Will Rise from Ashes

by Jean M. Grant

  “Yes, Will.”

  “It’s not autumn,” he repeated.

  “Sometimes leaves can fall before then, remember?”

  He tapped a finger on his knee. “It’s summer.”

  “Will, I don’t want to talk about this now.”

  “It’s warm. It’s summer.” He tapped his knee again. “Leaves fall in autumn, not summer.”

  “Remember that year when we got a foot of snow before Halloween?” she said.

  Of course he remembered that. “We didn’t get to trick-or-treat until two days later.” The snow had piled high around their house, and he loved to squish it through his fingers as he shoveled it higher and higher, packing, squeezing, and making a huge volcano, while Finn ran around and made snow angels and dug caves.

  “Yes, Will, and it wasn’t winter yet. Weather can be like that. Fickle. You know this stuff.”

  Fickle. That was a funny word. He said it a few times to himself and stowed it away in his memory bank for another day. He returned his attention to his drawing on the clipboard. “I’m making you a map for our trip, Mom. I’m almost done with New England. Where are we going after New York?” The hook on Cape Cod was not right. He erased it and redrew it, erased it, and drew the hook just right.

  “Will…”

  “Mom, I need to get the map right. Ohio or Pennsylvania? Oh, yeah, Pennsylvania, unless we go through Canada. We can’t do that though.” He ripped off a new page of blank white paper from his notepad, its grain smooth on his fingertips. He loved that feeling. It had a fresh smell to it, like a tree. He’d make a new map for the mid-Atlantic region. He thumbed through his pencil box. Too bad he hadn’t packed his scented markers. What color for those states?

  Mom drove in silence. She had been crying last night. She cried a lot since Dad died last year. More now with Finn gone. Whenever he mentioned the volcano, she would cry. But the volcano was exciting. It had erupted! Not like the VEI 8 super-eruptions that had occurred 2.1 million, 1.3 million, and 640,000 years ago. It was big though. The news had said so. Bigger than Mount St. Helens. The newscasts had shown ash falling as far as Kansas and Nebraska. He wondered if the jet stream and air currents would push it farther east toward them. Maybe they would drive through it. Mom wouldn’t let him talk about it, though she knew how much he loved it.

  He’d tucked away a few of his books in his backpack. Cool volcano ones. The book with the Yellowstone caldera on the cover was his favorite. The pictures were bright and detailed, and it had many maps. He paused with his mid-Atlantic map and reached into the backpack in Finn’s empty booster seat. He flipped through his supervolcano book.

  Although he enjoyed the words and the numbers, he liked the maps and pictures best. He turned to page 103, which outlined the ash-fall patterns of the three largest eruptions. The drawing showed three overlapping ovals. Well, they weren’t ovals. “Mom, what’s a crooked oval called?”

  “A crooked oval, Will?”

  He put the book down and used his hands to make the shape in the air. “Like this.” She didn’t look at him.

  “I don’t know, honey.”

  The ash-fall “crooked ovals” covered two-thirds of the United States, mostly the western region. He read. “The patterns of ash fall depend on the winds in the atmosphere at the time of the eruption. Most wind goes from west to east. So it went that way. Maybe there will be ash as far as Missouri.” He searched his memory to try to recall if the meteorologists had mentioned if it was an El Niño year. That could greatly impact the ash cloud. Volcanoes in the Pacific tropics could cause an El Niño year due to the millions of tons of sulfur dioxide pumped into the stratosphere. But could the current Pacific conditions shift the cloud’s projection? He’d check for a weather station when they got to a hotel.

  Flashes of images danced in front of his eyes. Gray, fluffy snow-like ash falling on the ground, piling deeper and deeper. The boxes at the Mount St. Helens exhibit had showed the different volumes of ash. Maybe they would see ash rain!

  “Will! You brought those books!” Mom said in her screechy voice.

  He winced but didn’t look up.

  “Will…,” she said, controlling the screech, to his relief. It always caused his heart to do an extra thump when she spoke like that. She shook her head. She was upset again. He knew that.

  He turned to another chapter. “Mom, the rangers said there were no recent earthquakes in Yellowstone, but here it says that there should have been seismic activity to indicate an eruption was coming. Why weren’t there any earthquakes reported?”

  “What do you mean? There were earthquakes. You saw the news.”

  “I know that. I meant beforehand—before it happened. Like tremors?”

  She said quietly, “Maybe there were some we don’t know about.”

  He read for a little longer, all the while thinking about the leaves falling off the trees. “Oh! The leaves are like Halloween, Mom. When it snowed early. Sometimes those things happen, even when they are not supposed to, or there are no clues that they will happen. Although we did see the weather forecast of the snow. However, it was not expected to be so much, and in autumn.”

  Her eyes widened at him in the rearview mirror. Susie, his special therapist, liked to tell him that his eyes smiled. He wasn’t sure how they could smile. They were eyes. Mouths smile. Eyes look. The wrinkles around his mom’s brown eyes crinkled, and her eyes were all shiny and wet. Not wet from crying. Perhaps that was “eyes smiling?”

  “Yes, Will. Just like that.”

  He smiled, too—with his mouth, for he didn’t know how to smile with his eyes. His thoughts then returned to the picture of ash, covering everything, inches deep. It looked like winter. Maybe Finn was making snow angels in it right now.

  Chapter Three

  Swallowing a Hefty Pill

  Autism.

  The A-word. The one as a parent you’d never expect to utter in your household except for the occasional discussion.

  I tapped my pen on the journal, pausing. I glanced at Will, who made volcanoes with the dirt along the roadside where we’d stopped for a quick rest. I’m not sure why my journal-writing had veered onto the path of my parenting journey, but here I was again, writing about it.

  Accepting your child’s autism diagnosis is like trying to swallow a large, chalky, rough-edged pill without the water chaser. It can get stuck, go down sideways, or leave you with a bitter aftertaste. You may need to take it with sweetened tea or a bite of food. Then, the pill sits. Finally, slowly, that pill works its alchemy through your bloodstream, into your pumping heart, and across that brain-blood barrier. Eventually, your body, your mind, and your spirit accept the pill’s enlightenment: that pill is going nowhere. And that is okay. Or you try to make it okay.

  In the beginning, like many parents, I had not fully accepted Will’s diagnosis, felt increasingly dejected, comparing myself and him to other “normal” children and families. A part of me refused to believe I’d swallowed that monster-sized pill.

  I’d given in to my negative spirals early on. Will’s potential now, though, awakened me more each day. He was a boy with such fervor for life and learning that if we did it “just right” and provided him with the best school, behavior therapies, and tools to succeed, he would. Yet, I wasn’t sure I’d attain the acceptance level of that remarkable mom I knew in our school district, Jody, who advocated strongly for her two severely autistic sons. She was the dedicated mom who found enemies on the school board committee and at town meetings. She was a powerhouse who had swallowed that pill with a side of fries. I aspired to be like Jody. Knowing her, she had an arsenal in her basement to handle this catastrophe for whenever it did reach Maine. Hell, she was probably halfway to Florida by now. Shame rose to the forefront of my mind many times for my bemoaning of my higher-functioning child. Christ, AJ, it’s not a competition.

  Meanwhile, I spent too much time worrying if I was correct in saying “autistic child” or “child with autism.” I felt like no
matter what, I was an imposter and couldn’t do it right, couldn’t please everyone. Will was Will. Autism was part of him.

  I pawed over that one a bit and took a break from my parental ruminations to watch him play.

  He finally got bored. I looked at my watch. “Time to go, honey.”

  Our respite wore off shortly after getting back on the highway.

  I braked. Traffic was at a standstill in both directions a half mile ahead. This was too soon for disorder. No police activity. Just a string of traffic…nowhere near a metro area. Most likely some idiot did something stupid. Car accident? Somebody dropped their coffee? Harrison’s words echoed.

  “Look, Mom!” Will said as we drew closer to the stopping point.

  I followed his pointing finger. Four people were out of their cars. A man wielded a gun and gestured madly.

  “Oh, my God!” My naïve approach to this trip smacked me in the face. Between the robbery and now this ruckus…yes, the chaos had reached our side of the country, even if the ash cloud had not. My look darted over the scene. “Holy shit!” Was that the black sedan? Was that Harrison’s gun? My palpitating heart told me the answer.

  “Mom!”

  I nearly growled. “I’m allowed to swear now, okay?” In fact, I had refrained from my favorite juicy swear word that had become habit over the years. I tried, honestly, I tried.

  I tapped restless fingers on the steering wheel and made the world’s quickest assessment of my situation. Cars leading to the next exit crammed the shoulder. Trees bordered the right side of the road ahead of me while a center rail barrier and the opposing traffic were on my left side. I was the last car in the group and wasn’t remotely close to the exit yet.

  A man swung a baseball bat and smashed in the black sedan’s windows. I flinched. Another man flew out of the car and jumped on the man with the gun. The gun fired into the air, and all I heard were screams.

  Harrison’s gun.

  Was this my fault?

  I shoved my car into reverse, punched it into drive, and swerved hard to the right. The car jounced through the grassy shoulder as I drove in the direction from which we came. I kept to the shoulder as cars arrived and honked at the crazy woman driving the wrong way.

  “Mom…” Will pulled on his trusty black and neon-green bike helmet with a click of the strap under the chin.

  “Hon, we’re not riding our bikes.”

  “It’s bumpy! Must be prepared!” he countered.

  I remembered an exit not too far back. I found it soon enough and made a sharp left turn onto the ramp. I handed the oversized, floppy atlas to Will. “Here, Will. Find this road number. The New York page close-ups are page twenty-something.”

  He did as told. “Page twenty-four.”

  I was ever grateful for the atlas we always kept in the car. Harrison used to tease me about not knowing how to use a smartphone’s GPS app. Ha, there goes that, Harrison! Cell phones were defunct right now for half of the country. The ash in the atmosphere blocked cell towers from working effectively. I hadn’t been able to reach Patsy and George, Harrison’s parents in Virginia, since we’d left Massachusetts. I was somewhat glad I’d not followed Sarah’s advice to drop Will off with them.

  “There, Mom, ahead. Turn on Route 62.”

  I did and was relieved to find an empty road. I had a feeling that this would be our first of many detours. There went staying on the busier highways like Interstates 86 and 90. This was already taking longer than I anticipated. I exhaled, encouraging my mind to think of placating thoughts. I tapped my finger on the wheel. Known for my back-up plans, I was coming up short on this trip.

  A few minutes later, the car released a screech and pulled fiercely. I bit my tongue.

  “What was that?” Will asked, his voice tinged with more curiosity than fear.

  “Tire, dammit!”

  I clamped my teeth as I managed to control my flailing vehicle and pulled it onto the grassy shoulder.

  I sat for a moment, head resting against the steering wheel.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Will said. “Say that special prayer?”

  I blew an exaggerated breath. “Trying.”

  I stepped out of the car and inspected it. Busted tire. “Great.”

  Will hopped out. “You’re using that tone.”

  “Yup, I am.” I waved my hands in the air. “I give up.”

  “Can you fix it?” He approached the tire and poked at the torn rubber, his helmet still on. Due to his latest fascination with his scooter, he seemed to wear it all the time.

  “No. We need to put on the spare.” Hands on my hips, I willed the flat tire to magically turn into a new one. Where was a fairy godmother when a woman needed her?

  The plus: we had a full-sized spare. The not-so-plus: I’d never put a tire on before. The car had been Harrison’s area of expertise. I’d never even put air in the tires. I was a skilled gardener, mower, and snow-blower, wound-kisser and spirit-rebuilder, but cars were not my forte. Yes, that was my excuse, and I was sticking to it. I squatted beside the tire and blew a lock of sweaty hair from my forehead.

  My realm was my children and household, and my career had been pushed to the back burner. I dealt with Individual Education Plans and academic meetings at school, behavior therapies, and phone calls and emails with teachers about Will. And my Finn. Both were square pegs the teachers tried to put in round holes. Finn was creative and exuberant, but he didn’t fit the typical profiles for ADHD or autism. Sometimes, he was more draining than Will. He was my emotional child. God, how was he now? He could go either way—this was an amazing adventure or he was terrified and wanted Mommy.

  Oddly, a smile came to mind as I thought about him chatting Brandon’s ear off. The silence with Will was all-consuming and made me restive. I yearned for Finn’s ceaseless questions. They always say you miss what you complain most about. Or something like that.

  I made my way to the rear of the car and pulled out our now-ransacked and not so plentiful supplies: bins with food, water, camping gear, first-aid kit, one kitchen knife, blankets, toiletries. The other gas container, more water, and an ax—I had watched far too many zombie movies to not have that—were stowed away in the recessed storage area that the thieves had not managed to find. Thank God, I still had that stuff.

  Between my worrying and Will’s obsession with weather and natural disasters, we usually were prepared for it all. Our car must have looked like Fort Knox to those assholes.

  I yawned, wishing I had packed coffee. The gas station stuff was crap and, now with less money, a luxury. An unexpected wry chuckle escaped my lips.

  “It’s funny now?” Will asked, approaching from the tire.

  He looked at me with full, brown eyes, snapping me from my melancholy. “I was laughing about not packing coffee. Of all things for me to forget, huh?”

  “Oh!” Will wiggled past me and climbed onto the edge of the trunk. I put a guiding hand on his back as he leaned in, opened a large bin, and removed a green canister. He handed it to me. “Here!”

  I twisted open the lid, humoring him. It’s not like I was going to get that tire on soon, not until I could find the tire iron, car jack, and instructions. That meant lugging all this heavy crap out and digging through the recessed storage area. The aroma caught me, and I smiled, heartily. “Coffee!” I stared at the scoops of coffee grounds Will must have packed for me. “Oh, honey, thank you!” I hadn’t the heart to tell him I lacked a coffee maker or an old-fashioned steeper. I squeezed him.

  “Didn’t you look at my list?” He grabbed his clipboard from the back seat. He removed his helmet and tossed it in his booster seat. “I made a list just like you. I showed you.”

  “Oh, yes, you’re right. I must’ve not seen it on there,” I said, feigning ignorance. In fact, I didn’t need to pretend these days. Over the past year, my organization and memory had faded alongside my energy. My calendar on the fridge used to be filled with the boys’ busy schedules, my work and volunteer activities
, and family outings. I had four babysitters on call. Then this year, I’d said to hell with it. I’d tossed the damn calendar and took it day by day. I’d quit my part-time job. I couldn’t take the pitying faces anymore. The life insurance would suffice for a few years. Lists had become a distant memory.

  Or I’d thought. He shoved the list at me. “Impressive,” I said, not lying. He had cataloged the copious amount of supplies I’d haphazardly packed in the stowaway bins, down to the number of red, yellow, blue, and gray Lego bricks he’d brought. Forty-one red, thirty-three yellow, sixty blue, and twenty-five gray…and four sets of wheels.

  He returned to inspecting the tire, apparently done with the conversation.

  I dialed the number on my membership card for roadside assistance. It went directly to a recorded message about their circuits being busy. Well, it had been worth a try. I could try a tow-truck, but I didn’t know of any towing companies to call, and my reception flickered between one bar and none.

  My stomach growled. “Come, let’s have lunch before we figure this thing out.” Defeat stabbed at me. I wasn’t even out of New York and had already been robbed, forgotten my pills, and now had a flat tire. What the hell lay ahead for me?

  Will grabbed my hand, as he always did, and we went to sit beneath a large tree for a quick meal.

  A half hour later, inability overcame me. I cursed and allowed the L-shaped tire iron to slip from my slick hands to the grass. It fell with a thud. The only fruits of my effort were pink burning palms and beads of perspiration on my forehead. I read through the car owner’s manual, again. It could have been in Greek. Harrison’s delightful voice danced in my head, teasing me about not having a smartphone to discern how to do it.

  God, give me any other task! Damn cars.

  I quelled my frustration, not allowing Will to see as he sat by our picnic, building a tower with broken twigs. I missed Harrison’s candor. He might have been cynical, but he was a guy you’d take at face value, easy to read. He’d been a soul-warming spirit in my life, my cheerleader. Then one day…my best friend was gone, and I was left to man all the battle stations myself.