The Return

by Margaret Guthrie

It was Friday evening, time for the important meeting in the gym. Cars started coming into the school driveway shortly after Lydia and Margie finished the supper dishes and listened to the news. The talk on TV was of war. It seemed there was never a time without war. This one, going on in the Balkans, was getting messier and messier, with NATO now launching air strikes to cripple Milosovic’s military, with young Serbians fleeing to Hungary and Croatia to escape the draft and refugees going to wherever they could. One report said that the Kosovo Liberation Army was being financed by the sale of heroin, and trained in terrorist camps run by a Saudi millionaire named Osama bin Laden who was being hunted for the bombing of U.S. embassies in Africa last year. She shuddered at the complexity of war. What did these people want? Independence was mentioned. But why kill everyone who happened to be in the way of your independence? She didn’t understand ‘ethnic cleansing.’ How could one group of people really believe another group of people had no right to live? Something was terribly wrong. God made everybody, every single soul, and loved every one. He must be very sad to see what humans do to each other. It made her sad.

  Dale Harris had seen her parents as enemies, at least for a moment long enough to kill them. Do people have to be high on drugs to kill? Was this Milosovic on drugs? This bin Laden? Dale had been high on cocaine. And the military teaches young men, and women now, to be killers? Killers of men instead of fishers of men. How will it ever be stopped? Almost like an answer a sharp pain in her left rib cage made her catch her breath until it passed. This was not the first time this pain had come, but it always went away within a few seconds. Still, it made her wonder. Was it her heart breaking, her thoughts breaking her heart? Thoughts are energy, after all, she reminded herself. So she’d better shut off her mind from war and violence and bring it to her present world, of simple people with simple problems. She wondered if her mother had had such pains.

  Lydia walked to the living room windows to pull the curtains, but stood a moment watching people going into the gym. Most problems, it seemed to her, boiled down to fear. Fear of extinction; fear of death. Fear of others who appear to threaten your own life. Tyrants and terrorists must be full of fear. Otherwise they would be able to live and let live. They must have had little love to offset the fear. Even so, even love can be feared. Look what happened to Jesus. She pulled the curtain and went upstairs to dress.

  “Lots of interest, looks like,” Lydia commented as she passed Margie’s open bedroom door. “It will be interesting to see what that box factory guy presents and see who’s for and who’s against the idea. And what the Park Committee has to say.”

  Margie mumbled something as she pulled a tee-shirt over her head and smoothed it down over the top of her blue denim skirt. She looked at herself in the dresser mirror and judged it okay. Nothing fancy was needed for tonight.

  Lydia hadn’t heard her answer but was too busy thumbing through the hangers in her closet to ask it again. She pulled out a shirtwaist dress she had found in a trunk of her mother’s clothes and smiled at the idea crossing her mind. She went back to Margie and held up the dress as she leaned against the door frame. “You think I could wear this dress of Mom’s? It fits perfectly.”

  The shock on Margie’s face was electric. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “To tease Jake, maybe. You think it’d make me look even more like Mother? Like she’d really come back to haunt him?” Lydia saw the disapproval and said “Bad idea, huh.” She put the dress back.

  “It’s sick,” Margie said and turned her back.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Lydia chose some tan summer slacks and a sleeveless tan blouse.

  “You think anyone is for keeping the school open?” she asked this time when she came into Margie’s room. “The girls and their friends are in for a long ride if they’re to be bussed to Delora.”

  “Maybe the parents will consider home schooling,” Margie suggested. She was putting on lipstick, wondering if Peter would make it there tonight. He had some work to do, he’d said. And there was no real reason for him to attend.

  They left by the back door, and slipped through the gate that separated the two properties. Margie complemented Lydia again on the back yard.

  “Thanks. There is one little problem. If that big pile of vines and weeds at the back of our property doesn’t compost we might have to burn it. I’ll have to research the regulations for fires.” She might even have to ask Jake for some help with it.

  Oh, well. One had to do what one had to do.

  At the gym door Lydia took a deep breath. They hadn’t visited the place since Jake had given them his sad story about his father. They hadn’t been downstairs either. Where in the corner near the stairs leading up to the back door, by the boys’ locker room, noises were sometimes heard. Perhaps. She looked over at Margie. She simply nodded her head as if to say ‘ready.’

  Chairs had been set up in rows, the long tables pushed aside. At the kitchen end, a speaker’s table had been placed with a microphone. The room was nearly full and they chose seats at the back and near one end of a row.

  Mike Harris, stocky, medium height, in open-collared blue shirt and light colored chinos stood at the front of the room with the skinny and taller Stanley Seward in plaid shirt and jeans. A third person, a woman, was with them. Perhaps a school board member? Mr. Stevenson sat in the front row, along with Pearl and some other teachers. Two men in suits carrying important looking briefcases made their way to the front where Mike showed them two seats in the front row.

  People continued to come in, some delivering their children to the music room next door where an adult must have been delegated to supervise. Lydia judged that to be a sign of the importance of this meeting to the people in the community. She saw Mr. and Mrs. Lambert come in and sit toward the front which was filling up fast. Charlette Harris and Shirley Seward were there. She wondered if Jennifer and Tanya were in the music room. And maybe she’d get to see Amber and Meagan’s parents. Would Persia be here? She’d love to meet Persia’s husband, see what a French garage mechanic would be like in this little town. Ah, there was the minister and his wife. She wondered how they felt about the school, the Park idea, the manufacturing idea.

  Mike Harris gavelled the meeting to order, giving three sharp whacks to settle the audience. “Thanks to all of you for coming tonight.” His voice was soft and languid, and the words came between short breaths, as if the day had already been too long and arduous. The microphone was a saving grace. “We’ll try to keep presentations brief so there can be discussion afterward. Shall we have the reading of last meeting’s minutes?”

  Stanley Seward then proposed that the minutes be set aside so they could get into the business at hand. The board said “aye” and Stanley introduced the agenda. “Tonight we have two representatives from Boxes Inc. from whom we will hear a proposition. Secondly, we have a representative from the Park Committee to give a proposition. Thirdly, we have a report from Superintendent Stephenson regarding the status of the district school system. Fourthly, we will open the floor for discussion. We ask that you limit your questions and comments to no more than five minutes. That’s a long time, folks,” he chuckled knowingly. He appeared calm and competent.

  The two box factory men set up their charts and proceeded to describe how they would rent the school house for administrative offices and the bus barn for the factory itself. They would be in need of six workers for the factory part, with a possibility of three with computer experience. They talked about materials shipped in and finished boxes shipped out, the use of trucks, the road, and stuff that made Lydia sleepy and somewhat suspicious. Of what she wasn’t certain, only that it seemed a drastic use of a good school building that sounded like it would still have empty rooms and an entire third floor unused. She would certainly have questions about noise.

  She perked up when Jake Jackson got up to present the Park Comm
ittee’s proposition. Essentially, he suggested that the maintenance of the school grounds was becoming more expensive than the school district could afford with the buildings getting old and in need of many repairs. He had a list which he read off, which included plumbing problems, an inefficient furnace that needed to be replaced, some electrical needs. He suggested that the box company would find the barn impractical for their needs and wondered if they could really be serious in their proposal. He referred to the round gym as something that needed to be razed because there were too many physical problems with it. “In place of the gym we could have ball fields, picnic areas, perhaps a swimming pool that would be clean and healthy for the children who are now swimming in the reeds and moss-filled Pine Lake, endangering their health in that pollution. Then if we buy the Kinnen house that, too, is in a state of deterioration, we could add it to the Park area and have a beautiful area in which we could take pride.” Lydia noticed the papers in Jake’s hand shaking, and he read haltingly. He was obviously uncomfortable with speeches. His last suggestion was that the barn and school building be sold, letting the new buyer deal with the problems of those buildings. “Industry is geared toward imaginative ideas. Let them have their say.” Then he sat down.

  A wave of restless whispering went through the audience, but they had to sit through one more speech, from Superintendent Stephenson. His report dealt with the brutal truth that the school simply was not taking in enough money to keep going. The school population was down to such a small number that the cost of busing was the practical solution. Lydia had to admire his control, remembering his disdain earlier for parents sending their children to private high schools. “The teachers and students in the Delora schools have an excellent reputation. It will give our children more opportunities in the areas of science projects, arts, music and even the basic studies,” he said. “We have not heard tonight all the possibilities for these school buildings. Let’s do use our imaginations as Jake suggested and come up with a new path for what has been a great institution for 85 years.”

  As the floor was opened for comments, a line quickly formed at the microphone. This should be interesting, Lydia thought. The first to speak was Mr. Lambert.

  “I must say, I’m surprised by Jake’s comments. I’m on the Park Committee and his remarks are nothing I would say. First of all, to comment on the Kinnen house is totally out of order. That is private property with nothing to do with the school grounds which we are concerned about. May I have your agreement that Jake’s concern with the Kinnen house is not up for discussion tonight?” He stood at the microphone, waiting while the three school board members leaned toward each other in a whispered conversation. Mike then stated that it was so agreed.

  “We are not here to discuss anything but school property,” he confirmed. “Did you have something else to say, Mr. Lambert?”

  “Yes I did. As to the gym. I also totally disagree with Jake’s idea of tearing it down. It can be a useful community building and though it may need some repair or upgrading, it certainly is basically a solid, well-constructed building and in no way should it be torn down. The same goes for the school house itself. As for selling off some of the school property which might include the bus barn, I can see some feasibility here. But we need a lot more discussion. Thank you.” With that Mr. Lambert yielded the microphone and returned to his seat.

  Margie whispered over to Lydia, “Good for him.” Lydia agreed.

  As others made their comments and asked their questions, it seemed obvious that there was a definite interest in preserving the gym and schoolhouse. One of the suggestions was to form a non-profit Preservation Corporation with local membership and dues to pay for their upkeep. One man expressed interest in turning the school building into a museum and said he would personally put his money and energy into such a project. He also said that with the Kinnen sisters in the audience it might be a good time to hear from them what they have in mind for their house. “We’ve heard rumors that they themselves want it torn down. And we’ve heard rumors that they want to make it an historical house and turn it into a museum. Perhaps, if we have a public park and community building, it might add to the museum quality of the area. People like to see their past, and that house certainly has been a part of the history of this community. With furnishings of the 1910 or so era it could be a resource for this community, an attraction for visitors.”

  His comments seemed to get restless reactions in the audience, with people turning this way and that to locate Lydia and Margie. But Mike pounded his gavel and reminded them it was agreed the Kinnen house was off the docket. “Perhaps at a later meeting,” he suggested. Lydia noticed that as he sat down he almost missed his chair, as if he were suddenly shaky and unwell.

  The rest of the comments went quickly and didn’t add much new but it was evident a lot of people were nodding their heads when the non-profit was mentioned. And, interestingly, not one person spoke for keeping the school open. Lydia guessed there had already been enough discussion on that to make the inevitable accepted.

  The meeting had gone on for over an hour and though there seemed to be no consensus or decisions made, the feeling seemed to be that at least something was started. A date for another meeting was announced, but the school board was also given a majority vote to go ahead with exploring companies to rent the facilities.

  Afterward, people got up and parents gathered their children. Lydia and Margie went forward to meet Mike Harris, the only one of the group there That Night that they had not met face to face. It took them right into the area where their parents had been killed, where the left-over vibrations of that drama a psychic could probably pick up, but Lydia did not claim those gifts. She only wanted to visualize in her own way what might have happened. She wanted Mike or Stanley or any of them bold enough, to show them exactly where their bodies had lain when they died.

  Margie had already cornered Mike and was introducing herself. Lydia stepped over and also shook his hand. It was cold and tense. Perspiration glistened on his forehead. His lips were dry and parched. Stanley stood by him, watching protectively, like a big brother.

  “I’d like to see where it happened,” Margie said, her voice soft but eager. She addressed the two of them. “It was near here wasn’t it?” Lydia held her surprise. She had no idea Margie wanted to see...that place.

  Stanley looked at them, evaluating. “It’s that important?” He held Mike’s upper arm, as if supporting him. Mike looked pale and weak, searched for a chair, sat down and bent forward. Stanley rested his hand gently on Mike’s shoulder.

  And now Jake was there, as well as Charlette and Shirley. Jennifer and Tanya stood a little behind their mothers, quietly attentive. Jake began to protest. “You don’t want to see that,” he said. “It’s done and over with.”

  “No, I do want to see,” said Lydia. She glared at Jake, forced herself in front of him, nearer to Mike and Stanley.

  Stanley left Mike and started over to the stairs, then turned and addressed the others. “Stay here why don’t you. I’ll show them. It won’t take long.” Then he motioned for Lydia and Margie to come. They looked up the stairs to the red ‘exit’ sign over the outside door.

  “This isn’t easy to do, you know, to relive that night when things went all wrong,” he said. He started up the stairs and stopped at the top, in front of the closed outside doors. They waited behind him. “Dale just wanted to see the basketball court where he had played with a team that went to the state championships the year he was a senior. He remembered all the cheering, people on their feet as he ran down the court and made basket after basket. But it was all quiet that night. And dark, except for Jake’s flashlight.” Stanley pressed open the doors to the court a crack, but not fully. “Then, Dale led us downstairs.” He went down. They followed. They were back to where Mike was still sitting with the others waiting. “We sat around a table. Someone brought candles from the
kitchen. And Dale started talking to us about the army, and about enemies, and how they trained. He showed us how to roll a cigarette and passed one around. And he just got more and more animated.” Stanley stopped and ran his hand through his hair. “It was all so quick, so unexpected. Someone started coming down the stairs and it was, we didn’t know who, scary, being caught like that. Someone blew out the candles, and we like, scattered. Except Dale said it was the enemy and he was ready to take out the enemy. Mike claimed he said it was Mr. Kinnen, but we hardly heard that. And we were all dumb enough to believe Dale, I guess. I’ve thought about it and thought about it and all I can think is that Dale was maybe hallucinating. And we were just kids looking up to Mike’s big brother. But I’m not trying to make excuses.” Stanley stood at the bottom of the stairs, gesturing. “It just happened so fast. Dale started hitting and hitting, punching, like he had learned boxing or something. He was so convinced it was the enemy. He didn’t have a gun or a knife on him. It was just his hands.” Stanley had his back to the women, his arms on the railings for support. Maybe he couldn’t face them, Lydia thought. “We tried to stop him. Mike and JJ and I, and we couldn’t. He was Hercules.” Stanley pointed to the floor at the bottom of the stairs. “It was about there, I expect.” Lydia realized he meant their father and that Stanley couldn’t say his name.

  Stanley started back up the stairs. At the top he stopped. “They told us your mother came in, but I didn’t see her. I wanted to get the girls out of there. And JJ ran home, I guess.”