Mississippi Mirage

It was fall of nineteen ninety-five. I had just landed at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport around four-thirty on the evening of September the twentieth. I had flown in from JFK to visit my older sister, Lauren, who was getting the weekend off from her duties. We hadn’t seen each other since last year when we were both home for Christmas.

We were from the small town of Braxton, just south of Jackson, Mississippi. We rarely made the trek back home unless it was absolutely necessary. Looking back on it, Braxton was like a halfway house between adolescence and adulthood. The town was made up of no more than a couple hundred people, a number which has only declined since we were kids. Braxton’s small-minded views and pseudo-religious ideals almost make for a parody of the Deep South; however, there was nothing amusing about growing up there. Our parents blended in with all the other zealots about town. They somehow had everyone fooled, or maybe everyone actually had each other fooled. There wasn’t an honest bone in that town, no matter how anyone attempted to camouflage their sins. Our parents went to church and were active in our school activities, but behind closed doors they were our tormentors. If I didn’t have Lauren growing up, I wouldn’t have made it out of Braxton alive.

I had planned for Lauren to pick me up from the airport on the twenty-second so we could stay in Austin for the weekend, but since I was able to fly in early, I thought it would be nice to surprise her. We planned on seeing Empire Records that weekend when it came out, a film that I have still yet to see. She was stationed at Fort Hood Military Base as a Corporal. She had been there since graduating basic training a few years back and was hoping to get promoted to Sergeant in the coming months. The base was only about an hour’s drive or so north of Austin in Killeen, Texas, so it would be easy for us to get back and forth. After landing, I collected my luggage and checked-in at the Budget counter to pick up a car for the week.

***

I hit five o’clock traffic leaving Austin, so by the time I made it to Killeen, it was around seven in the evening. I assumed that since it was a bit later than I expected, Lauren would be at her apartment off-base by now, but I didn’t see her car when I arrived. I decided to go up to see if she was in, but there was no answer at the door. I didn’t think anything of it because she typically went to a nearby bar after work.

The bar’s parking lot was full, and I couldn’t tell if her car was there or not, so I decided to go in. I made my way along the gravel road, passed the payphone, and up to the door. When I walked in, it was fairly quiet. In all honesty, it was a refreshing encounter from what I was expecting. It was old, but well kept. What you’d expect from bar near a military base. I ordered a beer, thinking that I would kill some time before trying to give Lauren a call at home. As I was sitting there, I noticed a large group of people in uniform standing together toward the back of the bar. They weren’t very loud, but instead seemed rather somber. Maybe they had a long day, I told myself. That’s when I noticed a couple of the guys crying, an image I hadn’t expected to see from soldiers in a bar.

I turned to the bartender for another beer. He pulled a murky glass from the rack and filled it from the tap, and kind of sloshed it in front of me. He appeared a little rough, but I didn’t find him to be intimidating.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know a Lauren Rodgers by chance?” I asked, clearing my throat afterward. His eyes winced as if he had just been punched in the gut.

“Who’s asking?” His tone wasn’t so much demanding as it was almost longing.

“I’m her brother Benjamin. Ben. I just flew in today to surprise her.”

He looked at my face for a moment, like he was searching to find the similarities between mine and Lauren’s.

“Hang on a second,” he asked turning his attention toward the group in the back.

“Thompson! Thompson!” He yelled out as he waved over toward the bar.

I didn’t quite know what to expect, but my nerves at this point were shaken. The uniformed man approached us at the bar. I couldn’t tell for sure, but from his eyes, I think that he had been crying too. The stitching below his right shoulder read “Johnson.” He was clean-cut. I could tell that he was very young. Too young to even be in here, I wondered.

“Johnson this is Ben. He’s Corporal Rodgers’ brother,” the bartender said before walking off and disappearing in the back.

“And you are?”

I quipped at this soldier fellow billowing in front of me. At this point the entire exchange had made me severely uneasy. Johnson’s eyes welled up as he extended his hand out to shake mine. I met his hand with mine.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he muttered before taking a seat on the stool next to me. “So, you’re Lauren’s brother?”

The bartender returned over and placed two shot glasses on the counter in front of us, filling them both to the brim with some dark liquor from a label-less bottle.

“Is anyone going to tell me what is going on?” I became demanding as I found myself agitated with the awkward air of this conversation.

“She was my CO,” Johnson said before pulling the liquor to his lips and throwing back the shot. “They said it happened fast. She was hit head-on this afternoon. It was off-post. A civilian I believe. From what they could tell, it was an accident.”

His head fell with grief. I turned and faced the counter, grabbed the shot, and sat there in silence for what felt like two lifetimes.

***

I was alone in my car. I still had the rental from the airport. It was now Friday, September twenty-second. Today was the day Empire Records came out. I had been driving for about eight hours on interstate twenty. Lauren’s belongings filled up the backseat. Mostly miscellaneous items from her office on base, a nameplate and a few boxes. Johnson was able to get them to me before I left.

I couldn’t bear it to go into her apartment, so I stayed in a cheap motel close to Fort Hood. I phoned our parents from the bar that night, but they had already heard by the time I called. My mother was dry as usual, and all I heard from my father was something about a life-insurance policy. He was ranting more than talking. Neither of them were consoling, but I had come to expect very little from them.

It was still light out when I pulled up to my parents’ house. It’s a lot more run-down than when we were kids. The grass is overgrown, and my father has cars scattered about the yard like they were decoration. I walked in, and my mother was in the kitchen. My father was in the den watching the Atlanta Braves vs. the Washington Nationals. He was rooting for the Braves. I was thrilled when I heard him screaming at the tv when they lost, five to two, I think it was.

My parents were seemingly untouched by Lauren’s death. “So, are we going to talk about what happened?” I asked at the dinner table—canned sloppy joes with baked beans and chips on the side. “Talk about what,” my mother asked as she crammed in one potato chip after another. “Lauren!” I blurted out. “What is there to talk about, son. Your sisters’ dead. We’re burying her in the morning,” my father said, very matter-of-fact-like. I wasn’t going to argue, so I just got up and left the dinner table.

Later that evening, I overheard my mother and father talking about a life insurance policy they took out on Lauren when she first enlisted in the military. I wanted to be disgusted with them, but this wasn’t out of line with their typical antics. They were schemers always looking for an easy payday. A quick buck, and in this case even at the expense of their daughter.

***

It was less than a week after Lauren’s funeral, and my parents had already arranged to receive not only the insurance payout from their policy but also the life-insurance from the military. In total, my parents stood to bring in something like half-a-million dollars. A sum of money they could barely fathom, let alone manage.

They played the sympathy card all week, even going as far as speaking at the funeral about how much Lauren was loved and will be missed. I was fuming, but aside from my parents, the ceremony was beautiful. Melancholic but cathartic nonetheless. Many of her comrades from Fort Hood came over to pay their respects. Johnson even spoke at the funeral. I can tell that it was the hardest for him. He was barely able to keep it together once he saw her. They must have been really close, but I’m not entirely sure to what extent. I’m just glad she had him.

The wake was held at the community center in town so that my parents could keep up their charade. Everyone I met from the base gave me hope that my sister lived a full life cherished by all those around her. As cliche as it sounds, the Army gave Lauren a sense of belonging that I don’t believe she had ever felt before. She was finally connected to a world outside of Braxton, outside of all the pain from our upbringing. She was gone, but I know that she was loved and happy, something that the two of us have been desperately chasing our whole lives.

***

A few days after I got back to the city, my mother called me, gloating about what they were going to do with the money. They were acting as if they had just won the lottery. It was blood money. Just as dark and tainted as they were. She ended the conversation with something along the lines of, “I don’t need to be calling them for anything because they don’t got nothing to give.” Later that week though, I received a letter from my mother. Enclosed was a check for twenty-thousand dollars. No note just a check. I simply ripped it in two and let it fall to the wastebasket.

***

It’s been about a year now since Lauren passed away and not a day goes by that I don’t think of her. About six months prior, I finally brought myself to go through her belongings, and in one of the boxes, I found a gift that was addressed to me. I suppose she was planning on giving it to me that weekend. I unwrapped it to find a small black notebook engraved with BENJAMIN EVAN RODGERS on the front cover. On the inside, she wrote the following:

Dear Benji,

I am beyond proud of you and all that you have accomplished. You are insanely talented. Who would have thought that two kids from a little ole town like Braxton would be where we are today. I hope that this book be a vessel for every beautiful thought that you have. Breathe life onto these empty pages, baby brother.

Love your big sister,

Lauren

The End

Written by

Xan Brooks