Erratics
By Mary Lewis
A cloud of dust rose beyond the barren hillside of exposed soil, up into the air before the wind blew it apart so its tiny russet bits could float invisible in the atmosphere or scatter amongst the hills downwind. Wanda watched for the cause but only got a glimpse of the tractor that disappeared into the curves of the field. She needed to keep her car on the road even though traffic was sparse on this section of Iowa V68, thirty miles from any gas station. Her preferred route was to avoid any but the sleepiest towns in a landscape that was so much under the plow–the old historical markers claimed with pride that eighty percent was under cultivation.
Next to her, Darnel dozed with his earphones on, head wedged into the corner between the seat back and the window. The article he was reviewing for High School History where he was guest editor must not be very interesting, even to a history teacher.
She could never get anything done in a car because she didn’t want to miss anything out the window, so she thought she might as well drive, but she had to restrain herself form pointing out one thing after another, like this row of wind machines sweeping its arms around to make long shadows across the road, or look, corn’s up in that field, where you can barely make out the green cast in row after row of inch high blades. As a painter, she soaked in the color and patterns of the landscape and was constantly thinking of how to frame this hillside or that valley with a gambrel roofed barn onto a canvas.
Like backs of whales, boulders poked out of the ground here and there in the fields, their bodies mostly underground. Glacial erratics, carried hundreds of miles before the moving sheets of ice let them go. And then one worth prodding Darnel about.
“You’ve got to see this.”
But he didn’t wake in time to see it. “Jeez, Wanda, I was concentrating.”
“You were asleep. I made a judgment call. Look, I’ll turn around.”
And despite his protestations, she turned into the next field road and drove back, then pulled over to the side of the road near a rock the size of a small house.
“OK, big rock. Stunning.” Then back to his earphones.
“Darnel, this is huge.”
“I know.”
“Imagine the glacier that carried it a thousand miles and finally gave up and dropped it here.” He took the ear buds out again. Ok, he was trying. “All that ice. Right here.”
Wanda opened the door. “C’mon, let’s take a look.”
“It’s just a rock for Christ’s sake. We’ll be late.”
“We don’t have to be there when it starts.”
“Preacher doesn’t care if we come in the middle?”
“It’s more like a garden party, I told you.”
Since this was her second marriage, Neely wanted something different, no big whup. Out of town was fine, in her new husband’s hometown way down on the prairie, on the Wapsipinicon River.
Not many in Four Corners felt bad when two years ago her first husband died, a drunk who took it out on her. Before that, she’d deflect questions about why she wore sunglasses to school some days. Wanda had her own struggles with the demands of her first year of teaching, but the two of them connected when Neely told her first graders she liked to pretend she was on the beach. The kids loved that and brought their own sunglasses in the middle of winter. Art teacher Wanda got the kids into painting undersea landscapes on a dingy basement cinderblock wall. As their friendship grew, Neely confided in Wanda about her fear of Rubin, and Wanda was always pushing her to get out of the marriage.
But now she had a good man. In fact, Manny was Wanda’s life coach during that same hard year of teaching, so she knew what a kind, even keel kind of guy he was, in addition to being gorgeous. She had to admit she hoped for something more than a professional association, but the chemistry wasn’t there, not for him anyway. Sometimes she wondered what would have happened if they’d met at some bar instead.
Darnel opened his door. “Ok, let’s look at it."
They waded through the waist high grass in the road ditch with the rich smell of wet earth somewhere underfoot and climbed onto the smooth rock, where they stood ten feet above the ground.
Wanda sat cross legged and looked across the field, this one gray from last year’s corn stalks, not yet plowed or planted. “This would be the place to be when those worms in Tremors came around.”
“Was that the ridiculous movie where the monsters could grab you from below, except where there was rock it couldn’t get through?” Darnel sat down and draped his long legs half down the side of the rock, as though to test the dangerous waters of soft earth.
“Feels like we’re on a ship in the ocean.”
“Right, going somewhere fast.”
Darnel moved back up the rock and lay propped up on elbows, head facing the sun, eyes closed, like he did on the dock at Leech Lake last summer, shortly after they met at a conference for teachers facing burnout. How to maintain your balance while helping the unbalanced, which defined a lot of students no matter what age. After only one year of teaching for her, but it was a doozy. New preps every day, keeping up with art materials, and all those IEP forms to fill out, one for every student, plus constantly meeting with parents whether they wanted to or not. Maybe she should have settled for some office job.
Wanda lay down on the smooth surface that shed warmth to her backside which always seemed in need lately, even though school had been out for a month. She had forgotten it was possible to taste the air. A hint of smoke probably from that far away dust, but also sweet from the rank greens in the ditch. She took a courageous breath and reached her hand across his chest.
Luckily he took it in his own and turned toward her. “There’s something I’d like to do right now.” His other hand slid under her blouse, and she shivered despite the warm of the rock beneath them.
“This is a very public place.”
“Of the three cars in an hour, which would care?”
As if in answer, the sound of a tractor approached from way down the road, moving at the speed of a fast glacier, hauling a corn planter which would unfold when it got to a field, to the width of three cars end to end.
They sat up and waved and got a honk back.
“Maybe that driver took his first date here to sit in the moonlight.” Darnel, the storyteller. No wonder he chose history.
“Kind of exposed.”
“Maybe that was the point.”
Wanda watched the lumbering machine inch down the road.
“Thanks for coming, Darnel. I know how busy you are.”
“No problem, especially if you drive and I get to study and sleep.” He kissed her on the forehead, which made her feel like a kid.
“C’mon, you can do it right.”
He brought her close and started to do the same thing, then changed directions so their lips met.
It surprised her so much she laughed. “That’s better.”
“We can go to the weddings of any of your friends.”
“Running out of those, most of them are good and hitched.” Wanda wrapped her arms around her knees, adjusted her visor cap over her eyes. “You know, I’m not aiming for one of those myself.”
He snugged in next to her. Way off three farms over, another cloud of dust grew and made the horizon brown. “We’re on the same page, I think.”
“I can understand from what you’ve been through.”
Darnel and Shirley divorced after only two years, luckily no kids. One day she moved out, without even a note.
“I should have seen it coming when she started to sleep on the far side of the bed.” He started to slide off the rock. “Getting hot, and the rock is hard on my bottom.”
She shouldn’t have brought it up. Maybe in time he could tell her more about what happened, but she’d have to let it come on his time.
She climbed down too, careful not to disturb a clump of moss that had somehow found a way to grow in a small crack.
They waded back through the sharp grass to the car.
When they got to Fairbank, the party was in progress in the back yard of Manny’s parents’ house. The newlyweds, as of three days ago, stood at a little water feature by the blooming lilacs. Neely in a dress. Unusual for her, but it looked good. A pale blue silky thing that followed her trim contours from her shoulders to a hem that grazed the grass. Some kind of flowery wreath settled in her airy nest of hair that reached as high as Manny’s shoulders.
As they approached, Neely reached her hands out to her.
“I’m so glad to see you.” Wanda knew it was true because Neely let go of the smile that must have begun to hurt her face and adopted her usual look of smooth observation. Then to Darnel, “You too, Darnel. Thanks for coming.”
Manny, who had stepped apart to greet some parent-aged guests, signaled he’d be back shortly.
Wanda hoped Neely knew what she was doing. It was so soon after that a-hole of a husband of hers drank himself to death that she’d met Manny. The life coach/personal trainer at that gym where all the women swooned over him, including, Wanda had to admit, herself.
Going crazy from that first year of teaching, she found out at aerobics class there was such a thing as a life coach and convinced herself to go to him. Yes, his looks helped, but his steady way of questioning was what helped pull her out of her feelings of self-doubt.
Wanda had seen Manny at the gym, but they hadn’t really talked since he put an end to their sessions, saying she was strong enough. Not that she believed him, but he was right. And it was clear he wasn’t into her anyway. What a funny thing that a few months later, jogging on the bike trail, she happened to be a part of Neely’s first encounter with Manny. He and his friend Jim on a run, when Neely on her bike ran over Jim’s foot as he made a sudden move to the side. Snowbanks everywhere, serving as soft landing for both.
Neely would have stayed away, realizing Wanda had had a thing for him, but after that, Manny was really persistent, asking her out, helping fix her damaged bike, showing up after school. All those pretty women at the gym making their plays for him, and here comes Neely who doesn’t care a whit for all that. Must have been refreshing.
From somewhere by the punch bowl, Manny’s friend Jim loped up to them, all grins. Of course, he was there. According to Neely, he kept telling Manny to wake up and go after this new woman.
Wanda introduced Darnel, and Jim self-identified as the matchmaker.
“I can see how you’d be beaming. Congratulations.” Darnel held out his hand, and the two of them fell into easy conversation about the trip there, then about what they did. Both, Wanda noticed, were generous listeners.
For a non-reception, this gathering resembled a real one with a tray of crustless sandwiches and those silly pastel mints that only appear around weddings, so Wanda wasn’t surprised when one of the fathers drew everyone’s attention with a clink of spoon on a wine glass and started to say a few words.
But instead of listening to the usual ritual of pride in his son at finding such a fine wife and the pleasure of the blending of the families, Wanda found herself watching the way Jim paced behind the drinks table, paper in hand, as though ready to give a toast. Which he did, saying he’d probably be the best man if they’d had such a thing, then letting the paper dangle and fall to the grass. He beckoned the happy couple, put his arm around Manny, then leaned down to hug Neely, her halo of hair tamed down under the flowery wreath, but still puffing out here and there to catch the light from the lowering sun.
Neely was cordial but gently pushed back from him to endure the story by Manny’s side as Jim went on about the bike accident, him limping to illustrate an injury that he had milked for the sake of keeping them all together on the snowy trail when he saw Manny’s interest in this new, different woman. Then, looking at his audience, he stopped on Wanda.
“Wanda come up here, you’re part of this story too.”
She shook her head, but what could she do? So she joined them at the water feature. At least it wasn’t some dais. He put his arm around her, very brotherly, but she felt this odd little chill as his hand passed over her bare shoulder, and then down to her waist. Not the knockout Manny was, but tall and well angled, and so welcoming. Unattached as far as she knew, but why not?
Wanda didn’t want to speak but said a few words–congrats to this amazing couple, how Neely was her best friend, and how she was so happy for her. Not much content in that, but she did mean it. The foursome stood there with the water bubbling from some spigot behind them, the light thru the trees flickering over them like a blessing from on high, casting little shadows on the paving stones in front of them. People called out congrats, laughing, all very nice.
They didn’t come apart all at once, but Neely was the first to peel off, saying she needed some punch. Such a socially demanding day had to be hard on her.
Manny gave Jim a high five. “Thanks, bro, short and funny.”
Jim complied but said, “I don’t think Neely liked it.”
Wanda watched Neely, then turned back to Jim. “It’s okay. She knew she’d have to put up with this kind of thing.”
“How about you, Wanda?” A crease between his eyes she hadn’t seen before.
“It was fine.”
“I put you on the spot. Sorry.”
“Were you? Seems like that’s your job today.”
Why did she have to be so honest? It was one of the things she shared with Neely. Who she needed to see, soon.
Manny gave a questioning look at Wanda then back to Jim. “Hey, man. Thanks for saying what probably I should have.”
“No prob.” The fewest words yet out of Jim. It was probably too late to respond to Wanda. Good.
Darnel came forward with two glasses of something not from the punch bowl and handed one to Wanda. “A little mead from the kitchen.”
Probably from a wine box, but he made up stories for everything. She smiled at his hopeful face and took a sip.
“You’re a good storyteller, man.” Darnel lifted his glass as if making a toast. “Sorry about that foot injury. Sounds like something I got when I was doing bus monitor duty and this kid runs me over with a unicycle.”
Manny stood back to look at Darnel, like he was some new talent on the bandstand. “That’s original. But I’d think someone so able could avoid running into people.”
“New at it, I suspect, and probably performing for a girl.”
General guffaws and then there’s a few slaps on the back.
Wanda, feeling a little out of it, interjected. “I met Darnel at a burnout convention.”
All stopped and looked at her.
Manny knew all about this, of course, as her life coach, but he said. “Ah, for teachers? I hear they get that. Can relate as a life coach, though I only deal with one person at time.”
So smooth and professional, honoring the coach-client privilege.
Wanda kept it up. “Any kid could use a life coach, especially when their parents aren’t up to it.”
Darnel, always the one to keep everyone included, said, “So, Jim, seems like the rest of us are into some kind of education, how about you?”
“Not me, I spend my day with pigs instead of kids.”
Darnel took a moment. “Real ones?”
Manny filled in. “He’s a pig calmer downer, before the blow comes at the packing plant. Gives those fellow critters one last peaceful moment.”
Jim let his head fall, as though to inspect his intwined hands. “Until I can get back to produce.”
Wanda almost expected Darnel to put a hand on his shoulder, but he held back. “I haven’t eaten pork in years because of how they’re raised.”
Jim lifted his head and stared at one of the tall pines that was beginning to sway in a sudden wind. “We do the best we can at the end anyway.”
Darnel said he’d had a student in history class who did a study of the pork industry in Iowa, a kid whose family ran a confinement lot. Happy pigs, clean environment. That he had to be careful about his comments.
Wanda sucked in a sip of wine as though through a straw but did not swirl it around in her mouth as she learned to do at a wine tasting she and Darnel went to last fall. But the thought of doing such a rude thing amused her and she nearly coughed it out.
People began to spread out the way they do when a party is about to expire, but it wasn’t at that point yet. Behind the trees at the edge of the yard where the cornfields started, sunlight filtered through a globe of hair, moving between the trees. What happened to that floral wreath?
Wanda excused herself with the ruse of needing the restroom. She dodged people at the finger food table, circled behind the bubbling pond, and found a path through the patch of trees. Big ones, as though from a woods that hadn’t been cut in years. The wind picked up, as it had a few moments earlier but this time stayed that way, and the sun went out as though someone had turned off a light switch. And now some creaking of trees rubbing against each other high up. Loud, with lots of ups and downs like they had a lot to complain about.
She got to the edge of the woods, and there in the northwest, the clouds dark and on the move. But well in front of them, standing in the furrows of the newly planted cornfield in her party sandals, blue, was Neely, arms across her chest, her orb of hair filling with the wind as though it might make her light enough to float away, gazing out across the fields to the blackening sky.
Despite the soft ground and her barely adequate for lawn shoes, Wanda ran up next to her.
She stood there for a moment to give Neely time to notice her there. And then some. Let her speak first.
“I suppose you wonder what the hell I’m doing.”
“Not just looking at the weather, I think, though that’s not a bad idea.”
“I needed a break.”
“Not the usual way to do that.” Wanda saw Manny in a side glance, ready to charge out, but she motioned him back. He stopped. Behind him, Jim, who Manny gestured back. A chain of caution. Could be funny if it went on and on.
“I saw that.”
“So, what’s up?”
“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.”
The wind began to rip shreds of old corn stalks from the ground that whipped their faces.
“We could talk about this back in the house.”
“I’d never have the courage.”
Wanda wanted to put her arm around her, but no, that would change everything. Too much comfort would cut the fury of the wind and settle her down. They stood shoulder to shoulder while the cold air sucked away every trace of moisture from Wanda’s face. The trees kept up their talk, like giant role models.
“He loves you.”
“So did Rubin.”
“Manny has no interest in drink and knows himself well enough to understand how to be happy.”
“You’d know.”
“He was my life coach for longer than you’ve known him.”
“Isn’t it supposed to go the other way?”
It took Wanda a moment. The coach should know the client better than the other way around.
“Every bride has second thoughts.”
“You thought I went into this too soon after Rubin died.”
“Sure. But you’ve got a really good man who can help you through this.”
“You don’t know what there is to work through. Nobody does.”
Neely blamed herself for not being by Rubin’s side when he died, but she mentioned it so often Wanda was beginning to wonder what really happened. No, best not to know.
The wind hit them with a gust that sent a shock through Wanda as though it was charged with lightning. She flung around in front to Neely to take her by the shoulders. She had to yell over the wail of the wind.
“Steady, girl, I know that was tough on you, but it’s only natural to feel some relief when he died. To tell the truth, all of us did.”
Neely, hands to her face as though to keep the wind out, but no, it was something else. “I have to tell someone, Wanda, please let it be you.”
She gave Neely a shake that almost knocked them both down. “No, Neely, I don’t want to know. Tell your therapist or your guardian angel or your imaginary friend, but not me.”
Neely flung her hands away from her face and put them on Wanda’s shoulders, so now they held each other at arm’s length for strength and distance. Rain in drops so big they should be called something else slammed across their faces as Neely shouted something at Wanda. Wanda didn’t hear the first and loudest, but caught, “…I didn’t mean to, … poison…”
Wanda willed the wind to be her friend. It howled and whistled while the trees screamed.
“I didn’t hear that. Let’s get under cover.”
She took her by the hand and started to drag her back, but Neely let go. Wanda had to let her be, but what should she tell Manny? She hadn’t heard anything really. Could have been about “boys on” or something.
When she reached the yard, she passed Manny and smiled. “Bride jitters. It’s alright.”
She didn’t watch him gallop out to embrace his new wife. But kept on going past the pond whose bubbling was drowned out by the thunder, to help gather napkins and bowls of potato salad to take under cover.
Darnel, beside her in the kitchen, put down a bundle he’d made of a tablecloth and whatever was on top of it. “What was that about?”
“A summer storm.” She looked around. He wasn’t the only one who wanted to know.
Jim came in with an Afghan over his arm. “You look like a newborn calf in March.” He draped it around her shoulders. It was one of those old-fashioned crocheted jobs that every family had with lots of holes between the yarn. It did the trick. But she couldn’t help thinking about what happened to those pigs after they were comforted.
Darnel poured some more wine from the box on the counter. “Not warm, but it might help anyway.”
She took it with a smile, and wrapped the Afghan tighter around herself. That’s what helped the most.
Mary Lewis has an MFA in creative writing from Augsburg University, an MS in Ecology from the University of Minnesota, and she taught in the Biology Department of Luther College in Decorah, Iowa. In 2023 two of her stories have been nominated, one for a Pushcart prize, another for both the 2023 Best of the Net Anthology and the Best American Series. A sampling of journals where her work appears: Allium, Antigonish Review, Blue Lake Review, Book of Matches, Boomer Lit, Cleaver Magazine, Evening Street Review, Feels Blind Literary, Inscape, Litbreak Magazine, North American Review, Persimmon Tree, Rivanna, RiverSedge, r.kv.r.y. quarterly, Rundelania, Sleet Magazine, Taj Mahal Review, The Spadina Literary Review, Superstition Review, Taj Mahal Review, Thieving Magpie, Toasted Cheese, Wordrunner and The Woven Tale Press. Forthcoming: Map Literary, Valley Voices, Wilderness House Literary Review.
