by A L Crouch
“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 lif
etime 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.
The drive to the house was a short one. The winding side road off of the main street was as unchanged as the rest of the town. A-framed houses hovered in the tree-tops exactly as I remembered them. I wondered if all the same owners still lived in them. Had anything changed for them? Had their lives remained constant and undisturbed while my own had fractured and shattered into a thousand shards of glass? Those shards now stabbed into my heart as we pulled onto my old street.
“Does Mrs. Middleton still live next door? I wonder if she would mind if I ran through her flower bed once for old time’s sake,” I said, finding safety behind a shield of sarcasm and humor.
“Hell, you could probably get away with it. Woman’s near eighty years old. She won’t be chasing you with her hose now for sure.” Sulley winked at me, not buying my humor front. “It’s not too late to change your mind about coming home with me you know. You don’t have to stay here.”
It was tempting. Now that we were here, I wanted nothing more than to run away: away from the memories in that house, away from the pain. But the sooner I dealt with business, the sooner I could escape back to the safety of denial and sublimation in Chicago.
“No, I’m okay. I want to do this. I have to,” I finally answered.
After passing a row of tall hedges, the house came into view beneath the setting sun. The small, white, two-story home sat oddly cheerful atop the inclined drive. Time slowed as the truck climbed the driveway. The windshield framed my view so it seemed as though I were watching a home movie filmed a lifetime ago.
The first scene to play through my mind was of the hand-painted mailbox at the foot of the drive. I saw my mother laboring over each pink flower on its white-washed surface. She smiled down at me as I held up the tray of paints. I stared at her handiwork with admiration. The purple handprint that she let me contribute was still there, captured forever by the flag. My mother’s was just beside it. I stared, unblinking, at the mailbox until it we passed by.
At the top of the drive, a glimpse of the porch brought on a new scene. I saw the two of us rocking in the porch swing on a humid summer night, watching the fireflies dance to the sway of the warm breeze humming through the trees. I could see the “For Sale” sign leaning up against the railing, covered with big red letters announcing it as “SOLD”. Mom had kept it there for months, just so we could admire it.
When we came to a stop at the top of the drive, I saw that last, cold, overcast morning. The morning when I was escorted by Sulley and all of our neighbors, heads downcast, into my aunt and uncle’s car. They waved to me from the porch as the car pulled away from the house that I would not see again in my childhood. The house that stood before me now, more than a decade and a half later.
“Just remember that whatever you decide to do with the house, I will support you. Now that you’re twenty-five it’s all yours, it’s for you to decide. Take your time. The mortgage is paid up for the next few months. Just don’t rush into a decision is all I ask. Now that you’re back, I’d hate to lose you again,” Sulley said. “Just think about it.”
I blinked back to the present and looked into Sulley’s beckoning face. I gave his hand a squeeze and feigned a smile.
“Thanks Uncle Sulley. I promise I’ll take time to really think about it.”
“Good,” he smiled back, “let’s get you settled in then.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay, I’m ready.”
We got out of the car and Sulley retrieved my things from the back seat. I stood at the foot of the steps, staring up at them, willing myself to go on. My mother had loved this house more than anything we had ever owned. To her, it had represented our independence. It was a culmination of so many struggles she had overcome. More importantly, it was the home that she had always wanted for me. And now it was mine to decide what to do with.
I followed Sulley up the steps as he fumbled with the keys. When he swung the door open I took as much of the surroundings in as I could at once: the warm beige carpet, the mahogany railing on the stairs and the vaulted ceiling in the living room. Sulley set my stuff down at the foot of the stairs and methodically went to every window and opened the vertical blinds, allowing the waning sunlight to fill the house.
“Now, I was able to furnish most of the house with what tenants have left behind over the years. You got a bed in the master bedroom and a dresser. You’ve got the couch here and some end tables. Kitchen’s got a table as well. I’m working on getting a T.V., though you’d need a dish to get regular channels. I’ve got an extra DVD player at the house you could use for movies as least,” Sulley rambled, straightening the lampshades on each end table.
I heard only pieces of what he was saying. My gaze was fixed on the corner of the room where a glossy baby grand piano sat.
“Is that . . . ?” I asked pointing to it.
Sulley stopped and gave a quick glance to the corner before he came to where I was standing.
“Yeah, it is. I brought it out of storage for you. Thought you might want to play some. It’s just as much yours as the rest of the house. It belongs here as much as you do.” He patted my shoulder and moved past me toward the kitchen.
I stared at the glossy, wood-grained instrument a moment more. My mother’s piano had been a part of her. It was like seeing her ghost. I shook the thought and followed Sulley into the kitchen where he was opening cupboards.
“I got you some basics here. Should get you through a few days or till you get to the shop. I put the wine in the fridge. You’ve got eggs, milk and bread in there too. Cups and plates are here in the cupboa
rd and there’s forks and things in the drawers. I brought a radio over from my place. It’s nothing fancy, but it works,” he shrugged.
I looked around the kitchen, remembering the quiet breakfasts and playful lessons in the art of mac and cheese making. I recalled homework sessions and late night games of Go Fish with Gary after he and Mom had gotten back from their honeymoon. The table was different, but the rest of the room remained the same; white cabinets set off the light blue walls and French toile backsplash.
“Thank you Uncle Sulley, you’ve done so much. I really can’t thank you enough.”
Sulley smiled down at me. “It was the least I could do.”
“I mean, with you keeping up the house all these years. I know Mom would have appreciated it a lot.”
“Yeah well, we’re family. Even before your mom married my little bro. Don’t you ever forget that, Kiddo.”
“I won’t,” I grinned back.
Sulley closed the cabinets and went to the door.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to the station and check on some permits I’ve been waiting on. I can run into the diner on my way home and grab you a burger if you’d like.”
I held the door for him, not wanting him to leave.
“No, I’m fine. I’ve got plenty to eat here if I get hungry. Don’t you worry about me.”
Sulley hesitated. “You sure you’re going to be alright? I mean, without a T.V. or anything?”
“Oh I have better things than T.V. in mind for tonight. Big plans.” I lied. “I’m going to take an extra long shower and then curl into bed with my book.”
The book I had bought at the airport and hadn’t even cracked the binding on yet.
“Party Animal,” Sulley winked and then gave me a quick kiss on the top of my head before walking to his truck.
“You have my number if you change your mind. I mean it, call me anytime. I’ll come pick you up around noon. You can come back to the station with me and let me show you off some before we go back to my place to see Gram.”
