Chapter 1 of Yesterday is Gone
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ENJOY CHAPTER 1 OF YESTERDAY IS GONE
Jules
Every flag on Main Street is half-staff in honor of the late Senator Jack Jones, the reason I’m back in my hometown. It’s been over five years since I left the night of graduation and never looked back.
My chest tightens as each flag goes by. The tears of sorrow I’ve held back fall freely. Papa Jack will forever be missed. He loved visiting California every month even though he pissed and moaned about all the damn traffic and people. It was when he was on the beach with Nana’s at their beach house and at peace with a smile consuming his face that I knew it was all smoke.
“What in the hell is going on there?” I whisper to myself.
The parking lot to Gravy Dave’s is overflowing with vehicles. Shit, cars even line Main Street. Somebody is having one hell of a celebration. I let out a rush of breath, thankful it’s dark. I’m not ready for this. The sad fact is I’ll never be prepared for it.
Everything looks the same and different at the same time. I slow down, taking it all in. The movie theater is boarded up. The marquee light flickers dimly, advertising the upcoming county fair and rodeo in one month. Even in the faint glow of the street lights, I can see the beauty of the blossoming petunia baskets that adorn each pole on the main drag.
Old memories of cruising Main in my old ’79 Chevy attack me. Even though I don’t want to smile, I find myself doing so. This town was my everything at one point in time. It seems it can pull me right back in, making me feel like a teenager at heart. The only beauty shop in town, Solutions, comes into view. The same tacky sign from the ’80s remains bold in a fresh coat of paint.
I learned several lessons in that old building, from you never look like the picture in the magazine to how to roll a condom on a dick. I snort, thinking to myself how I miserably failed that lesson.
The other part of Main Street that makes me sick, besides the half-staff flags, is that the old “O-So-Good” drive-in had been refurbished into a credit union. It was the hopping place we all swarmed to after every football victory. The owner insisted on curbside service complete with the trays that rested on our windows. Every time we’d end up on Jessie’s tailgate, swarmed by friends and sipping on ice cold sodas.
The soft glow of street lights fades off into the distance as I hit the country roads, buzzing by the familiar lights of farms and homes. The years have drifted by, yet I can put a name to every home. Before too long, Jessie’s old home flies by, and then I’m pulling down the mile-long drive to my childhood home. Papa’s old red truck is parked in his spot right outside the garage. He’s always had so much junk in there that I never remember a time anyone could park in it. Nana’s white Cadillac dutifully sits next to Papa’s truck.
The pang of guilt and sorrow strikes. Their monthly visit wouldn’t make this trip back home any better. I may have run, but never from them. We kept our connection over the years. I stop my mid-size Toyota RAV4 hybrid right next to the entry gate along the chain link fence and smile, remembering Papa’s grumbles over my foreign rig. The porch light welcomes me home. But it’s the three worn and loved rocking chairs on the porch that give me the strength to take the next step.
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