Brave, and Mudlarking, Dead Horse Beach

Abstract

Brave, and Mudlarking, Dead Horse Beach January Gill O’Neil (bio) Brave A thin layer of ash, fine debris, probably bone coated the windshield as we passed exit after exit for the Garden State Parkway. We took detours and back roads while police blocked every onramp. Blue lights pulsing. Officers in yellow hazard vests stood next to their squad cars as we drove past midnight: my soon-to-be husband, mother-in-law, brother-in-law, and me in a 1992 Grand Marquis on our way to Virginia. On the radio, nothing but news and static. All of us silent, sleepy, edgy, uncertain, both absent and present on an empty highway driving past New York City. I would never tell my daughter that some nights I lie awake listening for the raccoon I know is in the attic [End Page 132] but pretend isn’t there. The scratching, the heavy scampering— she hears it, too. If he were here, daddy would check things out. If he were here, mommy would not feel lonely. We pretend to be brave, bang on the walls, play loud music to scare it away, pray it does not have cubs. Marriages fail. There is no one else to go up there and get the little fucker. On our day in court my lawyer was late, so the judge moved our case to the afternoon docket. We sat for hours you on the left side, me on the right listening to failure after failure, the quick dissolve of marriages into oblivion. I remember thinking Hallmark doesn’t make a card for this: the moment when the judge calls your name and uses words such as irreconcilable, broken, and final [End Page 133] and a swell, no a surge of tears breaks as the judge uncouples us. You cried, too. Neither of us looked at the other or spoke. When I turned around You were gone. You had left the building. Before we arrived at the hotel we took engagement photos in our wrinkled clothes. And before that we watched the sun rise as we crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. And before that we listened to Howard Stern around 5 a.m. broadcast live, trying to find the right words. Any words. And before that you took the wheel from your brother so he could get some sleep. And before that, silence. And before that you held my hand as we rode in the back seat. And before that we were not allowed on the Garden State Parkway. [End Page 134] And before that we stopped for gas, sandwiches, checked the check engine light somewhere in Connecticut. And before that there was a toll on the Tobin Bridge. And before that I was on the phone with the maid of honor who would ride the bus from Texas to Virginia to arrive by Saturday. I thought she was crazy. And before that I was on the phone with my father who said, be careful and I love you. And before that no flights were allowed out of Logan Airport or anywhere. And before that I said yes. And before that you said yes. And before that I asked, Should we go through with the wedding? I would never tell my daughter male raccoons have no part in raising their young. [End Page 135] Mudlarking, Dead Horse Beach They’re buried just past Winter Islandwhere the two-lane road windsaround the boardwalk at Salem Willows.Dead Horse Beach, where the cold-bloodedflanks and loins of work horseswere discarded far from Salem Proper.Here, the earth has taken them backand given us silt. Why have I come hereat low tide, mudlarkingfor bits of bottle and bone?Even the renegade skyhas turned its back on everycumulonimbus to be here.It is the day before Mother’s Day,the kids with him for the weekend.A breeze blows the new leavesof the willow trees sideways,their low-hanging branches lift and fallagainst the wind, and on a hill just abovea family reunion, the backs of brightly coloredlawn chairs face me, I hear the occasional laugh,smell the...