Banishments

The storm had swollen the creek and infused it with sludge. The brothers had come to the bank to take in some of the elements’ power, perhaps even to feel rinsed and purged by these forces. But the sight of the muddied current gushing past caused Will to think that the tired cliché was untrue, for this brackish water did indeed seem thicker than the blood that supposedly bonded him to the man standing beside him.

Mutely they watched the parade of bobbing wreckage; a porch rocker, a bicycle tire, the tattered remnants of a tarp. These and more seemed to be flaunted by the roaring current, like a victor showcasing the spoils of battle; trophies from the homes this hurricane had pummeled.

Will sighed melodramatically; a wordless urging for them to be moving on. The pair stood under a dull sky. Will was secretly counting the seconds until this ritual of contrived grief over the fate of Dylan’s neighbours, most of whom had been strangers to Will since childhood, could be tastefully concluded. He opened his mouth to speak, to remind Dylan that his house had been scarcely grazed by the storm, when they witnessed Death encroaching.

It came shimmying along the bends, using the current as its pallbearer. Under a sky whose grey conveyed a celestial exhaustion, Death swam swiftly.

It came in the form of an oblong box of tarnished iron. A fat padlock in the shape of a spade bounced upon its latch, clunking against the angled side; a lone drumbeat that provided this funeral its dirge. The coffin bobbed, spun in an eddy, then jutted toward the bank behind Dylan’s home. Its motion was so forthright that for an instant Will believed the box was meant to reach them. It quickly became entangled in the low-looming branches and thickets that bearded the muddy bank.

Will watched as his brother charged down the embankment and entered the creek until its rushing waters rimmed his waist. Dylan managed to grip the end of the case just before it drifted out of reach. Dragging it toward him, Dylan nearly lost his footing, the sight of which inspired Will to leap to the water’s edge.

Both of Dylan’s hands were now clutching the oblong box. His movements were unnervingly jerky.

“Heavy!” he shouted. Will reached out to keep his brother righted.

The case struck the bank with a thump, which was soon followed by a faint sucking sound as the clay began to dutifully inter it. Will concluded that it must have been a struggle for the creek to keep this weighty thing afloat.