dmseay

We traveled the back woods ‘cross streams and ponds, over hills and what appeared to a boy’s eye to be mountain tops. All the trees were green from summer’s paint job; God’s steady hand on the brush.

There was all kinds of animals runnin’ ’round; deer and squirrels, jack rabbits and antelope, a few beavers buildin’ a dam out of sticks and mud; our huntin’ dogs lead the way. Where they were takin’ us to we had no idea. We were just two teenage boys in love with nature; dirt, trees, leaves, water, the smells of pines and fear as a snake sneaked it’s way in front of us; we pretended not to notice. Holdin’ our breath the whole time. Lucifer just kept on slitherin’. He did not tempt us on that day.

And we came upon abandoned cars and old pickups, rusted with sharp pieces hangin’ from the quarter panels. Had a hard time makin’ em out. Chevys, Fords, a Dodge or two, like people had just given up and left em there. Made us wonder.

Made you think ’bout man invading nature. Somebody once lived out here. But, there were no signs of houses, or tents. Just cars and pickups left behind. Old one’s. From the early 60’s. Why would people just leave belongings behind and take off like that?

I’m reminded of my own ramblings. Tossin’ everything in a dumpster and takin’ off to explore new land. Suppose you can just do better on feet. Least that’s been my experience.

I’ll return to the woods every chance I get. Get back to nature’s promises. These are rules to abide by.

It is a gray day and it is winter. Death is in the air. That’s one of nature’s promises too.

And, I say, I am ready.

There was no fire in the fireplace. Just a cold draft came into the room from the open flue. The wind stirred old ashes ’round and made a tunnel like noise, but, no fire.

Wood was stacked neatly on the racks and bundled up newspapers lay under the hickory and cherry wood. Nobody lit a match to it. People just looked at it and imagined. They dreamt that a fire was blazing; wearing shawls and quilts there in the living room.

Outside it was spitting snow. A tomcat cried ‘cross the street. Two flags flew on a pole next door. One said, “Don’t Tread On Me,” while the one on top was the flag of the United States of America; waving in the breeze.

The sun was going down and the dark hours would soon arrive. Some would stay in the front room and look at the fireplace, pictures on the walls, in total silence. Just sit there quietly. Wondering. Thinking about what warmth would be like. It had been so long since there was warmth. All they did was feel cold all the time; numb.

And they sat there. No one looked at others. There was no fire in the fireplace. Hadn’t been for a long, long time.

There was some kind of mystery to her; could never figure her out. One day she’d be jumping in the lake like a child, while on other days she stayed in her room and wept; balling like a baby wrapped up in a blanket; sometimes she kicked and screamed too.

The days with her went by fast. Nights she’d curl up next to me like a cat while other times she just sat at the kitchen table and stared empty like into space. I’d try talking to her. About things that would make her happy. Little things. Like birthday cake, ice cream on a hot summer’s day, taking rides out in the country, walks through a garden on a crisp autumn day. She wouldn’t smile. She just stared; catatonic like.

I visit her as often as I can at the home. Sometimes she recognizes me while other times she pays no attention. I bring her chocolates, the cherry cordial kind. While she eats them, I remember when she was younger. Thinking back to when she talked about reading the Bible and what the afterlife would be. She talked of singing and jubilation, golden paved roads, a mansion on the hill. Those were her ideas of paradise. Wonder if she still thinks of them.

He looked at the pile of stuff on the kitchen table. Outdated credit cards, used gift cards, combs, brushes, eyeliner, a tube of pink lipstick, some change; all of it just dumped on the table. It was like she was cashing in. Giving up. Leaving pieces of her behind. Small pieces.

The old man looked closely at the items. It’s amazing what a woman keeps in her purse, he thought, mumbling to himself. What did he know of her,? the old man shook with fear, What did I know of her?

And, a note was left behind. He read it out loud. Dear Pete, Sorry to leave you in the middle of the night, but it seemed to be the right time to do it. It wasn’t because of a lack of love that I left you. I just had to go and be a woman that runs with wolves.

As you can see, I’ve taken very little with me; a woman in the wild needs very little. And, I’ve left you the empty contents of my life; small change, lipstick, credit cards, etc. Hang onto them. I might need these things when I get back.

That’s right, I’m not staying out in the wild forever. Soon I will be home. Soon. But for now, it’s time I howl at the moon.

Love, Doris.

This troubled old man collected the pieces and placed them in a bag. He then hid the bag and started counting the days. The days till she got back. Pete marked the days on his trailer wall. After a hundred he gave up, began drinking and turning mean; questioning why she had to go.

Some people reach a point where they have to find something new, he thought. Some folks ain’t satisfied with what they got. She never was. She never was.

The nights began to get cold. The old man slept with two blankets. He hoped she was warm. Hoped she was in good health. That’s all be thought about. That’s all.

She said she’d be back. What she said. He took the bag of her left behind life and looked it over. He began to laugh. Shook his head. And a ghost walked into the room. He greeted her; she had open arms. Asked why? She just shrugged her shoulders and said, Shhh.

When you don’t have peace you gotta go find it.

Did you find it?, she nodded her head. I’m glad, the old man said, I’m glad. He blew the ghost a kiss. She blew one back. And, with that, she was gone. She was gone.

No one wants to talk about it,she said. This mess you’ve made, she continued folding clothes, phone on her shoulder. I know you ain’t afraid of him. But, why go startin’ somethin’ when you don’t have to, the woman put a towel down on the couch and lit a cigarette.

You just listen to me you hear. He ain’t gonna stand for it. He’s a hard man Eloise and he’s just not gonna let you go off by yourself on some wildcat adventure,the blonde walked into the kitchen and poured herself some coffee.

Where is it you wanna go anyway…?

I don’t rightly know…

Why you always wantin’ to leave…?

Just some kinda freedom…some kinda mystery out there for me to discover. Maybe out in the desert. Go out to Utah or New Mexico and look at rocks. Big rocks. Go campin’ out there under the stars. Away from everything for awhile. Just away. I’ve never been away. Never felt free.

Is that what you want? Some kinda freedom. He buys you things. Puts a roof over your head. What more do you want?

Haven’t you ever wanted to see the world? Or, part of it? Don’t you wanna see somethin’ ‘sides the normal. I wanna go to Paris and have coffee in a cafe. I wanna go to Italy and eat real spaghetti.

Well, he ain’t gonna let you. You can dream all those things, but he’s gonna put his foot down. And then, he’s gonna make it hard on you out of jealousy. He’s probably gonna think you’re with another man.

Wouldn’t that be fun? A brief affair with some cowboy or maybe a business man in the city.

Talkin’ crazy and I can’t let this happen.

When did you give up?

Give up what?

Fun. Adventure. Somethin’ to keep you livin’.

I told you years ago you should’ve had kids. You still ain’t grounded. Got no roots. Been married…

Twenty years…

And you’re still wantin’ to be a wild child. We ain’t made for that. We’re house wives. This is it. Vacations, dinner, and the bed. We share it all. And, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Don’t ya see that?

No Annie. I don’t. I don’t. I got other ideas.

He’s out there, she thought. Outside marking his territory, the skinny girl kept thinking. All ’round the yard, the corners of the house, the streets here in town. Lettin’ everyone know that he’s back. Maybe this time for good, she took a swig of coffee and flicked an ash in the green glass ashtray.

It’s been awhile, the brunette breathed in and out. Haven’t seen him since I don’t know when, she lit another cigarette. He always comes back so cocky. Gotta show off his new tricks to everybody. Probably got some woman on his arm. Taking her ’round to the local bars, places we used to go to, she sighed. Don’t miss those days.

Who am I kidding, her cheeks drawn in; whispered. That was awhile ago. Back ‘fore he took off the first time. Hell. He’s been gone so many times. Used to get post cards from him; Greetings from Alberta. You’ve got a friend in Ontario. Pictures of skyscrapers and barn silos. Of wheat fields and coffee shops. Always said he’d be home soon. Never kept his word. Well, I guess it’s whatever soon means. Could be three months. Maybe half a year. Always on the go.

She filled up her coffee cup and added cream. Said, We’ll run into each other soon enough. And, I’ll ask him to come back and he will; for the time being. Then he’ll be gone again. Chasing some dream out on Highway 40, or I95. And, I’ll miss him.

She took off in the used pickup truck he’d just bought. Said she wanted to go out for a ride; two weeks and he still hadn’t heard from her.

They put out an A.P.B.. Reported her as missing. Said she left in the afternoon wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a white tee-shirt; said her red hair was tied in a ponytail.

But, the most important thing was the color of her eyes. They were emerald. Just as green as you ever saw. He fell in love with those eyes. Fell in love with em a long time ago. Ever since high school. He used to see her looking at him in class and he’d look back. Look back into those green eyes.

The cops said there was no trace of her. Said that the whole tri-state area was blank. No signs, no leads. So he rented a four door sedan and took off ‘cross America to find her. Figured he’d start by going south down to Texas past the Red River. Looked all over Dallas. Up and down the boulevards and streets in the dark with his headlights on. All over that town he searched and found nothing. So he moved on.

The factory worker went west to Lubbock and on into New Mexico. Part of him had stopped looking for her. He was just driving and thinking of her. That’s all his days and nights became. Just memories of her. Old memories of his true love.

The cops found the pickup eventually. The thing was beat to shit. Looked like some boys had taken it on a joy ride ’round Chicago. It was found over by Douglas Park. Windshield was busted and the front seat was torn. Her red scarf was found behind the seat. They kept it for evidence.

And he was called. Told bout the truck. Told that it didn’t look good. Part of him knew she’d left him a long time ago. The other part knew that now it was official.

midnight

watching snow fall

your scent lingers

as dreams come throughout the night

visions of you in gossamer

the dance begins

now until you lay with me again

good night love

our’s was never meant to end.

He sifted through old pictures on the small wooden table. Some Polaroids, others were black and whites. He went through em one at a time looking at faces; none were familiar to him. They were just faces. Women in beehive hairdos, men wearing hornrimmed glasses, hair parted to the sides, sideburns lined the young jawlines. A long time ago, he thought. These pictures are ancient, the old man said out loud.

And, maybe they were. Time strips away memories. He couldn’t remember his wife who’d gone before him. Or, the sons and daughters that visited him on Sundays at the nursing home. He was told he had grand kids; never recognized em. They’d all come to see him and he would just sit there with a blank look on his lined face. A look of confusion, anger, never calm. There was always something ticking in his mind. It was disbelief. No longer believing the physical. No more trusting of his touch.

The old man would sit in his wheelchair and wait. Wait to be pushed down the halls. He liked to go on rides. When he was younger he’d take the family on rides in their old Impala. They’d ride throughout the Midwest on full blown Autumn days. Looking out windows at trees, stopping for ice cream cones, counting mile markers; this was how weekends were spent. There were pictures of the old Impala, he’d just sift em through with the rest of the pics. Not really looking. No smile came to his face.

He’d look ’round at the other patients. And one thing he knew was, we’re all old, he’d think to himself. All of us are old. And we can’t remember how we got here, he’d say.

Beers on Saturday nights at the VFW were now replaced with chocolate pudding in the dining hall; being fed one bite at a time by a middle aged black woman with a tattoo on her arm that said, BLESSED. Blessed, he ran his fingers over the word; sounded it out. That’s right sweetie, the aid said, you are blessed.

Maybe he was. Maybe we all are. Blessed; by whom?

There was no mail that day. Nor the day before that. Or, the day before that.

A long streak had occurred, days and weeks, months even years had passed since any letters, advertisements, bills, notices, anything had been placed in the silver box at 2216 Northwest Highway. It was a drought. Had been ever since they left years ago. Packed up the Chevrolet station wagon and headed South. Somewhere in the South.

People said New Orleans while others told tales of em going down to Memphis. They were in search of something; freedom, happiness, blue skies, hard to say. But, they were definitely gone.

They were young too. He worked at the Bakery and she was a shelf stocker at the library. Had plenty of money, no kids, just that old house out on the highway. Thing was falling apart, people said. Said it needed roof work and some t.l.c. on the insides as well. Don’t think they cared; hardly ever home.

Drive by and you’d never see a light on, or a truck in the driveway, or a screen door open on cool Summer nights. Seemed as though it was always empty. Some say, it was haunted. Filled with ghosts from way back. People’s imaginations.

But no. Them two left. Got in that old station wagon and took off. Nobody’s heard from em. They didn’t say a word to anyone. Just left. Neither of em had given a two week notice or said, I quit. No report at the Post office of a change of address. Just disappeared.

Never had coffee with em. Or, got invited over for dinner. Seen em in church a couple of times. He wouldn’t sing. The Lord commands us to make a joyful noise in praise; his mouth never moved. Just stood there while others carried on about their Lord God Jehovah. He passed on communion; never broke bread.

She sang though. Squeaky little voice. Clapping her hands. She’d break that cracker in two and take half of it. Always threw in a ten. Always.

They never became official members. Some said, cause they weren’t married. They was living in sin. Just showed up ever once in awhile. That’s all the religion they needed.

And, so they left. Took off. Furniture left behind. Plates, clothes, old paintings of red barns. Ain’t nobody been in there ever since. Just an empty house. Just empty.