Ben Wallman

Currents

Two days ago we hit a patch of rapids in a rainstorm and the raft bucked Charlie. Didn't notice we'd lost
him until the river flattened back out ten minutes later. By then nobody even mentioned looking for him. Tim
kept steering while Heather and Kate joined hands and said a prayer. I didn't want to listen so I moved to the
back and smoked the last cigarette, but I heard one bit of it that I can't get outta my head.
As you help us on the journey to the place made ready for each of us.
It just kept running through my head over and over, the place made ready, the place made ready. I'd
whisper it under my breath as I bailed water from the pontoons. I'd roll it around my head while I watched Tim
measure out our daily portions of rice. I'd watch the river roll by and dream of the place at the end of it, the place
made ready for us.

None of us set out looking to go anywhere, but the rain started heavy one day and pretty soon it had
washed so many things away that no one could remember how long it had been since it started. The date wasn't
the only thing we lost track of. People, buildings, whole city blocks were washed away drop by drop.
People tried to live their lives as if nothing was out of the ordinary, fording streams that had been streets
to get to work on time, wading to high ground to find somewhere for their toy dogs to pee. One day I looked up
on my lunch break and saw Tim polling a raft down the river that ran where Post Street used to be. I was perched
on the roof of a pickup truck trying not to drown, and it seemed like a good idea to hitch a ride while I could. I
swam over and Kate helped me up the side. Neither of them said anything, just nodded and waited for me to
catch my breath before passing me an oar and asking if I'd ever steered a raft before.
That was over a month ago. We floated through the city for a few days that bled into one another until
one morning I looked around and the city was gone. Cliff walls towered up on either side of us. I don't know if
the buildings turned slowly into them, or if we took a turn I didn't notice, or if there were ever any buildings at
all. Since that moment the river flows through canyons carved hundreds of feet deep. And the days go by.

There are thirty four notches on the poll that rises from the center of the raft. At the end of each day Tim
takes the knife, the steak knife not the butcher knife, and carves another notch. At the top of the poll Kate tied an

orange silk scarf worked with a pattern that reminded me of the mazes they printed on kid's menus at chain
restaurants.
It's our flag. She said proudly.
How much that flag cost you? Tim asked.
I don't remember exactly, over a hundred. The shop said it was vintage, but I saw a girl with the same
one riding the BART.
The raft had a lot of things like that. Things that had been repurposed, we tied things together with
headphones, smashed tablets to get the shards of glass from their screens and wore hundred dollar yoga pants
tied around our heads like pirates. Everybody contributed, eventually. When Walter got so sick that he couldn't
stand anymore, Tim pulled out a brand new leather jacket he'd been hiding and wrapped him in it. We had all
things like that. Items we had found on the river that we had squirreled away, hoping still that the water would
recede and we could all go back to our normal lives. Work, the gym, Netflix, trying to go vegetarian for the fifth
time. Each day that passed made the dream seem a little more distant, and each one of us finally let it go in our
own way. One afternoon, when there were twenty two notches on the poll Charlie walked calmly to the edge of
the raft and sent his phone spinning out across the water, where it touched down gently and skipped, twice. He
turned and grinned at us like a 13 year old playing hookie. We each took our turn. Heather won, 4 skips.
Afterwards we laid on our backs in the sun and watched the clouds pass. We could have been hurtling
towards a waterfall and no one would have seen. The sky had begun to darken towards evening before Kate
broke the silence.
How will we know when we find it. That we're in the right place?
No one spoke for a long time. We all had the same fear, that we would pass the spot where the cliffs
broke and we could pull to shore. A spot with a trail that led somewhere, anywhere, except the slow and endless
river. I heard a thump beside me and turned to see Walter settling into a seat on an old milk crate. It was the first
time he had left his pallet in days, his face was pale, thinner than when we had met just a few weeks ago. He
started to talk slowly, as if each word was precious and he didn't want to choose the wrong one.
We'll know. It has to be out there. Why would this, all this fucking shit He threw his arms out wide to
encompass the canyon we were in and everything else too happen if there wasnt something at the end of it.
It was an unwritten rule that we never talked about too much about what had happened to us, we just
took it moment by moment on the river, but Walter would be dead soon so he could do what he wanted.

You really gonna put that much faith in things making sense? Tim asked, not trying to hide his scorn.
We all have it seems. We all got on the raft instead of clinging to whatever we had left.
You sure? You sure we all didn't end up here cause it was easier to keep moving rather than stay where
we were at? What if the place we're supposed to be is where we started? What if this river just widens into a sea
without shores, still water spreading in every direction, drifting on that till the end of our lives?
The silence hung heavy in the air, nobody felt the need to say anything.

Walter died that next day. No one cried. We stood at the back of the raft and tried to roll his body off
with as much dignity as we could, which wasn't much. He was still with us for a while, bobbing face down
behind us, pulled along in our wake. About noon, Tim started talking to him.
What do you think old Walter, just around this bend? Walter my man you see anything good down
there? You know what I could go for Walter? Tacos. Ten or twelve of em. You think we'll find a taqueria any
time soon? It was kind of an asshole thing to do, not enough that anyone said anything, but it set Me, Kate and
Heather on edge. Charlie didn't seem to mind, but I suspected he might have smoked the last of the weed that
had been the only thing in his backpack when we picked him off that rooftop.
I sat on the front of the raft and let my bare feet drag through the water. Kate sate nearby trying to mend
a hole in one of our tarps.
I should have fucking listened when they tried to teach me to sew in school.
Heather sat down next to me and put her own feet in the water.
Nah, fuck them. Even if we get soaked by rain and catch hypothermia and die, fuck them.
She leaned forward and pulled out the hair tie at the back of her head, shaking loose a mass of tight
curls.
Well, maybe if they had let us sew what we wanted. I coulda saved alotta time if I knew how to sew on
a patch right when I was 13.
She smiled at us both and leaned back to take in the sun. Her smile faded after a moment, when it got
quiet we could all hear Tim talking to a corpse. Heather started talking to cover the sound.
What do you two think is out there? What do you think is waiting for us all? A nice girl for Tim, she
laughed a little, and a nice boy for me and whatever the fuck Charlie wants. What about you Kate, a nice chica
or some guapo on horseback?

I'll take what I can get, so long as they're nice. Kate said, holding a stretch of blue plastic up to the
light.
What about you little Jacko? You think we're gonna round that bend and see fifteen guys just dying for
somebody like you?
One would be okay. I'm not greedy. I said.

I don't know how weve survived on the river as long as we have. Before the rains Heather had been a
barista, Tim a lawyer, Kate taught yoga, Charlied been graphic designer, Walter worked for some tech start-up
making what he had described as Tinder for dogs and I drove Uber when I wasn't commuting from Oakland to
fail at acting auditions. We had no experience on boats, no survival skills, and most of us spent the first week
praying we'd find a place with electricity, wifi, coffee and cigarettes.
Now Charlies dead and Walters dead and Tim wont tell us how much food we have left, and the river
rolls on. Some days I think about slipping overboard when everyone is distracted, just to feel the warm water
pull me along until it decides that the place I belong is underneath, becoming closer and closer to it until it fills
my lungs and I go down and you cant tell where I start or the river ends. But today the river showed us
something, and I know that it has some plan for us.
Heather spotted it first. We all crowded at the front of the boat, straining our eyes to see the regular flash
of sunlight on metal in the narrowing canyon ahead of us.
Thats it. Kate said, so excited she bounced on the balls of her feet like a child.
Thats what? Said Tim.
It. Whatever weve been looking for. That. Is. It.
How do you know thats it? How do you know thats anything?
Because its fucking there.
No one bothers to steer anymore. I can see people moving ahead of us, at least Im almost certain theyre
people. When we get closer I can see them waving their arms excitedly at us from the little dock on the river.
They look strange, all of them are walking the same direction but none of them move. When we get closer I can
see why, the dock itself is moving at the same speed as the river, moving against the current on into infinity. I
look around the raft and everyone else is gone, Im the only one left. I can see the smile on the woman closest to
me on the dock, shes dressed in a khaki shirt and matching shorts, shes wearing a wide brimmed sun hat and

has a nametag pinned to her chest. As the raft bumps against the dock she steps excitedly on to greet me.
Hello! If youll please just come with me over here. Watch yourself as we step to the moving walkway!
I hope you enjoyed your trip down The River! If you follow the yellow line itll lead you out to the rest of the
park. Have a great day!
She speaks at me like theres a hundred and fifty watt bulb in her head that no ones ever turned off.
Theres more of them too, happy little workers in Khaki uniforms and tight smiles. They wont let me stand still
and catch my bearings. Theyre leading me away from our raft, away from my friends who they already took
from me. Im pushed through a turnstile and out into a city made of towers lit in neon, held together by cables
that vanish into the night sky. Colors flash until the light seems solid, like I could reach out and grab a bar of
electric green to help steady myself. There are noises everywhere, demanding my attention, bells and sirens,
laughter and shouting. My eyes lock on to Heather and Kate, seated side by side in a ferris wheel car that is just
beginning to rise. I try to wave at them to get their attention, but they dont notice. I follow their car with my
eyes, until the wheel takes them out of my vision to heights I cant imagine and places I dont know.
I see Charlie throwing tiny rings, trying to get them around the necks of bottles too large for them to fit.
A man in a tweet suit hands him bucket after bucket and Charlie keeps throwing. I try to reason with him.
Charlie, theyre too small. Theyll never fit.
Everybody knows that Jack. What can I do though? He just keeps handing me more. At this the man in
tweed starts laughing, then Charlie starts laughing, then I start laughing even though I dont know what the joke
is.
I shoulder in-between Tim and Walter at the shooting gallery. Theyre both focused down the barrels of
their air-rifles, aiming at sheet metal ducks that march from one end of the booth to the other. The pinging of
dead ducks fills the air.
Why dont they fly out of here? They could go live on the river.
Walter barely lifts his eye to look at me, Theyd rust.
I drift unseen, letting hidden currents carry me to the place I should be. I walk straight past the line
outside the bumper cars, and take my place at the orange car numbered 12. The bell sounds to begin and all the
cars around me begin to careen towards each other, smashing together with peals of laughter. My car performs a
slow circle in reverse, the pedals dont work and the steering wheel just spins. I gracefully go around the middle
of the rink, waiting for the operator to tell me what to do.