DeniseZen Read online

  The shish kabob was delicious, chunks of chicken, bell pepper, sweet onion and pineapple charred to perfection.

  “The secret is in the marinade,” Layla said.

  “It’s amazing. Where did you learn to cook so well?”

  “Who else, mother and grandmother. I used to love watching them cook. This is my mother’s marinade. It’s easy to make.”

  “I’m thinking of taking in a fifty cent movie at the Student Center tonight, feel up for a movie, my treat?”

  “What’s playing, not a love story I hope?”

  “It came from outer space, in 3-D.”

  “Ha. I love old creature from outer space movies so yeah, I’ll tag along.”

  Denise had found out that Layla lived alone. She did not give the details, but she suspected that it was a romantic breakup.

  “I’m going to stop at home and freshen up. I’ll be back to pick you up in a little bit,” Denise said.

  She picked Layla up in fifteen minutes.

  “Nice ride. Very well kept, my compliments.”

  “Thanks. I was so lucky to get this from a friends father who fixes cars.”

  “It is almost Saluki color.”

  “Yes come to think of it, it is.”

  Denise parked in the Student Center parking lot and they made their way up to the theater on the second floor.

  “Need anything before we go in?”

  “No, I’m good,” Layla smiled placing her hand on her stomach.

  The movie was surprisingly crowded for being between terms with most of the student population gone. They found some seats about four rows from the back. “These 3-D glasses look like they are from the fifties,” Denise laughed.

  “I always feel ridiculous wearing these,” Layla giggled.

  “Oh yeah.”

  A few minutes into the movie when the space ship crash lands, Denise heard quiet laughing coming from behind her. She did not want to be rude and turn around in case it was a couple making out. She breathed in deeply, I swear I can smell the subway on Milwaukee Avenue, she thought. In a few minutes it was gone so she didn’t bother to turn around to see what it might be. Maybe I’m a little homesick or just shish kabob’d out.

  The soft laughing continued throughout the movie. At one point Denise got up to go to the bathroom just to see who was behind her. Dammit, I should have picked a daytime scene to leave. It was too dark to make out what they looked like. She waited outside the door for the theater to brighten before she walked back inside. When she did a couple dressed in black or some other very dark colors with what appeared to be jet-black hair were looking right at her with smiles on their faces. It caught her off guard and freaked her out a little, but she managed to put on half a smile back at them.

  Just before the end of the movie she swore she smelled the subway again right when the two people behind her got up to leave laughing as they left. And I thought that kind of strange stayed in the city.

  How about a latte, my treat,” Layla said. “I’m pretty sure they are still open downstairs.”

  “I could use a little kick.”

  “Oh wait, they close early. If we hurry we can get a McCafe at MCDonald’s.”

  “Let’s hurry then.”

  They bolted down the escalator and zipped over to the cafeteria area. “Open ‘til ten, we made it,” Denise laughed.

  Sitting in a corner of the cafeteria were two people wearing black with jet-black hair. Denise placed her order for a large McCafe Mocha. “Sounds delish, I’ll have the same,” Layla told the young man waiting on them.

  “Here you are, for both,” Denise told the young man.

  “Thank you again.”

  Denise glanced over her shoulder and the two dark figures in the corner who were now both sitting on the same side of the table checking out everybody coming in after the movie. They both smiled at Denise when she made eye contact. Nice hair actually, she thought.

  They left the cafeteria and made their way to her Mustang.

  “This is quite good Denise.”

  “Yummy,” she giggled.

  “Oh, it’s such a beautiful crisp clear night,” Layla said, inhaling a deep breath through her nose. “Smells wonderful.”

  “After just a week I’ve noticed I can smell again. I think living in a city like Chicago really impairs one’s sense of smell.”

  “I know what you mean. It is just one of the hooks that has kept me down here.”

  “Speaking of smells, did you notice any peculiar odors in the theater when we were watching the movie?”

  “No, can’t say that I did. What exactly?”

  “I know this is going to sound crazy, but around the corner from the first house I lived in, on Milwaukee Avenue some of the sidewalks had metal gratings on them over the subway system. It smelled just like that, like the smell the trains would force up out of the tubes when they came roaring by.”

  “Is it a good smell or a bad smell?”

  “I’ve always loved that smell, but only from the time when I was young. It’s changed. Now I really don’t like the smell of the subway in Chicago.”

  “It came from the Chicago Subway,” Layla laughed.

  “Haaa. Totally.”

  “Look, even here in town you can see so many stars.”

  “Love star gazing. It’s next to impossible to see stars in Chicago.”

  “I liked that last line in the movie, There’ll be other nights and stars for us to watch.”

  “I caught that too. It’s a date.”

  The mustang cruised south on Highway 51.

  “This is such a fab car for the roads down here,” Layla said.

  “Yeah, it truly is a two-lane heaven.”

  Chapter 3

  Fort Starlight

  Denise began classes as planned with no complications. She loved her professor for the drawing and silkscreen printing classes. He taught them both. He was from somewhere near Boston and she really loved listening to him talk. He knew his craft well and he had what she thought was fabulous taste in the artists he admired.

  The summer heat was settling in as it did every year, hot and humid. Trying to live in a trailer without an air conditioner even under the shade of a few large trees could be intolerable. As much as she hated to use air conditioning for her own personal Mother Earth reasons, the day she tried to make do with a fan on a hot summer night in the trailer was something she could not bear. It reminded her of the sweatbox torture scenes in The Bridge on the River Kwai.

  Between a full schedule of summer classes and work every evening for a few hours, her weekdays were pretty full so she did not get out and about as much as she would have liked to.

  She found herself spending lots of time with Layla who had become her closest friend since moving from Chicago. Like Layla, she was falling in love with the area, but that was an easy thing for her to do. The region was gorgeous with lush farmlands, and the Shawnee National Forest being the dominant lay of the land. Humans had not yet impacted the forests that always made her dream of what it must have been like before anyone arrived from Europe or elsewhere, what it was like when Native Americans were the only humans living there.

  It was another Saturday, and she and Layla had a day planned of exploring around the Mississippi River. When Layla told her of some of the cool places to visit it was a date. They packed up a cooler full of beverages, water and snacks and got an early start. Layla considered herself an amateur photographer, “Well, maybe a semi-professional photographer,” she laughed when she first showed Denise her collection of cameras and photos.

  After stopping at MCDonalds for coffee, they headed west on Highway 13. She loved passing through Murphysboro and could never figure out why. Perhaps it was for the way it had endured since it was established before the Civil War. Even though they were decades apart, Category 5 tornadoes leveled the town, but they rebuilt. The place had a good vibe, a survival vibe, something Denise felt she had.

  Leaving Murphysboro heading west on
IL 149 left Denise breathless. “I told you there was going to be some of the most beautiful scenery down here, hell some of the most beautiful scenery in America,” Layla smiled.

  “It’s breathtaking,” Denise giggled as she steered the Mustang along the smooth two-lane highway taking them up and down steep rolling hills with lush farmland and the Forest surrounding it. “Makes me want to learn how to fly.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m serious. I would love to learn how to fly.”

  “Well we could learn right at the university little lady,” Layla said before taking another sip of her coffee.

  “I’m going to look into it. Nothing fancy, I mean I don’t want to do it for a living.”

  “Let’s.”

  “Which way,” Denise asked when they reached the intersection of Highway 3.

  “I think left first.”

  There was very little traffic at all as they cruised leisurely south.

  “The Trail of Tears,” Denise said, pointing to a wooden sign.

  “Now that would be interesting. There’s a State Park across the river in Missouri in the thick of the Shawnee.”

  “Shall we?”

  “Sure I can show you Cape Girardeau. Very French with lots of French style architecture.”

  “Sweet.”

  They turned right on IL-146 west across the Mississippi River on a very long and high bridge.

  “Wow. We’re really up here. Glad I don’t have vertigo,” Denise said.

  “The first time I came over this bridge was in a tiny European car, something British I think, with four adults plus the driver in the car. One of the guys was terrified going across it. Heaved his guts up once we got across. Never knew he had a fear of crossing water from great heights. That was pretty freaky. We had to put a blanket over him laying across the laps of the two other people in back for the return to Illinois.”

  “I can relate. It’s a freaky bridge to cross.”

  “Well, we’re in Missourah now.”

  “Ha. Missourah. Must try to sound like the natives.”

  “Turn right here at 177 North,” Layla said. “We have a little way to go. The name of the turn off is moccasin something, we can’t miss it.”

  After crossing roughly eight miles of sweet smelling farmland they made a right on to Moccasin Spring Road. Denise drove slowly as it took them into the dense thick beauty of the Shawnee Forest.

  “It feels good to stretch,” Denise said.

  “The driver always gets stiffer.”

  “Glad my legs are not any longer,” Denise laughed.

  “How about a shot with you and your baby?”

  “Sure.”

  Layla snapped a few images of her posing like a model. “Perhaps you missed a calling,” she laughed.

  “Yes, well I certainly have the height, but even though I am by no means heavy, I love to eat.”

  “Haaa. Come one, let’s take a walk.”

  They strolled through the beauty of the park, so much of it undoubtedly just as it was when the horrible march of near genocide took place. “It is so fucked up what they did to these people,” Denise said. “I never knew Andrew Jackson was such a prick.”

  “Yeah,” Layla sighed as they looked out over the Mississippi River. Roughly a thousand miles south of here in New Orleans he defeated the British, then shit like this. Sometimes I feel so guilty living in America.”

  “I know. Come on, let’s mosey back. Much more of this is just going to piss me off. It’s so beautiful here though.”

  “It is indeed.”

  “Feel like driving?” Denise asked.

  “Really? Oh yeah.”

  “I’m insured for whoever I let drive. Do you have your license with you Miss?”

  “I sure do officer,” Layla laughed showing her license.

  “Ok. Make it so.”

  As they drove out of the thick of the forest, they turned onto 177 South. When they came around the first curve Denise noticed three people dressed in black off to the left standing in the shade of a thicket of trees. “Slow down,” she said.

  “Do you know them?” Layla asked, looking over at the figures that were watching them with smiles on their faces as they approached.

  “They are dressed like those two in the movie and Student Center cafeteria when we went to see It Came from the Chicago Subway, but not the same cause they had black hair. Must be a cult down here.”

  “Maybe they are in a band. They kind of have a rocker look about them,” Layla said, waving at them as they passed.

  The woman with flaming red hair lifted her hand and mimicked Layla’s wave. The blonde woman and the brunette male did the same following her lead.

  “I don’t know, they look a little stiff to be rockers,” Denise giggled. “Want some water or a snack?”

  “Water is good. I think I am going to save Cape Girardeau for another outing. There is something very cool I’d like you to see.”

  “You’re driving. Love all the French names around here.”

  “Then you are going to love where we’re going, Layla smiled as she turned left and headed back over the Mississippi into Illinois where she turned north on Highway 3.

  At times the scenery was like something out of a Tolkien novel with thick forest rising over hills to the right and huge swaths of rich farmland on the left framed by the Mississippi River.

  “I understand why they call this region the Fertile Delta,” Denise said.

  “Little Egypt.”

  Before entering Chester Layla turned left and pulled up at a statue of Popeye overlooking the River. “I have a few images of him already, but none on such a glorious day as this.”

  “How cool. Donated by some Popeye fan?”

  “The person who created Popeye lives in Chester just up Highway 3.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and he is very reachable. Years ago a friend of one of my sisters who had attended school down here actually called him up to clarify something about Sweet Pea that he had bet on. He won the bet.”

  “What better place to get the info than the creator hey?”

  After spending some time with the cartoon character, they continued their way up Highway 3.

  “This goes all the way to St. Louis. We are only going about half way but it’s a good thing to know since practically everyone who attends SIU winds up going there for a concert. They have a fabulous zoo, not to mention that incredible Arch.”

  “Sounds like another reason for a fab outing. I would use any excuse to pass through this area.”

  “And there is so much more on the Missouri side.”

  They stopped for a late light lunch at MCDonald’s in Chester after cruising around for hours on secondary roads, stopping at old cemeteries, abandoned shacks and historical sites to take pictures.

  “Is Jesse James’ hideout very far?” Denise asked.

  “It’s a ways, on the other side of the river in Missouri.”

  “Another day perhaps.”

  “There is something much more historical and it is not far at all.”

  “Still feel like driving?”

  “Sure.”

  They headed further north after eating, then turned off heading west to the small town of Prairie Du Rocher.

  “Time warp,” Denise laughed. “Oh we HAVE to stop for gas at that pump.”

  Layla pulled the car up to the pump and laughed. “Wow, a service station with a ding.”

  “I vaguely remember those from my childhood,” Denise giggled.

  A middle-aged man came out to serve them.

  “Can you fill her up?” Denise asked.

  “Sure can Miss. Don’t see too many of these on the road anymore.”

  “I got lucky.”

  “How old are those pumps?” Layla asked, watching him clean the windshield.

  “Circa 1945,” he replied. He was obviously very proud of his pumps, and well he should be. The little station with two pumps was spotless, as were the pumps.
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  “Probably don’t see too many of these anymore do you?” Denise said pointing to his red pumps that almost had a human or visiting alien quality to them compared to modern day pumps, tall and slim with round lights at the top for heads or helmets, and they actually worked.

  “Been in my family since they were put in.”

  “They are amazing,” Denise said catching view of a car passing by that she swore had the three people who were dressed in black in it, only this time they were not looking her way and smiling.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Layla said.

  “I’ll tell you about it when we are underway.”

  “Ghosts huh? Still a little too early for all the yearly ghost hoopla that occurs around here,” the man said. “Oh yeah. Every year on the 4th of July.”

  “What happens?”

  “The Phantom Funeral. It’s a long story. You can read all about it in one of the brochures down the road a piece at Fort de Chartres. Basically every year a bunch of psychics and such converge on this area hoping to see The Phantom Funeral, a procession of ghosts in covered wagons and such.”

  “Really? We were headed to the fort actually, thanks,” Layla smiled.

  “Fourth of July is little over a week away. Maybe we should stop back?” Denise said, turning to look at the car that had just passed disappear around a curve.

  “You’re welcome back anytime ladies. Of course, there won’t be a full moon on the 4th of July again until 2014. See, that is one of the pre-requisites for actually being able to see the funeral.”

  “There’s got to be a full-moon?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s been a pleasure talking with you,” Denise smiled.

  “Have fun at the fort. Drive safely.”

  “Thank you,” they both chimed.

  “So, what did you not want to talk about in front of that gentleman?”

  “You were busy talking and did not see the large black car go by that I am certain had the same three people in black we saw earlier inside, you know, the one’s you waved to that waved back.”

  “Really? Maybe they are out exploring like we are on such a gorgeous day.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Then again, maybe we’re being followed.”