{"id":3455,"date":"2024-05-09T18:35:36","date_gmt":"2024-05-09T18:35:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sites.miamioh.edu\/oxmag\/?page_id=3455"},"modified":"2024-05-09T18:35:36","modified_gmt":"2024-05-09T18:35:36","slug":"beat-by-jack-johnson","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/sites.miamioh.edu\/oxmag\/beat-by-jack-johnson\/","title":{"rendered":"“Beat” by Jack Johnson"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\tJeanne and I hung out by the dead pool, got stoned, talked about our classmates, and sometimes fooled around. The dead pool was an abandoned swimming pool that our all white academy had shut down because the Federal government was going to force them to open it up to Blacks. This was 1979 in Central Virginia where massive resistance lingered like a bad hangover.  The pool was cracked at the bottom with green and brown weeds growing across the floor and up the sides like a drunken man\u2019s half-beard. Jeanne said sealing the pool off from everyone was super-racist, and that\u2019s why her father made her go to the white academy because he was super-racist. \u201cYour parents,\u201d she said, exhaling cigarette smoke, dramatically, \u201cthey fuck you up.\u201d\n\tShe had light hazel eyes slightly hooded with an expression that I thought of as both joyous and cool. When I tried to describe this to her, she whispered, \u201cThey are beatific<\/em>.\u201d\n\t\u201cBeatific?\u201d\n\t\u201cHaven\u2019t you read Jack Kerouac? Beatific, like \u2018beat,\u2019 get it?\u201d\n\tIn 1979 Central Virginia there was not a whisper of \u201cbeat.\u201d\n\tJeanne sighed, \u201cKerouac thought of it like the beatitudes<\/em>. I hate this hick town.\u201d  \n\tOn Jeanne\u2019s recommendation, I read all of \u201cOn the Road\u201d the next week. It was clear I had a lot to learn.\n\tHer usual outfit was a tattered jeans jacket, frayed at the cuffs, with tight fitting cords, a loose blouse, and brown leather boots. She wore tangling earrings that were actual feathers and no lipstick or eye makeup. She was gorgeous and radical; a transplant to Farmington due to an industrious father who was the Vice President of Kraddock-Murray Shoes, taking advantage of the cheap labor here. \n\tThere were only three rules to Jeanne\u2019s beat living creed, live in the now, do not get embarrassed by the straights <\/em>and, scratch out nothing.<\/em> We read poems like The Howl<\/em> out-loud, and I wrote her poems I hoped to be in the beat style, two decades late. They were not good, but they were sincere. \n\t\u201cThis is Benediction.\u201d I said, \u201cBenediction.\u201d I repeated, solemnly; cleared my throat, standing by the edge of the dead pool:\n\t\t\u201cBlessed be the blessed!\n\t\tAnd also us, who just hang,\n\t\tKilling that old bastard, time.\nWe\u2019ll never be as beautiful,\nAs we are right now.\n\t\tYet, someday we\u2019ll drive all night,\n\t\tSo far from this town, \nTomorrow will blink and wonder\n\t\tIn the flame of dawn,\nWhat\u2019s happened? And where\u2019s the bread and jam?\u201d\n\t\t\n\tI stopped reading. Jeanne looked at me, \u201cThat\u2019s it?\u201d\n\t\u201cYeah, I mean, you get it, right?\u201d\n\tShe shrugged. I thought she hated it, but she said, \u201cI like \u2018bastard time\u2019 and \u2018the flame of dawn,\u2019\u201d She added. \u201cWhen do you want to leave?\u201d\n\tI hadn\u2019t really thought of the details. \u201cYou mean you want to leave Farmington, too?\u201d\n\t\u201cSure,\u201d she said, \u201cwho doesn\u2019t?\u201d\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t**\n\tOf course, she hadn\u2019t meant at that precise moment, but some day, after high school graduation, say, if the temperature was right and arrangements worked out.  We talked about our eventual escape together, even planned different routes to Mexico and then down to Costa Rica or Brazil.  Jeanne was already taking a Spanish class and she said that I ought to pick one up as well. Then one weekend, one Saturday, all those plans vanished. Like a balloon that\u2019s popped. A summer night in July. Jeanne was visiting relatives in Alexandria, a place she hated more deeply than Farmington, because, as she explained, they had no excuse. \n\tThat Friday, I was halfway across the Dairy Queen parking lot when I spied Jamie driving up beside me in a bright red Geo Metro. Jamie was only seventeen, but had been kicked out of school and put in a juvenile detention center for the last six months. JD Jamie we called him. Jamie had once shot me with a BB gun which I found deeply annoying, but I was bored, and Jamie was always good for a story. That night Jamie told me he had stolen the Geo in Roanoke and now wanted to dump it in Milson\u2019s quarry. \n\t\u201cWhy dump it?\u201d \n\t\u201cCops,\u201d said Jamie whose eyes were preternaturally wide.  He scratched the wispy beginnings of his beard.\n\t\u201cAre you tripping again?\u201d\n\t\u201cOnly a little. I took a few hits.\u201d\n\tJamie dug through his pockets, \u201cI\u2019ll give you one if you help me dump it.\u201d\n\tWhen I leaned forward to take the tab, I saw there was a woman with Jamie in the Geo. \u201cThis is Grace, Grace this is Jeremy. I picked her up hitchhiking outside of Roanoke.\u201d\n \tGrace was older, like in her twenties, beautiful though, with auburn hair and hazel eyes, and a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks. \n\t\u201cHey, there, honey,\u201d she said. I decided I was all in: stolen car, hit of acid, ride to the quarry. I slipped the tab onto my tongue, followed Jamie\u2019s Geo.  Half way there, the streetlights began to get a little streaky, then we turned onto a back road and Jamie turned off his lights. I parked my car and began following the back road on foot. It was so dark I couldn\u2019t see my shoes or the road, or the trees on either side, but at the top of the hill, I suddenly saw Jamie and Grace in the moonlight slipping out of the Geo. I jogged up beside them and the three of us managed to push the car over the edge into the inkwell of blackness below. We listened to the sound of our own breathing until we heard the thunderous clap of the Geo hitting, and then the salubrious sound of the water sucking the vehicle down. We walked back and slipped into my Mustang. Once in town, Jamie procured a flask of whiskey. By then the lights were getting bizarrely streaky and my feet felt like they were encased in cement, and I said, wisely, \u201cI don\u2019t think I should drive anymore.\u201d \n\tSo Jamie took over which wasn\u2019t a great idea, either. By two a.m., way past our town\u2019s curfew, we decided to break into this cheap hotel run by an old Indian woman named Jami to get off the streets. Jamie smashed out a back window and I climbed through the jagged glass and unlocked the door. A red vacancy sign sparkled like fire along the shards. When I opened the door for Jamie and Grace, they were already deep in a kiss. I stood there, blinking.  Grace noticed me and disentangled herself. She leaned forward and kissed me. It was a breathtaking moment.  If I hadn\u2019t dosed, it probably wouldn\u2019t have meant anything, but the acid made everything amazing. Her lips were tender and had a sweet glossy taste to them that I couldn\u2019t quite pinpoint. There was a rush to it, like birds flying from eaves.  I leaned forward for another kiss, but she was already pulling us toward the bed. We all fell onto the mattress, laughing. I searched for her lips, thinking just one more kiss and then I\u2019m out of there. Except, before I could move, she grabbed my belt buckle, pulled me closer, and kissed me solidly again.\n\t\u201cNow,\u201d she said.\n\t\u201cNow?\u201d I repeated, dumbly.\n\tShe put her hand behind my head. \u201cNow,\u201d in a violently sweet voice that left me gasping. She yanked off my shirt, and I slipped out of my jeans. Then she was down on the bed without clothes. I pushed into her like a freight train. I glanced up and saw Jamie\u2019s big belly slightly beneath which was the bottom line of her jaw. I couldn\u2019t stop looking. It was as though I was watching a pornographic movie, until I realized I was actually part of a larger pornographic movie that included Jamie Payne. Schlupping is the only word I could think of for what Jamie was doing. A constant, unrelenting motion. I had never seen Jamie look so intense.\n\t\u201cYou okay, Jamie?\u201d\n\t\u201cErrrm.\u201d\n\t\u201cJamie? Dude, you alright?\u201d\n\tJamie didn\u2019t answer, and after a short time, I saw his eyes roll back, and he fell away from the girl in a spasm of relief. \u201cGrace,\u201d Jamie wailed, \u201cGrace.\u201d\nShe didn\u2019t miss a beat, turning to me, \u201cDon\u2019t stop,\u201d she said.\nWe were beatific, weren\u2019t we? Wasn\u2019t this beat? \nYes, but somehow I suspected I would not tell Jeanne.\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t**\n\tJeanne found out about it\u2014how, I never knew. She didn\u2019t say anything, but I could tell she was angry. I apologized, but she said that apologies were silly. No need to apologize, she explained. It\u2019s just that she had other plans now, too. \u201cThose plans do not happen to include you,\u201d she noted.\n\t\u201cSo are you mad?\u201d\n\t\u201cOnly dogs get mad.\u201d\n\t\u201cWouldn\u2019t you feel better if you hit me?\u201d\n\t\u201cNot really.\u201d\n\t\u201cOh, come on, slug me, go ahead.\u201d\n\t\u201cNo,\u201d She only shrugged, \u201cWhy would I waste the energy, Jeremy?\u201d \n\tSo we broke up, unofficially. We still saw each other and she was friendly enough, but there were no more readings by the dead pool, and when I tried to kiss her, it was like smooching a stone. \n\tAfter we graduated from high school, rather than fleeing Farmington with Jeanne to Costa Rica or somewhere cool, I ended up taking a factory job my father landed for me. When I told Jeanne, she evinced no disappointment, only said, \u201cGo for it. Make your Daddy proud.\u201d\n\t \u201cYou\u2019re being \u2026.\u201d I searched for the word.\n\t\u201cIronic,\u201d she explained. \n\t\u201cDon\u2019t you want to travel?\u201d\n\t\u201cI have other plans now.\u201d\n\t\u201cOh, come on, Jeanne. Costa Rica!\u201d \n\tShe would not be moved. \n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t**\n\tIt wasn\u2019t long after that, I decided that working in the straight world was entirely unsupportable. I saved a few hundred dollars and then decided to take the rest of the summer off. \t\t\t\t\t My father was miffed, \u201cWhy are you quitting a perfectly good job?\u201d\n\t\u201cBecause, I hate it, Dad.\u201d\n\t\u201cThat\u2019s no excuse. You think I like working? Everyone hates their jobs. That\u2019s the way it\u2019s supposed to be!\u201d \n\tI decided to move out, which was a little rash, as I didn\u2019t want to work either, at least not at a factory. To save my funds, I went to live in the woods like a hermit. An experiment in living. Like Henry David Thoreau. I didn\u2019t tell Dad, though. In fact, I only told one other person what I intended. Not my father, not my mother, not any of my friends. Just Jeanne. For a long while, I somehow expected to see her, but I never did, and I thought it might be really over. Then about a month into my hermitage, she visited my campsite out by the Appomattox River. I was living like some weird cross between Euell Gibbons and John the Baptist. I heard her one bright afternoon late in the summer. Her voice was like a bird. \n\tI came upon her, threading through the sycamores. I\u2019m sure I looked crazy, bearded, unbathed, wide eyes bright with pleasure at seeing her.\n\t\u201cYou look like crap,\u201d Jeanne confirmed, and laughed.\n\tWe talked. I confessed to stupidity. \n\t\u201cYep, everyone thinks you\u2019re nuts,\u201d she said, \u201cReally,\u201d\n\t\u201cYeah,\u201d I said, \u201cI hated the factory. I want to blow it up,\u201d\n\tShe laughed, \u201cHave you ever read about Andy Warhol, and his factory?\u201d\n\tI admitted I had not, and so began my education all over again.\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t**\n\tShe stayed with me most of that summer. We woke in the morning and I swear it was a little like paradise, on the good mornings. When it rained, not so much; but many times she stuck it, out, too, which I admired. When the summer ended, there were a string of burglaries in the swanky houses near the golf course. Jeanne thought she knew who was doing it. She thought it might be Jamie. \n\tA few weeks later, someone from the town saw the smoke from our campfire. A fire truck showed up, along with city police and destroyed the campsite. Jeanne and I ran when we heard the sirens. We stood on the bridge overlooking the scene and watched the red lights zipping by. It was wild from that distance, blue and red with smoke billowing over the treetops from the doused flames. That\u2019s when Jeanne said that I probably ought to leave, that they might try to hold me for the burglaries.\n\t\u201cWhy would they--?\u201d\n\t\u201cPatrick gave me some stuff, jewelry stuff that he said he\u2019d found.\u201d\n\tPatrick was Jamie\u2019s brother.  \n\t\u201cPatrick gave you\u2026.\u201d\n\tJeanne nodded, \u201cIt\u2019s all at the camp.\u201d\n\t\u201cWell, damn,\u201d I said.\n\tI took off that night, headed to Northern Virginia, where I had a friend who let me crash on his couch. I found a job in sales that I happened to be good at, made triple what I\u2019d made at the factory. I avoided Jeanne and Jamie after that; didn\u2019t return except to visit family and tell Dad I was making good. Apparently, the cops didn\u2019t find the jewelry or didn\u2019t put it together that it was the stuff Jamie had stolen. In that time, I\u2019d heard Jeanne had started dating Patrick, was even living at his house. \n\tEvery so often, on a holiday visit, I\u2019d drift by Patrick\u2019s house slowly and consider stopping in, but I never worked up the nerve. Truth is, I missed Jeanne. I was still thinking of Costa Rica, the trip we had promised ourselves. After nearly a year of this, I finally stopped by and rang their doorbell. I told myself I just wanted to say hi, to see how things were going. Jeanne opened the door, looked at me with such shock and wonder that I wasn\u2019t sure how to respond.\n\t\u201cJeremy?\u201d\n\t\u201cHey, I \u2026\u201d \n\tShe was cradling an infant. I lost my voice. \n\tShe looked aged, beautiful, still, but tired. No feather earrings.\n\tWhen I could finally speak, all I said was, \u201cYou look good.\u201d\n\t\u201cYou too.\u201d\n\tScratch out nothing.<\/em>\n\t\u201cWell come in, have a seat.\u201d\n\tThe place smelled like burnt bacon, soured milk and cats. She showed me into the living room and adjusted herself on a couch. I went for a lazy boy where two calicos glared angrily, then leapt off. The coffee table held rattlers, a sticky milk bottle, and a light green pacifier. She caught me staring at the child. \u201cThis is Luca.\u201d\n\t\u201cHello, Luca,\u201d I tried a smile. Luca was decidedly indifferent.\n\t\u201cMy name\u2019s Jeremy.\u201d I waved. Luca buried his face in the crook of Jeannie\u2019s neck and shoulder.\n\t\u201cHe\u2019s cute.\u201d I could barely get out the word, \u201cYour\u2019s?\u201d\n\tShe smiled, \u201cOh, no. Patricks\u2019s. I\u2019m just taking care of him.\u201d \n\t\u201cPatrick\u2019s?\u201d\n\t\u201cYeah, he\u2019s with some woman from Roanoke. Jamie knows her too. Grace. Grace Putney.\u201d\n\t\u201cGrace,\u201d I repeated. \u201cHuh.\u201d \n\tI wanted to ask if she was sure it was Patrick\u2019s baby but decided against that. \n\t\u201cThey\u2019re supposed to get married.\u201d\n\t\u201cGrace and Patrick? So you\u2019re just taking care of the baby?\u201d\n\t\u201cHe\u2019s paying me while he\u2019s at the lumber yard.\u201d\n\t\u201cWhere\u2019s Grace?\u201d\n\t\u201cShe\u2019s sleeping now.\u201d Jeanne nodded toward the bedroom, \u201cShe works at the hospital, night shift.\u201d\n\t\u201cAh,\u201d I had an overwhelming urge to poke my face in the bedroom to see if it was really her, but thought better of it.\n\t\u201cI still wonder about Costa Rica sometimes.\u201d I said.\n\tJeanne laughed, then grew serious, \u201cWhy did you wait so long, Jeremy?\u201d \n\tShe paused, and when I didn\u2019t respond, added, almost a whisper, \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you call?\u201d\n\tI wanted to tell her that once I didn\u2019t return after a month or so, I was too embarrassed to show up again or call. As it turned out, I wasn\u2019t embarrassed by the straights, but by myself. I didn\u2019t say this, though. I couldn\u2019t. Just shook my head.\n\t\u201cI was scared. You know, I didn\u2019t know what was going on with the jewelry\u2026.with you.\u201d\n\t\u201cOver a year, Jeremy.\u201d She stopped, her eyes beyond angry, somehow, just empty now, dull. This was 1982, before cell phones so she really had no way of getting in contact, \u201cOne phone call, Jeremy. I ran into your father, he told me that you had left, were living in D.C., somewhere.\u201d\n\tI nodded, \u201cFairfax, I\u2019ve saved up some money. We could still go,\u201d I said.\n\t\u201cWhat go<\/em>?\u201d\n\t\u201cMexico. Costa Rica.\u201d I shrugged.\n\tJeanne looked at me.\n\t\u201cYou\u2019re such a fool,\u201d she said.\n\t\u201cWhy not?\u201d\n\tShe shifted the baby on her shoulder, reached for the bottle, \u201cHe\u2019s hungry.\u201d She lifted his head and put the bottle to his lips. He began to make sucking sounds.\n\t\u201cNo.\u201d she said, when I looked at her with raised eyebrows.\n\t\u201cWhy?\u201d\n\t\u201cJust no, it\u2019s too late,\u201d she said.\n\t\u201cI can stop by in a week,\u201d I said, \u201ctwo weeks, a month. It\u2019s our time,\u201d I said\n\t\u201cYou\u2019re a fool,\u201d she said, and then out of nowhere, \u201cBastard time.\u201d She laughed. \n\tI laughed, too, \u201cWe\u2019ll never be as beautiful as we are right now.\u201d\n\tThe baby gurgled, and Jeanne lifted the infant to her shoulder, lightly tapping his back. \n\t \u201cJust call me when you get home,\u201d The baby burped. She put the bottle back into his mouth.  \u201cOr tomorrow,\u201d she added, with the slightest hint of a smile, \u201cin the flame of dawn.\u201d\n\n\n\n<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n
Jack R. Johnson <\/strong>is a monthly columnist for North of the James Magazine in Richmond, Virginia; an editor of The Alliance for Progressive Virginia blog and a contributor to Style Magazine. His published works include short stories, articles and the novel, An Animal’s Guide to Earthly Salvation. His latest novel, In Black and White, is scheduled to be published by Propertius Press in 2024.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Jeanne and I hung out by the dead pool, got stoned, talked about our classmates, and sometimes fooled around. The dead pool was an abandoned swimming pool that our all white academy had shut down because the Federal government was going to force them to open it up to Blacks. This was 1979 in Central … <\/p>\n
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