by A.L. Crouch
It was a struggle to keep my thoughts positive as I blew through the terminal and retrieved my single suitcase from the baggage claim. The faster this is over with, the sooner I’m on a flight back, I told myself. Taking a moment to steady my nerves, I strolled out into the cool mountain air and took in a deep breath of it despite myself. The scent of crisp pines had been as impossible to forget as the emerald landscape which rolled in waves around me in all directions.
I scanned the curb for my ride. Judging by the vehicles parked at the curb, this part of the country clearly preferred large, 4-wheel drive SUV’s over the compact sedans I was accustomed to seeing in the city. They were all muted in color, each speckled with red earth. It had rained recently.
Instead of the standard police cruiser I was expecting, I found a sizeable Ford Explorer, painted the right shade of black and boasting the blue and white “Saluda Police Department” insignia. I admired the metal beast, running my finger along the glossy finish and taking in the 17-inch chrome wheels and tan leather seats through the windows.
“You’re going to have to sit in the back seat just like all the other criminals.” The deep, booming voice came from behind me.
“Uncle Sulley!” I smiled, taking in the features of the man who for a short time had been my uncle, and a man whom I had loved as a father for as long as I could remember.
A man I hadn’t laid eyes on in fifteen years.
He was broader than I remembered. Six feet tall and heavy-set, his once medium-brown hair was now kissed with a tinge of white beside his ears which made him look as authoritative as the shiny silver badge he wore pinned to his crisply pressed uniform. His brooding, puppy dog eyes were the same though, save for a few delicate wrinkles around their edges. Those eyes now burned through me with shock and amazement. His stout jaw hung agape.
“My God in heaven, you look just like her,” he whispered. “I mean . . . your hair is darker, but it’s uncanny. You looks just like she did before . . .”
I had been told how much I resembled my mother. We had the same small stature, high cheek bones, and hazel eyes. My head however, was adorned with a multitude of mousy brown hair, much unlike my mother’s golden tresses. I could only assume I had inherited it from my father, though I had never cared enough to ask anyone who had met him. It was just now dawning on me how my resemblance to my mother might affect the people in Saluda. The people I left behind.
The tension wafted like a lingering odor, so I did what I always do in uncomfortable situations. I made a joke.
“Well it’s easy to look like her when you have her same eyes.” I smiled sheepishly.
Sulley let my words register a moment before breaking out into raucous laughter. He grabbed me up into a bear hug, which threatened to crush my lungs and rocked me back and forth. I clung to him a moment and allowed myself to feel genuinely happy to see him again after all these years.
“Ah, but that’s all Alex wit for sure.” He held me away from him, all smiles. “That was a terrible joke.”
“I know, but it’s all I had at the moment.” I sighed. “It’s great to see you Sulley.”
“And it’s great to finally see you too. It’s been too long. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the phone calls every now and then,” he said as he tossed my suitcase in the back seat, “but it’s great to finally have you back. Now, let’s get you home.”
I climbed into the passenger seat and marveled at the wood-grained dashboard and internal navigation system. I suddenly missed my car, a modest Accord, which was not as high tech as Sulley’s new ride. It had been easier to fly than to drive from Chicago, but not having the means for which to escape at any given moment made me feel trapped.
“This is quite the upgrade from the squad car,” I said.
Sulley positioned himself behind the wheel.
“Yeah, well spend a decade and a half on the force and they give you the good car,” he winked. “Radio works pretty well up here too, which is an upgrade in itself, but all that’s on the thing right now are those damned reports from that shooting on Fort Bragg. Had to stop listening, get’s me all fired up.”
The shooting had been plastered on every television in the airport as well. Something about a soldier turning on his own, but I hadn’t the heart to listen.
“Once a grunt, always a grunt huh?” I teased.
“Hooah!” Sulley smiled, putting the truck into drive and navigated us out of the airport and onto the highway.
Thankfully we spent most of the trip to Saluda in comfortable silence, neither of us feeling pressured to make small talk. Sulley was a brooder, and even though we weren’t blood related, we shared that personality trait. I needed to be alone with my thoughts.
I stared out the window, mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of fall colors that shifted in shade with every leaf. I had forgotten how many trees there were. Cascading from the hills and mountaintops, they formed an intricate patchwork quilt which flanked the truck at every curve of the road.
The afternoon sun, which lay nestled in the crevice of two tall peaks, cast its golden hue upon the tips of pines. Bright reds and purples adorned the oaks in a gown of the deepest velvet. A constant breeze floated between each branch creating a delicate sway. Their dance was breathtaking.
My thoughts waltzed with them, bouncing from feelings of angst and dread to warm nostalgia. I had spent most of my life trying to forget this place: the trees, the smells, the people. Yet, seeing it all again made it feel as if I had never left . . . or rather, it had never left me.
When the curves in the road tightened and the truck leaned right and left intermittently, I knew we were close to town. Breathing in and out became my sole focus, a desperate attempt to battle the panic that threatened to rise up again from my gut. Sulley, who had been sneaking curious glances at me throughout the drive, offered a reassuring smile.
“So how are Dan and Maggie?” He asked finally breaking the silence.
I ripped my eyes away from the window to look at him.
“Aunt Maggie is loving life now that Uncle Dan is retired. They travel all over the place. I barely ever see them anymore.”
The truth was, I rarely saw them at all since I left for college years ago. It was my fault for never stopping by to visit. Calling them once I got settled was a must.
“You still liking the teaching job? Still can’t believe you’re teaching social studies of all things. You should be teaching music, like your mom did.”
“I like teaching social studies, and I’ve got some good kids this semester. Music was Mom’s thing . . .” I lowered my head, my thoughts darkening.
“You sure you don’t want to stay with me and Gram tonight? We’ve got plenty of room. I’m sure she’d be awful glad to see you . . . in her way,” Sulley said, sensing my change in mood.
“I’m sure. The sooner I can deal with the house the better,” I said shaking my head. “And I don’t know if I’m ready to see Gram just yet. It’s been a long day, I’d rather take the night to get settled in first.”
It was hard to explain the way I was feeling when I couldn’t even figure it out for myself. I was desperate to keep the past in the past, yet some things I wished could be the same. Gram was one of those things.
“I understand. Just know the offer’s open,” Sulley said.
“What if she doesn’t know who I am?” I asked, a lump forming in my throat.
Sulley sighed and patted my hand. “This must be difficult for you, coming back here after all these years. I get it, I do. Take all the time you need. And as far as Gram goes, she has her good days and bad. Hell, on a bad day she doesn’t even know who I am any more. Called me Baxter the other day.”
“Who in the world is Baxter?” I asked, brightening.
Sulley raised his eyebrows. “Baxter was our family dog.”
I covered my mouth in a vain attempt keep from laughing. One look at Sulley and I failed. “That’s terrible!” I said.
“Yeah well, good days
and bad. Never know what to expect with Huntington’s disease. I’m just glad she’s still with us. Could be much worse. Even if she doesn’t recognize you Alex, a part of her knows. A part of her will always know.”
“I know, and I’ve missed her so much,” I said. “Promise I’ll come over tomorrow.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Sulley grinned and I knew he would.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see the woman who had been a grandmother to me even before she was legally so. Far from it. I was afraid that seeing her as she was now, her mind warped by the disease, would scar my memory of her.
Many childhood nights were spent at Sulley’s house where Gram taught me to make her famous oatmeal cookies. Those times were the fondest of my memories: tying on one of her aprons and helping to gather the ingredients. The best part was always when Gram handed me the spatula to lick clean as we waited for the cookies to bake. The whole town had savored those cookies, but only I was privy to the secret ingredient. Keeping it to ourselves had been our little pact. I thought of those days often and wondered if Gram even remembered them, if she ever thought about me.
Just miles from town, the road began to weave tighter along the narrow highway. The trees whipped past the window and in the spaces between their long trunks lay a vast expanse of nothing, the ground below unseen. Holding onto Sulley’s hand I sucked in a breath, embarrassed by my fear of the height of the road, and looked at him apologetically. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to keep my voice cheerful. “I guess I’m not used to these mountain roads anymore.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. We’re almost into town and then it’s pretty smooth sailing from there,” he said and then a devilish grin twisted the corners of his mouth. “We could always sing the road trip song. Get your mind off the road.”
“Oh wow. I remember that song as clear as day. One Hundred Bottles of Pop on the Wall. Imagine my surprise when I found out what the real lyrics to that song are,” I laughed.
“Yeah well, we censored it a bit. Had to come up with something to keep you happy on the way to the beach that one time. You were driving me and your mother nuts,” Sulley teased.
“I was six years old on a five hour drive. And as I remember it, we had a pretty good time,” I said.
“You lost your shorts in the ocean. One big wave and your butt was hanging out for all the world to see. Hysterical.” Sulley laughed.
“Whatever. You gave me your shirt to wear so it all worked out fine,” I snorted.
“Your mother had to tie it around you at least 5 times and you were still drowning in it.”
“And you two laughed at me the rest of the day,” I said, indignant. “You’re still laughing.”
“Hey, better us laughing at you than being bare-assed and having strangers laughing at you all day.”
“Har har.” I slugged him in the shoulder and turned my attention back to the window.
Sulley’s truck took to the curves of road like a bobsled on an icy track. The height made it feel as if we were hovering, weightless, over the pavement. Easing a bit with every successful turn, I noticed something large and white hovering above the road when we rounded the next curve. No, not hovering. It was resting atop a large jutting rock in the mountainside along the road. A cement statue of an angel, like one you would see in an elaborate garden, or a cemetery.
As we approached, the ivory features and imperial face came into focus. Graceful arms cradled a dove as the angel’s wings rose outstretched toward the heavens. I stared at it, mesmerized. It hadn’t always been there, I was sure I would have remembered it. And just how did she get up there?
The truck passed by and then all thoughts about the statue vaporized when the road straightened out and the small town unfolded in front of us. Saluda, North Carolina consisted of one main street adjacent to the Norfolk Southern Railway. The once colorful buildings that dotted the road were aged but charming like prized antiques and were surrounded by neighborhoods that weaved in and out of the narrow mountains around it.
Memories, long forgotten, flooded back as I shifted my gaze from building to building. The old bookstore, the general store, even the dilapidated diner was still there, untouched by the fingers of time. What had been a lifetime to me had been but a midday slumber to this quiet mountain town.
Sulley slowed the truck to a purr as we passed by the town library and its large bay windows. The town council prided itself on recruiting the talents of the locals to create displays for every season. The fall décor exhibited now consisted of an assortment of stunning colors in the form of leaves and gourds scattered about tables adorned with cornucopias, filled to the brim with Indian corn and pinecones. Framing the window were hundreds of twinkling white lights. The council had outdone themselves. I caught myself looking forward to the Christmas display, which had always been my favorite, but stopped myself short. Take care of business and get the hell out, I remembered.
With a low, guttural groan from the truck, Sulley pulled up to the curb just past the library. The Saluda police station was small and plain in contrast to the landscape surrounding it. It was painted a bland eggshell white and the vinyl blinds masking the large windows only added to its nondescript aura. The station’s only color came from the forest green trim. White, insipid lettering on the glass front door labeled the building as the police station. Were it not for the two blue and black squad cars parked across the street, the station might be missed altogether.
“Stay here. I’ve just got to run inside real quick,” Sulley said and hopped out of the truck.
“You got it chief,” I said.
As Sulley walked in, I rolled down the window and despite myself, stuck my head out and filled my nostrils with the invigorating autumn breeze again, letting the vague sent of pine and moist earth stir some part of me that lay sleeping, dormant somewhere deep within. When I opened my eyes I noticed a figure in the window of the station.
The man was turned from his desk where he glared at me through the glass. The intensity of his stare made me uncomfortable. I grinned and gave the man a slight nod. He immediately turned away, no smile or nod in return. Rude, I thought as Sulley emerged from the station toting a slender paper sack. He handed it to me through the window.
“Almost forgot my welcome back present,” he said.
I pulled the sleek bottle of expensive Merlot from the paper bag.
“You are old enough to drink that, right? Figured you may need it to help you relax tonight and all,” he said positioning himself back behind the wheel and bringing the truck back to life with a roar.
“I love you, Uncle Sulley.” I said with a smile.
