Lincoln Side Up

     Who cares? he said.  He said, Who cares? and his face hovered over mine, still, indifferent, a stone wall impossible to climb.  Who knew why he said things like that, at times like these - Who knew?  But I hated that part of him that made him do it.  I hated it.  And looking at him, his jaw so hard, his eyes traveling aimlessly, coolly, over my face, I felt sick.  Sick and angry.  And when he said 'who cares' I just lunged at him, kicking and screaming and clawing at his eyes, those horrible, apathetic eyes.  I hate you, Gary.  I hate you.  If I couldn't climb that wall, I'd at least try my best to knock it down.  Who cares? he'd said, We're all going to die anyway.

     Gary grabbed me, and shook tears from my eyes.  And when he finally let me go, I just sat dumbfounded, my wrists red and hot with his hand prints, my blood red and hot in my cheeks with some element that Gary's didn't have - some ingredient that made Gary's recipe for life so different from my own.  What was it?  I didn't know, but I sat there, panting on the log by the tracks.  I sat there for a long time, shooting furtive glances in Gary's direction, through long, matted strands of dirt brown hair.

     Well, I'm not going to die, I finally said, plunging my heels into the dusty gravel.  I was through listening to Gary.  He didn't know anything about life anyway.  Only about stupid things that didn't matter.  About fixing cars, old ones that he kept for show and wouldn't drive, and about getting up before the sun to catch some big slippery fish he'd only throw back in the lake.  Gary didn't do anything worth doing, and if he knew anything worth knowing, well, he didn't tell it to me.  He always said things like 'who cares' at times when things mattered, and I wasn't going to let him take my dreams in his hand.  I wasn't going to let him take them, and squeeze them, and bring their life to the surface in one big, bold, Gary hand print.  No sir, I wasn't going to sit here with Gary's marks around my wrists forever.

     And that was it.  I shrugged off his words, felt them roll down my back as I stood up, spun around, and spread my arms wide, like the wings of an Angel.  I was going to live forever.  Don't talk to me, Gary, I said.  Don't even look at me.  I'm an angel - an Angel, and you can't see me anyway.  The gravel crunched and slid beneath my feet.  Do you hear?  I'm going to forget all about you, all about you and your empty, empty face.  Forget you, that's what I'm going to do, I taunted.  Forget you, I echoed, spinning all the while, gravel crunching, feet sliding, feeling taller by the foot, as I turned and let my Angel wings drag me higher.  Finally, I lost my balance and collapsed, giggling, in a messy heap at Gary's feet.

     How I wound up there, I didn't know exactly.  The last time I checked, Gary was over pitching rocks across the tracks - cling, thump, clang - rail, tie, rail - so perfect.  Just like everything he did.  Cling, thump, clang, while I spun around my circle, chanting and singing about how glorious life would be without him.  One foot...the other.  Left, right, left - rail, tie, rail - cling, thump, clang.  Perfect.  I spun to his rhythm.  He was skipping rocks.  Ignoring me.  Just like he always did when I got angry this way.  And hard as I tried to do the same, I never could.  I always ended up stunned and disoriented, swept up in a pile at Gary's feet.

     Come on, he said.  Get your penny out.  It's coming.  And I snorted at him.  I'm not stupid, you know, I said, as I slapped at the dirt and mosquitoes settling on my legs.  I'm not, and I'm not deaf either.  I could hear it.  Clickety-clack, down the track. How does the train go, Angel? my mama used to ask me.  How does it go?  Clickety-clack, right down the track.  I knew it was coming.  Get up, get up, he said.  Come on, get out your penny.

     So, I scrambled to my feet in a hurry, neglecting the fresh scrape on my elbow and the blood trickling down my right arm, forgetting my anger, and letting go for a minute of the reason I had been lying there, in a lump at Gary's feet.  I sprung up, thrust my hand in my pocket and found that penny, clickety-clack, as the train came into view.  Get a nice shiny one, said Gary.  Is it shiny?  I didn't know.  Not shiny like the cars Gary washed and waxed all summer in his dad's beat up old garage, those stupid cars he'd never even drive.  Not shiny like the black and silver bass flapping around on his hook this morning that he told me was a large mouth, then threw it back.  Still, it looked shiny to me, but I spit on it anyway - spit on it and rubbed it across my dusty thigh.

     Are you ready? he said.  Here it comes.  He grabbed me by my bleeding elbow, and yanked me toward the tracks.  Now, lay the penny down on the rail like this, he showed me.  His eyes were gleaming, reflecting the old rusty steel as if it were new.  I nodded at him, swiped a hair away from my mouth, and ran to the side of the tracks that Gary's compass said was North.  I wanted a rail all to myself.  Make sure it's balanced, or else it'll fall right off, he yelled over the clickety-clack of the train.  You got it?  Lincoln side up, okay?  I crouched down in the stones, wiped the penny clean one more time, and planted it in the center of the rail.  I had it.  Lincoln side up.  Now get back, he yelled.  Get back away from the tracks!  All the way back to the woods, and watch your head.  Sometimes it flies.  And Gary took off, running for cover.

     Sometimes it flies, he said.  And something about that struck me silly.  A vision of a flying copper Abraham Lincoln was something that not everyone got to see in his lifetime.  I giggled.  One dead president, coming up. And I pictured him floating around saying "Four score and seven years ago..." in that serious presidential way - Lincoln the spirit, the ghost, or maybe even the angel.  A flat angel, I thought, and laughed.  At least that's what he was going to be.  Presidential Pancakes, I declared - House Special, and I scrambled for the woods, laughing harder still; only wishing Gary, too, was on the North side, so he could hear my joke.

     I kept my head down like Gary told me, just in case the pennies flew.  I laid on my stomach and pressed my ear to the earth, spreading my arms wide again.  In the winter, I could have rubbed my arms gently up and down, up and down, making wings in the snow - a snow Angel.  Then I could stand, and look down at myself with wings, and I could see the stars and the sky falling all around me.

     But now, in the summer, here with Gary, I pressed my body to the earth, and the cool ground numbed my belly with it's dampness.  A tiny blade of grass poked the cut on my elbow, and I winced, wriggling around, pushing myself deeper into the dirt.  Here in the summer, there was no soft snow to slide into wings; just cold hard dirt and grass that didn't want me close.  I pushed down hard, working my tiny arms in a frenzy - up and down, up and down, the wet grass painting the white side of my tanned arms green.  I could feel the dirt and grass sinking into the gooey mess of my elbow, and the pain made me squirm and struggle harder against the cold, solid ground.  It wasn't at all like the snow.  I shoved the grass down hard, until my muscles were spent, and the skin on my arms was rubbed red and hot, like Gary's hand prints were just swallowing them up.

    I tried so hard, in the summer, here with Gary, but there was no snow, and there was never any me with wings down there on the ground, because that stubborn grass would stand right back up again, just as soon as I did.  There was no angel, lying there after the train went by - just the stars and the sky, falling down around me.

     I laid there, writhing on the ground, and as I fought, I could feel the earth shake with the thunder of the weight across the rails.  I could feel the power, the force, and I felt sorry for those two Lincolns, when I heard the train's thump thump over top, and the heavy roar that engulfed them.  There was no escape.  The train was too big, and Lincoln - even two of him - was much too small to stand up to it.  Great man he was, that Lincoln.  It was a shame.  And then all was hushed.

     Hey, Gary, you there? I called.  You there, Gary?  I raised my head, but it was hard to see clear over to the South side trees without the light of the train.  Yeah, I'm here, he said, and I saw his shadow fall across the tracks.  I climbed to my feet, my muscles still twitching, and my skin still hot and red, washed with bright green grass stains.  I stepped lightly over to his side, and he asked me did I find my penny?  He looked at my arms, but his face didn't change.  His eyes were slippery in the moonlight, like that black and silver large mouth he caught this morning.  Hard as anything to hook.  Did you find it? he said, but I said no, I couldn't see.  It's too dark.  Can't we find them in the morning?  But Gary just gave me his stonewall look that said to shut up and start searching, so I sulked back over to my side and sat down.  He couldn't see me anyway.

     My star was still up there, I noticed.  Gary said it was the North Star.  I guess his compass must have told him that too, or else it was just another one of those things that Gary always seemed to know.  Anyhow, I saw it there, and it made me think of what Gary said before.  Made me think of his cold, cold face when he said 'who cares?'  Of his jaw set in stone, ready for a battle.  But he didn't want to fight.  He wasn't afraid - Gary wasn't afraid of anything - just indifferent.  Solid and indifferent.  And I felt all alone again on my side of the tracks.

     I only asked him did he think there was something more waiting for us out there - out there, behind that star?  And I pointed to it, letting my hair fall across his forearm.  We were sitting side by side on the log on the South side of the tracks, and I let my knee brush up against his grass-stained thigh.  I slid my hand across the splintering wood, moving it closer to his, so close it was almost touching, and I asked him wasn't he sure there was more?  But Gary tried to say he didn't know what the heck I was talking about.  He tried to say it, but I know he knew.  And that just made it worse.  He threw his lopsided dark hair out of his eye and stared at my star - just sat there and stared, pretending not to see it.

     He should have understood, but I explained it anyway.  A better life, Gary.  You know, something bigger, something brighter.  Don't you see it in your dreams?  I knew he did.  He had to.  Don't you, Gary?  I asked, and I was so close I was sure he could feel my heart beating.  Just beating and waiting for an answer.  I could feel him breathing, could see my hair fluttering under his breath, and I could hear the me inside me crying You see it, don't you , Gary?  Oh please, tell me you see it.  And that's when he said it.  Who cares? he said.  We're all going to die anyway.

     And suddenly, my lighted star was gone, and the thought of Gary made me sick.  My heart was heavy, but my fists were light, and I pounced on him - just pounced on him, not caring if he grabbed me by my tiny wrists and threw me down in the dirt.  Not caring anymore, because Gary made all of my caring disappear.  And sitting on the log, with his marks around my wrists, I felt like all of the emotion had been drawn right out of me.  As if every punch I threw at Gary gave him more of who I was.  Every punch, until all of me was pounding on his chest, just trying to get in.  But I couldn't.  He wouldn't let me, and off he went to skip his rocks - cling, thump, clang - perfect, over the tracks.

     I found mine, Gary yelled, and I forgot myself again, hopping up to run over.  Here he is, he said proudly, holding up a shiny copper oval.  Good old Lincoln, he said, flat as a pancake.  I could see Gary's eyes shining like steel in the moonlight, so I nudged him in the ribs with my bleeding elbow.  Presidential Pancakes, I said, House Special.  Gary laughed, just like I knew he would, and I saw that I'd planted a penny sized splotch of blood on that dirty white t-shirt that smelled of fish and car wax.  Gary tugged on a piece of my hair, twisting it around my neck, and faking like he might hang me.  I hung my tongue out of my mouth like I was dead, and then laughed with him.  And in my head, I pictured Lincoln the angel, floating around saying "...in order to form a more perfect Union..." and it was clear that he meant Gary and me.

   You've got to put the Lincoln side up, Gary was saying, so he can see it coming.  Otherwise, the train comes, and poor old Lincoln never knows what hit him.  Gary tossed up his hand and smacked himself hard in the forehead.  Whammo! he said, and stumbled backward.  But I told him that I was sort of sad when I heard the thump thump of the train over Lincoln's head, and I asked him - Didn't he think it would be better if he hadn't known?  If he hadn't seen it coming?  But Gary disagreed, and he told me so.

     See, Gary said, that's what happened to him in real life.  Boom!  He cocked his finger at his temple and rolled his eyes dramatically.  Shot right to the head, Gary said.  He never saw it coming.  He was too busy worrying about freeing the slaves, and pulling the country back together.  And what for? Gary asked.  Boom!  A shot right to the head.  And Gary fell to the ground, flapping around like the slippery bass.

     But I knew Gary was wrong.  It was much more than that, I told him.  Lincoln was a great man.  He had big dreams, Gary.  He thought big things, he did big things.  I threw up my splotchy arms, while Gary laid on the ground with his eyes closed, feigning death.  Don't you see? I asked.  Boom!  Shot to the head, Gary said, opening his eyes.  Boom!  he said and grinned at me.  Right then, I felt myself wanting to hit him again.  It wouldn't do any good though.  I already knew - that wall wasn't coming down.

     So, I just stood up and started spinning again.  Round and round.  Left, right, left.  And Gary hopped up and started skipping rocks - cling, thump, clang - rail, tie, rail.  Ignoring me again.  Cling, thump, clang - I caught the rhythm - left, right, left.  Perfect.  I'm going to live forever, Gary, I yelled.  I'm going to forget all about you and your boring, boring life.  I'm an angel, Gary - an Angel.  And angels live forever.  I teased him, and I spread my wings and spun until I wound up lying in a dizzy heap, at his feet.

     And again, there he was, looking down at me, out from under his lopsided hair, and I thought - Gary and me, we were different and the same.  I thought of Lincoln and his 'more perfect Union.' North versus South.  My side of the tracks, or Gary's.  Here we were , fighting over two different ways of seeing life.  Gary was Lincoln side up.  He laid on the rails and he waited for the train, but I - I was too busy looking at the stars to even care.

     He offered me a hand.  Come on, he said.  Let's go find your penny.  I stared at the tracks merging in the distance, and somehow pennies didn't matter anymore.  That's all right, I said.  One dead Lincoln is enough.

   
   
   -- L.