And She Remembered

She had been up since 5am, running around the house to make it just so. The windows were washed, the counters clean, the floors shined and the picture frames dusted. She started dinner around 3 o’clock in the afternoon after all of her chores were done; a nice big roast with beans, cornbread and greens.

It was close to 6pm now and her husband would be home from work soon. She hated the days that he was away and had been asking for him to spend more time at home now that they were older. He could have retired three years ago, but he loved the work he was doing. She didn’t have the heart to really ask for him to give that up. Besides, she liked being able to take care of him when he came home after a long day in the office. He had stopped working at the grocery store years ago and now he spent his time working at the church. The pay wasn’t as good, but you could see on his face how much more he enjoyed what he did there.

It had been eight years since he received his calling, and seven years since he started preaching at Harmony, the church in the holler below their farm. On Wednesdays he would do a service at the old church up the mountain, but most days were spent with his delegates at Harmony. She loved watching him preach and made a point to never miss a service. Even when she had caught that really bad flu one winter she was there in the front pew, smiling as he spoke the good word. He had begged her to stay home that time, but she grabbed her shawl and hopped in the Bronco before he could get the final word.

But now he’d be coming home in just a few minutes, hungry and tired. She’d have dinner on the table and his smoking pipe filled by his chair waiting for him. They had been married for close to 45 years now and she never failed to have his dinner made for him when he got home from work. She thought about that day he had come by her Papa’s house to pick her up for a date only to tell her they were getting married that afternoon. They had talked about getting married for a while, but he hadn’t actually asked her yet. She was sure he hadn’t asked for Papa’s blessing, but the idea of not marrying him that day was the most horrible thing she’d ever heard of before. She went back inside, put on her white polka dot dress, pinned her hair up and met him on the porch with a smile stretching from ear to ear. Three hours later and she was Mrs. Hendrickson. It still made her tear up a little to think about how happy they had been that day when he dropped her back off at her Papa’s house after the courtroom ceremony.

Those first few years of marriage had been spent in Ohio where her husband was stationed during the war. She had taken the train up to Dayton by herself and was supposed to meet him at the platform when she arrived. Something had gone wrong though, and he never showed up that night. Worried, scared and alone for the first time in her life she had used the little bit of money she had to take a cab to a hotel nearby. The next day she called the base but was unable to reach anyone who could help her. As naive as she was she was just as determined, and after grabbing breakfast she headed out onto the streets to find both the Army base and her husband. After hours of walking, discouragement seeping in,  she saw a familiar face across the street- her husband, normally tan and hansom,  paled with worry and fear. She called out to get his attention, and as she would later tell her children and grandchildren, his face instantly lit up bringing all of his color back. He ran over, hugging her tight, all the while telling how he had spent the night searching for her after she wasn't at the platform when he got there. There had been a mix-up at the base and he got to the train station late. Nine months later and they welcomed their fist child, a beautiful baby boy with raven hair and caramel skin just like his father.

A car door shut outside and she could hear voices coming closer to the house. Tired from her long day and wary bones she waited in the living room for him to come in. As the door opened she cocked her head to the side listening for his telltale whistling, she swore the man never took a step without whistling, but she couldn’t hear anything except for the shrill voice of a woman. He must have brought home one of his parishioners for further tutoring. He stepped around the corner and she stood to give him a giant hug, loving the feel of him in her arms after so many hours without him.

“Oh, Ernest, you’re home!”

“Hey, Mama. How was your day?”

“Much better now. How was your’s?”

“Well the trip wasn’t too bad. Nance and I ran into some traffic in Atlanta, but we still managed to make pretty good time.”

A quizzical look crossed her face. “You were on a trip? Where did you go?”

“I drove up from Florida,” he said, a look matching her own gracing his face.

“Well why were you down there?”

“I live there, Mama. I came up here to visit you. Where did you think I lived?”

Angry that he was trying to trick her she puffed up, “Well here with me of course! Why would you live anywhere else? I’m your wife.”

“Mama… I’m Ernest Jr., remember? And this is Nancy, your granddaughter. Daddy died 20 years ago. I live in Florida with my wife Pauline.”

“Oh… I guess that’s right,” and she could feel her heart breaking.

Her granddaughter Jessica, now 34 instead of the 13 year old she remembered, poked her head out of the back bedroom. “Hey, Uncle Ernest! Hey, Nancy! How was the drive? I put a roast on earlier for you guys. Mamaw insisted we make a big dinner for you. Hope you’re hungry.”

She slowly stood, grabbing the walker that was never more than a few inches from her, and headed to the bedroom she had never shared with her husband but that still contained the bed they bought that first year they were married. Saying she needed to use the bathroom no one followed her. Once the door was shut and the lights turned off she sat on her bed, their bed, and cried the tears she knew would never stop. She was alone, and she couldn’t remember why.

The Goodbye Tale

Part 1

I sit at the bar, fascinated by the swirling of my glass. The cheap whiskey I had ordered from the bartender is a yellowish brown, not the ordinary caramel color that denotes a fine vintage. This is harsh, hard to swallow. My throat feels like a deluge of chlorine has been assaulting it for hours. Instead it is this well whiskey. The whiskey that, though it tastes about as good as a shot to the head, is doing it’s job well.

Around and around the yellow-brown liquid goes. With it, my thoughts. I wish that I could send my thoughts down into the swirl of liquid, empty out my head, but try as I might, and as drunk as I am, her memory remains. I’m trapped in my own head.

This bar, this dive, is where we met for the first time. Back then this place was brand new. The first bar in what would become many to reside on this street in this middle of nowhere town. A new place for the young to frolic and the old to morn. Back then I was young, I frolicked.

She walked in through those doors, back before the paint started to chip and the hinges creaked. She walked straight in through those doors and took my breath away. Her looks weren‘t stunning,  except for her eyes that were as wide as the moon. Her movement wasn‘t elegant, but something in the air around  her caught my attention. I followed her outside through the back doors to what used to be the lounge area in those days. It was a patio with a second bar and metal tables set up around an empty dance floor. Now it’s just a place the bums of the neighborhood come to sleep on rainy nights. The owner says he doesn’t mind because the bums because keep the raccoons away. He’d rather have a bum who can buy a drink every now and again than a raccoon that just eats the stale peanuts he serves at the bar and the garbage he lets pile up outside. He’s a hero of sorts to the bums around these parts for this kindness.

Back then the back patio was strewn with thousands of tiny white Christmas lights. It gave the place a warm intimate glow. A  far cry from the black and purple interior that was more conducive to one night stands with someone you’d regret having even talked to in the morning. Now all of the lights are either broken or blown out. I don’t go out on the patio anymore, but not for fear of the sleeping bums. Instead, I fear the images that would come to mind. Of course they come to mind anyway, but they might bowl me over if I were actually to venture out into the slumber party of smelly men and the occasional raccoon.

“Hi. I’m Alex”
“I’m Kendall.” she  smiled.

We talked for hours, Kendall and I. She was an artist, and was attending art school a couple of towns over. She had a love of music, was born and raised only miles away but her family was from New York. She had a brother she didn’t really know and had lost her father a few years ago to cancer. I joked that I had lost my dad too when I was younger, but it was to a mistress. She had been in the hospital only months earlier and since then had seemed to have the worst luck one could imagine. I told her about my family. About my sister never really being the loving sibling she should have been. About my parents divorce. About my grandfather, the only true father figure in my life, dying and how it still hurt every day. About going to college, but not really caring about any of it because all I wanted to do was create something that would make people happy. We exchanged numbers and promised to call each other soon.

“It was really great meeting you. Can we get together tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I replied.

“Can I fill you up?”
“Huh? Oh, no. I’m fine. Can I get the check,” I ask, back in the present day.

I can’t take anymore reminiscence tonight. I close out my tab and head home. Head still swirling like whisky in a glass, and my heart still beating despite the overwhelming feeling I always have that it has somehow gone absent in these last few months.  I walk out of the old creaky doors that once brought her into my life, and out into the cold dark night that envelopes me in its loneliness.