired black man in his sixties, handed him a pile of sheets, a towel, and a pillow, and asked his clothing sizes.

  When the guards had gone back into the other room, the trustee said, “How much you want for those boots, my man. Timberlands?”

  “Red Wings.”

  “Well tell me what you want for them.”

  “They ain't for sale.”

  “Don't test my motherfuckin patience, dawg.”

  Poe didn't say anything. The man left and came back and tossed Poe a pair of polyester khaki pants, two pairs of socks and underwear, and a blue denim button- down shirt.

  “None of this is the right size,” Poe said.

  “You are one stupid- ass fuckin fish, you know that?”

  He could have picked the little man up and crushed his skull but for some reason the inmate was not afraid of him. He changed out of the orange jumpsuit and into the new clothes and one of the guards came back and Poe picked up his bundle of sheets and followed him down a long narrow hallway. They passed a guard station with inch- thick Plexiglas, were buzzed through a steel door and into a broad corridor as long as a football field. The corridor was empty except for a pair of guards patrolling and an inmate pushing a mop. The floor was highly polished and the smell of floor wax and solvent overpowering. Following the guard, Poe passed several doors and could see into the cellblocks, he could see men sitting around on chairs and tables, he could hear music blaring. Poe expected the guard to explain where they were going but he didn't.