Stillness of the Midnight

He lay on the bed, ankles crossed and an arm tucked behind his head. He drew in a breath before releasing a long sigh, running his fingers through the length of his sandy, brown hair. Rubbing his weary eyes, he sat up and placed his feet on the floor. Elbows resting on his knees he interlaced his long fingers on the back of his neck.

Flickers of barely present pain logged their presence in his skull. Twisting his head from one side to the other offered no relief. Another mind-altering headache creeping its way into his brain.

“You’re early,” he scoffed to himself.

The headaches were coming more frequently and with growing intensity.

He reached for the cigarettes on the nightstand, then after placing one between his lips, he slid the lighter from between the packet and its plastic sleeve. Giving the lighter a flick he leaned forward, touching the tip of his cigarette to the flame. He took a draw. His smoke infused exhale passed through trembling lips.

Nervously, he passed his hand over his hair once again.

He draped his arm over his leg. From behind thick brown lashes his hazel eyes followed the rising curls of smoke before lifting the cigarette to his lips again. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back.

Another flicker of pain.

He paused a moment before opening his eyes to gaze upwards in unspoken prayer, hoping the words from someone like himself would be heard.

The hopeful pause he held was broken, this time not by the sorrowful evening tune of a whip-poor-will he'd heard earlier on the brisk night air, but by the soft and distant scratchy call of a barn owl. No doubt searching for prey with its mate.

He rose then and strode towards the open window, quickly covering the distance between it and the bed with his long strides. Looking beyond the pane of glass he could barely distinguish the silhouette of the surrounding mountains from the dark of pre-dawn sky.

“Dang. That late already?”

He turned, taking in the meager furnishings in the dim light of the lamp. This place had been home his entire 27 years. This room, his for almost the same length of time. He hadn't grown up with much, but he never felt he’d gone without. He'd had what he needed. Why take more?

His dad had worked hard mining coal, keeping a roof over the heads of his wife and boys, providing food to fill their bellies. At least, that was, until there was no regular work left to be had. Once the mining left, other jobs followed, leaving sons and daughters to choose between moving away to make a living, or staying and losing their dreams to the coal dust.

The man leaned against the window, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. The coolness brought a temporary break from the subtly increasing pressure inside his head. Straightening his long, lean frame he took another draw before striding towards the ashtray by the bed. Crushing the cigarette against the dark green glass smoke passed through calmer lips.

He moved towards the chair, a family heirloom carved by hand generations ago, collecting his boots on the way before seating himself. He tugged on one boot, then the other. He looked once more around the room.

He rose, taking his jacket from the chairback and slipping his arms into the sleeves. He reached for the yellow pad of paper that lay on the foot of the bed. Tearing off the top sheet he tossed the pad back to the bed. After reading down the scrawled penciling, he neatly folded the page, placing it in the pocket of his plaid button-down shirt.

Placing his hands in the pockets of his jacket he felt their contents, confirming he had everything he needed. After one more quick glance, the quick snick of the lamp snuffed the room into darkness.

Once in the hallway the soft glow from the coal burning stove in the living room caught his eye. On the opposite side of the home, he saw the outline of the door to his momma's and daddy’s room.

They’d have to understand his efforts were for them. He could no longer watch them suffer as neighbors, once friends, and even some relatives whispered to one another about his “episodes” or his choice of “medication.”

He had never planned for things to get so out of hand.

Bringing the palm of his hand to his lips, eyes shut, he pressed a long kiss to the rough skin of his palm. He stretched his arm towards his parents’ room, holding it there briefly.

After whispering a soft, “Goodbye,” he slowly turned towards the living room. He trod quietly towards the front door, trying to keep from waking anyone as he walked on the worn planks and colorful braided rugs beneath his feet. The heavy door groaned its protest as it gave way, followed by the creaking of the screen door. Stepping onto the front porch he closed the entrance door behind him as he focused on shutting the screen door silently.

With a soft laugh on his breath, he remembered all the times he and his brother had let the thing slam shut as they ran in and out as boys. Generally, all they received was a talking to from momma. Even more rare, and stern, were the corrections with a switch to their rears from daddy.

As he made his way down the stairs the old dog came out of hiding, giving a long, deep stretch before nuzzling the man’s hand. Placing his hands on either side of the animal’s head he gave a gruff rub to both of the old boy’s ears. Drawing up a rear leg, the animal uncontrollably scratched at the air.

His master couldn’t help but flash a crooked grin. Gray whiskers on the dog’s chin caught his eye. He rose, thinking of when he and his brother had brought the animal home as pup, part of a litter whelped a few houses down the road. Memories of hours spent playing, chasing one another, and bow hunting flashed in his mind. The pup had grown into a good boy.

The dog stretched again, tail wagging, before positioning itself alongside the man, feeling a need to be at his side.

Stepping onto the gravel drive, the pair began this, their last journey together.

The morning sun would soon breach the surrounding mountains and break through the mist rolling from the lake just beyond the bend, the surrounding creeks that fed it, and the larger stream that carried the water on to the next town. The pair crossed the short, one lane bridge over the trickling water. Looking down into the water, the man’s actions prompted his sidekick to do the same. Nothing to see yet but the black inkiness of the water as it disappeared into a twisted cluster of mountain laurels.

Strolling a bit further, the dog, stopping to relieve itself, lifted a leg. The action prompted hidden wildlife to take flight in the growth along the roadside. Still unable to resist the chase despite his age, the old boy gave his partner a hopeful glance. Receiving the desired nod, the dog again wagged his tail, this time in goodbye, to his travelling partner. Baying a charge, the animal dashed after his quarry.

Waving a goodbye to his companion, the man turned to continue the road before him, the low ground of the valley giving way to a more pronounced grade. Homes, though spaced further apart at this point, still stood on either side of the road. Dirt and gravel drives, dipping or rising at sharp angles, meandered off in multiple directions. An occasional lit window indicated stirrings of occupants.

The turning on of another kitchen light triggered a stronger flash of pain in his skull.

He refocused his attention to the road.

Reaching a point in the road he looked up to see four houses, all hand built in the 1940’s, to his left side. A set of siblings resided in them. A pair of brothers, both veterans of WWII, lived in the house directly in front of him and the house halfway up the mountain behind it. Their younger sisters and their families lived in the next two houses, one on either side of the drive the led to the house further up the mountainside and into the trees beyond.

In the house of the older brother, a young dark haired and dark eyed woman slept. The man’s heart stirred as he imagined her lying there. He yearned to touch the hair that probably fell over her shoulders or kiss the lips, parted in his mind, as she sighed in her sleep. She was the daughter of the brother who, besides being a veteran, was now a preacher.

The man had roused the courage to speak to her several times, even walking her to church on occasion. He was sure there had been a spark between them. At least on his part.

Besides being the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, she had a heart to match. Fearing the whispers of local gossip reaching her ears he'd been making good on the promise to himself to walk away from the demons that teased him with promises of no more pain.

Despite his efforts to stay clean, she came to avoid the boy and his wild ways, his odd spells and drug use. Embellished tales tainted her view of him, and she no longer accepted him as he was.

Headlights from a passing car roused him from his memories. In the combination of the surrounding darkness and the brightness of the headlights, he couldn’t quite make out the driver of vehicle, but threw up a hand to wave for the sake of courtesy. Given the seclusion of the area it was most likely a friend or relative anyways.

Deciding to visit the younger of the two brothers on the mountainside, he turned up the drive between the dark, quiet homes of the sisters, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. He looked up, spying the decoy owl on the porch rail that had been there longer than maybe even the porch itself.

As odd a time as it may seem to others for visiting, the veteran rarely slept at night, remaining awake until morning. The older man, living alone after his wife left him after returning from the second Great War, relived nightmares from battles fought decades earlier. The faces of brothers-in-arms long gone haunted him even now, so visitors seeking advice, like the young man, were a welcome distraction. Card games, college basketball, videos – provided diversions any time day or night.

The older man, recognizing another soul in distress, welcomed him at all hours. Over the years they’d covered just about every topic that could be covered, and then covered the important ones again.

Reaching the door, he found the house unoccupied. Seemed the older man was out in his own sanctuary, fighting demons of his own, as his truck stood as a silent sentinel in the drive.

Realizing his own walk up the road had already taken more out of him than he had expected, he let himself in. As the place was always open to a friend, he walked into the kitchen and opening the fridge, took out two bottles of RC cola. After tossing a couple of bucks into a canister just for such an occasion, he placed a bottle in each jacket pocket.

Turning, he let himself out and strode back down the drive. Gazing upwards, the clearing created by the drive and the attached yard allowed him a view of the sky above. The first rays of gray light were beginning to show.

He needed to keep moving. His clock was ticking.

The gravel drive met the road below the still dark homes of the sisters. Though the grade of the road grew steeper, it still meandered, following the twists and turns of another stream far below. Memories of the past mingled with the wispy mists rising from the cold water as every few minutes saw him passing the home of another childhood friend or distant relative. His brother played a prominent role in most of the childhood adventures.

A growing throb in his brain caused him to pause briefly, but was not going to prevent him from his destination.

He wondered about an appointment, scheduled several weeks away, to determine look into the bouts of pain he’d been having. With their increasing frequency and torment, he dreaded the wait. Suffering for weeks longer?

Looking up he realized he was at his destination – the highest point in the road. From this vantage point, he could survey the mountains, hills and hollers around him.

In the gray light he found the wooden shack he sought. It didn’t look like much, but it served as a child’s dream. An entrepreneurial local had constructed the building for the purpose of bringing snacks to the community. Candies, chips, soft drinks - a gathering place for younger folk. The side of the shack also sported a basketball hoop for anyone and everyone who fancied him or herself a future Wildcat. Placed at an intersection of the road and drives sloping off steeply in several directions, kids got good at aiming a ball to shoot or pass. Having to chase after one a time or two encouraged them to get better or discouraged them from ever playing again.

He’d spent many hours - and lots of change - here himself.

Striding over to the cement block serving as a step to lead into the shack, he removed both RC bottles from his pockets and sat down. Leaning a bit to one side he reached into his jeans pocket to remove a pocket knife. He located the desired blade, pulled it into position, and removed the metal cap. Resting his back against the rough wood of the shack’s door, he tipped his head back and poured the dark liquid into his mouth, savoring its coolness and taste.

Looking around he realized that morning rays were about to fall on the ridges of the surrounding mountains. The calls of night birds retreating to their homes mingled with those rising to begin their dawn chorus. Rays of pink and gold broke over jagged, black silhouettes, gradually exposing the blues, grays, tans, and greens of the surrounding landscape. Slowly sipping his drink, he took comfort in the masterpiece of nature.

Someone nearby was readying for the day the music was interrupted as the strains of Terry Jacks’ “Seasons in the Sun” reflected from their radio up the rocky cliffs of the holler to his ears.

“Goodbye Papa its hard to die,

When all the birds are singing in the sky

Now that spring is in the air,

Little children everywhere,

When you see them I’ll be there.”

Taking the last swallow from the bottle, he reached for the second. The haunting melody persisted.

“We had joy, we had fun

We had seasons in the sun,

But the hills that we climbed

were just seasons out of time.”

He placed the second bottle, now open, on the cement block between his thighs. With a sense of calmness and certainty he patted the front of his plaid button-down shirt, reassuring himself that the folded yellow sheet of paper was still in place. Shifting his hand to his jacket pocket he felt around, finding the heavy weight he sought. Freeing the cold metal from its surroundings, the verses echoed in his ears again as the pain and shame ended.

“We had joy, we had fun

We had seasons in the sun,

But the hills that we climbed

were just seasons out of time.”