I was surprised to find that much of my animosity toward the area had seemed to fade. Many of the bad memories didn't seem so important now. I was actually able to dig up a few fond memories of the place.
The old courthouse from my youth is now a museum, with a newer one dominating an entire city block. I went into the museum and looked around at civil war artifacts, old documents, weapons and the like. I enjoyed it. I saw several articles that had been donated by an old friend of mine who is now a state representative. He is a good guy, or at least he was 40 years ago. Ha, ha.
I walked outside and sat on an old wooden bench that my Dad used to sit on and argue politics with his aged pards. With unseeing eyes, I gazed out toward the lake and the high school with a sense of melancholy. The leaves were beginning to turn and the day was fairly cool.
Finally I walked down to the main street of town and strolled a bit. About half of the stores were gone, bulldozed away. The Emory's Five and Dime has disappeared. I used to buy a little white sack of candy there when I was a kid. They would dip it out with a scoop and weigh it on the scales. I liked chocolate stars, toasted coconut circles and malted milk balls.
I looked across the street at a pharmacy. It has changed hands many times, I suppose, but I used to wander in there and sit at the old time soda fountain and order a cherry coke or a coke float.
The old pool hall is gone. They had good hot dogs. When I was in high school, I'd go there at lunch, sometimes. As I stood there I thought of a kid who used to bully me until I blacked his eye one day. The thought occurred to me that if I saw him, I'd break his #@!** jaw this time. I got a rare smile out of the thought. The last I heard, he was in prison. Whatever.
As I walked back to my car, I saw the place where I used to buy my comic books. Good memories of the #1 Spiderman, among other books that are now worth a fortune. They were all ripped up, lo, these many moons ago.
I drove past the cove where I almost drowned when I was 12. I drove past the place where Carley and I lived when we first got married. It was a rental, an airsteam trailor, like they used to pull behind a truck. Cozy was a kind way of describing it. The weight of the world on my shoulders, our impetuosity, love and passion now balanced against the fears of caring for a precious girl and a soon to be baby boy. I remember when I took Carley to meet my Dad; the rough old codger took one look at her and said gruffly, "Hell fire, boy, take that little girl home to her mother!"
Speaking of my pop, I ran into an old guy who knew him. This guy was 79 years old, full of vigor and sharp-minded. He immediately started telling me stories about my Pop. He grew up not too far from Dad. He said that he and the younger kids, when they were little, liked to follow Pop and his buddies around because Pop and his cronies were in their twenties. This guy said that my dad and his friends, on Saturday nights, would get dressed up in slacks, white shirts and ties. They would go buy some moonshine, then go down to the river bank and drink. The kids would hide in the woods and watch because they knew that the older guys would always start to have fights, boxing each other as the evening wore on. He said that a couple of the guys went on to box professionally. I got a big kick out of hanging around with this oldster.
You know, I don't know why I enjoyed this day so much. It was as though a lot of what I hated about the place didn't seem important anymore. It was like I was able to forgive the snobby, cliqueish little burg for what it was and probably still is. Maybe I have seen enough of people and life to finally realize that perfection is rare indeed and forgiveness of others is the greatest gift we can give to ourselves.
Under the full moon, both now and lo, many moons ago. I'm CE Wills. Goodnight.
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