The Drowned Forest by Kristopher Reisz Page A

“Maybe if you promised to start coming again. If you were sincere, maybe He would—”
    Tyler yanks his hand away. “Maybe if you’d visited Mr. Alton once since Holly drowned, you’d already know where he is. Maybe we wouldn’t need a miracle then.”
    “I … I’m not pretending to be perfect, Tyler.”
    “Good, because you’re not, so stop dumping it all on me.”
    We head across the dam to the south shore and Bay Hill Marina. I stare at my hands folded in my lap.
    “Tyler, we’re going up against … I don’t even know. But we’re going to need gifts of the spirit. This is a time of trial for us, and we need the gift of wisdom to see truth from lies.”
    “This isn’t a ‘time of trial,’ Jane. It’s just crazy shit that’s happening.”
    “Tyler!”
    “It’s crazy, fucked-up shit, and talking in Sunday sermons won’t help.”
    “Tyler, I—”
    “You want to know why I haven’t been going to church? Because I never got anything out of it, okay? Not really. I liked spending time with Holly. That’s all.”
    “That’s a lie!”
    “It’s not! I was never seized by the Holy Spirit or whatever. Like God was showing me things or whatever. Now that Holly’s gone, there’s no reason to go anymore.”
    It’s a lie, Holly, I know it is. We saw him filled with the Holy Fire. We saw the tears on his cheeks when he was saved. But now Tyler is hurting and angry and falling away from the Lord’s embrace. I want to help, I want to say the right thing, but I’m pathetic at that stuff. You know I am.
    You were the one who loved everybody and made them feel loved. You’re the one they all leaned toward like plants toward the sun. You’re the one who should be here. But I try to imagine what you would tell Tyler right now.
    A question. You wouldn’t tell him anything, you’d ask a question.
    “So … what’s their name?”
    “What?” Tyler’s voice is thin and tight like a wire. He thinks I want to argue some more.
    “Steve and his friends. They’re a band, right? What’s their band name?”
    “Stratofortress.”
    “Huh?”
    “Strat-o-fortress. It’s a kind of plane.”
    I nod. “So why’d they name themselves that?”
    “Don’t know, I wasn’t there.”
    I look back down at my hands. “Well, at least it’s better than that other band name.”
    “What other band name?”
    “The name of the band you and Ultimate Steve were in.”
    “Was I ever in a band with Steve?”
    “Yes, you—” He almost got me, Holly. Then I see the grin cracking through his mask of confusion. “You’re not making me say it.”
    “Say what?”
    “The name of the band.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it’s stupid.”
    “I was never in a band called ‘Stupid.’ I’d remember that.”
    “No, not—I’m not saying it.”
    “Well, you’re the one who keeps bringing it up.”
    “Well, I’m the one who’s dropping it.”
    “Dropping what?”
    I stare out the window.
    “Dropping what?”
    “Ahghh. You’re like my brother.”
    “Dropping what?”
    “The band,” I say, hiding my face in my hands now.
    “Which band?”
    “Quit!”
    “A band called ‘Quit’? I kinda like that. Very art rock. Very—”
    “Tighty-Whitey and the Banana Hammocks!”
    And when I shout the name, you’re shouting it too, Holly, out in that frost-silvered night on the edge of memory.
    “That’s disgusting,” I’d said.
    “Don’t be like that. This is going to be fun.” Under the street lamps, your eyes shimmered. Your cheeks glowed pink from the cold. Fingers around my wrist, you pulled me up the sidewalk into the bowling alley.
    They were some of your school friends. I only knew Tyler, who’d come to youth group with you the week before. I didn’t like him. Two years older than us, big and loud, already a rock star in his own mind. He was—he is—the kind of guy who’d think a band name like that was hilarious.
    You didn’t tell me their show was a rock opera, Holly. Or that one of their buddies