Read Online Zigzagging Down a Wild Trail by Bobbie Ann Mason - Free Book Online
Authors: Bobbie Ann Mason
Tags: Fiction
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approached the confluence of the Ohio River and the Mississippi, Liz could see the famous ninety-five-foot steel cross towering in the distance. It appeared to extend a frightening embrace in all directions. After crossing the rivers, the bus headed south toward Arkansas. Peyton, slouching beside her, seemed to be sleeping. To steady her mind, Liz worked a word-search puzzle in the magazine she had brought. While he was in jail, she had felt tranquil, but she couldnât focus on what her future held; it seemed like a fragile bubble that popped when she tried to visualize it. She hadnât expected him to become so possessive after she threw him out. He made her feel that she was unjustly finding fault. One day a couple of years before, some cops were beating a suspect on the TV news, and Peyton said, âGoddamn, why didnât they just kick his head in while they were at it?â It shocked her into reassessing his brutal swagger. She had thought it was typical male bluster; he was cool, spouting his charges at the world. But that day she saw him differently. He seemed small and pathetic. It takes a while to know a person, she kept telling herself.
Peyton slept beside her, not waking until they crossed the Mississippi River again, at Memphis. When he stirred, she turned to peer out the window at plow-scarred fields. After Memphis, the delta stretched out flat and blankâold cotton fields waiting to be submerged under something new and transforming. Billboards planted in the fields like scarecrows marked the way to the casinos. In the distance the casinos began to appear, rising out of the fields like ocean vessels on the horizonâa Confederate armada positioned along the Mississippi, protecting the delta from northern invaders. In this misty atmosphere, Liz thought, the casinos seemed to really float. By law, they were supposed to operate offshore, but their floating was illusory. They actually stood on solid ground a mile or more from the river. She didnât understand a law like that. It sounded slippery, a lie that let the casinos cut loose and glide along an imaginary river. She didnât trust the law. It hadnât been enough to work the kinks out of Peyton. Now she was afraid she couldnât get a divorce because of legal costs.
The bus passed two kudzu-smothered silos, some gray casino-worker housing, and an old diner known for its fried pickles. Then they entered the gates of a gleaming city with white-hot pavement and pastel buildings. When the bus stopped, the passengers split like a cluster of coins banged out of a paper roll and disappeared into the row of casinos. Liz walked fast, ignoring Peyton, who loped along behind her. In the Western-frontier casino that she preferred, Liz marched straight to the bank. When she left the window with her bucket of nickels, she glimpsed Peyton in the lobby atrium, lounging on a bench near a tree decorated with tiny lights. He followed her to a Vacation USA game, whereâone by oneâshe inserted the ten dollarsâ worth of nickels included with her bus excursion ticket. She liked to hurry through the first action, just for a little warm-up, as if to prove she could withstand loss.
âDonât mess with my luck, Peyton,â she said. âIâm warning you.â
Nearby, a woman jerked a machineâs arm and a cascade of coins jingled out. âHey, Mississippi!â the woman cried. âTunica is where I get lucky. I get nihilistic when Iâm in Vegas, but in Tunica Iâm flying.â
Liz loved coming to Tunica. It was as close to a luxury resort as she would ever getâa bright, clean place where she could feel classy. She delighted in the extravagant newness of the decor. The little lights on the surprisingly non-fake ficus trees in the atrium provided a Christmasy mood. And she loved the incessant sounds of the slotsâthe boiling of overlapping tones, something like the tune in
Close Encounters of the
Peyton slept beside her, not waking until they crossed the Mississippi River again, at Memphis. When he stirred, she turned to peer out the window at plow-scarred fields. After Memphis, the delta stretched out flat and blankâold cotton fields waiting to be submerged under something new and transforming. Billboards planted in the fields like scarecrows marked the way to the casinos. In the distance the casinos began to appear, rising out of the fields like ocean vessels on the horizonâa Confederate armada positioned along the Mississippi, protecting the delta from northern invaders. In this misty atmosphere, Liz thought, the casinos seemed to really float. By law, they were supposed to operate offshore, but their floating was illusory. They actually stood on solid ground a mile or more from the river. She didnât understand a law like that. It sounded slippery, a lie that let the casinos cut loose and glide along an imaginary river. She didnât trust the law. It hadnât been enough to work the kinks out of Peyton. Now she was afraid she couldnât get a divorce because of legal costs.
The bus passed two kudzu-smothered silos, some gray casino-worker housing, and an old diner known for its fried pickles. Then they entered the gates of a gleaming city with white-hot pavement and pastel buildings. When the bus stopped, the passengers split like a cluster of coins banged out of a paper roll and disappeared into the row of casinos. Liz walked fast, ignoring Peyton, who loped along behind her. In the Western-frontier casino that she preferred, Liz marched straight to the bank. When she left the window with her bucket of nickels, she glimpsed Peyton in the lobby atrium, lounging on a bench near a tree decorated with tiny lights. He followed her to a Vacation USA game, whereâone by oneâshe inserted the ten dollarsâ worth of nickels included with her bus excursion ticket. She liked to hurry through the first action, just for a little warm-up, as if to prove she could withstand loss.
âDonât mess with my luck, Peyton,â she said. âIâm warning you.â
Nearby, a woman jerked a machineâs arm and a cascade of coins jingled out. âHey, Mississippi!â the woman cried. âTunica is where I get lucky. I get nihilistic when Iâm in Vegas, but in Tunica Iâm flying.â
Liz loved coming to Tunica. It was as close to a luxury resort as she would ever getâa bright, clean place where she could feel classy. She delighted in the extravagant newness of the decor. The little lights on the surprisingly non-fake ficus trees in the atrium provided a Christmasy mood. And she loved the incessant sounds of the slotsâthe boiling of overlapping tones, something like the tune in
Close Encounters of the
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