Editor’s Note: the broad strokes of the Lewis Twins’ tragic story is well-known throughout Vine. Finer details have never been committed to paper. These I’ve compiled from various Gentleman Jim’s regulars who claim to have known both Chuck Lewis and Jeremy The Fisherman—who would later discover pollution in Vine—as well as some details direct from the Bartender himself. Never doubt the Bartender as a source, and honestly? Don’t doubt the people of Vine, either. If there’s one lesson I take from researching the history of the town I have no choice but to love, it’s this: as much truth lies in the unverifiable as the verifiable.
1
Five days before they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, his twin brother Chuck pulled him out of the river. The day before had seen heavy rains and the river level was elevated. The day after presented ideal conditions for canoeing, which the Lewis twins did with abandon under the circling hawks in summer sun. The River Rats of Vine, Jeremy The Fisherman had nicknamed the 11-year-olds.
The twins took to the river naturally, mastering its rapids as one breaks a horse. Mastery does not mean accidents cannot occur.
When his twin brother Chuck pulled him out of the river, Gary was more shocked than anything. Gulping his breath, head involuntarily inching up and spine stretching with his lungs as he swallowed air, Gary choked out: I thought I had it. The current, he said. I thought I had it.
2
Two days before they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, his mother did not speak for the whole day.
In the decades after they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, his father is not reported to have spoken a word to Gary’s twin brother Chuck.
3
Three days before they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, it was obvious to anyone that his twin brother Chuck had not purposefully caused harm. Maps of the woods had been encoded into the muscles and tendons of the boys’ legs over the years. Each poking root, patches of soft moss, the thickness of brush marking the seasons, the blooming of twinberries. All children of Vine enjoy twinberries. All children of Vine play Knights & Thieves. Chasing through fallen branches, around stray rocks, as far as the quarry or even the river so long as they were back by dinner. Their father’s revolver, they knew without checking, was unloaded. That was obvious to anyone.
4
Three days before they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, his twin brother Chuck cried through the night. A terrible howling of night creatures in the mountains, the self-assured song of an owl hidden in the forest, the slurred chorus of drunks letting out of Gentleman Jim’s near midnight, the screeching brakes of a car narrowly avoiding a deer. Chuck’s cries were inaudible to these casual reminders of life in darkness. Chuck cried with velocity more than volume, great heaving into his brother’s bedsheets, spine slumping and shrinking as his lungs forced out sighs from the depths. Chuck cried and the four walls of what had previously been a shared room seemed to expand higher and reach up, farther than originally constructed, all the way to Heaven. But Chuck did not also reach. The room expanded and left Chuck grounded in the real earth, the real ground, as close to Hell as he’d always been.
In the morning Chuck was silent. This was the time Gary first appeared to his twin brother Chuck.
5
On the Sunday after they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, Preacher Henry Davidson gave a sermon on Genesis 1:26-28: “be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” Preacher Davidson began by telling the story of taking his son hunting for the first time.
6
On the morning that they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, his twin brother Chuck said he could still see and talk to Gary. Children say such silly things. Children still believe in magic and ghosts. Children still see in a sunrise not the promise of a new day but simply another time they’ve seen the sun a different shade maybe orange maybe cloud-hidden but the sun it is and the sun it remains there is no implication of time. The sun is present in the sky. To an 11-year-old, what is before and after? What are consequences? His twin brother Chuck said Gary wanted apple slices with peanut butter on them. Please, Chuck said. He’s so hungry he’s crying.
7
On the day before they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, his father drank at Gentleman Jim’s while his mother prayed with Preacher Davidson. From midnight to midnight they did this. The demarcations of day and night were strangers to them, and they existed suspended in liminal time, solidified in grief.
On the day before they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, his twin brother Chuck lay in a patch of soft moss, leaves clinging to his jeans. On the day before they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, his twin brother Chuck went to the bend in the river and imagined saving Gary’s life every morning of every day, over and over, a daily penance, a daily reminder of which event wasn’t a permanent decision. On the day before they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, he told his twin brother Chuck: only do this if it helps you live with yourself.
8
On the morning after they laid Gary Lewis in the woods, his twin brother Chuck ate corn flakes before racing into the backyard. Screen door slamming behind the mournful pallor and tear-soaked house, feet carrying him past the stubbornly growing tomatoes, past the oblivious chickens, into the open embrace of the dark woods.
Can’t catch me, Gary said.
You get a five-second head start, Chuck said. The Lewis twins ran until they reached the river.