Eighty eight
BY RACHEL LU
The town of Eighty Eight sat in Barren County, Kentucky, 10 miles east of Glasgow on State Highway 90. It was a small, farm town. You’d be driving down the highway, all old pavement and overgrown grass and wonder, is this really a highway? Am I at the right place? But then you’d see it — a bent, faded green sign that said “Eighty Eight” and that was it. There you were, in Eighty Eight, Kentucky.
But most likely, you were not at the right place. No one drove to Kentucky looking for Eighty Eight. No one wanted to go to a place called Barren County. No one wanted to go to Kentucky, so the only cars that’d pass by you would be speeding out — a hastily packed bag and a handful of cash and a dream as big as yours once was, the kind that lived in your mouth and made everything seem shinier.
You’d wonder what Barren County really was, with towns named Summer Shade, Dry Fork, Etoile, Goodnight, Nobob, Oleoak and Bear Wallow. You’d wonder if you had tumbled into the pages of the fairytales your mom used to whisper to you at night. You’d wonder what had happened, who gutted and scraped clean the heart and blood out of the town until it was as faded as your once denim jeans that spent a lifetime and a half too long in the washing machine. Wash, discard and buy a new one. Repeat.
The whole time, you’d still be driving, but slowly, at 20 miles per hour even though the speed limit is 80. You’d see stunted green trees everywhere, humor yourself and try to count eighty-eight trees. But you’d still be going too fast to count each individual tree, so you wonder if you should drive at eighty-eight miles per hour. You want to do something with the number eighty-eight. The thought of eighty-eight would consume your mind so that you’d be fervently whispering eighty-eight, eighty-eight under your breath but you wouldn’t be able to think of anything because what could you do in a car, driving past an unincorporated community?
You’d think to yourself that you should have passed by here on August 8, 2008 even though that was years and years ago. You didn’t know about Eighty Eight, Kentucky then, but regret would swell in you. You’d start thinking of other places you can go to now, but the opportunity to go to Eighty Four, Pennsylvania has passed. You weren’t even alive on August 4, 1884. Yet you’d still feel this sense of regret, having learned something eccentric and not being able to put it to use, or worse, living the rest of your life not knowing what to do with it.
I went to Eighty Eight, Kentucky, y ou’d tell your friends on the kind of slow night when you’d just sit on the couch, drink beer and exchange stories. Once upon a time, a long time ago, past Goodnight and Nobob and Bear Wallow.
That’s cool. What did you do there? t hey’d ask you, still midlaugh from the previous anecdote, expecting some quirky or funny story from you. Their eyes on you, waiting.
Yet you’d have nothing to say because what did you do there except drive past, thinking about what you wanted do? And in that moment, you wish you could’ve gone back in time to get out of the car and at least explore and take some photos. Then you’d have something to show. But you didn’t because you were thinking about what you would do the entire time. You’d sit there, opening and closing your mouth, looking like a dead fish and then they’d turn around and continue their conversation and you’d be thinking I should have done something.
But right now, right now, you’re still driving past Eighty Eight, all old pavement and overgrown grass and everything, and before you know it, you drove right through Eighty Eight, out of Barren County, Kentucky. And then your blood’s pumping fiercely again, your fingertips tingling with feeling, as if you were in a feverish dream the whole way through Eighty Eight, half-lidded eyes and hazy thoughts.
You regret not at least stopping to take a picture, but it’d be too late to turn back to Kentucky because who wants to go there anyway? You’re on your way out, towards the next stop, but you don’t know where your next stop is and you’re hoping you find what you’re looking for before you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, out of gas.