Yes the River Knows

by Dan A. Cardoza

Arielle has driven Grief to the bend in the river countless times. Grief doesn’t have a driver’s license. But that doesn’t keep him from driving when called upon. Grief is blind, yet so intuitive. He knows all the contours, creaky buckles, and ups and downs along the long graveled road. He can bend Arielle’s SUV around the base of the tall hill, due north, in the direction nature demands. But Grief is not driving today. Once they complete the final turn, it’s downhill all the way. 

On the banks of the river, they share their usual one-sided conversation. Grief is the strong and silent type––Javier Bardem, No Country for Old Men. He mostly listens.

Arielle has lost a son. Jeremy had drowned in a pool. She’d divorced her late husband, Kurt. He’d recently died on a wet curve, two long years prior. Rumor has it he’s buried in the pan handle somewhere near Boise, Idaho. She’ll never stop loving either of them. 

Arielle is an overbearing, helicopter mom. She worries about her ex’s blood pressure down in the hole. She bumbles, she stumbles, but by God, she loves her cheeky ass off. 

Today, Arielle sobs. Yet each trip, she appears less self-absorbed. She looks right, then left, across the empty dirt parking lot. She imagines it progress. That’s until Grief places his cold hand on her delicate shoulder. 

“It’s time to go, again,” he says, “there’s always tomorrow.” 

Arielle warmly smiles at him. “Okay. I’ll finish.”

It’s misty. Arielle powers the window down and shouts into the beginning of night, “Water, why, water?” Her voice is guttural, not unlike her best orgasm. 

The river isn’t silent. It prefers not to speak. It always hears. The river gulps and drowns itself around the bend, in the direction of the ocean, as gravity intends. 

It’s windy. Waves wash water, clean, the river flows.

Grief: “It’s just a damned river, Arielle.” 

Arielle: “And you’re just a damned sore loser.”

Dan’s poetry, fiction, and nonfiction: Apricity, BlazeVOX, Bull, Cleaver, Coffin Bell, Entropy, Fri(c)tion, Gravel, Map Literary, O:JA&L/Open: Journal of Arts & Letters, New Flash Fiction Review, Parentheses, Poetry Northwest, Running Wild Press, Spelk, and Your Impossible Voice. Dan’s nominations: Best Micro Fiction, Tiny Molecules, 2020 and Best Poetry, Coffin Bell, 2020.