Nowhere, Mississippi

Chapter 4

Sunday, April 1, 1990 - Day 1

Sunday, April 1, 1990 - Day 1Sunday, April 1, 1990 - Day 1I wish I could scream into a mike and let everything pour out of me, but there’s no one who cares to listen. No one gives two shits about me anymore. That could be the album title of my life right now. It’s a heavy metal soundtrack that has turned my mind into a mosh pit. And how could it not be? I’m a month shy of getting my driver’s license, and I have to spend the next ninety days in a Mississippi boys home.

My mood darkens as I gaze out the passenger side window of the rental car. Beyond the glass, a redneck dystopia flashes by like an endless movie reel of pine trees and trailers. So, this is Nowhere, Mississippi, huh? Of course, it is! This place is one step from Deliverance, and I’m not talking about that crappy Christian metal band either.

Deliverance“Dad really pulled out all the stops this time, didn’t he?” I lean back in the seat and c***k my knuckles. “He should’ve just sent me to juvie like the judge said. At least I’d be back in Atlanta instead of being dumped here with a bunch of inbreds playing banjos!”

I glance over at Joyce, my dad’s insufferable secretary. He was “too busy” to bring me himself, of course, so he sent the next worst person imaginable.

“We’ve been through this, Will,” she mumbles in her unbearable nasal tones. “Your father is only trying to do what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me, or what’s best for him?”

himJoyce sighs. “What’s best for everyone, I suppose.”

I snort out a scornful laugh and shake my head. “I guess I’m talking to you like you actually care. How stupid of me! I’ll tell you one thing for sure, though. Mom would never approve of this. She would be furious! She would…”

A tear trickles down my cheek before I have a chance to blink it back. I wipe it away, trying to ignore the look of pity in Joyce’s eyes. She reaches out a consoling hand and draws it back as I flinch away from her touch. Joyce frowns and pulls the car over to the side of the road. She checks her cheap perm in the rearview mirror and turns to look at me.

“Listen, sweetie,” she says. “I know how tough it’s been since your mother’s accident.” I blink back another tear. “But none of that is your father’s fault. He’s struggling just as much and he’s been struggling with everything that’s going on with you. So, if you can’t accept the blame for landing yourself in this situation, then at least try to accept the situation you’re in.” Joyce sighs again. “And the situation we’re in right now is that we’re lost.”

No s**t! She’s driven back and forth along the same goddamn road for the last twenty minutes, too stupid to follow the directions and too timid to stop and ask the local hicks for help.

“You’re the one who’s lost,” I tell her.

You’re“Well, you could try being more helpful, Will. I’ve already told you what we’re looking for. The young man I spoke with on the phone said the driveway is about a quarter mile past the fire tire. You could help me by looking for one.”

“Well, since I have no idea what a fire tire is, how the hell am I supposed to know what to look for? You’re sure that’s what he said?”

“For the hundredth time, yes! That’s exactly what he said. I wrote it down right here in the directions.” Joyce waves the piece of paper as though I haven’t seen her constantly checking it.

“But you didn’t ask him what a fire tire is? What have you been looking for this whole time? Some flaming tire on the side of the road with an arrow pointing the way? There’s got to be a sign for this place somewhere. What’s it called again? Victory Bridge or something?”

“Victory Ridge. And, no, the man said they don’t have a sign. That’s why he told me to look for the fire tire.”

“They don’t have a sign? Even that homeless guy outside the airport had a sign. What kind of dump are you dropping me off at? You should just drive us back to Hattiesburg, so we can call Dad and tell him this is a huge mistake.”

Joyce adjusts her glasses again and squints at the directions as if she must have missed something the first few hundred times she read them.

“I’ll just have to stop somewhere and ask,” she mutters. “The next place we see, I suppose.”

The next place we see is a dirt lot with three trailers stacked side by side that look like they’ve been duct-taped together. A horde of animals, dogs, chickens, and goats roam around a junk-littered yard. I’m about to suggest the next place we see, but Joyce is already pulling off of the road.

The chickens scatter and the dogs break into a barking frenzy as they charge toward the car. One leaps at Joyce’s window as she parks, and she flinches away with a yelp. She looks on the verge of turning the hell around when the front door of the middle trailer flies open.

A pale, shirtless man emerges and shouts something at the dogs. They bound off toward him, following behind as he marches our way. Joyce rolls down her window.

“Y’all ain’t from the CPS, is ya?” the man yells.

Joyce clears her throat and fixes her best fake smile. “No, sir, we’re not. We’re just…”

“The hell y’all want then? This here’s private property, understand? This ain’t no turnaround spot.”

“Y-yes, sir. I understand that,” Joyce stammers. “We’re sorry to intrude like this, but we’re a little lost and we’re hoping someone could point us in the right direction.”

The man hawks and spits loose a long stream of brown saliva on the ground between his feet and the car.

“What y’all lookin’ for?” he asks.

“Well, the directions I was given aren’t very clear. I was told to look for a…”

“Don’t care what ya was told, lady. Jus’ tell me what y’all are lookin’ for and quit wastin’ my time.”

“We’re looking for a place called Victory Ridge.”

The man leans down to peer past Joyce, his attention now firmly fixed on me.

“That where you’re goin’, boy?” he says, flashing a grotesque grin with more gaps than brown teeth. I force myself to nod, and his grin widens. “Went an’ got in some hot water, didn’t ya? Gotta go live with all them other troubled boys. Well, it’s ‘bout to get a whole lot hotter in there for ya, boy.” He laughs, and my stomach lurches and twists.

“Sir,” Joyce squeaks, “would you mind telling us how to find this place?”

The man hawks another glob of spit on the ground. “The driveway’s right over there.” He points behind us, across the street toward a small road we must have passed a half-dozen times.

“Thank you!” Joyce says, already shifting into gear, but the man’s attention is still focused on me.

“Brother Bennett’s gonna set ya straight, boy,” he calls out as Joyce reverses toward the main road. “He’s gonna rid ya of all them demons.”

“Oh my God!” Joyce cries out. “That was absolutely terrifying!”

My sentiments exactly.

The creepy hick’s words echo inside my head as Joyce steers us onto the driveway across the road. Brother Bennett is the name my dad mentioned. “A man of firm discipline and faith,” he explained as he informed me of my fate. “Those are the things you need the most right now, son. This is the best option you’ve got.”

Brother BennettThe best option for him, more like. Dad wasn’t looking for a way to rid me of demons. He was just looking for a way to rid himself of me. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s why he vetoed juvie. Dekalb Youth Detention Center would be far too close to home. At least I would still be in civilization, though.

“Be thankful you aren’t getting locked up with all those inner city kids,” Dad told me. “You’d wind up straight back in the system, just like them. Brother Bennett has his own way of doing things. He’s a man who gets results.”

Dad must have mentioned this a dozen times during that conversation, along with Brother Bennett being a “big man” who knows how to handle himself. Good for him! I honestly don’t care how big and intimidating he is. He’s still only one guy. What is he going to do that someone hasn’t already tried?

I lean forward in my seat as our low-budget rental car rattles along the potholed driveway. Columns of densely packed pines border both sides of the road, blocking out any view of where we are heading. After a couple of winding turns, the trees give way to a wide, green clearing in the woods. The driveway stretches out in front of us, curving up the side of a grassy ridge with a long red-brick building on top.

As we make our way toward the hill, we pass between two fields. The one to our left is a bumpy mess of turf and dirt. Patches of grass are streaked with white paint as if someone was trying to line a football field. The area to our right looked pretty much the same except for three shabby-looking trailers near the foot of the hill and a couple of pickup trucks parked alongside.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I glance from side to side as we begin our ascent up the ridge. “This is where he sent me?”

ThisMy eyes follow the wall of pine trees surrounding the property. I wasn’t expecting a giant barbed-wire fence like the detention center, but this is supposed to be a school for delinquent kids for crying out loud! I’ve seen more security at a Chuck E. Cheese! It’s basically a straight shot through the woods back to the main road.

Even Joyce squints around skeptically, but her eyes light up as we reach the crest of the hill. “Look right there, Will! Some boys are out playing basketball.” She points toward a gravel lot beside the building. Sure enough, a couple of guys are shooting hoops against a wooden backboard that’s nailed to a power line post.

“See now?” Joyce chirps at me. “You can be outside playing sports just like them. That’s not so bad, is it?”

I swallow my response as our tires crunch across the gravel, and the boys’ heads swivel our direction. They pause their game and turn around to stare at us. I size them up while Joyce rolls to a stop, next to a rickety wooden porch on the side of the building. They’re both around my age, possibly a year or two older. As a spectacle, however, the pair could not look more unalike.

One is a slim African American dude in a pair of gold and purple Lakers shorts, bouncing the basketball between his legs as he watches us. The other guy is an oversized white kid who looks like he eats every meal at Golden Corral. He folds his arms across the front of his sweat-drenched t-shirt, pinching his flushed face into a scowl.

Once again, the creepy hick’s words return to haunt me. “Went an’ got in some hot water, didn’t ya? Gotta go live with all them other troubled boys. Well, it’s ‘bout to get a whole lot hotter in there for ya, boy.”

Went an’ got in some hot water, didn’t ya? Gotta go live with all them other troubled boys. Well, it’s ‘bout to get a whole lot hotter in there for ya, boy.”Shut up! I tell him, wiping the beads of sweat from my forehead.

Shut up!Glancing around, I spy more troubled boys leering at us from the porch. Others emerge from the side door of the building, jockeying for a view. I scan the crowd of unsavory faces. Most of their expressions brim with curiosity. The rest watch on with callous indifference. Either way, this doesn’t feel like a welcome wagon.

Joyce clears her throat and peers at me through her thick-rimmed glasses. “It’s time, Will.” She reaches down and unbuckles her seatbelt. “We need to get this over with.”

The back of my neck prickles with heat. “Oh yeah? I’m pretty sure it’s you who needs to get this over with, Joyce. That’s why Dad sent you, isn’t it? ‘A good dentist always keeps his hands clean,’ as he likes to say.”

Oh yeah?Joyce’s forehead wrinkles in a frown. “I’m here because he asked me to help.”

“To help dump me in this shithole of a place? Wow, what a saint you are! I hope you feel good about yourself.” I stare at my lap for a second and look back up at her. “You can still do the right thing, though. Just help me talk to my dad. We could ask to use their phone. Please, that’s all I’m asking!”

I gaze at Joyce imploringly, but all she does is tut and roll her eyes. “We’ve been through this, Will. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. Your father said no phone calls. He was very clear about that.”

I wilt into my seat with a sigh, and her expression softens. “Listen, sweetie, this isn’t something you can avoid, okay? We’re here, and this is happening. I need to get you inside and sign your paperwork, or I’m going to miss my flight home. Your father needs me back in the office tomorrow.”

“I’m sure he does,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “I guess we shouldn’t waste anymore time then, huh? We need to make sure you get back to service my dad again.”

I relish the wounded look in Joyce’s eyes and the flicker of resentment that follows. She purses her lips and stares at me in disgust.

“I think that man back there was right,” she says, with a tremble in her voice. “Maybe there are demons inside you.”

She grips the handle of the car door and shoves it open, stepping out onto the gravel and slamming it shut behind her. Good riddance! If being ditched here means I don’t have to look at her stupid face again, then so be it.

I cross my arms and stare at the dashboard, trying to ignore the rabble outside and the anxiety knotting in my stomach. My eyes linger on the empty ignition, and I fight back a scream. But even if Joyce had left the keys, I wouldn’t know where the hell to go. Anywhere but here, I guess.

None of that matters now, though. Sitting alone inside the car, I feel the final dregs of hope filter out of me. I might be lost in the middle of Nowhere, but I can remember when my life was very different. I can remember what it was like before everything changed.

Nowhere