The Blue Letter by Isaak Lusic

The Blue Letter

fiction by Isaak Lusic

Inspired by Cab Calloway, Son House, Robert Johnson, et al.

“Don’t go there, or you will never return," Buddy asserts in a sober tone. As long as Wyatt has known Buddy, ever since he started working at the Hound Dog, Buddy was never sober. He was always drunk, jovial, and carefree, but not now. “Don’t go there Wyatt. You will not return if you go see Ma at St. James,” he stares unblinking, reiterating in his gravelly voice. Buddy was never shy from talking nonsense, but never has he done so with such a stern and sober composure. “B-But I just want to make sure Ma is doing okay,” Wyatt mutters, fiddling with the letter in his small lanky hands. Buddy raises his eyebrows for a moment before they settle back into place. He leans further on the old, weathered wood bar, which faces daily use and whiskey spills making it appear almost rusted like a forgotten pipe. “I don’t know how to tell you this son, but no one ever leaves St. James. That letter may not say it, but it is essentially a death certificate. How did Charley look when he handed you that letter?” he says in a hushed voice. Wyatt looks down at the unopened, corpse-blue letter. In pristine, bright red ink, “St. James Hospital” is typed in the top left corner, and a dark crusty red scrawl in the middle presents the address for the “Hound Dog”. There isn’t even a name written, it’s just the address. It’s as if they didn’t care who got the news but sent it only out of formality. “Well he didn’t have his cheery smile that he normally does when he stops by here. Pretty melancholic actually, he didn’t even whistle a song.” Wyatt looks up at

Buddy, “I didn’t think much of it until you mentioned it”.

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Buddy smirks as he chuckles to himself. “Avoided eye contact right? Charley always loves to strike a conversation, no?” He takes a sip of his drink as he waits for a response. “Yeah, you’re right," Wyatt says. "Well, do I just wait for Ma to come back to help run the bar? I know that I’ve been working here ever since she took me in, but I sure don’t know all the things that she does about running the place. How am I supposed to continue on without Ma?!” Tears form at the corner of his eyes. Sighing, Buddy takes another swig of his drink and nods, still looking down, lost in thought trying to find the right words. He leans in and whispers, “You know ‘bout the first time that I met Ma, don’t you?” Wyatt shakes his head. Buddy’s smirk grows into a full smile. “Well, Ma came to this town all alone with just her suitcase and the clothes on her back and let me tell you something. She was a stone-cold crazy bitch, still is if I can be perfectly honest,” he chuckles. “But it is because of that that she was able to make herself. She didn’t stand for

anyone ’s bullshit. She could sense when someone wasn’t treating her respectfully or rightfully, and she made sure that they did quick. That’s the reason why she left her man and home, she doesn’t take any disrespect. She knows her worth.” Buddy looks down as he swirls his drink. “You know that I didn’t want to help her at first with her business venture, right? But Lord, she couldn’t take no for an answer. No matter how many times I told her, she kept coming up to me asking when I would close the deal with her to open up the bar. It was the first bar here, and she made sure that it stayed that way.” Wyatt nods. “Ma is always persistent.” Buddy points at the sole decanter at the top shelf of the liquor selection. “Boy, give me another shot, but of that booze!” “But the scotch is only for special…” Buddy furrows his brow. “I don’t see why this ain’t a special occasion. You already forget what I just said?”

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Wyatt didn’t remember much of his day after receiving that pale colored letter from Charley. Actually, to be honest he didn’t remember waking up this morning too. His mind has been so preoccupied with worrying about Ma. Balling his hand into a fist, Buddy pounds the bar counter. “If I had my way, I’d tear the whole building down! That place has never brought any good news to anyone, and I don’t see it doing so anytime soon. I don’t know what to tell you Wyatt, but Ma isn’t…”

“Listen Buddy, you know I can’t give out the good stuff without Ma’s approval,” Wyatt says. Buddy sighs while shaking his head. “Whatever you say, Wyatt. Listen, she won ’t mind too much, ‘specially after all I’ve done for her. Can you give me just one finger of that…” Wyatt glared at Buddy. There was always a point where Buddy got to be too much. He was always obsessive about his way. No wonder he and Ma got into it so many times. The amount of yelling that Wyatt had to ignore or walk away from was innumerable. Just two old stubborn folk unable to change in their ways: Ma’s tight control over her scotch or Buddy never letting Ma get another kind of whiskey except for the one that he likes for the bar. God dammit if Wyatt was gonna go against Ma by not running the bar as she would. “Buddy. You know the rules. Only Ma gives out the scotch.”

Buddy rolls his eyes as he takes the final sip of his drink, “Sure thing, sonny.” Wyatt and Buddy remain silent the rest of the night. Wyatt begins closing down the bar and starts by cleaning all the glassware. Eventually Buddy stands up and walks toward the swinging doors. He turns back with a frown. "I know you ain't gonna listen to me Wyatt, so leave first thing tomorrow morning. The sooner the better. It'll take you all day to walk there to St. James, but it's just a long straight shot, until you gotta make a right, but you'll know when to do so. But when you realize what I’ve been telling you, can you please come back so that we can commemorate her Wyatt? Maybe then open up the…”

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“Goodnight Buddy.” Wyatt continues wiping a glass without looking up. Buddy shakes his head as he sighs, “Goodnight Wyatt. If you see Ma, tell her I say ‘hi’.” He pushes through the swinging set of doors and into the darkness of the night.

Wyatt doesn't sleep much tonight. He finds himself lying there with his worries wantonly wearing him down. Every breath he takes gets cut short with a quick reminder that Ma could barely breathe. His head aches with the constant barrage of instances that he could have helped her while she struggled the past few weeks. He tosses and turns in his sheets trying to shake off the blues of regret and remorse. His eyes only stay shut for moments until they snap open every time he has the horrendous thought of Ma possibly… He couldn’t take it anymore, as soon as the sun shows itself, he would leave to find her.

The room screams in silence with no respite, it is only dulled by the whirling deliberations of dread, depression, and despair. The clock next to his bed continues to function, but there is no ticking coming out of it. No coyotes howling as they normally do every hour of the night. The house doesn’t even creak with the wind brushing past it. Everything stands still, but he is too focused on his whirlwind of thoughts. What would Wyatt do without Ma? He already doesn’t know how he lasted in the streets before he met her, but now? There are even more responsibilities and unknowns that he has in his life.

Wyatt lays there with the weight of anxieties on his chest. No matter how much he wants to move or call out, he can't do anything. No matter how much he tries to ignore it, he can only focus on the humming that sounds within his room. No matter how much he knows it isn't real, he keeps seeing a silhouette leaning in the corner of his room. No matter how much he squints to get a better look, the figure is only a shadow. A shadow with a speckle of gold where the mouth should be. Wyatt stares at the figure until he finally falls asleep. He already has too many things to worry about in his life.

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A loud knocking on the bedroom door jolts Wyatt awake. Wyatt looks at the window, and there are just hints of sunlight starting to break out. “Buddy doesn’t come in this early for a drink,” Wyatt thinks to himself, “who could that possibly be? Charley usually just leaves the mail at the porch.” Some more pounding on the door seems to shake the whole room. The pounding grows louder and louder to the point where Wyatt isn’t sure if it is coming from the door or from his mind. Eventually Wyatt stumbles to the door and opens it. There is no one there.

He could have sworn he just heard some pounding on the door. “Well, good enough of a time as any to go,” Wyatt mutters. He grabs the sallow blue letter and puts it in his pocket. Just to be sure to prove to them that they made a mistake. There is no way that Buddy is right. Ma is alright, and he is going to see her. The sun begins to peek over the horizon as Wyatt leaves the bar. The hospital is many miles away from home, but that doesn’t matter to him. As long as he gets to see Ma, that is all that matters.

It has been a couple of hours since he had left the Hound Dog. Buddy said that St. James was only a straight shot line, until you gotta make a… well Wyatt wasn’t too sure which way it was to turn, but Buddy said that he would know where to go. The dirt path plains have been so boring and dull he’s found himself whistling a wandering tune that matches his own wandering thoughts, just to keep himself sane. He couldn’t understand how Ma was able to get herself all the way to the hospital when she had been coughing and wheezing for the past couple of weeks. Lord knows she nor anyone has a car to drive her out there. The town is a small one, about fifty or so people. Honest people, and none of them can afford the new luxury of a car that the city folk rave about. None of them wanted such a frivolous thing either. No one left the town, so what was the point in getting one? Everyone only knew two places: the town and St. James. It took a while before Wyatt noticed the sign marking the crossroad. The wooden pole seems to almost have grown out of the ground like this. The pole’s two

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arrows point to two different directions, one on top of the other. Strangely though, neither arrow has any words on them. He looks around and the whole landscape appears to be the same. He can see his footprints that lead him here, so knows where he came from at least, but where does he go now? “I’m not even halfway through, as far as I know, but already I am at a loss. How did Ma know where to go? Or how to do anything for that matter,” Wyatt mutters to himself. The sun beams directly above him, so it is at least noon. Plenty of time to still get to the hospital, that is, if he can ever find it. Looking right, and then left, there’s still nothing in sight. Almost out of the blink of an eye, there was a man sitting down, leaning on the pole with a guitar case by his side. Wyatt swears he didn’t see any silhouette when walking up to the sign. He is sure of that, but where did this man come from? He wore fancy clothes, the type that Wyatt only saw during church. The black box-back suit matches his sleek shiny straight-laced shoes. The man dons a black Stetson, tilted downward and blocking his face from Wyatt’s sight. “I almost thought you were never gonna notice me,” the man chuckles. The brim of the hat lifts slightly, revealing the man’s mouth and a gold tooth flashing in the overbearing sun. Wyatt rubs the back of his neck nervously, “Yeah, I don’t really know how I didn’t see you. Sorry to bother you sir…” “It’s Coyote” He interrupted “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Coyote” The man laughs, “No I’m Mr. Johnson, but I would prefer if you called me Coyote, however. Now what are you doing all the way out here boy?” Wyatt found himself at a loss for words. Who is this man? He’ s never seen anyone like him back at home and what is he doing here in the middle of nowhere? Shouldn’t this man have a family to be taking care of? Or a job to keep himself busy? Who just sits around doing nothing? He could be just a bum, but even then, how did he afford such a nice suit and shoes? If he needed money, he could always go into town to gain some

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pity. Ma definitely would have taken him in. After about a minute of silence, Coyote’s smile drops. “I asked you a question, boy.”

Wyatt is taken back a bit. “Oh, I’m sorry. Um… I’m-I’m trying to find someone.” Coyote grins again. “Aren’t we all? We all need someone in our lives. Is it a girl you're after?” “No… well yes, but not in that way. I am looking for someone special to me. Her name is… well she told me to call her Ma, but her name is Lucille. Lucille Rainey.” The man shrugs. “Never heard of her, but I wish you luck, sonny. How long have you been looking for her?” “I just left today for her, but she’s been gone for about a month.” “Where she at?”

Wyatt looks down on the ground, and mutters, “St. James…” Coyote once again smiles which sparkles from his precious tooth. “Now ain’t that a shame. You’ve heard what happens to folks that go there, right?” “I know, and I don’t care. She’s fine ; I know it. I’m gonna bring her back and even if she ain’t fine, I am gonna make sure she gets better.” The man shrugs. “Suit yourself, I ain’t in any position to stop you, but lemme ask you something.” Wyatt nods. “Would you do anything to make sure she gets out of that hospital?” “I’m.. I’m sorry?” Wyatt stutters as he takes a step back. “You heard me, boy. In this world, it is give and take, there’s always an exchange in order for anything to happen— a transaction if you will.” Coyote lifts his head up, revealing his whole face. His eyes, cloudy and white, stare blankly at Wyatt. “You see, I gave up something in order for me to fulfill my passion.” “Wh-What was that?”

Coyote smiles as he pats the guitar case next to him. “Guitar. I am a master, one could say. All it took was something that I rightfully took for granted.”

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Wyatt turns a few shades paler as he stares at Coyote. “What kind of deal was that?” he whispers, mortified “Well, we can’t always reveal secrets now can we? Like I said, there is always a give and take. Now as I asked you before: What would you do to make sure that the person you are looking for, this ‘Ma’, gets out of St. James Hospital?” Wyatt stood silently before Coyote. What is this man’s intention? There is an air of mystery that he is too fearful to breathe in. Wyatt tries to hold back tears, from either fear for this man or emotions for Ma, he wasn't sure. He shakily answers, “I... I don’t know. I just know that Ma has done so much for me, that I don’t think she deserves to be in the position she’s in. I wish I could switch places honestly, ‘cause I know she could take care of me better than what I’ve done for her in the past few weeks.”

Ashamed of his cowardice, Wyatt dips his head down in his best attempt to hide his forming tears. He has to be strong, if not for himself, then at least for Ma. Coyote leans in. “So, given the chance, you would ‘switch places’ with Ma?” “Well, sure, but she is already at St. Jam...” The man nods and smiles, “Don’t you worry about that. Most people get what they want when they put themselves to it.” Wyatt tries to pull the letter from his pocket to ask Coyote for directions, but like a plucked note, he was gone. He found himself holding the letter in the middle of nowhere, in front of that same crossroad pole. Without a thought, Wyatt turns right and runs as fast as he can, hoping to finally see Ma.

No one knows how long the building has been in the Delta area, it’s always been there as long as anyone remembers. The place appears as ancient as the land that it’s built on, yet still durable enough to continue standing tall. A mountain could learn from its experiences. Once upon a time the building’s exterior had presented itself white, but now its walls are a dark blue mottled with patches of lichen covering the edges of its length.

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11 Wyatt didn’t even realize how dark it had grown until he noticed the single flickering lamp directly above the double door entry. The windows of the hospital merely suggest there is light and activity inside, but at first glance, the whole place appears abandoned. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was since no one, not even the doctors, want to be in there. The name “St. James Hospital” is displayed above the lamp in thin rusted metal, pathetically grasping the walls. They dangle sadly and sway with the slightest breath of wind. To Wyatt's surprise, a clock looms at the top of everything presenting the hospital, which reads… strange. The clock reads midnight, but this didn’t make sense. He had left first thing in the morning! Wyatt surely hadn't been walking all day, granted it was a long while of walking, but not the entire day. Twelve bongs echo throughout the land as the clock strikes midnight. Wyatt grips the door handle for the duration of the twelve rings, an eternity it felt like. Breathing in deeply, he swings the door open and finds himself inside the lobby. There is an almost astounding absence of sound inside the building. Nothing moved or changed with his entrance. A receptionist’s desk stands to greet whomever enters the ancient building behind a glass pane. But no one is behind the desk to greet him. A long hallway spans across the hospital with innumerable closed doors scattered across both sides of the building. Each side of the hallway is dimly lit by bare lightbulbs, but even then, every other bulb is flickering or burnt out. Both sides were identical in their lineup of doors, lights, and cross paths of other aisles. The layout of the hospital could make anyone lose themselves easily among its uniformity. A sign-in sheet rests on the edge of the desk. There were numerous names that were scrawled on the paper. Out of obligation, Wyatt writes his name on a line, right beneath a “Mr. House”. He waits around restlessly for a few moments, hoping someone will emerge to help him. Though this is the lobby, there aren’t any chairs for him to persuade his patience. There isn’t even a clock to help gauge the passage of time for anyone who found themselves here, awaiting the inevitable. After an unknown amount of time, Wyatt peers over the desk counter hoping to find a directory or anything. Stacks of empty blue envelopes, not unlike the one Wyatt has in his pocket, sit

alongside a fountain pen spilling a tiny pool of bloody ink on the desk. It seems that all of the envelopes have the return address in the same pristine red ink. There is no other paperwork, files, or anything on the desk. Even if there were a receptionist, it seems like they wouldn’t have much to do. Suddenly, a wailing echoes throughout the hospital, followed by harsh coughing and wheezing. Wyatt flinches— he knows that the voice is familiar. It has to be Ma. He has never heard Ma in such pain before, but he is certain it is her. The echoes of the wailing make it hard to distinguish where they are coming from. No matter what though, he runs with a feign certainty of where she resides. While running through the halls, he realizes that all of the rooms have names next to the doors to distinguish themselves. Some have titles like “Doctor” or “Nurse” while others are names of

presumably patients. So many names in so many rooms. There seems to be an endless amount of people here. Wyatt did not want to imagine the amount of people who are in the same predicament that he found himself in. How many of them are missing a loved one that they took for granted? How many of them believed they lived in a fairy tale that was devoid of suffering or sorrow, or at least in one where they would never experience those. Wyatt felt so stupid, he should have known that good times never last forever, even if he desperately wanted them to. More wailing and coughing continues, guiding him to finally see Ma. He almost runs past it, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees her name: “Lucille Rainey.” The cacophonous echoes grow louder and more intense. Surrounded in the sonance of Ma’ s agony, he quickly grasps on the door handle and suddenly silence settles itself in place. Sound seems to dissipate. Wyatt stares at the brass doorknob in his hand, his grip causing his hand to become pale. They are finally going to see each other again. Everything would hopefully go back to normal. Wyatt promises that he will do more around the bar for Ma. Her joints are only able to keep her portly body up for so long, especially with the years of hard work that weigh down on them. Sure, Ma will be a bit paler and more ragged under her eyes than normal, but she will still have that homely smile that always assures Wyatt that everything is okay. Her beautiful brown

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eyes would bring him peace of mind once again. Wyatt will bring Ma back home, and everything will return to normal. Wyatt opens the door. He finds himself in an empty room with a single long metal table holding a corpulent body covered in a stained white sheet. The room is not as dim as the hallways, in fact it is overbearingly bright, bright like the morning sun, emanating from a single light bulb dangling directly above the table. He whispers to himself that this could be anyone, but in his heart, he knows who it is. Somebody is there in front of Wyatt on that long metal table. Somebody is motionless on that table; he stands there just as motionless. The thin white sheet covering the body seems overused from constant recycling. The table has trails of blood that cover its edges which follow down its legs. Wyatt’s heart is the only sound he can hear, not even his own breathing. He can’t tell if he is breathing. Is he even breathing? Wyatt walks towards the table and looms over the covered body. Blotches of diseased thin yellows, with crusty macabre red trails, and drops of depressed greys display throughout the once white sheet. He grabs the corner of the sheet. “It can’t be her. It can’t be Ma, she is stronger than just the flu,” he thinks. “She built the whole bar by herself! She can outdrink anyone in the Delta area, especially Buddy. She was the reason why a fight never broke out at the Hound Dog. No one ever wanted to get in her way! I must be in the wrong room!” Wyatt yanks the sheet off, and before him lays his own gangly weak body. He was the figure on that long table with his lifeless gaze staring back. He looks frantically around the room as the brightness of the hospital lights overtake him. The last thing Wyatt hears is a man laughing, and sliding guitar notes echoing, echoing into the unknown.

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