Jim awoke with a start.
Something had touched his hand. He sat in the darkness for a moment, his heart pounding. He looked around groggily, seeing the well kept room. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Moonlight pressed against the curtains and bathed the room a soft, blue light. He moved his hand and felt one of the leather bound journals, it must have slipped down and bumped his hand. With a calming breath, he reached for the light.
"Don't, Jim." Lisa's voice slid from the darkness, quiet and almost breathless.
He paused. His pulsed raced, with both mind and heart giving different suggestions. It took everything for him to return to his position, laying back against the pillows. He chanced a look and the silhouette was there, just like in years past. Her shadowing laying in bed, facing him in the darkness.
He took a deep breath and let it out, his voice shaking.
There was a warm, familiar chuckle.
"So dramatic. One of many things I was ... that I am fond of about you."
While it had been a statement, the thought ended like a question. It made the hair stand up on Jim's neck. He couldn't think of what to say, any words he attempted got caught in his throat.
"I'm new to this. I've seen it from your side. But this," She said, her voice thoughtful, "This is very strange. I'm not sure how it works."
He carefully pulled the journals from his lap and began setting them on the bedside as quietly as possible, wondering if the voice would fade or the apparition would disappear if he made a noise. There was no motion from the shadow, just her voice.
What would I see if could? Her lifeless with sunken eyes? Her emaciated form, ravaged by cancer?
His thoughts ran wild. They made him tremble again. Tears began to form in his eyes.
"Oh, no, Sweetie," she said, her voice suddenly caught with emotion, "I didn't meant to upset you. I thought it was time. I thought I could..."
Silence blanketed the room as he began to weep. To hear her voice was everything, but he couldn't comprehend what he was experiencing. It had been wonderful, but now the implications were unsettling. Talking to himself or, perhaps...
He wouldn't let himself complete the thought. He pressed his hand to his chest, trying to press out the grief that was driving this. He dared not look toward the sound of her voice. It cut him open every time he heard it.
After a moment of silence, he chanced a look back and the shadow was gone.
"Lisa." He whispered, then pressed his hands to his face.
Tears rolled over his fingers and scattered down his clothes. He had fallen asleep just after putting the children down for a nap. He rested on the comforter, his shoes and socks sat loosely by the bed.
Swallowing hard, he looked around again. None of the shadows looked out of place. He finally reached over and thumbed on the light. It hurt his eyes for a moment, but now everything was in focus. He swung his legs out and leaned over the bed, resting his right hand on his face.
Time passed as shuddering sobs rocked through him until they began to slowly subside. That pressure reset itself again. He wiped his hands down his face, feeling both heartbroken and frustrated.
Jim looked to the journals, trying to remember what he'd read. His head was full of thoughts, but he needed a distraction, a focal point to shake whatever had gripped him. He was well rested and doubt he could even attempt to sleep, much less what for his mind to spin yet another tale.
He put on his shoes and crept to the door. The floor creaked with each step, but not another soul in the house stirred. He pulled the door gently and a note fell from the door jamb.
You looked comfortable. Janice and I took care of the children. Rest well.
There was a artfully penned capital R at the bottom of the note. He rubbed his fingers across the paper and nodded, thankful. His eyes narrowed and he looked at the script R. It resembled the flowery A journal addressed to Abigail in the trunk upstairs. There was a twinge, but he couldn't understand why it unnerved him as it did.
He moved toward the kitchen then slipped out the back. The moon waxing, last night was the half moon. With the lack of light pollution in the area, it was surprisingly bright and he had no issues seeing the wide prairie around him. The stars were magnificent, he felt he could likely see just as clearly if the moon hadn't been out at all. He crunched down the drive to the road. Then paused to decide which way he would go. He turned North and began to walk.
It was an unconscious thing for him, to walk and think. Moments like these, he would collect his thoughts and walk for miles. All of his most important ideas had come from this exercise. Out here, it was a vastly different environment, but the process was the same. Crickets blended with the breezes. When the breezes lulled, the warmth from the surrounding land would rise up again. The world appeared calm; with everything drenched in the wholesome blue light from the moon.
Jim recalled what he'd read from June's journals. Reading through the diaries was difficult in many ways. Her education was thin, at best, making it difficult to grasp what she was saying. The dates were clear, however. A series of dates from the 1850s dotted a few of the more comprehensible pages.
The first of the numbers were when she had immigrated from England with her family. There were some other dates with month and year that were associated with names. It was some time before Jim realized that these were death dates. There were state names scribbled in, which took some time sounding out. Illinois being the most difficult to decipher.
June's writing became clearer, more thought out just after this. She began to write complete thoughts and her spelling became better. There were descriptions of the days activities and, while brief, notes on her disposition. A man entered her writings, his name was Roane, then a child, then both were lost. She went through a dark time, writing infrequent and anguished entries.
Jim sighed, and stopped walking. It fallen in line with Lisa's own experience. She'd been terrified after Missy died, clingy and wanting. It was disconcerting, since Lisa was so very independent then immediately wanting me closer, to stay home from business trips, and from driving long distances. It now made sense, like she had been curse with her family's own past.
And it made sense why she found old self after Abigail was born; then Daniel came along. It broke the past that held her in an icy grip. He nodded with the comprehension, feeling like he had worked out what he needed to. She had shrugged off June's legacy.
He felt he'd walked nearly three miles by then. He looked up at the moon on it's way to the horizon, then turned on his heel and began walking back the Aunts' house. Shadows flit by at the edges of his vision. The road itself seemed to churn and crawl at a distance and the motion deeply unsettled him. He was sure it was an artifact of the moonlight and the residual heat rising from the sun-baked ground, but he wasn't sure of much anymore.
June's sadness crept into him, though. She had mentioned keeping a piece of Roane and her lost daughter with her. The phrasing was odd and it brought an odd thought, but then he thought of the locks of hair that Lisa had placed in her own journal; one from Missy and one from herself. Jim thought about it and wondered if this had been a fixture in their family?
Jim always felt that loss was a fact of life. Whatever you gained, you eventually would lose. To him, it didn't make sense to hold all of this. Forgetting and being forgotten was just the way things were; life as he knew it. Death is what it is and, while you didn't have to like it, you had to accept it. For those before you, for those around you, and eventually for yourself. Fighting it was a fools errand, to say the least. But everyone had the ability to go gracefully and Jim was willing to take that for himself when the time came.
It was a hollow perspective as he wasn't a religious man. Yet he could see that satisfaction that came from belief in things that would persist past death. The hope of a continuous path where experiences were saved from the past and brought forward so that it would never be lost. Protecting the past from the future. Keeping experience from dissolving through hundreds, thousands, or millions of years.
From a long ways off, he saw a light on in the attic window. He turned down the drive to the house, the crunch of the rocks echoing distantly from the house. The light flickered like a candle and it made him shiver. It hadn't been there when he left, he was certain that he'd turned to look at the house when he walked away.
Was he certain? A flickering flame in that attic could spell trouble and he began to move more quickly toward the house.
Then the light went out and the window went dark.
He caught his breath and goosebumps rolled over his body. He stood, looking up at the window, then sat down in the dirt driveway next to his car. He watched, quietly, each disturbing thought danced in his mind, but he refused to acknowledge them.
Jim sat in the driveway until the sun began to lighten the sky.
Saturday, June 24, 2017
Friday, June 23, 2017
What Remains, part 3
Jim woke with a start, his heart racing.
"Lisa." He said, his voice cracked with sleep.
It was light outside, sun shining full through the windows. The house was warming quickly with the sun's rays and Jim found himself sweating even with a single layer top sheet. He tossed the sheet to the side and picked his clothes from the floor and groggily put them on. He felt as if he was trying to recall a dream, but was having a hard time bringing it back to focus.
He stood and moved toward the door, but then froze, looking back at the mess he'd made of the bed and sighed. He loosely pulled the blankets up and flopped them back into place, tucking here and there to give the appearance of being made.
He grimaced as he looked at his half measure of effort from a distance, leaning to and fro, before deflating in disappointment and walking out of the room.
Breakfast was served with cracked wheat pancakes, thick cut ham, and eggs. The sisters provided maple flavored jellies that they spread over the pancakes with a knife. The kids were especially riled. Jim felt ready to face them as a father again.
Jim spent the morning exploring the area with Daniel and Abby. They set out through the fields first where he showed them the barn he'd stayed in earlier. He felt closer to being himself than he had for some time. Perhaps even before he'd lost their mother and she was struggling under her fight with cancer. There were still moments where Abigail paused with a distant sadness, but it slowly faded under the bright sunlight.
After exploring the immediate grounds, they jumped in the car and drove for a bit. Jim sat, enjoying the car's air conditioning. His eye's sparkled as he saw the ditches that ran along the sides of the road. They were filled with water from the irrigation fed into the neighboring farms.
Around mid-afternoon they came home, soaked and exhausted. Jim shook his head as he looked at the sunburned children and spent some time with a washcloth, cooling their sun touched skin then putting lotion on them. He hoped that he'd gotten to it in time.
They'd missed their usual afternoon nap, so he quickly stripped them down in the bathroom and followed them to their room. It was the first time he'd seen it. He wondered whose stayed in this room all those years ago. He looked around at the decor and found it similar enough to his own space, but with a much smaller bed. Abigail and Daniel were content to share. The house was warm, but with the shades pulled, it gave the illusion of being cooler than it was. A standing metal fan helped by pushing a calm breeze over the bed.
While they settled in, Jim took a seat near their bedside and picked up a book that sat there on the table. It was a leather-bound journal. He'd almost mistaken it for Lisa's, but this one was well worn, and the pages bulged with use.
He thumbed at the leather strap and opened it up. On the introductory page, in a controlled, but unpracticed hand was the name...
"Abigail," he whispered to himself.
Lisa had chosen the name for their daughter because of her ancestor. It was strange to have such a direct connection as what sat in his hand. He ran his hand over the thick parchment paper, tracing the curves of the name with his finger. He started to open the book further when he heard quick footsteps coming up the stairs and the straight-backed Janice walked in.
"Oh, that's where that went." She said, catching her breath.
"Were you looking for this?" Jim said, speaking in a hushed tone, closing the book and thumbing the strap back into place, "Lisa talked about Abigail a lot."
He held the book in his hands, the looked up at the expectant Janice.
"You'd think she'd met her, as much as she'd said about her, but she was..." He paused for a moment, searching for less painful words, "She was gone before Lisa was born?"
Janice's lips with compressed into a thin line, she nodded and reached toward Jim with an upturned hand. He handed it to her, but was pained to do so.
"Yes. It was a very long time ago." She said, visibly relaxing with the book.
She looked to the children and the straight line of her lips turned into a smile. Janice held the journal in front of her, rocking on her heels like a young woman with her school books. There was a moment of silence.
"Our family comes from a painful history." She said quietly, her eyes moving over the room before settling on Jim, "Come with me. This is a history as important to you as it is to us. You are part of our family, after all."
Jim stood up from the chair quietly. The children had lulled to sleep and did not stir. He stepped from the room and followed Janice. At the far side of the hallway, he could see Rachael, still in her nightgown a noon, brushing her long hair. She looked incredibly thin. She looked up and him and smiled, her eyes sparkled.
Jim returned the smile.
"Here." Janice said, pointed up at the ceiling.
There was an inset panel with a thick string hanging from it. The string itself was bound to the wall to keep it from hanging in the middle of the hallway. She unwound it and pulled down with some effort. The door swung down and a retracted set of steps revealed themselves. She carefully folded them out, being silent so as to not wake the children.
He immediately felt the heat from the opening and grimaced. The sun baked the roof, turning the attic into something of an oven. Janice led the way and Jim followed with his misgivings.
Light from the East facing window lit the attic easily. Recent cardboard boxes gave way to wooden trunks and footlockers painted a military green. Some of the footlockers were yet older, plain oak with riveted leather bound edges. The hand painted numbers and names were worn away and illegible.
Jim trembled in spite of the heat. He saw nearly two dozen dolls, boys and girls, and varying levels of quality set up in a semi-circle, just out of the sun. Half a dozen toy soldiers made from folded metal, lacquered, and painted were in a pile in the vicinity. Remnants of where Abigail and Daniel had played the night before.
He felt his own children's excitement in this place. The thrill of discovery, wanting to upend boxes and see all that he could see. His family felt like they had left all their cultural history behind, firmly planted in the present. He knew very little about his own grandparents much less his parents. They had left no story, no real legacy. It made him wonder about the future he would leave for his own.
"This is our history." She said.
She made a motion around her, standing, but staying bent at the waist to avoid hitting the rafters.
"If you do remove anything, please return it. I have a system, if you couldn't tell." She gave Jim a self-aware smile.
Jim moved around on his knees, looking over the boxes.
"Oldest are toward the middle and packed tightly to keep the heat from getting to them too much. I had to move many things into the cardboard boxes. Don't depend on how old the boxes look to determine how old they are." She said.
Jim looked around. She smiled at his obvious delight.
"It's good to finally meet you, Jim," her eyes sparkled as she said it, "I'm going to get out of this heat."
She dabbed at her forehead and let out a breath as she turned and went down the steps to the floor below.
Jim read the careful handwriting and started moving through the boxes, like a kid at the foot of a Christmas tree, looking for the first gift to open.
From the movement of dust on the floor it appeared that one of the heavier footlockers had been moved to the back. He followed the lines and removed other cardboard boxes that were stacked on top of it, clearing a path. It had a small lock on it, but the lock itself was one of those simple cross keys. He took his own bundle of keys and pulled a small folding tool free from it. One twist and the lock fell open.
He opened it and the smell of must and parchment oozed from the footlocker. Jim's eyes widened. Stacks of small leather journals very similar to both Lisa and Abigail's. They varied slightly in design and color. Some in the top left of the box were far more rustic, with thick twining threads through the spine. Each of them had the same leather strap with the formed metal post to hold it shut. He thumbed through the diaries. Some had a name and date, while others were hidden. He considered where to start.
"Janice has a system, right?" He breathed to himself, "Let's go back to the beginning."
He looked for signs of age and, predictably, the journals were stacked from oldest to newest in columns, moving left to right, then row upon row putting the newest in the front right. He tentatively reached to the last and picked it up. It appeared to be recent, in comparison to all of the others. He thumbed the strap and turned to the first page.
Written in a precise, flowery handwriting, "To Abigail. From all of us."
The words sent a chill down his spine. He wasn't sure what to think of it, but it seemed eerily prescient. He put the diary back into place and then moved back to the top left. The stack was nearly six deep. He looked to the first page and saw the name June. He continued paging through the different books, finding a total of eight belonging to June before the name Geraldine showed up.
He pulled the journals from the footlocker and secreted them into a box that had a small jewelry box and very little else in it. He closed the footlocker, clicked the lock, and replaced the boxes from where he'd pulled them, leaving no trace. He moved down the steps carefully, then dutifully returned the steps to the ceiling, replacing the cord.
Jim brought the box into his room and grabbed a glass of water, then began to read the words of June.
"Lisa." He said, his voice cracked with sleep.
It was light outside, sun shining full through the windows. The house was warming quickly with the sun's rays and Jim found himself sweating even with a single layer top sheet. He tossed the sheet to the side and picked his clothes from the floor and groggily put them on. He felt as if he was trying to recall a dream, but was having a hard time bringing it back to focus.
He stood and moved toward the door, but then froze, looking back at the mess he'd made of the bed and sighed. He loosely pulled the blankets up and flopped them back into place, tucking here and there to give the appearance of being made.
He grimaced as he looked at his half measure of effort from a distance, leaning to and fro, before deflating in disappointment and walking out of the room.
Breakfast was served with cracked wheat pancakes, thick cut ham, and eggs. The sisters provided maple flavored jellies that they spread over the pancakes with a knife. The kids were especially riled. Jim felt ready to face them as a father again.
Jim spent the morning exploring the area with Daniel and Abby. They set out through the fields first where he showed them the barn he'd stayed in earlier. He felt closer to being himself than he had for some time. Perhaps even before he'd lost their mother and she was struggling under her fight with cancer. There were still moments where Abigail paused with a distant sadness, but it slowly faded under the bright sunlight.
After exploring the immediate grounds, they jumped in the car and drove for a bit. Jim sat, enjoying the car's air conditioning. His eye's sparkled as he saw the ditches that ran along the sides of the road. They were filled with water from the irrigation fed into the neighboring farms.
Around mid-afternoon they came home, soaked and exhausted. Jim shook his head as he looked at the sunburned children and spent some time with a washcloth, cooling their sun touched skin then putting lotion on them. He hoped that he'd gotten to it in time.
They'd missed their usual afternoon nap, so he quickly stripped them down in the bathroom and followed them to their room. It was the first time he'd seen it. He wondered whose stayed in this room all those years ago. He looked around at the decor and found it similar enough to his own space, but with a much smaller bed. Abigail and Daniel were content to share. The house was warm, but with the shades pulled, it gave the illusion of being cooler than it was. A standing metal fan helped by pushing a calm breeze over the bed.
While they settled in, Jim took a seat near their bedside and picked up a book that sat there on the table. It was a leather-bound journal. He'd almost mistaken it for Lisa's, but this one was well worn, and the pages bulged with use.
He thumbed at the leather strap and opened it up. On the introductory page, in a controlled, but unpracticed hand was the name...
"Abigail," he whispered to himself.
Lisa had chosen the name for their daughter because of her ancestor. It was strange to have such a direct connection as what sat in his hand. He ran his hand over the thick parchment paper, tracing the curves of the name with his finger. He started to open the book further when he heard quick footsteps coming up the stairs and the straight-backed Janice walked in.
"Oh, that's where that went." She said, catching her breath.
"Were you looking for this?" Jim said, speaking in a hushed tone, closing the book and thumbing the strap back into place, "Lisa talked about Abigail a lot."
He held the book in his hands, the looked up at the expectant Janice.
"You'd think she'd met her, as much as she'd said about her, but she was..." He paused for a moment, searching for less painful words, "She was gone before Lisa was born?"
Janice's lips with compressed into a thin line, she nodded and reached toward Jim with an upturned hand. He handed it to her, but was pained to do so.
"Yes. It was a very long time ago." She said, visibly relaxing with the book.
She looked to the children and the straight line of her lips turned into a smile. Janice held the journal in front of her, rocking on her heels like a young woman with her school books. There was a moment of silence.
"Our family comes from a painful history." She said quietly, her eyes moving over the room before settling on Jim, "Come with me. This is a history as important to you as it is to us. You are part of our family, after all."
Jim stood up from the chair quietly. The children had lulled to sleep and did not stir. He stepped from the room and followed Janice. At the far side of the hallway, he could see Rachael, still in her nightgown a noon, brushing her long hair. She looked incredibly thin. She looked up and him and smiled, her eyes sparkled.
Jim returned the smile.
"Here." Janice said, pointed up at the ceiling.
There was an inset panel with a thick string hanging from it. The string itself was bound to the wall to keep it from hanging in the middle of the hallway. She unwound it and pulled down with some effort. The door swung down and a retracted set of steps revealed themselves. She carefully folded them out, being silent so as to not wake the children.
He immediately felt the heat from the opening and grimaced. The sun baked the roof, turning the attic into something of an oven. Janice led the way and Jim followed with his misgivings.
Light from the East facing window lit the attic easily. Recent cardboard boxes gave way to wooden trunks and footlockers painted a military green. Some of the footlockers were yet older, plain oak with riveted leather bound edges. The hand painted numbers and names were worn away and illegible.
Jim trembled in spite of the heat. He saw nearly two dozen dolls, boys and girls, and varying levels of quality set up in a semi-circle, just out of the sun. Half a dozen toy soldiers made from folded metal, lacquered, and painted were in a pile in the vicinity. Remnants of where Abigail and Daniel had played the night before.
He felt his own children's excitement in this place. The thrill of discovery, wanting to upend boxes and see all that he could see. His family felt like they had left all their cultural history behind, firmly planted in the present. He knew very little about his own grandparents much less his parents. They had left no story, no real legacy. It made him wonder about the future he would leave for his own.
"This is our history." She said.
She made a motion around her, standing, but staying bent at the waist to avoid hitting the rafters.
"If you do remove anything, please return it. I have a system, if you couldn't tell." She gave Jim a self-aware smile.
Jim moved around on his knees, looking over the boxes.
"Oldest are toward the middle and packed tightly to keep the heat from getting to them too much. I had to move many things into the cardboard boxes. Don't depend on how old the boxes look to determine how old they are." She said.
Jim looked around. She smiled at his obvious delight.
"It's good to finally meet you, Jim," her eyes sparkled as she said it, "I'm going to get out of this heat."
She dabbed at her forehead and let out a breath as she turned and went down the steps to the floor below.
Jim read the careful handwriting and started moving through the boxes, like a kid at the foot of a Christmas tree, looking for the first gift to open.
From the movement of dust on the floor it appeared that one of the heavier footlockers had been moved to the back. He followed the lines and removed other cardboard boxes that were stacked on top of it, clearing a path. It had a small lock on it, but the lock itself was one of those simple cross keys. He took his own bundle of keys and pulled a small folding tool free from it. One twist and the lock fell open.
He opened it and the smell of must and parchment oozed from the footlocker. Jim's eyes widened. Stacks of small leather journals very similar to both Lisa and Abigail's. They varied slightly in design and color. Some in the top left of the box were far more rustic, with thick twining threads through the spine. Each of them had the same leather strap with the formed metal post to hold it shut. He thumbed through the diaries. Some had a name and date, while others were hidden. He considered where to start.
"Janice has a system, right?" He breathed to himself, "Let's go back to the beginning."
He looked for signs of age and, predictably, the journals were stacked from oldest to newest in columns, moving left to right, then row upon row putting the newest in the front right. He tentatively reached to the last and picked it up. It appeared to be recent, in comparison to all of the others. He thumbed the strap and turned to the first page.
Written in a precise, flowery handwriting, "To Abigail. From all of us."
The words sent a chill down his spine. He wasn't sure what to think of it, but it seemed eerily prescient. He put the diary back into place and then moved back to the top left. The stack was nearly six deep. He looked to the first page and saw the name June. He continued paging through the different books, finding a total of eight belonging to June before the name Geraldine showed up.
He pulled the journals from the footlocker and secreted them into a box that had a small jewelry box and very little else in it. He closed the footlocker, clicked the lock, and replaced the boxes from where he'd pulled them, leaving no trace. He moved down the steps carefully, then dutifully returned the steps to the ceiling, replacing the cord.
Jim brought the box into his room and grabbed a glass of water, then began to read the words of June.
Thursday, June 22, 2017
What Remains, part 2
Jim spent hours walking the fenced edges of the ranch. The hot Wyoming sun leeched the tears from him, giving him a release for the grief. Pain was a welling pressure, like a bleeding wound. Without changing the gauze or releasing the pressure, he found himself angry, volatile, and sinking into despair. As he wandered through Lisa's childhood, he was able to release it by degrees. Letting go and allowing the healing process to begin.
She hadn't said much about this place. She had always spoken of it like she had desperately wanted to leave it behind. He'd had a hard time understanding her motivations. There was some fear or unspoken concern that she avoided at all costs. To Jim, everything looked like a picturesque painting of the perfect childhood from where he stood.
He could imagine rushing through the tall golden grasses that spread out infinitely, head barely tall enough to find your way. Easily hiding just by dropping to ground. The only indication that those tall grasses didn't continue on forever were the mountains that stood around him, looking like a backdrop from movie.
The fence was weathered, some had even started to buckle, but none of them had fallen. It was a testament to the quality and effort that had been spent when they were first put in place. Like the fences, an abandoned barn stood between the fences. The long boards forming the walls had warped with time, pulling slightly from the sturdy supports underneath. He moved inside, tentatively, making sure it was safe. He could smell the age and sweetness from long dried manure and the sun cured wood. Patches of grass had grown here and there, following the cracks of light that fell to the floor.
There were a series of small fenced areas with a loft that still had the leavings of windblown hay from ages back. The vertical timbers stood strong. He was surprised to see names etched on one of them. There were a series of height markers etched into the wood and a patchwork of names, each vying for space on the wide piece of wood. Janice and Rachel were among the names, as well as a boy's chiseled less precise hand showing the name Sully. They were very old, blackened by time and stained by the oils left by the animals that had rubbed against them. None of the markers appeared taller than four feet.
On another support, Jim found Lisa's name. Hers appeared almost fresh, showing up after the animals had gone. It was isolated and apart from the others.
"Maybe there was something to that," Jim said to himself.
It changed the story if she was a lonely child, the older generations having very little in common with their grand niece, and she remained trapped by miles of freedom.
He slid to the floor and leaned against the support, Lisa's name just over his head as he sat there. He put his hand around and reached into his pocket. He pulled out her wedding ring and looked closely at the tiny row of diamonds that dotted the outer edge. It was a simple, elegant reminder of their union, tiny in his palm. It could barely fit over the first knuckle of his ring finger, but it went over his right pinky finger where it fit snugly. He still wore his own wedding band, not knowing if or when he would ever take it off. He lifted his arm and gripped the support behind him and closed his eyes. She had been here. Ages ago, sure, but it was something.
"I never planned to lose you," he said to the barn walls and that lingering sweetness.
"I never planned to be lost," her voice echoed in his head.
He shuddered, tears pressing to the surface again. He let his bone shaking sobs take him, again bleeding off more of that pressure. He'd held it for so long in order to keep things together for his kids. He was pretty Abigail had seen through it. It was unfortunate that his melancholy had made him blind to theirs. Daniel was probably just young enough to be hurt by it, being about the age where his first indelible memories started. Abigail, was nearly eight and Jim was sure he didn't know what he could do for her to lessen the damage.
"I hope that I can, someday, convey how wonderful of a mother you were." He said softly to himself.
He loosened his grip and dropped his hand to the floor below and closed his eyes, breathing in the summer heat with long breaths.
"They'll know, love," her voice echoed again, then she whispered closely, "dinner's ready."
He gasped, feeling himself wake up as he heard the peal of a bell. He drew a ragged breath and looked around the barn. His heart raced. He leaned against the back of the support, then pulled himself to his feet.
He bowed his head to the childlike letters and brushed his hand over them.
"We'll talk later," he said softly.
Jim kissed his fingertips and touched them to her name.
The ringing bell had stopped. The sunset drenched the valley in a soft red glow. He walked through the grass that was now a rich, coppery color. The heat was still there, but the breeze made gave it a gentle touch.
He saw the large bell at the back of the house and marveled at it. Tarnished with age, but very well built. He'd have expected to see it on the bow of a ship. A weather blackened cord stretched back to the back door that opened into the kitchen. Jim smiled at the antiquity of it.
The table was set and Janice motioned for Jim to sit. The children were already in place, poised over their food, but held back by either words or threats. He smiled to himself, fascinated by the propriety.
The meal consisted of a hearty meatloaf, sweet corn on the cob, and fresh baked rolls. The bread steamed as Jim pulled them apart. He looked to Janice and shook his head in disbelief.
"This is amazing." He said, his mouth still full.
She gave him a reproachful look, then let it fade into a smile. Abigail and Daniel had been talking back and forth giving a pleasant backdrop for the meal.
"How are you doing, Abby?" He asked, leaning in with a tired smile.
"It's great!" She started, excitedly. Her bright blue eyes wide, her dark auburn hair tousled and erratic.
"They have so many dolls in the attic!"
"And toy soydurs!" Daniel said, stumbling around the word 'soldiers'.
Rachael walked in and leaned delicately against the doorway, listening in. This was the second time he'd seen her since he set foot in the house. She whisked the children up stairs and left him with Janice almost immediately. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of the children.
"You should eat, sister." Janice said, a tad more firmly than seemed necessary.
"I'm not hungry, sister," Rachael said, her tone a slight challenge, but she still smiled.
Rachael turned to him.
"They are beautiful children, Jim. Lovely in every way." She said.
She put a hand on his shoulder, and her eyes shone brightly with a barely contained joy.
Janice and Rachael looked similar, but it was clear that Rachael was some years younger, she had a lighter complexion and seemed to have a dusting of freckles that had spread wider with age. Her hair was a light brown that draped down her back. It was held together loosely with a red ribbon. A subtle light gray touched her temples which was a stark contrast to Janice's uniformly dark gray hair pulled tightly into a bun.
Jim looked to each of them, Janice looked on Rachael with some annoyance, but Rachael seemed completely unaffected. Doubtless, being together that long would make for some strained company.
"Oh, daddy! Look at this," Abigail held up a small necklace that had a large, deep red stone in a metal clasp.
It seemed to light up at her fingertips, amplifying the dim light from the kitchen fixture.
"It's mine. She gave it to me."
I smiled to Rachael, who remained focused on Abigail, her eyes glossy with emotion.
"Did you say thank you?" I asked her.
"Yep!" Abigail beamed, "It's called a blood stone."
Janice had a look of disapproval.
"Hmm, I'm not sure," I said, looking closely at it, "Bloodstones are usually green, not red."
"It looks like blood to me." She said with a shrug, looking closely at it.
Jim felt weariness pulling at him. Even with the brief nap in the barn, he'd had a lot of sleepless nights to make up for. Janice seemed to recognize this and all traces of the disapproval had vanished.
"You need to rest, dear," she said, "let me show you to your room."
"I'll ready the children for bed," Rachael said, and stooped to their level, "Daniel, Abigail? Are you ready to see your room?"
Both of them lit up and Rachael flagged them along, toddling playfully from the room with them close on her heels.
"You'll have to forgive her," Janice said with a sigh, "She had always wanted children. She's mostly a child herself."
"I can relate," Jim said with a smile, "Any reason she didn't try?"
"Oh, work to be done. I'm sure you understand," Janice said, elegantly dismissing the question.
"Thank you, again. I appreciate the time. I, needed a moment to collect myself." He told her, feeling a tug at his again.
"I'm not sure I could describe how much this means to us," she said, "We're happy to help."
Janice led him to a hall from the front room that ran parallel to the stairs going up. Ended in the bathroom with a hallway continuing down either side. Immediately to his right was another door that he assumed went into the cellar.
"That was Lisa's room," she said, pointing to the room further to the right, "It's now a guest room, but it felt right for you to stay in it."
Jim thanked her and she nodded and began to step away, then stopped and turned back.
"The children are just above you. I'm sure Rachael will take care of them if they get upset during the night, but they should be easy to find." She said, then nodded, "Sleep well, Jim."
He nodded silently and twisted the knob. The room was small and boxlike. It had the same very tall ceilings like the rest of the first floor. The bed itself was a grandiose queen mattress, placed perfectly in the center of the room. It was layered with comforters and billowing pillows, smelling of a sweet perfume that resembled roses. The bed itself was immaculately made, with extra blankets at the foot. A small chest sat the foot of the bed. Underneath that was a large round rug protecting it from the polished wooden floors.
Opposite the door was a set of corner shelves, holding a variety of keepsakes and picture frames. Some were downright ancient. Near the top, a small antique lamp filled with a thick red oil. A vanity sat against the wall with a tall oval mirror. It stood between a set of East facing windows, three dolls the were positioned on the vanity, facing the South wall. A cubby with a folded curtain revealing a small closet.
Like the front room, it was maintained to an uncanny level of perfection with everything in its place and Jim felt awkward for what he was going to do next.
He lifted the blankets and put them on the vanity, careful to avoid knocking the dolls to the ground. He pulled back the comforter and let it hang to the floor and stripped back the next set of sheets until it was just a thin layer between him and the open air of the room.
He pulled the pillows from the bed and laid them on top of the other blankets and looked at the stripped down bed. He sighed at the work he'd be doing in the morning to try and regain that rigid order that Janice had, undoubtedly, put into place.
Jim switched the light off and laid on his back, listening to movement on the floor above him. The kids' rapid footfalls and Rachael's own following up. The soft sounds of Rachael speaking to those children exactly as a great aunt should. He smiled, his heavy eyes trying to close. The room was full of a soft glow from the moonlight spilling over the Wyoming prairie.
"Lisa." He whispered to the darkness, closing his eyes, "Why did you leave here?"
He could feel the heaviness of his thoughts lulling him to sleep.
"Some things are far too much for someone so young," her voice eddied around him, "But now I understand."
Jim attempted to wake himself with the response, a slight crease furrowing his brow. He cracked his eyes and saw the dark outline of her silhouette against the moonlight windows. He fought to keep his eyes open, but the effort was beyond him.
"Why? ... Lisa." he stumbled through the words weakly.
"Shh, dear. Sleep." She said.
His brow smoothed at her words and he succumbed.
She hadn't said much about this place. She had always spoken of it like she had desperately wanted to leave it behind. He'd had a hard time understanding her motivations. There was some fear or unspoken concern that she avoided at all costs. To Jim, everything looked like a picturesque painting of the perfect childhood from where he stood.
He could imagine rushing through the tall golden grasses that spread out infinitely, head barely tall enough to find your way. Easily hiding just by dropping to ground. The only indication that those tall grasses didn't continue on forever were the mountains that stood around him, looking like a backdrop from movie.
The fence was weathered, some had even started to buckle, but none of them had fallen. It was a testament to the quality and effort that had been spent when they were first put in place. Like the fences, an abandoned barn stood between the fences. The long boards forming the walls had warped with time, pulling slightly from the sturdy supports underneath. He moved inside, tentatively, making sure it was safe. He could smell the age and sweetness from long dried manure and the sun cured wood. Patches of grass had grown here and there, following the cracks of light that fell to the floor.
There were a series of small fenced areas with a loft that still had the leavings of windblown hay from ages back. The vertical timbers stood strong. He was surprised to see names etched on one of them. There were a series of height markers etched into the wood and a patchwork of names, each vying for space on the wide piece of wood. Janice and Rachel were among the names, as well as a boy's chiseled less precise hand showing the name Sully. They were very old, blackened by time and stained by the oils left by the animals that had rubbed against them. None of the markers appeared taller than four feet.
On another support, Jim found Lisa's name. Hers appeared almost fresh, showing up after the animals had gone. It was isolated and apart from the others.
"Maybe there was something to that," Jim said to himself.
It changed the story if she was a lonely child, the older generations having very little in common with their grand niece, and she remained trapped by miles of freedom.
He slid to the floor and leaned against the support, Lisa's name just over his head as he sat there. He put his hand around and reached into his pocket. He pulled out her wedding ring and looked closely at the tiny row of diamonds that dotted the outer edge. It was a simple, elegant reminder of their union, tiny in his palm. It could barely fit over the first knuckle of his ring finger, but it went over his right pinky finger where it fit snugly. He still wore his own wedding band, not knowing if or when he would ever take it off. He lifted his arm and gripped the support behind him and closed his eyes. She had been here. Ages ago, sure, but it was something.
"I never planned to lose you," he said to the barn walls and that lingering sweetness.
"I never planned to be lost," her voice echoed in his head.
He shuddered, tears pressing to the surface again. He let his bone shaking sobs take him, again bleeding off more of that pressure. He'd held it for so long in order to keep things together for his kids. He was pretty Abigail had seen through it. It was unfortunate that his melancholy had made him blind to theirs. Daniel was probably just young enough to be hurt by it, being about the age where his first indelible memories started. Abigail, was nearly eight and Jim was sure he didn't know what he could do for her to lessen the damage.
"I hope that I can, someday, convey how wonderful of a mother you were." He said softly to himself.
He loosened his grip and dropped his hand to the floor below and closed his eyes, breathing in the summer heat with long breaths.
"They'll know, love," her voice echoed again, then she whispered closely, "dinner's ready."
He gasped, feeling himself wake up as he heard the peal of a bell. He drew a ragged breath and looked around the barn. His heart raced. He leaned against the back of the support, then pulled himself to his feet.
He bowed his head to the childlike letters and brushed his hand over them.
"We'll talk later," he said softly.
Jim kissed his fingertips and touched them to her name.
The ringing bell had stopped. The sunset drenched the valley in a soft red glow. He walked through the grass that was now a rich, coppery color. The heat was still there, but the breeze made gave it a gentle touch.
He saw the large bell at the back of the house and marveled at it. Tarnished with age, but very well built. He'd have expected to see it on the bow of a ship. A weather blackened cord stretched back to the back door that opened into the kitchen. Jim smiled at the antiquity of it.
The table was set and Janice motioned for Jim to sit. The children were already in place, poised over their food, but held back by either words or threats. He smiled to himself, fascinated by the propriety.
The meal consisted of a hearty meatloaf, sweet corn on the cob, and fresh baked rolls. The bread steamed as Jim pulled them apart. He looked to Janice and shook his head in disbelief.
"This is amazing." He said, his mouth still full.
She gave him a reproachful look, then let it fade into a smile. Abigail and Daniel had been talking back and forth giving a pleasant backdrop for the meal.
"How are you doing, Abby?" He asked, leaning in with a tired smile.
"It's great!" She started, excitedly. Her bright blue eyes wide, her dark auburn hair tousled and erratic.
"They have so many dolls in the attic!"
"And toy soydurs!" Daniel said, stumbling around the word 'soldiers'.
Rachael walked in and leaned delicately against the doorway, listening in. This was the second time he'd seen her since he set foot in the house. She whisked the children up stairs and left him with Janice almost immediately. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of the children.
"You should eat, sister." Janice said, a tad more firmly than seemed necessary.
"I'm not hungry, sister," Rachael said, her tone a slight challenge, but she still smiled.
Rachael turned to him.
"They are beautiful children, Jim. Lovely in every way." She said.
She put a hand on his shoulder, and her eyes shone brightly with a barely contained joy.
Janice and Rachael looked similar, but it was clear that Rachael was some years younger, she had a lighter complexion and seemed to have a dusting of freckles that had spread wider with age. Her hair was a light brown that draped down her back. It was held together loosely with a red ribbon. A subtle light gray touched her temples which was a stark contrast to Janice's uniformly dark gray hair pulled tightly into a bun.
Jim looked to each of them, Janice looked on Rachael with some annoyance, but Rachael seemed completely unaffected. Doubtless, being together that long would make for some strained company.
"Oh, daddy! Look at this," Abigail held up a small necklace that had a large, deep red stone in a metal clasp.
It seemed to light up at her fingertips, amplifying the dim light from the kitchen fixture.
"It's mine. She gave it to me."
I smiled to Rachael, who remained focused on Abigail, her eyes glossy with emotion.
"Did you say thank you?" I asked her.
"Yep!" Abigail beamed, "It's called a blood stone."
Janice had a look of disapproval.
"Hmm, I'm not sure," I said, looking closely at it, "Bloodstones are usually green, not red."
"It looks like blood to me." She said with a shrug, looking closely at it.
Jim felt weariness pulling at him. Even with the brief nap in the barn, he'd had a lot of sleepless nights to make up for. Janice seemed to recognize this and all traces of the disapproval had vanished.
"You need to rest, dear," she said, "let me show you to your room."
"I'll ready the children for bed," Rachael said, and stooped to their level, "Daniel, Abigail? Are you ready to see your room?"
Both of them lit up and Rachael flagged them along, toddling playfully from the room with them close on her heels.
"You'll have to forgive her," Janice said with a sigh, "She had always wanted children. She's mostly a child herself."
"I can relate," Jim said with a smile, "Any reason she didn't try?"
"Oh, work to be done. I'm sure you understand," Janice said, elegantly dismissing the question.
"Thank you, again. I appreciate the time. I, needed a moment to collect myself." He told her, feeling a tug at his again.
"I'm not sure I could describe how much this means to us," she said, "We're happy to help."
Janice led him to a hall from the front room that ran parallel to the stairs going up. Ended in the bathroom with a hallway continuing down either side. Immediately to his right was another door that he assumed went into the cellar.
"That was Lisa's room," she said, pointing to the room further to the right, "It's now a guest room, but it felt right for you to stay in it."
Jim thanked her and she nodded and began to step away, then stopped and turned back.
"The children are just above you. I'm sure Rachael will take care of them if they get upset during the night, but they should be easy to find." She said, then nodded, "Sleep well, Jim."
He nodded silently and twisted the knob. The room was small and boxlike. It had the same very tall ceilings like the rest of the first floor. The bed itself was a grandiose queen mattress, placed perfectly in the center of the room. It was layered with comforters and billowing pillows, smelling of a sweet perfume that resembled roses. The bed itself was immaculately made, with extra blankets at the foot. A small chest sat the foot of the bed. Underneath that was a large round rug protecting it from the polished wooden floors.
Opposite the door was a set of corner shelves, holding a variety of keepsakes and picture frames. Some were downright ancient. Near the top, a small antique lamp filled with a thick red oil. A vanity sat against the wall with a tall oval mirror. It stood between a set of East facing windows, three dolls the were positioned on the vanity, facing the South wall. A cubby with a folded curtain revealing a small closet.
Like the front room, it was maintained to an uncanny level of perfection with everything in its place and Jim felt awkward for what he was going to do next.
He lifted the blankets and put them on the vanity, careful to avoid knocking the dolls to the ground. He pulled back the comforter and let it hang to the floor and stripped back the next set of sheets until it was just a thin layer between him and the open air of the room.
He pulled the pillows from the bed and laid them on top of the other blankets and looked at the stripped down bed. He sighed at the work he'd be doing in the morning to try and regain that rigid order that Janice had, undoubtedly, put into place.
Jim switched the light off and laid on his back, listening to movement on the floor above him. The kids' rapid footfalls and Rachael's own following up. The soft sounds of Rachael speaking to those children exactly as a great aunt should. He smiled, his heavy eyes trying to close. The room was full of a soft glow from the moonlight spilling over the Wyoming prairie.
"Lisa." He whispered to the darkness, closing his eyes, "Why did you leave here?"
He could feel the heaviness of his thoughts lulling him to sleep.
"Some things are far too much for someone so young," her voice eddied around him, "But now I understand."
Jim attempted to wake himself with the response, a slight crease furrowing his brow. He cracked his eyes and saw the dark outline of her silhouette against the moonlight windows. He fought to keep his eyes open, but the effort was beyond him.
"Why? ... Lisa." he stumbled through the words weakly.
"Shh, dear. Sleep." She said.
His brow smoothed at her words and he succumbed.
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
What Remains, part 1
The voices of Abigail and Daniel trickled down the stairs and pooled around Jim's feet.
"They'll be fine up there." Janice said.
She motioned for Jim to sit. The old wood of the floor creaked as he hesitated then settled gingerly into an immaculately kept embroidered couch. The furniture was extremely old and appeared to be fragile. The side tables, other chairs, drapes and rugs were kept to a near museum level of impeccability. There were hand-stitched doilies gracing each side table and lace curtains hung from the windows.
Jim kept his hands folded neatly on his lap. He looked around, wanting to touch and exploring his surroundings, but his will was weak with grief.
He looked up at Janice and she looked on him. There was a tired smile on her face and sadness in her eyes.
"When we heard about Lisa," her voice caught and she lifted a polite hand to her mouth before continuing, "I never expected that we'd never see her again."
She dabbed at her eyes neatly with a handkerchief, her own antiquity reflecting that of the furniture.
Jim wanted to reach out and comfort her but his own weariness pulled him deeper into the couch. His own expression was pained and he could feel the welling up of barely restrained pain stirring just below the surface.
He shook his head, afraid that saying anything would start the flood again. Tears fell on the carpet as he leaned forward and rested on his hands. She reached forward and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Janice was one of two great aunts of his late wife. Janice and Rachael lived together in this home. Neither had married, content to keep each other's company. Lisa had said they'd been close, but she had never made effort to keep in contact. She had only expressed wanting to visit after she was already too sick to travel.
Jim picked up a leather messenger bag he'd brought with him, lifted the flap, and produced a small, unmarked leatherbound book. A worn leather strap kept the cover in place with a small metal peg. Janice lifted her hand to her mouth in shock.
"She remembered." She said gently.
Jim shrugged at it, "She hardly wrote in it, but the important moments are in there."
Lisa had only written the most poignant moments of her life in that journal. There were entries from her childhood, speaking of this very house he sat in. Sporadic entries dotted her teenage years. Then there was when she'd met him. She'd been sure of him well before he'd even known she was interested. The thought brought a smile to his face.
There were other entries, though. The darker times. Feeling haunted by her childhood. Their first loss, Missy, their stillborn daughter. Then, shortly after that, the death of her mother and the dark thoughts that chased her.
Until Abigail.
Abigail had reversed her darkness and brought light to both of them. Lisa had said she wanted to name her after one of the ancestors she'd felt closest to and we agreed to the name. Daniel came to them a little more than a year later.
It was about then that we realized that she had never fully recover from Daniel's birth. She was constantly tired. Shortly after that, she had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. She clung to life as long as her will would allow, wanting the children old enough to remember her.
"Two days before she passed, she handed it to me with new entries and a lock of her hair. She wanted you and Rachael to have it." Jim said.
He handed the book to Janice and she nodded. She flipped to an earlier page and saw the lock of hair from Missy. She ran her fingers over the downy softness. Jim covered his nose and mouth holding back the ache of those memories. Tears streamed over his fingers.
She dabbed at her own tears, nodding, then closed the book, gently putting the leather strap back on the metal peg.
"I will get to work on this," she said, then stood.
His felt confusion at her words. They tried to mix with grief, but only one emotion fit in his heart.
"You are free to stay here as long as you'd like. Our home is your home," Janice said, gesturing around her, "The children are a delight to have here, too. They bring a new energy to this place that has long been absent."
Jim nodded, he still felt weak from keeping so much in.
"I haven't been good for the children. I hate them seeing me like this." He said, eyes misting over as he looked up a Janice, "I need a space to think. Work doesn't expect me to be back for some time. I'm hoping I can take the time to process."
Janice nodded.
"Take a walk around the ranch, then. It may help clear your head. Lisa had many memories here. Maybe you'll run into a few of them?" she said,"And don't worry, we'll take care of the children."
"They'll be fine up there." Janice said.
She motioned for Jim to sit. The old wood of the floor creaked as he hesitated then settled gingerly into an immaculately kept embroidered couch. The furniture was extremely old and appeared to be fragile. The side tables, other chairs, drapes and rugs were kept to a near museum level of impeccability. There were hand-stitched doilies gracing each side table and lace curtains hung from the windows.
Jim kept his hands folded neatly on his lap. He looked around, wanting to touch and exploring his surroundings, but his will was weak with grief.
He looked up at Janice and she looked on him. There was a tired smile on her face and sadness in her eyes.
"When we heard about Lisa," her voice caught and she lifted a polite hand to her mouth before continuing, "I never expected that we'd never see her again."
She dabbed at her eyes neatly with a handkerchief, her own antiquity reflecting that of the furniture.
Jim wanted to reach out and comfort her but his own weariness pulled him deeper into the couch. His own expression was pained and he could feel the welling up of barely restrained pain stirring just below the surface.
He shook his head, afraid that saying anything would start the flood again. Tears fell on the carpet as he leaned forward and rested on his hands. She reached forward and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Jim picked up a leather messenger bag he'd brought with him, lifted the flap, and produced a small, unmarked leatherbound book. A worn leather strap kept the cover in place with a small metal peg. Janice lifted her hand to her mouth in shock.
"She remembered." She said gently.
Jim shrugged at it, "She hardly wrote in it, but the important moments are in there."
Lisa had only written the most poignant moments of her life in that journal. There were entries from her childhood, speaking of this very house he sat in. Sporadic entries dotted her teenage years. Then there was when she'd met him. She'd been sure of him well before he'd even known she was interested. The thought brought a smile to his face.
There were other entries, though. The darker times. Feeling haunted by her childhood. Their first loss, Missy, their stillborn daughter. Then, shortly after that, the death of her mother and the dark thoughts that chased her.
Until Abigail.
Abigail had reversed her darkness and brought light to both of them. Lisa had said she wanted to name her after one of the ancestors she'd felt closest to and we agreed to the name. Daniel came to them a little more than a year later.
It was about then that we realized that she had never fully recover from Daniel's birth. She was constantly tired. Shortly after that, she had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. She clung to life as long as her will would allow, wanting the children old enough to remember her.
"Two days before she passed, she handed it to me with new entries and a lock of her hair. She wanted you and Rachael to have it." Jim said.
He handed the book to Janice and she nodded. She flipped to an earlier page and saw the lock of hair from Missy. She ran her fingers over the downy softness. Jim covered his nose and mouth holding back the ache of those memories. Tears streamed over his fingers.
She dabbed at her own tears, nodding, then closed the book, gently putting the leather strap back on the metal peg.
"I will get to work on this," she said, then stood.
His felt confusion at her words. They tried to mix with grief, but only one emotion fit in his heart.
"You are free to stay here as long as you'd like. Our home is your home," Janice said, gesturing around her, "The children are a delight to have here, too. They bring a new energy to this place that has long been absent."
Jim nodded, he still felt weak from keeping so much in.
"I haven't been good for the children. I hate them seeing me like this." He said, eyes misting over as he looked up a Janice, "I need a space to think. Work doesn't expect me to be back for some time. I'm hoping I can take the time to process."
Janice nodded.
"Take a walk around the ranch, then. It may help clear your head. Lisa had many memories here. Maybe you'll run into a few of them?" she said,"And don't worry, we'll take care of the children."
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Traveling Strangers, part 2
Max settled in, leaning back and stretching with a yawn and Hank continued with his forward looking gaze. It appeared that neither man had sensed Mae's panic.
"I didn't know if anyone would stop. Hitchhiking isn't what it used to be." Max mused, his voice just barely rising above the roar of the engine, "All this fear and worry. Seems unhealthy that we look on others as dangerous as we do."
Mae nodded absently. While her eyes were forward, all of her senses were focused behind her. The sense that she could feel his body heat. The pricking of her ears as she consumed every sound that he made. Every word that he spoke.
The quiet pressed in and it made Mae nervous, it was desperate to be filled. She cleared her throat, but her mouth was full of cotton. She leaned forward and pulled her glass jug of water, from next to her feet. She could taste the sweetness from the mineral springs from what used to be her home. She felt the cool waters and let it calm whatever fires had erupted at the sight of him.
"I don't think I'd seen a hitchhiker in years until you, just now." Mae said, her voice resuming it's light airy pitch.
She'd never seen a hitchhiker before. She'd never even been this far from home before. But he didn't know that. Max shifted in his seat in response, and the hair on Mae's neck stood, a slight chill wandered up her spine with the sensation.
"It's not so much that people don't, these days, you just have to find the way to do it. Begging for rides at truck stops isn't a romantic way to travel. You end up bartering whatever you have away and the conversation isn't all that great when you're a paying passenger." His voice held a smile as he spoke.
Mae smiled, too. Her heart fluttered again.
"Then, you aren't just out of money? Trying to get where ever you're going to get?"
"Nope. Just finding my way where ever I might end up. I started this with no real destination in mind." The seat creaked as he made stretching noises and his voice had a yawn in it, "I am pretty sure it'll end with a decision to move on with my life."
There was a twitch at Hank's mouth. He had something to say and it nearly had escaped, but he held it and continued his stony, forward facing gaze.
"Then where are you from?" Mae asked.
"Arizona. Land of both hot and dry." Max said with a chuckle.
"Hmmm, I don't know much about that." Mae mused, her voice almost lost in the engine noise, "I haven't been West of the Mississippi. Probably for the best, thought, it sounds downright miserable."
"Oh. Well, the stories of how hot it gets out that way are pretty dramatic. I find summers out here much, much worse. Take a hot shower here and you'll never dry off."
"Amen." Mae said with a smile. The thought of a shower caught her off guard and she suddenly blushed. The blankets she'd had bundled around her were suddenly too warm and she let them loosen and breathe.
"Well, where I come from, the place can feel like an oven, but the shade helps. As long as you drink plenty of water, it's not all that bad," he paused for a moment and smacked his lips, "Speaking of water. Would you mind? I was serious about being afraid no one would pick me up. I had expected some services on that road, but I didn't plan as well as I'd hoped."
Mae wasn't sure what to say. She trembled again, she could feel a drop of sweat roll down the right side of her face and she loosened the blankets further, thankful that the heater wasn't on.
"I'm not sick or anything. My germs are pretty safe." Max tested again.
Mae shrugged, "Sure. Uh, germs?"
He dipped his hand over the seat and Hank's eye flicked to the bottle as the man pulled it over the back of the seat. His eyes flicked back to the road and his expression didn't change. He shifted slightly in his seat, showing his discomfort.
Mae chanced a glance while Max leaned back, his mouth on the bottle. There was a wheezing sound as the air hissed around his lips while he drank. He stopped suddenly, his blue eyes thankful. His face wearing a warm smile. He capped it and slid the bottle back over the seat.
"Sorry, Didn't mean to get greedy." He said, coughing slightly.
"What will you do when you decide to go back?" Mae asked.
"I don't know." Max said with a sigh, another creak as he settled back in his seat, "Probably go to a bus station and buy my way back. When I'm done I think I'll know I'm done."
There was a quiver of loss that ran through Mae's belly at the mention of his leaving. He had just gotten here, after all.
"I thought of doing a tour of Europe. Maybe even someplace like Indonesia or even Nepal. But, honestly, how many people live in the United States and barely know what wonders are right in their backyards?" Max said.
"I haven't traveled much." Mae said, her voice bordering on wistful.
"What are you doing now?" Max asked.
Mae looked back and the man shrugged, but he continued to wait for an answer.
"We're moving North. There's work that way and Hank here can do it." Mae said, a touch of pride edged into her voice.
"See, that sounds like adventure," Max said bumping the back of the seat with the fleshy part of his fist, "What do you do, Hank?"
Mae cringed. She didn't know how Hank would manage. He was such a solitary sort, but it was suddenly apparent that it wasn't just his manly way. It was a raw, paralyzing fear.
Hank seemed to catch his breath then release it for a moment, readying himself to speak. It had been a direct challenge and the discomfort was obvious. Max still smiled pleasantly, acting as if he hadn't a care in the world, but he also wasn't going to let Hank not speak.
"Plumber." Hank said, his gravely voice louder than expected, "And an electrician."
Mae breathed out slowly at his finally putting the words together.
"That's honest, essential work. No doubt you'll find jobs in need of those skills." Max said, his head nodding in approval.
Mae was bewildered. This man seemed cultured and traveled to be so young. He also let Hank express himself and then spent the time to build him up. She shivered again and began to pay very close attention.
"How did you get into that business?" Max asked, his voice aimed at Hank.
Hank thought for a moment.
"Tinkering, mostly. I was good at figurin' what stuff goes where. Went to the applied college and got certified." Hank said, "I reckoned that electricity moved a lot like water through pipes. So, I studied that, too."
Hank had never, ever spoken like that to a complete stranger. Mae hoped her shock didn't reach her face, she turned to look out the window to hide it.
"It sounds like you have a knack for it." Max was, again, nodding with the words.
Mae looked to Hank. He'd taken the man's words in, sitting a little straighter, and the furrow creasing his brow had smoothed. It was difficult to mask her bewildered wonder as she looked back to Max. The man''s boyish smile widened just slightly, a few perfectly straight teeth shown through his narrowly parted lips.
His eyes fixed to hers then he spoke. A strange, knowing look shown in his eyes and she was suddenly worried.
"What's your plan when you get there?"
The question was to her, but his voice remained the same appreciative tone.
She faced forward and licked her lips as she thought.
"I'm going to take care of Hank?" She tried a smile, but it faded. The words felt wrong as soon as they left her mouth.
The silence stretched. Max had shrugged, but continued to look at her with gentle eyes, waiting. He was doing the same thing to her as he'd done to Hank and it brought up an anger she didn't expect.
There was more beyond that anger. His words made her think; made her reach down deep to pull at whatever notion had gotten her this far. What did she want? Children were in the plan, but it was unlikely that Hank would tolerate them. She didn't want to offer the same childhood she'd had. The thought brought an ache do the surface she hadn't known lingered there. She felt suddenly powerless.
"I don't know?" She finally said. The words felt like giving up.
"What would you want to do, then?" Max pressed.
This seemed to make Hank nervous and the furrow returned.
"Help other people?" She said, tentatively. The words felt better, but there was more. She knew there was more.
"C'mon, Mae. You help me all the time." Hank said, the gravel lifting from his voice. His eyes strangely nervous.
"But that's not enough, is it?" She looked to Hank, then looked to Max.
She sat forward, one hand laid in the other, and remained utterly still.
Max seemed to understand her silence and began to talk to Hank, who continued to open up, as this man easily unraveled his insecurities and protections.
Mae shook as her thoughts raced. She was feeling feverish; feeling utterly exposed. She was numb to the world around her. She looked to Hank, with consternation. His face was open and he glanced often in the rear view mirror, now actively engaging with Max. Their words were lost to Mae, though. The hours had passed like moments and the tunnels of trees gave way to towns, supermarkets, and gas stations while the sun sunk lower to their right.
She grit her teeth.
"I want to go to Arizona!" She hissed.
Their conversation froze in mid-air.
At that moment, all of that bubbling sweetness, that persevering wholesomeness, had evaporated from her. She could draw a line from where she sat right now all the way back when she was just a little girl. Her purpose was then as it is now; sating the rampant egos of these fragile men.
Why hadn't she seen it before? The placating, stroking, tolerating, and peacemaking. From violent moods to feeling outright worthless. She had given them all the control. Her father, her boyfriends, her husband, and his brothers. It was perpetuated by their wives, daughters, and sisters. Each falling into these same patterns. And she was there among them, but she was not them. She could never be them. It was obvious, now.
Obvious and absolutely enraging.
Mae furiously shed the bundle of blankets and tossed them to the floor. She cranked up the heat and looked for something else she'd had to just sit back deal with. She couldn't settle on anything, so she sneered. The trucked bobbed to and from on the road because of a startled Hank.
"I'm deadly serious." She said, pointing her finger like a knife, looking at both men menacingly.
"Mae? What's gotten into you?" He said, the words wore a tone of anger, but it came out weak. He was off balance and there was no way she'd let him find that ground again.
"What do I want to do?" She asked loudly to no one in particular.
Hank's look was nonplussed, the typical furrow forming whenever he felt vulnerable and was mad because of it. It was like a tell at a poker game. Max's boyish face retreated into his shoulders and he pulled back into the deepening darkness of the cab.
"How about whatever I God-damned please?" She had even said it without cringing, she even emphasized it.
"Mae. You need to get a hold of yourself." Hank's voice became dangerous.
She knew this tone and, before, it had struck fear in her. The same fear she'd carried for so long. But this was the fear of a child. And, while it would always be there, she was a woman now. And she needed more than this pallid excuse of a reason to live.
"I am done, Hank. What kind of man hits a woman because he can't control her?" Her eyes locked on his, the steely gray bent with anger, but also terror. "What kind of man are you, Hank?"
"This man poisoned you! You're only saying that because..." Hank's anger swept back to the cowering Max, who wore a terrified expression.
"Perhaps it's just a man being gentlemanly. But I don't need him either. I need me and I'm taking me back." Mae thumbed her chest, the anger she felt was giving way to a bone deep sorrow, but she wasn't going to let him see that. He didn't deserve to see her weak anymore.
Hank shut down, turning forward, and gripping the steering wheel. The engine began to roar. Max's eyes widened in panic as the engine roared.
"Oh, Hank. I truly do hope you find your way, because I'm not gonna be there to make it easier for you." Mae said loud enough to hear over the roar of the engine, her words dripping with a divisive sweetness.
She looped her leg around the shifter and pulled back again, but this time, Hank held fast. He pushed the gas further revving the engine higher. The needle inched up to 75 MPH. The lights of another town sped past.
Mae grimaced, tugging again, but he didn't let up. His knuckles were white on the shifting knob, holding it in place.
"If that's how it's gonna be." She said with a sigh, the words lost in the high-pitched rumble.
The glass bottle rested at her side. Mae, picked it up and brought it down on Hank's hand. The trucked swayed as Hank let out a howl of pain and released the knob. Mae wrenched the shifter out of gear the sound of ragged popping accompanied it. The engine revved dangerously. Someone flashed their high beams ahead and Hank jerked the decelerating truck back to his side of the road.
She yanked on the keys, as she had before, but then held on to them.
Hank shook as the now quiet truck trundled along the edge of the road.
"Oh, thanks, Sugar. Right here is just fine." She said, casually, as the truck wound down to a stop.
Hank thrashed impotently for a moment and then coddled his right hand, she wasn't sure if she saw his tears in the darkness of the cab. It made her heart ache, but they both had to move past this.
"Probably should get some ice on it. You'll need it for your job." She said, opening the door and sliding out of the cab.
Her blankets covered her right shoulder and it draped over the half full bottle of water in her hand. She tossed the truck's keys back in the cab next to Hank's leg.
"I may come back. I may not. I'll think about it." She said absently.
She pushed the door just enough for it to firmly latch and moved to the bed of the truck. She tugged an old satchel free. It held her clothes and her keepsakes. Mae then looked on the rest of the belongings tied in place with some disgust. She had never wanted any of it.
She looped the satchel over her other shoulder and began to walk back to the town they'd passed.
The rear door burst open and there was a jangling of buckles as Max moved up behind her. He slowed before reaching her, but she didn't look back.
"Mind if I join you? I think this is my stop, too." He said it loudly enough for her to hear over the passing traffic.
She lifted her head.
"Keep yourself to yourself, and we'll be fine." She said, still facing forward.
He moved along side her as she set the pace. Even though she was small, she had always been fierce. She was suddenly determined the find that again, and never let it go.
"I was thinking," Max said, "Maybe it is time to go home. I might have found what I was looking for."
"How's that?" Mae said with some salt, her voice sporting an edge that she'd never thought possible, "I get rid of one man, and you're obliging me by offerin' another?"
"Oh, no. It's nothing like that." He said.
She gave him a skeptical look and continued to push the pace.
"I've been looking for a partner. Someone friendly. Someone with good instincts."
Mae chuckled then looked sidelong at him.
"I'm not sure I'm buying what you're selling." She said.
Max went silent and then spoke carefully.
"Ever heard of a con artist?"
"I didn't know if anyone would stop. Hitchhiking isn't what it used to be." Max mused, his voice just barely rising above the roar of the engine, "All this fear and worry. Seems unhealthy that we look on others as dangerous as we do."
Mae nodded absently. While her eyes were forward, all of her senses were focused behind her. The sense that she could feel his body heat. The pricking of her ears as she consumed every sound that he made. Every word that he spoke.
The quiet pressed in and it made Mae nervous, it was desperate to be filled. She cleared her throat, but her mouth was full of cotton. She leaned forward and pulled her glass jug of water, from next to her feet. She could taste the sweetness from the mineral springs from what used to be her home. She felt the cool waters and let it calm whatever fires had erupted at the sight of him.
"I don't think I'd seen a hitchhiker in years until you, just now." Mae said, her voice resuming it's light airy pitch.
She'd never seen a hitchhiker before. She'd never even been this far from home before. But he didn't know that. Max shifted in his seat in response, and the hair on Mae's neck stood, a slight chill wandered up her spine with the sensation.
"It's not so much that people don't, these days, you just have to find the way to do it. Begging for rides at truck stops isn't a romantic way to travel. You end up bartering whatever you have away and the conversation isn't all that great when you're a paying passenger." His voice held a smile as he spoke.
Mae smiled, too. Her heart fluttered again.
"Then, you aren't just out of money? Trying to get where ever you're going to get?"
"Nope. Just finding my way where ever I might end up. I started this with no real destination in mind." The seat creaked as he made stretching noises and his voice had a yawn in it, "I am pretty sure it'll end with a decision to move on with my life."
There was a twitch at Hank's mouth. He had something to say and it nearly had escaped, but he held it and continued his stony, forward facing gaze.
"Then where are you from?" Mae asked.
"Arizona. Land of both hot and dry." Max said with a chuckle.
"Hmmm, I don't know much about that." Mae mused, her voice almost lost in the engine noise, "I haven't been West of the Mississippi. Probably for the best, thought, it sounds downright miserable."
"Oh. Well, the stories of how hot it gets out that way are pretty dramatic. I find summers out here much, much worse. Take a hot shower here and you'll never dry off."
"Amen." Mae said with a smile. The thought of a shower caught her off guard and she suddenly blushed. The blankets she'd had bundled around her were suddenly too warm and she let them loosen and breathe.
"Well, where I come from, the place can feel like an oven, but the shade helps. As long as you drink plenty of water, it's not all that bad," he paused for a moment and smacked his lips, "Speaking of water. Would you mind? I was serious about being afraid no one would pick me up. I had expected some services on that road, but I didn't plan as well as I'd hoped."
Mae wasn't sure what to say. She trembled again, she could feel a drop of sweat roll down the right side of her face and she loosened the blankets further, thankful that the heater wasn't on.
"I'm not sick or anything. My germs are pretty safe." Max tested again.
Mae shrugged, "Sure. Uh, germs?"
He dipped his hand over the seat and Hank's eye flicked to the bottle as the man pulled it over the back of the seat. His eyes flicked back to the road and his expression didn't change. He shifted slightly in his seat, showing his discomfort.
Mae chanced a glance while Max leaned back, his mouth on the bottle. There was a wheezing sound as the air hissed around his lips while he drank. He stopped suddenly, his blue eyes thankful. His face wearing a warm smile. He capped it and slid the bottle back over the seat.
"Sorry, Didn't mean to get greedy." He said, coughing slightly.
"What will you do when you decide to go back?" Mae asked.
"I don't know." Max said with a sigh, another creak as he settled back in his seat, "Probably go to a bus station and buy my way back. When I'm done I think I'll know I'm done."
There was a quiver of loss that ran through Mae's belly at the mention of his leaving. He had just gotten here, after all.
"I thought of doing a tour of Europe. Maybe even someplace like Indonesia or even Nepal. But, honestly, how many people live in the United States and barely know what wonders are right in their backyards?" Max said.
"I haven't traveled much." Mae said, her voice bordering on wistful.
"What are you doing now?" Max asked.
Mae looked back and the man shrugged, but he continued to wait for an answer.
"We're moving North. There's work that way and Hank here can do it." Mae said, a touch of pride edged into her voice.
"See, that sounds like adventure," Max said bumping the back of the seat with the fleshy part of his fist, "What do you do, Hank?"
Mae cringed. She didn't know how Hank would manage. He was such a solitary sort, but it was suddenly apparent that it wasn't just his manly way. It was a raw, paralyzing fear.
Hank seemed to catch his breath then release it for a moment, readying himself to speak. It had been a direct challenge and the discomfort was obvious. Max still smiled pleasantly, acting as if he hadn't a care in the world, but he also wasn't going to let Hank not speak.
"Plumber." Hank said, his gravely voice louder than expected, "And an electrician."
Mae breathed out slowly at his finally putting the words together.
"That's honest, essential work. No doubt you'll find jobs in need of those skills." Max said, his head nodding in approval.
Mae was bewildered. This man seemed cultured and traveled to be so young. He also let Hank express himself and then spent the time to build him up. She shivered again and began to pay very close attention.
"How did you get into that business?" Max asked, his voice aimed at Hank.
Hank thought for a moment.
"Tinkering, mostly. I was good at figurin' what stuff goes where. Went to the applied college and got certified." Hank said, "I reckoned that electricity moved a lot like water through pipes. So, I studied that, too."
Hank had never, ever spoken like that to a complete stranger. Mae hoped her shock didn't reach her face, she turned to look out the window to hide it.
"It sounds like you have a knack for it." Max was, again, nodding with the words.
Mae looked to Hank. He'd taken the man's words in, sitting a little straighter, and the furrow creasing his brow had smoothed. It was difficult to mask her bewildered wonder as she looked back to Max. The man''s boyish smile widened just slightly, a few perfectly straight teeth shown through his narrowly parted lips.
His eyes fixed to hers then he spoke. A strange, knowing look shown in his eyes and she was suddenly worried.
"What's your plan when you get there?"
The question was to her, but his voice remained the same appreciative tone.
She faced forward and licked her lips as she thought.
"I'm going to take care of Hank?" She tried a smile, but it faded. The words felt wrong as soon as they left her mouth.
The silence stretched. Max had shrugged, but continued to look at her with gentle eyes, waiting. He was doing the same thing to her as he'd done to Hank and it brought up an anger she didn't expect.
There was more beyond that anger. His words made her think; made her reach down deep to pull at whatever notion had gotten her this far. What did she want? Children were in the plan, but it was unlikely that Hank would tolerate them. She didn't want to offer the same childhood she'd had. The thought brought an ache do the surface she hadn't known lingered there. She felt suddenly powerless.
"I don't know?" She finally said. The words felt like giving up.
"What would you want to do, then?" Max pressed.
This seemed to make Hank nervous and the furrow returned.
"Help other people?" She said, tentatively. The words felt better, but there was more. She knew there was more.
"C'mon, Mae. You help me all the time." Hank said, the gravel lifting from his voice. His eyes strangely nervous.
"But that's not enough, is it?" She looked to Hank, then looked to Max.
She sat forward, one hand laid in the other, and remained utterly still.
Max seemed to understand her silence and began to talk to Hank, who continued to open up, as this man easily unraveled his insecurities and protections.
Mae shook as her thoughts raced. She was feeling feverish; feeling utterly exposed. She was numb to the world around her. She looked to Hank, with consternation. His face was open and he glanced often in the rear view mirror, now actively engaging with Max. Their words were lost to Mae, though. The hours had passed like moments and the tunnels of trees gave way to towns, supermarkets, and gas stations while the sun sunk lower to their right.
She grit her teeth.
"I want to go to Arizona!" She hissed.
Their conversation froze in mid-air.
At that moment, all of that bubbling sweetness, that persevering wholesomeness, had evaporated from her. She could draw a line from where she sat right now all the way back when she was just a little girl. Her purpose was then as it is now; sating the rampant egos of these fragile men.
Why hadn't she seen it before? The placating, stroking, tolerating, and peacemaking. From violent moods to feeling outright worthless. She had given them all the control. Her father, her boyfriends, her husband, and his brothers. It was perpetuated by their wives, daughters, and sisters. Each falling into these same patterns. And she was there among them, but she was not them. She could never be them. It was obvious, now.
Obvious and absolutely enraging.
Mae furiously shed the bundle of blankets and tossed them to the floor. She cranked up the heat and looked for something else she'd had to just sit back deal with. She couldn't settle on anything, so she sneered. The trucked bobbed to and from on the road because of a startled Hank.
"I'm deadly serious." She said, pointing her finger like a knife, looking at both men menacingly.
"Mae? What's gotten into you?" He said, the words wore a tone of anger, but it came out weak. He was off balance and there was no way she'd let him find that ground again.
"What do I want to do?" She asked loudly to no one in particular.
Hank's look was nonplussed, the typical furrow forming whenever he felt vulnerable and was mad because of it. It was like a tell at a poker game. Max's boyish face retreated into his shoulders and he pulled back into the deepening darkness of the cab.
"How about whatever I God-damned please?" She had even said it without cringing, she even emphasized it.
"Mae. You need to get a hold of yourself." Hank's voice became dangerous.
She knew this tone and, before, it had struck fear in her. The same fear she'd carried for so long. But this was the fear of a child. And, while it would always be there, she was a woman now. And she needed more than this pallid excuse of a reason to live.
"I am done, Hank. What kind of man hits a woman because he can't control her?" Her eyes locked on his, the steely gray bent with anger, but also terror. "What kind of man are you, Hank?"
"This man poisoned you! You're only saying that because..." Hank's anger swept back to the cowering Max, who wore a terrified expression.
"Perhaps it's just a man being gentlemanly. But I don't need him either. I need me and I'm taking me back." Mae thumbed her chest, the anger she felt was giving way to a bone deep sorrow, but she wasn't going to let him see that. He didn't deserve to see her weak anymore.
Hank shut down, turning forward, and gripping the steering wheel. The engine began to roar. Max's eyes widened in panic as the engine roared.
"Oh, Hank. I truly do hope you find your way, because I'm not gonna be there to make it easier for you." Mae said loud enough to hear over the roar of the engine, her words dripping with a divisive sweetness.
She looped her leg around the shifter and pulled back again, but this time, Hank held fast. He pushed the gas further revving the engine higher. The needle inched up to 75 MPH. The lights of another town sped past.
Mae grimaced, tugging again, but he didn't let up. His knuckles were white on the shifting knob, holding it in place.
"If that's how it's gonna be." She said with a sigh, the words lost in the high-pitched rumble.
The glass bottle rested at her side. Mae, picked it up and brought it down on Hank's hand. The trucked swayed as Hank let out a howl of pain and released the knob. Mae wrenched the shifter out of gear the sound of ragged popping accompanied it. The engine revved dangerously. Someone flashed their high beams ahead and Hank jerked the decelerating truck back to his side of the road.
She yanked on the keys, as she had before, but then held on to them.
Hank shook as the now quiet truck trundled along the edge of the road.
"Oh, thanks, Sugar. Right here is just fine." She said, casually, as the truck wound down to a stop.
Hank thrashed impotently for a moment and then coddled his right hand, she wasn't sure if she saw his tears in the darkness of the cab. It made her heart ache, but they both had to move past this.
"Probably should get some ice on it. You'll need it for your job." She said, opening the door and sliding out of the cab.
Her blankets covered her right shoulder and it draped over the half full bottle of water in her hand. She tossed the truck's keys back in the cab next to Hank's leg.
"I may come back. I may not. I'll think about it." She said absently.
She pushed the door just enough for it to firmly latch and moved to the bed of the truck. She tugged an old satchel free. It held her clothes and her keepsakes. Mae then looked on the rest of the belongings tied in place with some disgust. She had never wanted any of it.
She looped the satchel over her other shoulder and began to walk back to the town they'd passed.
The rear door burst open and there was a jangling of buckles as Max moved up behind her. He slowed before reaching her, but she didn't look back.
"Mind if I join you? I think this is my stop, too." He said it loudly enough for her to hear over the passing traffic.
She lifted her head.
"Keep yourself to yourself, and we'll be fine." She said, still facing forward.
He moved along side her as she set the pace. Even though she was small, she had always been fierce. She was suddenly determined the find that again, and never let it go.
"I was thinking," Max said, "Maybe it is time to go home. I might have found what I was looking for."
"How's that?" Mae said with some salt, her voice sporting an edge that she'd never thought possible, "I get rid of one man, and you're obliging me by offerin' another?"
"Oh, no. It's nothing like that." He said.
She gave him a skeptical look and continued to push the pace.
"I've been looking for a partner. Someone friendly. Someone with good instincts."
Mae chuckled then looked sidelong at him.
"I'm not sure I'm buying what you're selling." She said.
Max went silent and then spoke carefully.
"Ever heard of a con artist?"
Monday, June 19, 2017
Traveling Strangers, part 1
Mae snuggled warmly into her seat, as the pace of long distances muffled the sparse conversation. She stared out the window watching the dense trees flit by. Thousands upon thousands packed tight enough to ensure you'd be lost in moments. They had traveled far enough North that the seasons were showing. Fall had broken through and the leaves dusted both the ground and road ahead.
She rolled down the window and let the potpourri that came with fall fill the cab of the weathered two-seater truck. She pulled a blanket around her as the cold crept in. Hank had complained about the heat, so she had turned it off, relying on the warmth bundled around her.
The highway that they traveled on seemed little more than a country road. The traffic coming the opposite way had been sparse and seemed to only be those packing campers and trailers. The implements of people who merely visited, but never stayed. She would watch as they passed, attempting to catch their eye, smiling her wholesome smile. This provoked sidelong looks from Hank telling her he didn't approve, but this was a new adventure. She would have to make friends where they were going. In this new place, she would not be hidden away along the winding dirt roads she grew up on.
Thoughts like this traced through her mind as the trees sped by the window. Often, moments came where she sighed softly at those thoughts, smiling.
"Roll up the window. It's gettin' cold." Hank said, the gravel in his throat grinding out his displeasure. Mae smiled at him leaning up to the window to scent the air while she cranked it shut.
She looked on him warmly. Hank was a gruff, but kindly man. Like her pa in many ways. He had his cantankerous moments, but that was just a man's way. It brought Mae to the realization that he needed her all the more. Softening his more sharp moments. Being the poetic David to his ill-tempered Saul.
The whiskers he wore were unkempt, wispy. Mae intended to do something about that once they had settled. It would take some effort to make him presentable. When he showed up at the work site, they'd all know that he was well taken care of. That someone loved him.
In Ohio, there were suburbs building up something fierce. And Hank specialized in plumbing as well as being a journeyman electrician. He had gotten tired of maintaining the rigged plumbing and old septic tanks. Plus, the money had run out of the area and things had ended up being pure bartering; eggs, chickens, greens, and loads of deer jerky. Sometimes the folks would offer up services, but they were hardly worth effort Hank had put into it.
With the chance he'd taken, their future looked brighter than ever. They were out of the deep woods and far from the dirt roads. Hank had been reluctant to change, but she would help. She would show him the way. His eyes were steely and straight ahead. A furrow dug straight down between his eyes, making him look thoughtful. He was gangly and strong, standing tall for his stock. The tallest of his brothers, even. None of them could look him straight in the eye. The youngest, Merle, who was twelve years his junior, about Mae's own age, could barely stand toe to toe with her Hank.
Her thoughts lulled again. They passed an intersection, and she could see miles down the road a brief second before the trees obscured her view again.
She turned forward, her slight smile warm and lazy. Her eyes traced the road ahead. She spotted a someone well in the distance, nearly blending into the trees if not for the bright orange that bulged from a tall backpack. The way it bobbled up and down, even at this distance, was mesmerizing. The man must have heard the rumble of the truck as he spun on a heel and put a hand out with his thumb up.
"Let's pick him, Hank. C'mon, it'll be fun." Mae said, her voice crooning softly as she drew out of her blanket to tug on his shirt.
He gave her a peeved sidelong glance, and shook his head slowly, his steely eyes on her with each wag. They were still at some distance, yet, and Mae felt that it was worth the risk of his fouler moods. This was a fellow traveler, after all, this would be their separate adventures mingling together. This was the Christian thing to do, sharing their blessings.
She hooked a leg around the shifter and, with a quick motion, popped it out of gear causing a brief fit of grinding. This sent the engine roaring in neutral. Hank's brow furrowed further as he shot her a dangerous look. The truck wagged from side to side. He worked the clutch and the shifter to get it back into gear. She reached over and killed the engine by turning the key backward while he was distracted.
"Whatever you're going to do comes later. But for now, you should give that boy a ride." She said as the truck wound down, coasting in neutral.
Hank pressed on the brake, pumping it to a stop in line with the wobbling backpack that had moved well off the road. The man's expression was priceless: wide-eyed and dumbfounded. It was hard to get a good look at him through the dirty windows. She cloud see his lips drawn taut, but as he spotted Mae, his body relaxed and he took a tentative step toward the truck. Hank hissed angrily, but bottled it up quickly. Mae wasn't looking forward to what would come of that anger. She intended to enjoy this precious time, while it lasted.
She reached behind her and unlocked the passenger side of the two-seater. The man had to pull twice on the door to get it to release. A flood of that autumn potpourri eddied into the truck as the man slung his backpack in, then again as he pulled himself into the seat.
"Much appreciated. I've been on that road for Lord knows how long." He spoke the words too easily. She flinched as he took the Lord's name and, at the same time, hoped it didn't show. Not many said His name in vain from where Mae came from. She hoped Hank wouldn't have heard, but she assumed he did. Hank grumbled as he struggled to turn the engine over.
"How do you do? I'm Mae. This is Hank." She said glancing back briefly. The man had moved to the middle of the back bench, his head bobbed out of sight as he pawed around for a seat belt that didn't exist.
"Say hello to the man, Hank." Mae said with a slight condescension. Hank let out a grumbled reply, his words lost as the engine caught hold. Mae wondered how on Earth he was going to find his way in this new job if he could barely put two words together.
The man gave up his search and put his hand on the seat toward Hank. Hank didn't look, but wiped his hand on his flannel button up shirt and gave the man a half-hearted shake.
"The name's Max. I appreciate the ride, Hank."
"And thank you, Ma'am." His attention turned to Mae.
"You are quite welcome." Mae said, turning to meet his gaze as he extended his hand to her.
There was a moment's reverie as she looked to him, her eyes seeking his. She trembled slightly as their eyes met. He was a handsome boy. No, well beyond handsome. Stunning. Penetrating blue eyes, light brown hair that feathered lightly to blond where it had been bleached by the sun. She broke eye contact, giving him a quick, aggressive shake, then turned toward the front of the truck.
She leaned forward twisting, hiding her face from Hank and Max. Pretending to arrange the blankets around her. Her mouth gaped for a moment as a flutter rose inside and swarmed her heart. She touched her face with the hand he'd shaken. She could smell autumn with subtle traces of sweat and the musk of his travels weaving through. She clenched her jaw, fighting down whatever seemed to be clawing to get out.
Mae cleared her throat, trying to find a comfortable position which there was no hope of finding.
She rolled down the window and let the potpourri that came with fall fill the cab of the weathered two-seater truck. She pulled a blanket around her as the cold crept in. Hank had complained about the heat, so she had turned it off, relying on the warmth bundled around her.
The highway that they traveled on seemed little more than a country road. The traffic coming the opposite way had been sparse and seemed to only be those packing campers and trailers. The implements of people who merely visited, but never stayed. She would watch as they passed, attempting to catch their eye, smiling her wholesome smile. This provoked sidelong looks from Hank telling her he didn't approve, but this was a new adventure. She would have to make friends where they were going. In this new place, she would not be hidden away along the winding dirt roads she grew up on.
Thoughts like this traced through her mind as the trees sped by the window. Often, moments came where she sighed softly at those thoughts, smiling.
"Roll up the window. It's gettin' cold." Hank said, the gravel in his throat grinding out his displeasure. Mae smiled at him leaning up to the window to scent the air while she cranked it shut.
She looked on him warmly. Hank was a gruff, but kindly man. Like her pa in many ways. He had his cantankerous moments, but that was just a man's way. It brought Mae to the realization that he needed her all the more. Softening his more sharp moments. Being the poetic David to his ill-tempered Saul.
The whiskers he wore were unkempt, wispy. Mae intended to do something about that once they had settled. It would take some effort to make him presentable. When he showed up at the work site, they'd all know that he was well taken care of. That someone loved him.
In Ohio, there were suburbs building up something fierce. And Hank specialized in plumbing as well as being a journeyman electrician. He had gotten tired of maintaining the rigged plumbing and old septic tanks. Plus, the money had run out of the area and things had ended up being pure bartering; eggs, chickens, greens, and loads of deer jerky. Sometimes the folks would offer up services, but they were hardly worth effort Hank had put into it.
With the chance he'd taken, their future looked brighter than ever. They were out of the deep woods and far from the dirt roads. Hank had been reluctant to change, but she would help. She would show him the way. His eyes were steely and straight ahead. A furrow dug straight down between his eyes, making him look thoughtful. He was gangly and strong, standing tall for his stock. The tallest of his brothers, even. None of them could look him straight in the eye. The youngest, Merle, who was twelve years his junior, about Mae's own age, could barely stand toe to toe with her Hank.
Her thoughts lulled again. They passed an intersection, and she could see miles down the road a brief second before the trees obscured her view again.
She turned forward, her slight smile warm and lazy. Her eyes traced the road ahead. She spotted a someone well in the distance, nearly blending into the trees if not for the bright orange that bulged from a tall backpack. The way it bobbled up and down, even at this distance, was mesmerizing. The man must have heard the rumble of the truck as he spun on a heel and put a hand out with his thumb up.
"Let's pick him, Hank. C'mon, it'll be fun." Mae said, her voice crooning softly as she drew out of her blanket to tug on his shirt.
He gave her a peeved sidelong glance, and shook his head slowly, his steely eyes on her with each wag. They were still at some distance, yet, and Mae felt that it was worth the risk of his fouler moods. This was a fellow traveler, after all, this would be their separate adventures mingling together. This was the Christian thing to do, sharing their blessings.
She hooked a leg around the shifter and, with a quick motion, popped it out of gear causing a brief fit of grinding. This sent the engine roaring in neutral. Hank's brow furrowed further as he shot her a dangerous look. The truck wagged from side to side. He worked the clutch and the shifter to get it back into gear. She reached over and killed the engine by turning the key backward while he was distracted.
"Whatever you're going to do comes later. But for now, you should give that boy a ride." She said as the truck wound down, coasting in neutral.
Hank pressed on the brake, pumping it to a stop in line with the wobbling backpack that had moved well off the road. The man's expression was priceless: wide-eyed and dumbfounded. It was hard to get a good look at him through the dirty windows. She cloud see his lips drawn taut, but as he spotted Mae, his body relaxed and he took a tentative step toward the truck. Hank hissed angrily, but bottled it up quickly. Mae wasn't looking forward to what would come of that anger. She intended to enjoy this precious time, while it lasted.
She reached behind her and unlocked the passenger side of the two-seater. The man had to pull twice on the door to get it to release. A flood of that autumn potpourri eddied into the truck as the man slung his backpack in, then again as he pulled himself into the seat.
"Much appreciated. I've been on that road for Lord knows how long." He spoke the words too easily. She flinched as he took the Lord's name and, at the same time, hoped it didn't show. Not many said His name in vain from where Mae came from. She hoped Hank wouldn't have heard, but she assumed he did. Hank grumbled as he struggled to turn the engine over.
"How do you do? I'm Mae. This is Hank." She said glancing back briefly. The man had moved to the middle of the back bench, his head bobbed out of sight as he pawed around for a seat belt that didn't exist.
"Say hello to the man, Hank." Mae said with a slight condescension. Hank let out a grumbled reply, his words lost as the engine caught hold. Mae wondered how on Earth he was going to find his way in this new job if he could barely put two words together.
The man gave up his search and put his hand on the seat toward Hank. Hank didn't look, but wiped his hand on his flannel button up shirt and gave the man a half-hearted shake.
"The name's Max. I appreciate the ride, Hank."
"And thank you, Ma'am." His attention turned to Mae.
"You are quite welcome." Mae said, turning to meet his gaze as he extended his hand to her.
There was a moment's reverie as she looked to him, her eyes seeking his. She trembled slightly as their eyes met. He was a handsome boy. No, well beyond handsome. Stunning. Penetrating blue eyes, light brown hair that feathered lightly to blond where it had been bleached by the sun. She broke eye contact, giving him a quick, aggressive shake, then turned toward the front of the truck.
She leaned forward twisting, hiding her face from Hank and Max. Pretending to arrange the blankets around her. Her mouth gaped for a moment as a flutter rose inside and swarmed her heart. She touched her face with the hand he'd shaken. She could smell autumn with subtle traces of sweat and the musk of his travels weaving through. She clenched her jaw, fighting down whatever seemed to be clawing to get out.
Mae cleared her throat, trying to find a comfortable position which there was no hope of finding.
Sunday, June 18, 2017
A Line in the Sand
The phone chirped.
No. Accepted is too strong a word. I allowed it. Allowed then let the wave of subsequent events roll over me. I may have tumbled for a bit, but then caught hold and held firm, neither progressing nor falling back.
It chirped a second time and I grimaced, glancing at the screen where the words "Unknown Number" burned in bold white letters.
My palms sweat. I gripped the phone and pawed at my face with my free hand, anxiety was getting the better of me. Another wave was coming; palpable and undeniable.
I'd heard it said many times: Not making a decision is still a decision.
I'd heard it said many times: Not making a decision is still a decision.
Guilt for what I hadn't done was always there, the constant passenger, with eyes downcast and head shaking. I looked through the car window where the warm sunset sat on the horizon, forever away. The air conditioning couldn't push back the feverish ache now throbbing at my temples.
The cheap, pay-as-you-go phone chirped for a third time. I jumped as the phone buzzed forcefully in my white knuckled grip.
I shuddered, feeling walls break down inside of me. I swallowed, pushing back my entire history of indecision, and thumbed the screen. I lifted the phone to my ear to listen, but then rushed to speak, my words spilling out.
"I'll do what you want. Please, don't hurt her."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)