Meadowville

Sunsets are a peculiar thing. For the majority of the day, the sky is a pleasant but otherwise bland blanket of blue. Maybe a dreary grey if it’s rainy. But come sundown all mediocrity is shoved aside as the sky is set ablaze with fiery oranges and brilliant purples and pinks. It’s almost unreal to behold. This was especially true in Meadowville, a small sleepy town nestled at the edge of Lake Meadow. In fact, the Sun setting was probably one of the few exciting things that the Meadowville townspeople could look forward to each day. As the Sun approached the horizon, its brilliant light show would reflect off of the large body of water making vision across town practically impossible.

Maven Wright was forced to grapple with this fact as she precariously rode her bike home from work one hot summer evening. A rogue dreadlock flew in her eyes and she frantically batted it out of the way, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car. The sedan honked in protest. “Sorry!”, she threw over her shoulder before giving her attention back to the road. Maven usually would kill some time at the office and wait for nightfall to avoid such near death experiences, but today she was in a hurry. Her neighbor, Mr. Wilson was waiting to demolish her at their weekly game of Mancala and she hated to keep him waiting.

By some miracle of God, Maven made it to the old man’s place in one piece. She glanced at her phone to check the time and noticed a missed call from Drew, her longtime best friend and told herself that she’d call him back later. Breathlessly, she rushed up the steps, tossed her bike on the porch, and knocked twice firmly on the front door. She smiled when she heard a stiff-legged shuffle as he made his way to let her in. Finally the door opened, and there stood Mr. Wilson squinting down at her, feigning annoyance. His furrowed brow somehow made the freckles on his caramel skin stand out even more than usual.

“You’re late,” he said before disappearing back inside the house. Rolling her eyes half-heartedly, she followed him in.

It is always amazed Maven how many tchotchkes Mr. Wilson had managed to fit inside his modest home. For as long as she could remember, every possible surface in the house had been covered in books, puzzles and various collectibles. It was like his own personal museum, a testament to the rich life he’d lived here in Meadowville, and Maven had grown up surrounded by the organized chaos of it all.

“We playing or not Mavy? You know I’m in bed by 8:30”. Mr. Wilson sat down at his dinner table and looked up at Maven expectantly.

“Ooohoohooo Wilsoon,” she taunted. “So I’m assuming since you’re in such a terrible mood you won’t want these,” Maven pulled a bag of sugar-free salt water taffy out of her jacket and waggled it in front of her.

“Give ‘em here,” he said, and Maven laughed and tossed them his way. He made like he was going to chuck a candy at her, and she yelped and ducked out of his reach. Satisfied that he’d taught her a lesson, he unwrapped a taffy and popped it in his mouth.

“Alright,” he clapped his hands then and grinned at her, “Let’s do this”.

“One of these days I’m going to beat you, ” Maven said as she made her way out the front door.

“Ah of course you are Mavy, it’s only a matter of time. Stop by tomorrow would you? I want to show you something”. He stood out on the porch and watched her walk her bike down the steps.

“Sure, I will tomorrow morning. Good night, Wilson,” she smiled at him and waved before heading inside her home.

“Good night dear girl,” Wilson whispered. He retreated back into his home and went to bed.

That night Maven dreamt of drowning. It happened the same way every time. At first everything was always ok, great even. She’s floating on the lake at night, the moonlight’s reflection glittering like diamonds on her wet ebony skin.

And then suddenly she’s sinking. Grappling for some kind of leverage and gasping for air that won’t come. Faintly she hears Drew crying out for her and then there’s silence.

Maven lurched awake. She was drenched in sweat and she hugged her chest as she tried to calm her breathing. After what seemed like forever the frantic drum beat that was her heart rate finally steadied, and she glanced at the clock at her bedside.

“Dang it,” she muttered. It was time to get up.

A long hot shower washed away the last remnants of that nightmare. And after a breakfast of half a granola bar and some leftover cake, Maven was out the door.

Maven munched on the other half of her granola bar as she walked up to Mr. Wilson’s front porch. She frowned when she noticed that the door was slightly ajar.

“Wilson?” she called out tentatively before slowly entering the house. “Wilson are you home?” She quickly scoured the house, worried the old man had passed out somewhere and needed help, but to no avail. But when she reached his study she froze. On his deck was a little black book with her name on it.

“What are you doing, Wilson.” She wanted to shrug off the deepening concern that she felt as she picked up the book, in case he really was just playing a prank on her, but she couldn’t.

My Dear Mavy,

I don’t know where to begin except to say that I love you and I am sorry. You have to know that you mean the world to me. Nothing can change that. My heart breaks to know that what I have to say will cause you pain, and that I won’t be there to comfort you. However knowing you as I do, I am confident that if there is anyone in this town that can handle this information and use it wisely, it is you:

You may remember Mavy, sometime a few months ago I fell ill. I remember you were angry with me because in my stubbornness I didn’t tell you sooner. But during that time, there were days where I didn’t leave my room. I didn’t drink or eat or shower. And it was in that time that I came to the realization that our lives, as we know them, are a lie. The love and relationships that have formed and endured in this town are as real as anything, but they are based on falsehood. I was not born and raised here Mavy. I have not known you since you were in diapers, as we so often joke about. I moved here a year ago after my wife Ada’s passing. Some time after she died, I’m not sure exactly when, I received a pamphlet in the mail. You’ll see it in the box of things I have left for you. These people said that they could help me find peace. They would pay for me to relocate to Meadowville. Framed it as a retreat of sorts. After her passing, peace was all I wanted. I was utterly heartbroken. We had no children, no siblings, and I had no friends to speak of. Ada had been my everything and I’d lost her. So I came here to find comfort and community. We all did. But instead we were driven to forget. To forgo our pasts and to form false realities.

There’s something in the water, a compound that erases memories. Specifically very, very painful ones. But it always leaves traces of the truth behind. If you think hard enough you’ll see that they’ve been gnawing at you too. Those traces of Ada that were left behind were strengthened by that time I spent inadvertently fasting. Because of that time I started digging and doing research. All that I’ve found I’ve left for you in my study. I also leave you this house and some money that I trust that you’ll use wisely.

With love,

Wilson

Maven shook her head, and put the book down. “This is some of your best work, old man, I will give you that”.

Her hands were shaking and she placed both hands on the desk to steady herself. “There’s something in the water?” she laughed incredulously, even as the sinking pit in her stomach grew larger. It was then that she noticed a very large cardboard box in the corner of the room.

Upon tearing it open, she found Mr. Wilson to be true to his word. She found a pamphlet that had the words Meadowville: Welcome to Your Safe Haven emblazoned on the cover, along with a picturesque photo of Lake Meadow. She dug around some more and found stacks of hundreds that she would later realize amounted to 20,000 dollars. Maven didn’t even have it in her to be shocked that the man kept a small fortune sitting in his house in hard cash. Mr. Wilson included a print out of Ada’s obituary and for a while Maven just stared at the photo of the woman. Ada Esme Wilson. Finally she set the print out down and went back to the box. Her blood ran cold.

Maven’s obituary sat atop a stack of hundreds. Air came out of her mouth in choked breaths as she struggled to remain conscious. There she was grinning at the camera in a satin dress, presumably at someone’s wedding. But as Maven looked closer, she realized that this wasn’t her face. The lips were slightly smaller, eyes slightly brighter. There was a small mole on the woman’s left cheek that Maven herself did not have.

Maira Wright (November 28, 1994 - June 4, 2018 ) was born in Matlacha, Florida. She leaves behind her eldest sister, Maven Wright-

“Maira,” Maven whimpered, “My Maira”. She lay on the floor of the office and sobbed until she fell asleep.

She dreamt of drowning. And when it happened Maven cried out for her. But the sea wouldn’t give her up. Taunting her cries, it called back “Maven, Maven,”-

“Maven!” She awoke to a concerned Drew. He knelt down beside her.

“Maven what’s going on? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you-” but before he could finish she broke down again. He held her as she cried.

“What’s going on?” he asked again. She wiped her face and he leaned back so he could better look at her.

“If there are parts of you, parts of you that you don’t even know are locked away, would you want to know about them?” His eyes were pained as he took time to think.

“I think so. Isn’t it always better to know?” he answered. She looked at him for a moment, and then sighed.

“Ok, Drew. Ok. I have to show you something.”