Edges

Luke Johnson glanced out the window then leaned back in his seat with a sigh. That chair by the window was his opening on the world outside. His hospital room was on the 11th floor and in clear weather he could see as far as the east end of the city, where he had once lived, to where the river rounded the bend and came into view, no longer hidden by trees. He would watch the last stars fade in the lightening sky, morning mist burn away in the sun and the city come to life. Something about the clarity of crisp morning light made things clearer, revealed details lost in the glare of midday. Delivery trucks unloaded goods at the small stores far below, followed by early shoppers and pedestrians. It felt like the last real connection he had with the world outside… and at those times he wanted to get out, to just go, anywhere.

But this was not one of those days. Leaden sky, clouds dark, pregnant with rain… no sun today. A few tentative raindrops splashed against the window, then the falling rain grew into a downpour. Most of it missed the windowpanes, though. Luke watched as the first hesitant drops combined as they found twisted, convoluted paths down the glass, pause on the sill for a moment, then flow over the edge to fall again.

When it rained, there was nothing to see except a gray mist. Luke rocked slightly in his chair, forward and back.

A tap on the open door and an unfamiliar voice pulled his attention from the window and the falling rain.

“Mr. Johnson?” a woman called out, as she walked into the room. He realized he had been rocking, abruptly stilled himself and looked at the woman. She had the bright smile professionals use fixed on her face. Luke stared at her for a few moments as though he had seen her before. He had trouble keeping track of new faces anymore; he saw so many come and go. The woman carried a satchel on one arm and held a file folder in the other hand.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” she said.

Luke Johnson smiled but said nothing.

“I’m Barbara Stillson. I’m with Social Services and I’ve been assigned your case.” She sat in the other chair, opposite Mr. Johnson, and set her satchel on the floor.

“I have a few questions we have to get to,” she said. “And then, if you feel up to it, I’d like us to talk for a while, let me get to know you better. I do that with all my clients.” She waited a minute for a response, but getting none, continued, “Your file mentions that you have a son, Mr. Johnson, he’s” she glanced at the note pad “staying with your grandmother but you list no other family. Is that right?” She had a look of mild concern on her face.

Luke Johnson nodded. “That’s right” he said, and he paused for a long moment. “Joshua. Josh. He’ll be fourteen this year, you know. He’ll be a man, soon. I’m so proud of him.”

“But he is still a minor, Mr. Johnson, and there are- there may be legal issues to address. Is there anyone else we could contact, if needed?”

“No,” Luke slowly shook his head, realized how alone he was now. “There’s nobody else. Just Josh.”

“Okay, Mr. Johnson. That’s all I needed to confirm.” She wrote another comment, then put the folder into her satchel. “Now, I want you to talk to me if you don’t mind. Tell me how you feel about everything that’s,” she hesitated, “well, that’s going on with you now.”

“Just call me Luke. That’s what my friends call me. And as far as what’s going on with me medically, that’s all in the files. I don’t know what more I could tell you.” Luke paused, realized that was not what she meant. “But I do feel pretty good this morning, all things considered. Wish it wasn’t raining, though, makes it hard to wake up,” he replied with a small smile.

“Okay, Luke, then. Is there anything you want to ask me, anything at all that I may be able to help you with?” Her smile changed. It seems genuine.

Luke paused a moment then shook his head. “Nothing I can think of.”

The social worker pushed her hair behind her ear on one side of her head. Luke noticed a few wisps of gray in her blond hair. She looked at Luke then, the standard cheerful smile fixed in place. “Would you like to tell me about your son, Luke?” Barbara Stillson knew a good way to get clients to open up was to ask about their children or grandchildren. And then to listen, appreciatively listen; some of her clients got few visitors and needed someone to talk to. And since Barbara Stillson excelled at her job she sat back to listen.

§

“This is a good time of year, isn’t it?” Luke said. “September, I mean. The mosquitoes, they get so fat and lazy, easy to hit. Nights are cooler, too, and humidity’s down. And the air gets so, so clear, you know? Good sleeping weather.”

“I’ve- never really thought of it that way. But yes, I suppose that is true. It is a good time of year.” Luke didn’t seem to hear her though.

“We used to sit out on the porch in the evening, the three of us, watch heat lightning through the cedars in front of the house. On Friday nights, at least until the weather turned too cold, we’d listen to the football game over at the high school. It was only a block away; we could hear the whole thing over the P.A. system. And Josh- well, Josh loved halftime. When the band played, he’d throw his chest out and march up the front walk and back, just like he’d seen them do on TV, marching, you know?” Luke smiled slightly at the memory, then fell silent for several moments.

“It‘s strange, you know,” he went on. “Really strange. I mean, just when- you think you know something, or think that you want to know…”

Luke slowly shook his head, and then went on. “I was at this job interview a few years ago. The man was telling me how much his business had grown since he’d been “born again”. He said that, that the Holy Spirit had truly blessed his company.

“He actually believed that. I told him… I told him I didn’t know the Holy Spirit did commercial endorsements,” and Luke laughed a little then.

“Didn’t get the job.

“My family used to come to Richmond every Sunday when I was a kid. For dinner at my grandparents, you know. Grandma wasn’t from Richmond. Somewhere out near South Hill. Just poor farmers, she’d say. Dirt farmers.

“She was only fourteen when her daddy sent her to Richmond to work, to be a help to a respectable Christian widow and for the woman’s son Reuben. Especially for Reuben.

“Josh is really a good boy, you know. Always was. He’s had his problems, I mean, all kids do. And he’s had so much to deal with. But he’s great. Really.”

“Anyway, Reuben was 28 years old when Grandma, Esther, came to Richmond and found out her main responsibility was to take care of him. She wrote to her sister, back home, that the work wasn’t so bad, “a sight easier than the farm,” she’d say. But she didn’t seem to think much of Reuben. Said the man couldn’t do the first thing for himself without being told three times how to do it.

“That her daddy expected her to be a maid to a grown man was one thing, but on top of it all, Reuben, granddaddy, was a red head! I don’t know why that mattered, why it made any difference. But grandma told her sister that the one thing she couldn’t stand in a man was red hair.” Luke paused for a minute, then: “You know, nobody really wants to know God. No matter what they say, or what they claim, no one really wants to know God. It’s just too- too inconvenient.”

They flinched when a sheet of rainwater slapped the window. The storm had grown, from a downpour to torrents of rain, wind sheered into sheets of water. “That came up fast, didn’t it?” Ms. Stillson said. Luke looked at the rain, then nodded.

“I kept Josh weekends, at grandmother’s house. It was the only way they would let me see him at all, ‘in the presence of a relative’. Like that made a difference, made me a, a different person or something.” Luke gazed out the window for a few moments, looking for sky through the torrents of rain.

“I stayed, we stayed, weekends at my grandma’s. She didn’t know anything, of course. At least not at first, she didn’t know anything; and didn’t ask. But then Josh’s mother called her one afternoon. Just out of spite, called and told her- well…

“Grandma called me that evening, told me what had been said. And then-she didn’t even give me a chance to respond, to say anything at all. She asked me to tell ‘that woman’, Josh’s mother, to never call her again. Then grandma made it clear that that conversation was over. And she never brought it up again.

“Bless her heart.

“There’s no point in this, you know. The whole damned thing is pointless,” Luke gripped the arms of the chair and sat silent for a few moments.

“You know, when I was a kid, we didn’t have school buses where I grew up. The schools used regular city buses to pick up the kids and to take them home. And just like city buses do now, they sold advertising space on the sides. For the first three years of school, every morning I’d get on a bus with this big advertisement on the side; a man in a pinstripe suit and a, what do you call those hats, a fedora? And a big caption: “Mad Man Dapper Dan- I’d give them away, but my wife won’t let me!”

“Well, I was a little kid, you know? I didn’t know anything about advertising, or that Dapper Dan was a used car dealer. I thought he meant us, that if his wife would let him, he’d give away the kids who rode his bus.

“I know, it’s stupid, isn’t it? But it was a couple of years before I understood that my future didn’t depend on the Mad Man’s wife being such a nice person.”

“About six weeks after that letter to her sister, my grandparents crossed the state line, into Washington D.C., and got married.

“Red hair and all,” Luke said with a slight smile.

“I was so careful to follow the rules and all, you know? So damned careful. When I picked Josh up on Saturday mornings, I was there at ten am. Not at ten-oh-five, or ten-fifteen. Ten. am. If I got there early his mother kept him in until her clock showed ten. And the one time I was late, the one time that I wasn’t there, waiting for my time- he was gone. No note, no explanation. Not even a phone call. Just an empty house.

“I waited for an hour, an hour and a half. Then I drove back to Richmond.

“Grandma liked Matt; even after that phone call, she still liked him. Always insisted he come over for Sunday dinner, at least. Just like always. I guess she was okay with it.

“Then Josh’s mother called me, early one morning. Said that she was going to live with her boyfriend. She wanted to take Josh with her, said she’d talked to him about it several times. But Josh, well… he refused to go. Just flat-out refused. Told her that if she made him go, he’d run away. She knew he meant it.

“I’d taught Josh to be independent, to have a mind of his own. And he stood up to his mother.

“Made me proud.

“So anyway, she called me, after Josh was on the school bus that morning. Said she wouldn’t be there when he got home from school. She thought that maybe I might want to be there for him. Can you believe it? Thought that maybe I should be there for him. I'd spent five years fighting for custody, of course I was always there for him,

“Josh was just six years old.

“You know, it’s funny. I didn’t even know that my grandparents eloped until their 50th wedding anniversary. The sister grandma wrote the letters to told me. She still had the letters, and a postcard grandma sent from Washington. “The Lincoln Memorial at dusk”.

“I found a sitter in the neighborhood when Josh came to live with me. A good woman who kept kids at her home. She met Josh at the bus stop every afternoon, kept him until I got off work. She said that every day, for the first few months, at least, every afternoon Josh would start looking out the door about five o’clock, watching for my car. At five thirty, he’d be standing there, waiting. He was always at the door when I arrived. Waiting for me.

“Then I was late one afternoon, traffic I guess, I don’t remember. But I was late, and Josh started asking why I wasn’t there. And kept asking “Where’s my dad, why isn’t dad here?”

“I was just fifteen minutes late, and he was crying by the time I got there.

“I guess he thought that I was going to put him on the school bus and move away before he came home.

“Grandma used to come by during the day and leave little “care” packages, you know? Vegetables from her garden, leftover roast from Sunday dinner, or whatever she could. And in September, homemade grape jelly. So sweet that Josh and Matt would eat it by the spoonful.

“She thought Matt was too skinny, that maybe he didn’t eat enough. Grandma liked taking care of people, you know.

“And she liked Matt. When he got sick, so sick he couldn’t hide it anymore, I told her it was cancer. I didn’t know what else to tell her. I mean- what would you have told her?

“Matt moved back to his parent’s house. It was what they wanted. What he wanted, too, I guess. To be with his family for a while. Josh and I moved to a smaller house. The old place just didn’t seem right anymore…

“Granddaddy was diagnosed with cancer not long after that anniversary. He was already in his eighties and, well, they didn’t expect him to live more than a few months.

“You know,” Luke paused for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder if life isn’t really just some kind of joke. And I’m just not getting it.

“Grandma set up a place for Reuben, granddaddy, in the rear bedroom. There was more room there, for the IV stand and all of that. She said he’d get the afternoon sun through his window. Granddaddy always said he liked the color of late afternoon sun.

“He was in a lot of pain the last few months. Didn’t really know anyone, didn’t recognize most of us. Just lay in bed and, kind of moaned. The Saturday before he died, Josh and I sat in the living room with grandma, just talking, I guess. Josh heard him first. We walked down the hallway to look in on him. He seemed to be asleep; I mean his eyes were closed. But he was singing. Never in my life had I heard granddaddy sing. Except in church, of course. His voice was weak, but he was singing.

“Take me out to the ballgame, Take me out to the show…”

“It’s amazing what morphine can do for a body.

“Josh became one of those latch-key kids, after we moved. He was only ten years old, but the German widow next door kept a close watch on the house. Josh checked in with her when he got home and texted me. He’s a responsible boy, beyond his years responsible, so I didn’t worry too much. He got home about an hour before I did. Let himself in, sometimes did his homework. Waited for me.

“By the time I got home he was ready to go out. To see his friends, you know, or sometimes we’d take out the bikes, ride along the river.

“We rode down past the old quarry by the river one afternoon, stopped and watched rock climbers rappelling down the cliff. When they began to pack their gear, Josh walked to the bottom of the hill and

started up the slope. Not the cliff, but the rocky hill leading up to it. I told him to be careful; he just laughed at me and said, “Get real, dad.”

“And he was fine, he was careful. He climbed until he was just under the highest wall, halfway up the cliff itself. Then he sat on a rock edge, his feet hanging over. He waved to me, and I climbed the hill and sat next to him, catching my breath. We were high enough to look over the treetops from there, see ospreys hovering out over the river. We sat there a long time, just feeling the late afternoon sun, the cool breeze off the river.

“Matt screamed a lot the last few weeks. Screamed from the pain and asking for me, they said. Or calling my name, whatever. The morphine, it just, just didn’t cut it anymore. But two days before the end I was with him. Sat with him most of the day, and at the end of the afternoon he opened his eyes and looked at me. And I swear he knew me; I could see it in his eyes. He recognized me. I mean, he was blind by then, almost totally blind. But- he knew me.

“He spoke my name and smiled. Well, I think he smiled; it was hard to tell by then. He was so far gone, skeletal even. But he spoke my name, closed his eyes and slept. For the first time in weeks, he slept without screaming.

“When he died grandma offered to go to the funeral with me. Of course, I couldn’t let her do that. There was no need for her to go through that kind of trouble. But she offered.

“She offered.

“Before we left the quarry that afternoon, Josh- Josh said that he wanted to try living with his mother for the summer. And when summer ended and autumn came on, he, he didn’t come back. He just didn’t come back.

“Grandma doesn’t know I’m sick. I mean, how can I tell her? And, honestly, I, I thought I’d outlive her. I thought she’d never have to know.

“I never did tell her that I knew about her “past,” her elopement with granddaddy. I figure if she wants me to know, she’ll bring it up herself.

“Just- just when you think you know something, think that you might finally- finally understand… well, it’s like God pushes you off the edge, down to some new level. Where you realize that you really don’t know anything. Nothing. Nothing at all.

“What’ll Josh do when I don’t come home?”

~ ~ ~

This story was originally posted on Medium.

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