Leaving Kit Lacy
by David Summerfield

It was Sunday morning, when I got up, I could feel something heavy like a cop’s boot on my neck. Putting on my pants and shirt, I tied my shoes and went out into the parking lot. A rogue storm had left the sky dark and a wet film over everything. I sucked in a deep breath, heaved it back out, the air stale from all the wet trash. I stood listening to empty silence until city workers drifted in and started to clean it up. It wouldn’t be so bad when they got all this trash up, I thought, and I went to the motel lobby to get some coffee. I saw Joe and Les come through the neon haze looking like two apparitions. They came into the lobby, dropped their bags, and poured out some coffee.

“Well, it’s over,” said Les.

“Yeah,” I said. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon,” said Joe. “Aren’t you going?”

“No,” I said. “I notified my answering service. I’m not really busy right now, so I think I’ll stay a while.”

“Well, I gotta’ get back.”

“Me, too,” said Les.

We paid our bills, sat back down and I poured out some more coffee for the three of us. A golf replay was on TV, and we could see Tiger Woods was about to putt.

“Let’s bet,” said Les. 

“All right,” said Joe. “A dollar he makes it.”

“You’re on,” said Les. “A dollar he doesn’t.”  

They put money on the counter and watched the ball shimmy around the cup, it teetered then dropped like a boulder into the hole. Joe grabbed the money and shoved it in his pocket.

“Fuck me,” said Les. “Let’s go have a drink.”

We went out to the car where Joe and Les slung their bags like cannonballs into the trunk. Les fished out a pint of gin from the glove box and we all took a drink. “Wish somebody’d clean this fucking trash up,” said Les, as he took another pull then he tossed the empty bottle, we could hear it smash somewhere in the distance.

“Well, so long,” said Joe. 

“Yeah, see ya’,” said Les.

“It was a great festival,” I said, “even if we lost one.”

“Yeah, left us here like all this trash,” said Joe, sweeping his arm. “You gonna’ wait, go after her, or just leave her?” 

“Not sure,” I said, “might just wait to hear from her.”

“You know, I keep thinking there’s plenty of women out there,” said Les. 

“There is,” I said. 

“Maybe you need to let her go,” said Joe. 

 “Yes, I’m beginning to think that, so should you guys.”

We all shook hands, Joe and Les got in the car and pulled out of the parking lot. I could see Les’s big toothy smile pressed up against the window and then they were gone. 

There was no reason to be in town anymore and what had been my plan all along, I threw my bags in the truck and drove north to the falls. I got a room at the lodge, took a shower, put on some clean clothes, went downstairs, and bought a paper, and it felt good to be in a peaceful lobby, reading the paper with the festival far away. I didn’t want to see another festival I thought, I just wanted to be in this large chair in this quiet lobby reading the paper, and then go to the dining room and eat a big lunch, then go upstairs and drink the MD 20-20 I’d put on ice, and then reflect on how it felt to have sat in the lobby with the paper, eaten a big lunch, and have nothing else to do but drink alone in my room.

The lodge sat on a canyon rim where my room had a balcony and after eating lunch, I stepped outside to look at the entire chasm blotched in green, yellow, and gold in the sunlight. I went back inside, arranged my things for a week’s stay, drank the Mad Dog, and went to sleep. I awoke in time for dinner, went downstairs to the dining room then returned to my room and fell back asleep. 

In the morning I watched the weather on television, dressed warm and went out. The cool crisp air made my nose run and my eyes water. Through pine trees and mist I went to an overlook and sat on a bench, pulled my coat up tight against the wind and listened to the river. I stayed there until the sun was over the tops of the trees, it was dry, and the fog was gone. I looked at a map I’d picked up in the lobby. There was a waterfall at the north end of the canyon, and I walked on a path down to the river then on a path toward the falls. The river made a dull roar, it was all you could hear and halfway I sat on a boulder and tried to listen for something else like birds or wind, but all I could hear was the roar of the river. When I got to the falls, I listened to the water crash down on the rocks below. Climbing up out of the canyon I noticed the brilliant red, yellow, and orange splotches of autumn on the trees against the canyon walls. Under a warm October sky, it was good to be alive, even as vague stirrings in my head had yet to crystallize. 

When I got back to the lodge it was late afternoon. I went to the bar and sat at a table where I could watch people through the window and hear music. On an empty stomach I had a half glass of ice water with Jack Daniel’s then another with even less water and ordered dinner. A mountain bike race was going on and some of the teams who still had their helmets and numbers on were in the bar. I recognized some who’d drifted up from the festival races. Drinking heavily and ordering food off the menu, they didn’t seem to be taking the race too seriously, and I could see how the event and just being on the mountain was more diversion than sport. Some of the girls were good-looking and I watched them laugh and salute with their drinks when someone told a good joke or funny story. One of the men came over to where I was sitting, and introduced himself as Joey, he sat and talked about the race. The course was technically difficult and quite steep, said Joey, it was difficult to stay up and gather any speed because of the dust and ruts, next time he’d have fatter tires like some of the others with better equipment. After I ate, I told Joey I’d try to catch the remainder of the races in the morning and excused myself.

In the morning I managed to avoid the mountain bikers. I crossed a narrow ribbon of road that went out from the lodge and found the trailhead on the map that went to ‘Balanced Rocks.’ The silence of the woods was heavy as the roar of the river had been, Spruce and Hemlock blocked out the sky, switchbacks went along steep hills, I thought about certain things and when those thoughts scattered, I thought about other things. Around noon I arrived at ‘Balanced Rocks.’ I climbed up to where the top was a flat slab of rock over a column of stone that went high as the tops of the trees. I stood there, felt the wind, then sat in the sun and looked out at the silence before me, at the deep depressions of the valleys beneath the ridges that went on one after the other until they disappeared into the horizon. I needed to come to a conclusion about one of the things I’d been thinking, and I thought of what Joe had said how I needed to let her go but it wasn’t so easy. Blonde ponytail, green eyes, Kit Lacy had a gravitational pull on me that kept me in her orbit as she held out hope something else could come of it. I had felt great pride, exhilaration, privilege even, to be with her, had placed her on a pedestal, assumed by some karmic coincidence we were meant to be together. She’d become my focus, and I became what she wanted me to be. It never occurred to me there was another way to act toward a woman, especially one so beautiful, ellipsoid features under a blonde mane over square shoulders ass perfectly shelved over long straight legs in heels in jeans blouse open lips embossed eyes dark like a whore, intelligent, delightful, she’d mastered all the looks women give all the sayings women say. I felt lucky to have her, might lose her if I didn’t keep complimenting her too much, giving her a self-esteem boost when she needed it. Whether as a bodyguard, financial advisor, tire changer, or be it for emotional support when she was unhappy, we were friends, but I expected something more, something different, I wanted to be her lover, and that was my dilemma. 

“Sex with men I barely know, there are no consequences, they disappear. But it would ruin our friendship,” she’d said, “and then you’d disappear, too, and I couldn’t bear that.” But despite her admonition I’d made a move once. Shutting off the motor, I turned out the lights. Kit had her head tilted back, the white of her neck showed in the moonlight. Running my hand under her blouse I tried to kiss her, she turned away. “Please don’t.” The bright light of the moon rained down, we sat alone together. “Oh, Ben,” she said, “maybe someday things will be different between us. I’m sure I’ll pay for the hell I put you through.”

“Don’t be a fool,” I said. “Whatever happens to me is my own fault.” I decided to cut ties, but she’d come after me crying, and I stayed on. But knowing now I couldn’t continue with her, I decided to end it, and then I climbed back down and went along the path back to the lodge.

When I got to the lodge the mountain bikers had trashed the lobby, gone now they’d left in their wake some cycling magazines. I picked one up, and sat down, starting to read my cell phone went off. I pulled it out and looked, it was Kit. I didn’t answer and went to my room. With head in hands, I sat on the edge of the bed, waited for the phone to ring again and when it did, I answered.

Ben:  Hello?

Kit:   Ben?

Ben:  Yes, Kit?

Kit:   Oh, Ben. Where are you?

Ben:  I’m still here in the mountains, where are you?

Kit:   Can you come to the city, Ben, the Holiday Inn? I’ll tell you about it. 

Ben:  What’s wrong, are you okay?

Kit:   Yes, but it’s been so terrible.

Ben:  Okay, is tomorrow morning soon enough?

Kit:   Oh yes, Ben, what a sweetheart.

Ben:  Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. 

Kit:   Okay.

She hung up and her voice echoed in my head. That was it I thought, vacation over. She’d gone off again with someone else, another man, a young mountain biker who’d won races at the festival, and I was going to her as always to offer aid and comfort when it fell apart. I thought back to how it all started, having heard about the festival, and deciding to come, how Kit, Joe, Les, and I decided to drive down and check it out, how Kit and I had come in my truck. We were Kit Lacy’s band of merry men not quite outlaws but motivated by the same sense of desperation while lacking something at the same time never being sure what it was. We were in love with her–Les, Joe, and me, and that’s why we needed to follow her wherever she went. Through one misadventure after another to whatever exotic place she wanted to go we put up with her never loving us back the way we wanted. At first, I couldn’t sleep, imagining I was in space orbit, cabled to something inexplicable, when my tether finally broke, and after the initial shock and swiping at it, I let go able to drift calmly away.

In the morning, I drove to the city over three hours from where I was in the mountains. Under an early sunlight I watched hills and spruce give way to long gray boulevards of spires and skyscrapers and the early sunlight give way to thick dark clouds and wind gusts that flecked my windshield with rain. I located the Holiday Inn, stopped at a light, it changed and I hesitated, somebody honked, and I turned haltingly, reluctantly into the parking lot. I got the room number, knocked, and waited. Kit opened the door; she had a man’s shirt on twice her size. I looked at her, felt weak in the knees, my resolve over the decision I’d made on the verge of dissolving. 

“Oh, Ben, it’s you. Come in.”

“Hello, Kit.” I looked at the food and clothing thrown around on the floor like after a hurricane. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” folding her arms around mine, she kissed me, then she sat with legs tucked on the bed. I sat in a chair in front of her. 

“So, how are you?” I asked. 

“Oh, Ben, it’s been pure hell.”

“What’s going on?”

“I made him leave. I had to.”

“How come?”

“He started throwing things, getting violent, I didn’t know if I could make him leave.” 

“Is that when you called?”

“Yes. Light my smoke, will you?” She gave me a lighter.

“I thought you quit,” I said, and lit the cigarette.

“Oh, I hate to talk about it.” She took a drag off the cigarette then hiked it in the air between her fingers. “I should have known better.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Oh, let’s not talk about it,” she said. “Let’s never talk about it.”

“Okay,” I said, but she went on about it anyway.

“He said he knew what I was when we met, that he thought I might be too promiscuous, but I don’t think it bothered him, and he wasn’t so critical until he got what he wanted, and then he straight out called me a whore. Can you imagine? I could never have stayed with him.”

“He said that?”

“He did. Sure, I’ve screwed a few guys, and then they disappear. Luckily, I have male friends who don’t.” She looked away.

I heard a riff of thunder, “So what did he say to that?”

“Some bullshit about cucks and chodes,” she rolled her eyes. “Then some crap about, how a leopard doesn’t change its spots.”

“You were too good for him anyway.”

“Yes, and then he calls me a gold digger, that I’m out for his money. I assured him I have plenty of it.”

“Imagine that,” I said.

“Yes, imagine that.”

“But there were some good things, too, if you want to call it that.”

“Really? What were they?” I asked.

“Before he imploded, he talked about marriage, he even talked about children, I’m thirty-five, I didn’t want children before and don’t want them now. He’d even talked about how he might change me, make a good woman out of me.”

“You ought to have been insulted.”

“I wasn’t, then I was, but I’m okay now. But I am a good woman, and he was sweet for a while and made me laugh, and we did get along pretty well on some level.”

I listened to the rain on the window. “Maybe just physically,” I said.

“Yes, and I might have indulged his little wedding fancy, but we both know he would have gotten bored and then there’d be more women to come. Mister I-don’t-give-a-shit, you know,” she ground out the cigarette, “all he cares about is himself and racing.”   

“Of course,” I said. 

She moaned and started to cry. “Oh, Ben, I just feel used, or used up, I don’t know which, or maybe both.” 

“None of that’s true,” I said.

“Oh, why do I keep on about it? Do you mind? You always listen to me, tell me to shut up.” She sighed, wiping away tears with both hands. “I’m not going to be like this, down on myself.” 

“Good,” I said. She stopped talking and looked away. I wanted to hug her but lest my resolve be further tested I thought better of it, so I got up, and put my hand lightly on her shoulder. She didn’t look up. 

“Let’s not talk about it, again,” she said. “Let’s never bring it up.”

“It’s okay, it’ll be all right,” I said, “not knowing what else to say.” 

“I’m going to go home and forget about it,” she said. “It is what it is.” 

“Look, the sun’s trying to come out, let’s go for a walk,” I said. 

Kit brushed her hair and dressed under the big shirt she wore, after putting on a yellow sundress, floppy hat, and sunglasses she took off the shirt and flung it disgustedly into one of the piles on the floor then she looked up with a devious smile and winked. I could see she was suddenly in a good mood, and I was happy for her, but left to wonder, was it about me having come to provide aid and comfort, or more about another conquest and the scale of drama she could cause, and as she packed, I went downstairs to the front desk, paid her bill, and arranged a rental car for her. Kit came down and we walked out onto the steepled boulevard where beyond the avenue the clouds had tumbled apart revealing a bright red crimson sky. 

“I wouldn’t have asked you to come had I not been so scared,” Kit said. 

“It’s okay,” I said. 

“He was nice for a while and then it got ugly. Why did you stay around after the festival and not go back with Joe and les?” 

I thought how I’d wanted to spend time alone, to know if I wanted to stay with her or leave her, and to try and know why I couldn’t be more to her than what I was, but I didn’t say that to her. “I wish I knew,” I said. “I wish I knew why you left and ended up here.”

“So do I,” she said. “So, do I.”

We walked along the avenue, stopped in the middle of a bridge, and stared down at the traffic. We walked on as cars, buses, and motorcycles streaked up and down the boulevard, neon signs blinking messages in every direction. Kit held my arm with both hands and snuggled in close. “You know,” she said. “He still lives at home and has so much to learn.” I didn’t say anything and kept listening to the traffic. “That’s it, you know. He was so much younger than me.”

“You’re still talking about it.”

“I keep thinking about it.”

“He could have hurt you, so there’s repercussions to having sex with men you don’t know, or aren’t friends with, after all.”

“Don’t be an ass,” said Kit, as we walked on toward the river. “Yes, he could have hurt me, he might have, but he didn’t. My point is he didn’t know how to be with a woman because he’s never been with one.”    

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I can tell, a woman can tell.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”

“That’s right, we’re not going to talk about, but I can’t help it.”

“Why not? He’s gone, now.”  

I felt the wind pick up, it made a gathering sound and pummeled us with specks of debris off the street. We went into a small bar-and-grill and sat in a booth next to a large window where we could look out at the river. 

“Let’s have lunch,” said Kit. “I’m starved.”  

As I listened to the jukebox play old songs, it was quiet, I felt comfortable, but through the window, I could see the water choppy and foaming against its banks. We looked at the menu, a barmaid came over and took our order. 

“That was really good,” said Kit. We’d eaten burgers, fries and shared a pitcher of beer.

“How do you feel now?” I asked.

“Good,” said Kit. “Should we have dessert?”

“Christ, no,” I said. 

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “What do you want to do?”

“Should we get another pitcher?”

“Sure,” I said. We ordered another pitcher. Waiting for it to come I didn’t say anything. When the pitcher came, I poured both mugs. We made a toast, and at that moment and for whatever reason I’d never seen Kit more beautiful. And for the millionth time, and maybe for the last time, I wondered at what this attachment was to her that I had had for so long, and for so long had been unable to break free of. I watched her lean back and light a cigarette and with it dangling in her mouth pull her blonde hair into a pile on top of her head where she clipped it then take the cigarette and hike it in the air between her fingers. She sat staring back at me with green marbled eyes, the smoke disintegrated  into the soft glow of the tavern lights as the vague stirrings I’d had in my head climbing up out of the canyon finally crystallized, and I understood what it was drove her passion for the young mountain biker, he had only accepted her as his due for who he was, nothing he did was just for her, he had greater passions and more things to do and didn’t care, and in that way he’d been a challenge for her, I was different, always available, motivated by some sense of desperation, need, and approval, Les was drowning in liqueur refusing to face it, and Joe was still chasing.

“You haven’t said much,” said Kit.

“Sure, I have, you haven’t been listening.” 

Kit came forward off the back of the bench, leaning her face in toward mine, “don’t go silent on me, Ben, please don’t go silent.” 

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not going silent,” I said. “I’ve just been thinking.” 

“You’ve drifted off into space,” she said. “Oh Ben, come back.”

…I was tired of hiding, living paralyzed in this perdition, this purgatory of twisted logic, this hell of insolvable madness between love and friendship, it was time… 

“Let’s go back out and walk,” I said. “We haven’t seen enough of the city.”  

We walked out of the bar and onto the street where it was still cloudy, and the wind came in a light steady stream. I noticed a path down to the river. I suggested we go down and we descended through the weeds and piles of trash that had accumulated off the highway. I led and Kit stayed close until we got to the riverbank where the water slapped angrily at the rocks. We stood next to one another, I put my arm around her, and she leaned against me. “Oh, Ben, too bad things weren’t different between us.”

I disengaged myself, we stood apart looking at one another. The wind rippled in my ears, but I could still hear the faint drone of cars up on the boulevard. Feeling a sense of foreboding and liberation at the same time, I said, “I won’t be coming around again, Kit, I don’t want to see you anymore.”   

“Oh, Ben, I meant things will be different between us, I promise.” 

Pressing the rental car key into her hand, I searched her face one more time, said half to her, half to the wind but no longer only to myself, “I don’t believe that anymore, Kit. But wouldn’t it be nice?”

“You’re going to just leave me here?” I turned to walk away as she swept her arm, “like all this trash?” And it was the last thing I heard her say. 

Going quickly, tears streaming, rambling incoherently, saved from the wreck of a former life, I felt free but also numb, angry, guilty, and sad. Wandering the city through glaring headlights, lurking shadows, pelting rain, I wondered if I should go back and apologize, assume my old place, make things right again, I knew it was impossible. At dawn, the tears had dried up, the sun was on the horizon, happiness and sadness, freedom and foreboding had become one feeling now, but still, it was a brand-new day with something fully realized, and I hoped Joe and Les would come to see it, too. Armed with a new sense of pride and self-worth, I knew I might never see Kit again, and if I did, nothing would be the same, like the young mountain biker I would have greater passions and more things to do. Yes, the storm had come and gone, I would never know again the version of myself that went with it.         

 

 

David Summerfield’s fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and photo art has appeared in numerous literary magazines/journals/and reviews. He’s been co-editor, columnist, and contributor to various publications within his home state of West Virginia. He is a graduate of Frostburg State University, Maryland, and a veteran of the Iraq war. View his work at davidsummerfieldcreates.com.

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