We said we'd only die of lonely secrets

Where the Sunbeams End: Chapter 7

Photo by Jared Rice on Unsplash

Certain memories bob on the surface of my consciousness like lily pads on the lake, while others seem buried deep within the depths of an abyss. And yet some are akin to the predators of the ocean, always lurking beneath the waves. 

It was only a couple miles down the road from our place, the old farmhouse. I would run in that direction, back when I was still training. Running had never been my favorite, but it was a necessary evil. 

You took that right out of the driveway, down Pierce road. Often I’d look to my left to the field where the deer would graze. Then I’d come to the stop sign at the end of Pierce and take the left. I can’t remember the names of the other roads, just Pierce. Just the starting out point. But the road went around a sharp curve, fields and pastures, those cows with the big ol’ horns, roped in by streams of barbed wire. I’d keep going as the road took another slight left. Up ahead was the old shack where that hobo looking man used to live. Mom had made friends with him and he’d show up unexpectedly every once in a while. 

One night Mom and Dad left me alone in the back of the van, he was in the front. I sat in a fearful silence on the bench seat. He was everything I feared. Dirty, old, poor, and alone. He moved away at some point and the old shack was torn down. Up went a brand new house on the lot. Although as a child he frightened me greatly, as I ran I would always think fondly of him and feel a bit ashamed of my childhood fear. 

I’d keep running, past the field of beef cows on my left. The pasture where they were enclosed was overrun with trees and there was never any grass growing for them to graze. I’m no farmer, far from it, but I always felt bad for that group of cows. Not only were they beef cows, they’d be slaughtered soon enough, but they didn’t seem to have the pleasant life that the dairy cows down the road had. I’d usually turn around a little bit past the beef farm, about a mile distance. In soccer we were always measured in two mile runs. I wasn’t fast by any means, but I am somewhat proud of my personal best. I trained hard. 

Let’s keep running though. Back through time, to the old barn next to the farmhouse. The family of dairy farmers lived there. It was the summer after high school. I had put the guilt of loving two girls behind me. The soccer season had ended in another championship trophy and I was off to Radford University in the fall. 

Most of the guys had started boozing and occasionally smoking herb, but I hadn’t had an itch for it. It seemed like such an awful waste of time and a terrible distraction from more important matters. But eventually they begged me to come along to the caddyshack as we called it. The old, mostly unused barn to the right of the farmhouse. The ground floor of the barn was for storage, pretty much just a dumping place. The caddyshack was up the rickety old set of stairs.

There was a ping pong table and a couple old dusty couches. A hole in the floor to the left of the room where the guys would piss. Plus a few busted chairs scattered about. It’s where the kids would go to party. The parents surely knew what was up. But, if the kids were gonna drink, might as well be close to home. 

It was a mix of young girls and boys, on the precipice of adulthood. Jungle juice was the drink of the night. Just good ol’ Everclear and Hawaiian Punch. I sat talking, slowly sipping, my voice growing ever louder.

“I don’t know guys, I’m not really feeling anything.”

Then I stood up. 

“Whoa,” I remarked. Followed by a short giggle. My vision had suddenly become skewed, everything seeming to wobble and my balance was off. It reminded me of spinning around in circles as a child and then stopping to enjoy the brief moment of disorientation. 

I made my way over to the set of rickety stairs, holding on tightly to the railing as I descended. I went out through the wide doors of the barn and into the warm summer air, the grass had become soaked with dew, the moon staring down at me. I enjoyed this giddy moment. I walked and wobbled back and forth, looking at the wavy light shining down from the moon, just playing around with this new found sensation. It was a good drunk. The best drunk. I didn’t realize then, but drinking would never quite bring that same sensation, although I would continue to chase it. 

I traveled with friends to Myrtle for beach week, where I decided to really let loose, drinking every night I could. I think in my mind I was preparing and training myself for college. I was under the impression that everyone drank in college. I had to be ready. There was an idea as well that drinking was almost a right of passage. I had made it through high school with decent grades and had a successful athletic career. I think I felt as if I had earned the right to finally throw down as we sometimes referred to it. 

It was the last night before I left for Radford. It must have been a kind of going away party. I have faint memories of that dark night, walking between the pine trees that lined the driveway leading up to my friend Cory’s house. The light from the porch casting our long shadows throughout the yard. 

We were all drunk, my mother included. I spotted her sitting in one of those camping chairs near the porch. She was hitting on my friend Matt. I imagine it was an especially difficult night for the parents. Their youngins going off on their own for the first time. 

I made my way over to the half circle of chairs. It was only my mother and Cory’s father, Larry, left sitting. Other folks were wandering around the yard, some had made their way into the house, while others had left before the drinking really got started. I felt obligated to relieve Matt of his embarrassment. 

“You got the nicest hair Maaat,” said my mother as she reached up to stroke his dark locks. 

“Uhh thanks Miss Smetanick,” he responded with a slight smile. 

“Hey mom,” I called out as I looked at Matt and tilted my head towards the house. 

“Oh Pete, glad you’re here. Your mom and I were just talkin,” said Larry. 

For what must have been a span of only a few minutes, although it felt like an eternity, I listened to the two of them completely crush my world. 

“How do you know this?” 

“They recorded it, like a video tape,” said my mother through her tears. Larry simply looked up from his chair nodding his head. 

I remembered riding on his shoulders. All the car rides to practice and games. He would fire shots at me in our front yard until he couldn’t take it anymore. One time we both got kicked out of the same game. The only red card of my career. Dad sat smoking in the car as I sat fuming. All the beach and fishing trips. “Up and over,” he would say as we drifted out further into the ocean. Wandering through the woods with Rundgren by our side, just the boys on an adventure. Looking away as he kissed Mom. Then I remembered her. She was sweet to me. We had gone hiking. Had I noticed something between them then?