Quinn Adikes

We happened upon the enormous hole by chance. It was a tremendous hole. The largest I have ever found. Perhaps twenty feet in diameter and located in some woods along the Southern State Parkway. The walls of the hole were perfectly flat and thus of unnatural design, although I cannot say who would have dug such a thing. I could not see to the bottom. I threw a rock in and listened to it bounce against the walls, and listened to the sound grow fainter and fainter and eventually vanish altogether. Of course I urinated in the hole. My need to urinate is why I happened upon the hole in the first place. I found the lack of report unsatisfying.Bladder cleared, I trudged back through the tall grass. Stewart waited in my car’s passenger seat. I give Stewart too much credit: it was not We who found the hole. The hole finding was done by Me and Me alone. If Stewart says otherwise, know that he is a liar and that his generation is brain damaged from lead poisoning. I told Stewart through the window to hold on a bit longer, I needed to make a call. He did not look up from his phone, but gave an okay sign with his thumb and index finger. P. answered. She said, Yes? I said, The hole you are looking for is eastbound off of exit 42. Beyond the grass. Watch for the swaying pine. Then I hung up. Being cryptic was a running joke between P. and I.I returned to the car and told Stewart of the enormous hole. Obviously he wanted to see for himself. I assumed this would be a quick thing, so I trudged again with Stewart in tow. The swaying pine which would possibly not be swaying by the time P. arrived swayed over us. Presently, this pine swayed quite a bit. More so than the other pines, at least. Its plumage was robust. Stewart and I stood at the edge of the enormous hole and gandered.“It makes me wonder,” Stewart said. “This life is full of beauty and mystery and there are so many things that we’ll never find.”Waxing poetic again. There was little in the way of mystery in regards to this hole and even less in the way of beauty. I said, “Howsabout we go back to the car and get out of here. I would like to eat. I am withering away.”“But who would dig this thing?” he asked. “I do not know, Stewart.”“I can’t see the bottom at all.” He went down to his stomach and peered over the edge of the hole with his phone flashlight. “Me either, Stewart.”“I’d like to climb down there and have a look.”“I’d like to leave, Stewart.”“Somebody dug this hole for a reason and I, for one, am itching to discover that reason.”I would never have told Stewart this, but I wished to be long gone before P’s arrival. P. and I have a speckled past and I still to this day find it best to avoid her in person at all cost. Stewart in the mix compounds things. Based on where P. lived and her style of driving, I estimated her arrival to land within the next twenty minutes.“I have three hundred and fifty two meters of climbing rope in my backpack,” Stewart continued. “This pine tree is more than thick enough to support me. Although I don’t like how it’s rocking.”Before I could respond, Stewart began tying the rope to the pine. The pine swayed in a way that could possibly have been interpreted as annoyance, if pines got annoyed. “What is your plan for getting back up?” I asked. The sides of the hole were near perfect in terms of smoothness: this hole-digging was the work of a professional. “I reach the bottom, you untie the tree, you retie me to the car hitch, you pull me out. I thought you were the college boy.”I often grow tired of Stewart, but an unfortunate fact is that we will be together until the bitter end. And I will admit a fantasy of this bitter end glided across my mind as Stewart donned his climbing harness, as he slid the rope through the appropriate hooks and carabiners, as he pulled the rope taught and leaned back against the edge of the hole, and as he hopped back and descended into the cave. Yes, the wicked fantasy glided in a most elegant way as I listened to his feet slap the wall. But despite the occasional fantasy of Stewart’s death, I still love the guy. Those things are not mutually exclusive. I would never, say, loosen the rope from the swaying pine and listen to Stewart plummet to his doom. No, I stood on the edge of the cave and watched him hop his way down. I yelled, “How’s it looking down there, buddy?” My voice echoed and his voice echoed back, “Like a cold, dark hole.”“It is enormous, is it not?”He said, “This hole is of a depth unencountered in my years of hole-diving.” Which is something I knew to be true. “I want a photo next to it when we’re finished,” he said. There was silence, and then he asked, his voice growing feint, “Do you ever wonder if there are irreconcilable differences between the generations?”I lied. I said, “I am unsure, Stewart. I would prefer not. I would prefer that you and I are basically the same. But who knows, the world changes and with it so do we.”I could not make out Stewart’s reply. It grew dark. A red Corvette pulled up behind my car. This red Corvette belonged to P. She got out of the car but kept it running. She stepped into the headlights and I felt small eruptions in my gut. P’s hair is the color of Autumn. She always smells like a fresh batch of snickerdoodles. I still to this day find the scar on her face pleasing in an unconventional way.  She paused in the headlights and sashayed. She knew what she was doing. Then she pushed her way through the tall grass and said, “We’re going to have to check ourselves for ticks.” She noticed the climbing rope. “Why in the name of the lord Jesus is Stewart doing that now?” Just then, the rope went slack. For a moment, we thought there had been an accident, but several tugs on the rope indicated that Stewart had in fact reached the bottom. “I admire Stewart’s bravery,” P. continued. “He’s a man who doesn’t shy from risk. A man who knows just what excites a woman. A man with arms muscular from a life of hard work. I’d like to wrap myself around a man his age and climb him like a primate.”I walked to the edge of the hole. I spread my arms out wide. I closed my eyes and fantasized about leaning forward, the rush of wind parachuting my clothes and watering my eyes.“Don’t be ridiculous again,” P. said. “I’m only talking ish.” “I’m just hungry,” I lied. “We can hit that diner you like so much. The one with the pork flambe.”Stewart’s rope continued slacking and tightening. The pine continued to sway.“Don’t you have work to do?” I asked.“A hole this enormous is going nowhere,” P. said.“What do you think is down there?”“Probably a hole lot of nothing. Get it?”Stewart’s rope slacked and tightened in an impatient manner. I find the older generation pushy. They want what they want and they want it now. I untied Stewart’s rope from the swaying pine and retied it to my car hitch and P. showed me how to tie a figure eight. I wanted to yank Stewart out of this hole and be done with the night. I was hungry for pork flambe. I wanted to feast. P. remained at the hole to supervise.Stewart left my car radio on a vintage jazz station. Velvety trombone filled the cab. I switched to four wheel drive and crawled along the shoulder of the parkway. Every couple of feet I braked. If the rope went slack after braking I would know Stewart was out of the hole. I figured that part out by myself because Stewart was right about me being a smart college boy. I turned the jazz off and rolled the windows down so that I would be able to hear of any developments from P. The commuters had already gone home. Cicadas buzzed, a bat skittered overhead, a light breeze carried from the south. It was overall a peaceful scene. In the rearview, I watched Stewart’s rope lit up by my tail lights. The rope pulled against the non-swaying trees and created a sort of pulley system. Stewart only bought quality rope and so there was no worry of fraying, but if I floored the accelerator, something tragic would have happened, or even if perhaps I simply untied the rope. I hit the brake. The rope was still tight. I shifted the car to park. Yes, both options were tempting. But Stewart and I will be together until the bitter end. I shifted to drive and continued on at a steady ten miles per hour. I braked once more and the rope went slack. I got out of the car and heard P. and Stewart calling my name.