A Moment in Love

Elizabeth opened the tiny wooden music box, a present from her husband on a birthday she wouldn’t remember. “Who would’ve thought we would make eighty-seven.” He said, having himself hit the milestone a month ago.

His wrinkled hand slowly turned the metal crank attached to the device. The swollen redness around his knuckles hinted at years of hard work. A soothing hymn emerged. Lizzy, as he called her, hummed along, swaying from side to side in her rose-colored house coat. She abruptly stopped and stared brazenly at her husband.

“No, come back to me, Lizzy.” He picked the box up and held it tightly in his hands. “Look at the picture.” He pointed to the lid, there embedded in the wood, the bluest of skies, a hitching post and the oldest of buildings outlined by sparse trees. She returned to the present. A smile took the place of confusion.

“Frank.” She whispered.

“I’ve always been a sucker for love. You were just a sucker to marry me.” Frank’s deep laugh was familiar.

“Our honeymoon in Texas, remember the ghost town you insisted we visit?” He held the personalized gift a fraction closer to her. “There wasn’t anything paranormal about it. I just wanted you to be happy.”

A single tear exited her hazel eyes. He took a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and dabbed away her sadness.

“Don’t cry, dear.” She allowed his gentle embrace.

A nurse tapped lightly at the door. “Mrs. Delgado, I brought you a cupcake to celebrate.” The glow from the candle sent a slight twinkle across the darkened room.

Frank respectfully waved the woman away. Without words, she quietly reversed her steps, knowing that a moment close to his wife was so much more than the commemoration of another lonesome year.

My SUV travelled over the bumpy deserted terrain….

I pulled up to find him caressing a wooden post with one leg straddling the wobbly pole of the rundown shack. He pretended to dance. I honked the horn and laughed, such a jokester. 

The glow from a meticulously carved Jack-O-Lantern caught my attention.

I was startled when he slid into the passenger seat next to me. He reached for my hand, blessing it with a kiss. I loved him with everything in me.

“This is where we’re spending our anniversary?” I asked, confused about the location.

“You love Halloween, hence the October 31^st nuptials back in 1973. Don’t get scared now, Lucy.” He chuckled, hopping back out of the car. “Wait there.”

I giggled when I realized he wore a black, flowing cape tied too tightly around the neck. 

He picked me up, followed a calculated path and carried me inside. “I’m too old for this.” He sighed, smiling. 

He laid me on the red velvet upholstered bed, surprisingly the only outdated thing in here. He held himself up by placing an arm on each side of me. 

“You’ll need a safe word.” He laughed. 

“Oh Jack, that’s ridiculous!” 

“That’s it, safe word, Jack-O-Lantern.” Wrinkles formed around his eyes when he smiled. I reached up, gently touched them, and let my finger follow each crease throughout his face. 

He flopped down next to me, rolled over, folded his arms across his waist, and began to snore.

“O-Jack.” I whispered.

He opened one eye. “It’s Jack-O-Lantern.” He muttered.

“How can you sleep?” I nudged him. “Where’d you find this place?” 

“Hauntedbnb.com.” He said as the front door creaked open and the lights diminished. 

“More bang for your buck!” He growled and hissed, now on top of me. 

“Jack-o-o-o-o-ooo-lantern.” I screamed. 

Jacob Cantrell was the first to class, never disruptive and could solve any equation I threw his way.

He sat in the back, closest to the window. He’d groan like an old man when he slid into the chair, and he didn’t as much as blink when the sun hit his eyes.

He’d stare out the double doors into the hall even though he couldn’t see anything but the grooved, rubber covered steps leading to the library. I left the doors open because of the uneasy feeling I got when the kids were eerily quiet while studying.

Before break, I handed out packets of worksheets to be done over summer. At dismissal, Jacob left his.

I walked to his desk and took a seat. No surprise, his work was completed and on it, he left a note.

Miss Kalman, you once told me great minds think alike, I believed you meant the love we shared for mathematics. But over the semester, I realized it was more. Your unhappiness and fear resembled mine. I wanted you to know that the sun brings me joy. My desk was imperfect and sometimes caused my legs to cramp but I appreciated its flaw and where it allowed me to be. I’ve learned great minds don’t think alike, great minds simply have the ability to think. All have great minds; some are just faulty. I hope you stop and look for your happy place, it’s out there, I promise. – Jacob

I never thought of Jacob as a guardian angel, but he saved the life I intended on ending, my own.

As I embark on a new career, I’ve heard my classroom is being used for storage. But the sun still shines and I now find the beauty in all minds, including mine.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

My mind steps out into the darkness, a downward path leading nowhere. The light shines just enough so I can see my feet before me. I take each step carefully, counting aloud as I go.

Uno.

Dos.

Tres.

Cuatro.

Wait…. I can’t remember how to say five in Spanish. How odd, I learned those numbers as a child sitting on my mother’s linoleum flooring in front of the television. I think the show was called Sesame Street. 

Mother.

Madre.

My mom blames herself for how my brain works. “I should’ve done this. I should’ve done that… …. Differently.” She says this all the time. I hate it, especially when she sighs after speaking.

I tread this ground alone, with caution, aware my surroundings calculate and sometimes add up against me. Okay, nearly always add against me. I’m not meant to amount to anything as a person. I rarely believe what I’m told but I wholeheartedly believe that…. I’m nothing. NADA!

Father.

Padre.

I can’t keep a father. I’m not son material, sounds kind of funny. People say mother can’t keep a husband. But it’s not her, it’s me. That makes me laugh a little. “It’s not you, it’s me.” How many times have I heard that one.

I keep telling myself to stop thinking but even the occasional self-inflicted punch to the dome doesn’t halt the thoughts.

………My voice echoes down here. I don’t like it. It frightens me. 

“Gerald, dear, are you stuck in that dark place again?” Mother opens my bedroom door without permission a lot. I don’t like that either, I’m a grownup.

“Cinco. That’s it, number five is cinco.” Something always holds me back from taking that fifth step. It’s reality, reality comes with my final move. I don’t like reality.

She lifted the mic cord before it became entangled around her feet.

“Johnnie, help this girl.” The director called out to his flunky. “It’s clear she’s never been on stage. Which may or may not have been true. She’d danced on a platform but never strummed her guitar and belted out the lyrics to the oldie but goodie she planned on singing here today. 

She turned to look at the backdrop. It was fitting, a railroad and sunshine, reminded her of the journey here to Nashville, hitching rides and befriending strangers. 

“Where’s your shoes?” The director spoke through a megaphone this time, scurrying back and forth in front of the girl.

She shrugged in response. 

“Johnnie, grab her a pair of flip flops from wardrobe – HURRY!” He screamed.

“I haven’t time for these backwoods’ shenanigans. I hope she’s not pregnant too.” He tried to whisper in his assistant’s ear but wasn’t quiet enough. “Barefoot and pregnant, isn’t that a thing?” He laughed. “I hope this hick can sing.”

It was at that moment Flower Bayou Hebert knew what she must do to win this contest and gain her fame with the reward of a spot on the Grand Ole Opry!

“Excuse me.” Her voice low and raspy, she spoke to another contestant. “May I borrow your banjo for a moment? I’ll be careful with it.” She kept her head down.

The stranger obliged.

She slipped the strap over her shoulder, brushed her hair from her face and strummed that banjo, bare fingers. Her voice echoed throughout the venue. The director melted into his chair, crying tears of joy, he abruptly ended the competition. “Dear Lord, I have found my Loretta from Louisiana!”

Flower would never go homeless, hungry or without shoes again.

The people cheered as if Queen Estra were not sick, heeding every word of her last speech. She swore to protect her kingdom from the Biancola school, a group of man-sized fish, breeding in every body of water around. Once fully grown, they would walk from their habitat onto land, wreaking havoc on any thing in their way.

Since her husband, Nathaniel had been called away, Queen Estra had become somewhat of a recluse. She insisted staff place her throne at the window in the tower, so she could watch over her land. She sat there day and night.

Sleep deprived, she began to hallucinate. “They’re coming!” She yelled. “Their hot fishy breath mixing with the frigid cold has caused the fog to uprise.” She stood from her position, summoning her troops to bring an extinction upon the Biancola.

Sub-zero temperatures caused every pathway leading to the mountain-top to freeze. The Biancola headed towards the palace anyway.

She surveyed her army as they gathered their gear. She pulled the commander to the side and whispered something to him. He nodded, agreeing and then took her hand gently in his. “Your husband is back from war, Queen.”

She gasped and crookedly ran towards the entrance. Her purple silk robe flew up and around caught by the wind her rush produced.

“This thing is not my husband!” Pushing the large fish with all her might, she sent it’s scaly, slippery body flopping and bouncing back to its starting place.

“It is better to have loved and lost than to have loved a fish!” She slammed her golden crown to the ground. Her naked, near frost bitten feet kicked in defiance as she was dragged back to her quarters.

“I can’t stop looking at it.” Jason said. “It looks just like an Apple watch.”

“Sort of.” Chris replied. He rotated his wrist to get a better look. “Siri?” He laughed.

“The only person you can reach on that is Sheriff McAbee.” Jason said, picking up the dice. He paused before letting them drop. “Did you do it? Did you hack Principal Houser’s Facebook page and post those videos of him and that child?”

A silence ensued.

Chris had become quite the tech guru over the years, once enrolling every student at his school in Honor’s classes, an obvious suspect. He pleaded not guilty, was sentenced to house arrest, and given a bracelet to track his whereabouts, born without legs, an ankle monitor wasn’t an option.

“And if I did it?” Chris asked his best friend.

“The man killed himself because of those posts!” Jason tossed the dice, one landing on the edge of the table nearly falling into Chris’s lap.

“It’s a two.” Chris stared at the die then rolled it between his fingers. “If I did?” He questioned Jason again.

Jason shrugged his shoulders, continuing with the game.

“This is no admission but how do you feel knowing Mr. Houser did that to a child? Who knows how many times or how many others! The child’s face was blurred out, but he needed to be seen by every member of this community!” Chris pounded his fist against the table before collecting all the dice in his hand.

“I’m just saying, he is dead because of this!” Jason replied.

Chris tossed the dice high in the air, letting them fall to the ground. “YAHTZEE!” He shouted. “See yourself out! A friend of my enemy is my enemy, no matter how you roll the dice! Game and immoral friendship – over!”

 

I was recently introduced to Johnnie at a family reunion in Opelika, we’re cousins. Our mothers are sisters. Mine, mall-shopping, Mercedes-driving, latte-sipping, and beautiful. His, cow-milking, horseback-riding, corn-shucking, also beautiful.

     I’d never been to Alabama, raised near the beaches of San Francisco, across the bay from Alcatraz, where my father was supposedly serving life – another lie mom told me. 

     I talked to dad daily on the burner phone he sent me, never thinking to ask for a photo.

     Divorced twice, mom took a modelling gig in Paris, no kids allowed. So, she left me here… in… Bama country… heard that constantly, but the people were nice. 

 

      “If we swim through that circle, we’ll be lost forever.” Johnnie said, pointing towards the bridge and its reflection.

     “Is that a fact?” I said, removing my socks, and shoes. I tucked my cellphone beneath my waistband in a water-proof pouch.

     “You ain’t gonna do it!” Johnnie said, sweat beads formed on his forehead, shaking his hands, he begged me not to. 

     “One shalln’t fear anything but fear itself.” I said, tossing a smelly sock in his face.

     Branches crackled, a bird called, and a rock skipped thrice across the water – all planned.

     “Signs from God.” I said, diving into the lake.

     “Warren!” Johnnie yelled.

I swam fast, underwater, through the ‘circle’ until hidden. My father maneuvered the shore concealed by a thick tree line. He pulled me from the current, carrying me to a car as we’d discussed.

     “Never break a promise.” My father said.

     My phone began to ring – DAD CALLING.

     The man smirked, tightened his grip on me, and covered my mouth with his hand. 

     “Johnnie!” I screamed – unheard.

Johnnie would tell the story for years to come, how his cousin was swallowed up by an Alabamian subaquatic world.

I find it hard to believe that a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, yet here I was considering the hike back across Joshua’s ruins – a discreet New Hampshire architectural fail, left abandoned before completion. I heard stories about its existence and even managed to locate it when my circumstances became dire.

I stood on a rugged ridge nearly five hundred feet from the brush covered hilltop, the sun putting a tremendous burden on my already failing eyesight, genetically destined for blindness before age forty.

I rummaged through my backpack, feeling for the hard lumpy outer shell of my binoculars. Once in hand, I scanned the land for a sign, a clue that I needn’t journey back through the wild. A group of large buzzards circled over the ground tempted of the now rotting flesh I placed there during my mission to dispose of a flagrant female, a wife by name, jezebel by standards.

My mind’s eye wouldn’t clear itself of the truths revealed to me by an early arrival home from a business trip. She and he, him and her, betrayal cast upon my faithful heart.

I kept fit, ate healthy, and brought her flowers in the name of love. I was the best husband a woman could ask for, atoning for my vision loss, that now stood at only thirty percent. Yet, she placed herself in another man’s arms, drunkenly laughing and cursing, making verbal her doubt that I couldn’t have seen them in their intwined frenzy of fornication.

I had to go back to my dump site, I needed confirmation that she was still deceased.

I find it hard to believe that a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, yet here I was considering another hike back across Joshua’s ruins.

It’s real,

The feel.

The stress,

The mess.

The fear,

The near.

Embrace it,

Face it.

Move through,

Make do.

Another day.

Make your way.

Time conquers all.

Stand tall.

🙏♥️