From DRVR Radio Graphic Traffic: Smart money says the Mark IV has myocardial contusions and lacerations of the pericardial sac, but we can't confirm that until the coroner opens him up at the morgue. I'm Tina Something with your DRVR Rubberneck Report, every ten minutes or as the wrecks happen…
Echo Lawrence: The future starts tomorrow, and Rant needs to say this before the bus pulls up. This moment, it's something his dad won't want to know. This here, Rant says, is the fact that starts a new future. Or a brand-new past. Or both.
Rant slapping flies, cupping wind and sand away from his face, he says, "Just so you know," he swats a bite on the back of his neck and says, "I'm never getting hitched."
A star blinks on the edge of the world, getting bright, blinding bright, growing so fast it goes past before you can hear the sound, the wind and dust of it—only a car, already come and gone. The headlights fading over the far side of the world.
And Rant's dad, he says, "No." He squats in the gravel and says, "You only figure that way to put a fright in me." Chester Casey says, "Soon as you meet a girl name of Echo Lawrence, you'll figure otherwise."
The wind bowing every weed and clump of cheatgrass in the same direction. Shaking every sagebrush. On the wind, you can smell the smoke of embroidery silk and smoldering denim. Chrome rivets.
Look here. It's impossible Chester Casey could've known my name. We'd never met. At this point, I'd never heard of Middleton or Rant.
Logan Elliot (Childhood Friend): The only worst part of the Casey house, when you visited, was how his ma used to listen outside the bathroom door. No lie. The first time I was over, I opened the door, and she stood there blocking the way, telling me, "I would appreciate it, upon future visits to this household, if you would urinate from a seated position…"
It didn't matter I didn't know the word "urinate."
Echo Lawrence: That night, waiting for the bus, Rant and his dad squinted as a new star blinked on the horizon, getting big, blowing by in a gust of wind and diesel smoke, the star exploded into white headlights, yellow running lights, red taillights. A cab, sleeper box, double trailer. Then—gone.
Rant says, "I'm meeting some girl?" He says, "How do you figure that?"
And his dad says, "Same as I knowed an old man pulled up and talked to you before you come running about your Granny Esther." Chester says, "Old man in a Chrysler, told you that he was your for-real pa."
Spitting black, a sideways stream into the gravel, Rant says, "What model of Chrysler?"
And Chester Casey says, "Same as I knowed your Granny Esther screamed at the sight of him, called him the Devil, and telled you to run."
East of the bus-stop sign, the real stars come on. Straight overhead, more stars blink on. Flicker, and stay bright.
Scratching at bug bites, rubbing away goosebumps, Rant says, "Supposing that's the truth," he says, "what else did that old man tell me?"
Cammy Elliot (Childhood Friend): At the Casey house, if you used their peanut butter, Mrs. Casey wanted for you to smoothe what was left in the jar. So it always looked fresh store-bought.
Echo Lawrence: Chester Casey tells his son, "That old man telled you he was your real pa, he telled you to come find him in the city, soon as you was able." Chester's cowboy boot, the pointed toe taps the cardboard suitcase, and he says, "And that old man telled you where to find all this cash money."
And Rant spits black tar, close enough to splash the side of the suitcase. Rabies-infected saliva. Black spattered on the brand-new of the cardboard. Rant just sits there, shaking his head no.
Chester Casey says, "That old man, he telled the truth about being your for-real pa."
Sheriff Bacon Carlyle (Childhood Enemy): Don't ask for my feeling sorry. Your average city's nothing except different levels of pervert. Rant only told that story to fit in. Him and Mr. Casey, they just took their pissing matches a little more far than your average father and son.
Echo Lawrence: At the edge of the world, another star pops up.
Rant says, "You're only lying so I won't get homesick…" He shifts his ass on the top of that cardboard suitcase full of gold.
In the city, Chester tells him, Rant will find his real father, and his grandfather. Rant will discover his true nature. "First thing," Chet says, "soon as you meet Echo Lawrence for the first time, you give her a big kiss for me." He says, "Let her know, does her cholesterol taste too high."
Brenda Jordan (Childhood Friend): Don't say I told, but Rant showed me a gold twenty-dollar coin his mama gived him for his going away. Dated 1884. Mrs. Casey told how Chet Casey weren't Rant's real daddy, but she'd never tell how come she had that coin she gived him for good luck.
Echo Lawrence: And his dad, whether it's good night or goodbye, Chet Casey leans over the top of Rant's hair. His face bent over the skin of Rant's forehead, where the wind combs the bangs back, that bare spot, his dad bumps. His lips press and bounce off.
Chester says, "Tell Shot Dunyun not to let his little-bitty pug dog, Sandy, drink out of the toilet."
Another impossible piece of advice. Shot had never met Chet Casey. Even I didn't know the name of Shot's little dog.
The next new star gets big. The headlights of the bus, one bright spot breaking into two separate stars. As those lights come closer to Rant and his dad, the headlights spread farther and farther apart.
"Soon as you discover your true nature," Chester tells his son, "you hightail it back to Middleton."
Irene Casey (Rant's Mother): Anytime anybody in Middleton opens their mouth, you need to ask: "Why are you telling me this?"
Shot Dunyun (Party Crasher): How weird is this? But the last words Rant's old man says to him, while Rant's waving from the window of the bus, is Chet Casey yells, "Find the truth and hurry back, and maybe you can save your ma from getting attacked by that crazy-insane lunatic…"
Echo Lawrence: Chester Casey, both his thumbs hooked in the front belt loops of his blue jeans, he says, "Don't think on this any too hard. None of this is gonna make sense until it's close to, just about, almost too late."
Rant's father shouts, "It pains me, I'll never put eyes on you again."
15–Boosted Peaks
Shot Dunyun (Party Crasher): How's this for bullshit? At this shop, for our top all-time rental, you're talking about Little Becky's Walk on a Warm Spring Day. Shit like that, comfort shit, dumb shits come in here, ask to rent it all day long. The reason I got into this business is I love transcripts, ever since I was little, but this is killing me. It's beyond bullshit.
Eight hours every day, renting out copies of Little Becky's Seaside Hunt for Shells. Everybody wanting the same mass-marketed crap. Saying it's for their kid, but really it's not. All these fat, middle-aged dumbshits just want something to kill time. Nothing dark and edgy or challenging. Nothing artsy.
Just so long as it's got a happy ending.
A love story strained through somebody's rose-colored brain.
Your basic experience, what people called a "boosted peak," is just the file record of somebody's neural transcript, a copy of all the sensory stimuli some witness collected while carving a jack-o'-lantern or winning the Tour de France. Officially, that's what the primary participant is called: the witness. The most famous witness is Little Becky, but that doesn't mean she's the best. Little Becky is just brain-dead enough to appeal to the biggest audience. Her brain chemistry gives a nice, sweet perception to softball peak experiences. Hayrides. Valentine's Day. Christmas bullshit morning.