Rocky Road
I took a long drag off my cigarette before dumping the ashes into the empty Coca-Cola can on the kitchen table.
“Alice, go get dressed. We have to go to the morgue soon.” I turn my head to see my younger brother, David, standing in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing his maroon Texas A&M tee shirt with the bleach stain on the left shoulder.
“Why? It isn’t like dad’s going to go anywhere.” I mumbled to myself.
A gentle breeze ran through the kitchen — the soft wind pushing the loose black curls of my braid into my face, a few stray hairs getting caught in the tears that rolled down my flushed cheeks. I hugged my coffee mug to my chest; it was still warm and the strong smell was comforting.
Staring at the ground, I heard David let out a deep, stressed sigh as he moved to sit on the off-balanced stool at the other end of the table — a stool that was not a part of the furniture set, but one that he and our father made together when he was just ten years old. I wouldn’t look up at him at first; I was too busy studying the elongated shadows of my brother and I, cast by the sunlight pouring through the open window behind me. I folded my feet underneath myself on the creaky old chair and looked up only to be met by my brother’s deep emerald eyes. They were tired and puffy from crying, an evergreen forest of emotion lay in his irises. I hated to see him like this; he didn’t deserve it. He had enough going on with schoolwork and his ROTC training, both of which he had to put on hold since receiving the phone call from the Fort Worth police station that dad was in a fatal car accident. We sat together in silence; all I could hear was the soft humming from the refrigerator and the ticking clock above the kitchen doorway.
“I thought you quit smoking last year.” David said softly, nodding his head towards the nearly empty pack of Marlboro Lights on the table. I sighed rather heavily and watched the smoke floating upward as it vanished into the ceiling fan. I felt sorry, I didn’t like that I picked up my old habit again, but with the stress of the loss of another parent I couldn’t help but relieve my anxieties with a smoke every now and again. I hid my guilt behind an expressionless, tired face; the pain of loss numbed my entire body and I barely felt sorry behind the strain.
“I did,” I took another drag off my cigarette, “until Thursday.” It’s only Saturday now, and I can see in David’s face a mixture of disappointment and understanding. I sat there, studying his features; he looked so much like our mom, who has been gone for almost ten years now. His sandy brown hair danced in golden waves like an ocean, and the sunlight that lit up his face showed every freckle across his broad nose.
“Alice,” I started to push back my chair, “please, we have so much to do-,” David was cut off by the loud noise of the chair against the tile floor. This was the first time I got up since the sun rose this morning. Dumping the remnants of my cup of coffee down the kitchen sink, I faced the counter.
“Do you remember all those Sunday mornings when Dad and I would play Heart and Soul while you and Mom would sing and dance to it?” I said as I turned to see his face had softened and a nostalgic smile appeared.
“And that one time I spun so much I ran into the piano?” David replied and he chuckled as I broke out in laughter full of dismay. I smiled at him softly. Sitting back down at the table with him, we started to reminisce in the memories we have of our parents. “At least they’re together again.” David spoke quietly, looking out the window into the backyard of our small family farm.
“Yeah, you’re right David,” I choked on the words I had been denying myself to say the past few days, “at least they aren’t apart anymore.” We sat there, in our childhood kitchen, forgetting about everything that we had to do in the next few days.
We talked for hours about the past and all the memories we had with our parents but mostly our father. Talking through the morning until it was time to go to the morgue as promised. For the remainder of the day, phone calls were made and appointments were put together while David and I made some of the hardest decisions of our lives.
It wasn’t until later in the afternoon when we were eating dinner that David asked to go for a drive. It was something we used to do when we were kids, our parents would take out the old 1955 Chevy Impala that our father fixed up for my mother when they were first married twenty some years ago. David threw me my old Yankees hat, its navy blue color faded over its years of being worn.
“We can take the scenic route that heads towards Waco.” He said to me, he hopped through the kitchen doorway and into the living room on one foot as he tried to put on his muddy white Converse. I heaved a large sigh and rose from the kitchen table to clear the plates from the pizza we ordered out before I met David by the door that led to the garage. He grinned at me, his smile widening as I got closer to him. I moved past him to put my shoes on and made my way to the covered classic. I hesitated as I went to take the tarp off the old four-door sedan, slowly shifting the canvas away to reveal the cherry red color beneath. It was scary to think of driving in this car without my father, whose fate fell ironically behind the wheel and at the hands of another driver. I let my fingers glide along the cool steel that was left untouched for what felt like forever. I threw David the keys across the top of the car.
“You drive.” I said shortly.
“Really? Well, if you don’t want to,” he said a little more eagerly than he had intended to.
I didn’t say anything; I only opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat, I tensed up; my anxiety slowly got the best of me as I thought about my dad. I missed him so much, I remember when he taught me how to drive and how much he stressed safety in the car. Every time we got into the car, he would always look at my brother and I through the rearview mirror, to make sure we had our seatbelts on.
When David quickly moved into the car I was pulled from my thoughts and my body began to relax. I turned to look at him, he lost himself in the drivers seat of the Impala; his hands slid smoothly over the cream colored leather of the wheel. He put on his aviators and threw his hand on the back of my seat before quickly backing out of the driveway and headed down the road.
We were moving fast down the barren back roads of Texas, the late spring sky was full of pinks and blues as the sun started its journey down the horizon. This was my favorite time of day, as the sunset begins and the light pours over the open land touching everything in its path creating dark shadows that stretch like ghostly creatures emerging for the night; the moon and sun are fighting above like an never ending struggle between Artemis and Apollo.
We sat in silence; the only sounds between us were the wind whistling in our ears from the open windows, and the soft music playing from the car stereo. It was an old song, one of our mothers CD’s she used to put on these drives we took. We were listening to my favorite song, Wouldn’t It Be Nice by The Beach Boys. David had his left forearm resting on the open window, his right hand holding the wheel steady as the wind caught the soft curls of his hair. He turned to look at me and flashed his best smile, I was glad that we got him braces when he was twelve years old. I smiled back at him, laughing lightly as he turned up the music and sang along. My brother and I only have each other now, we’re orphans on this earth with no family left for us. It was hard to think about, being almost entirely alone in this world with the exception of some family friends from our youth and anyone we met along the way. I had my feet up on the dashboard with my hand out the window so my fingers could dance in the air, grasping for the gusts of wind like looking for a hand to interlock with my own. The scenic views blurred together as we passed through small towns and open road on our way to Waco, it felt good to get lost for a little while.
“Do you want to stop at Kenny’s for a cone?” David asked loudly over the Pet Sounds CD.
“I could go for some ice cream.” I said back turning towards him; he was beaming, I haven’t seen David this happy in awhile. I closed my eyes and took off my hat to let my hair flow in the wind from the windows, the soft rumble of the engine and smell of the clean leather seats brought me a sense of longing for the past.
A memory; I was ten, David was seven and we were riding horses from the ranch in the open fields of our little farm. Dad and David rode together, and I rode with our mother. It was August, and the summer heat was rising from the ground distorting images in the distance. I was looking out there, over the open fields and small hills of my home state. The view was stunning; the blue sky was so vivid and bright, dotted with cotton candy clouds and the summer heat caused my cheeks to burn slightly. As we rode down the farms dirt driveway adorned with large oak trees on each side the branches swayed in the warm breeze, their green leaves were dancing in the wind and the shade provided cool southern comfort. The only things I could hear were the click of horseshoes against the ground below and birds chirping as they flew above us.
“We’re here,” I heard David say, pulling me out of my memory and back into reality. I opened my eyes to see the little ice cream stand the three of us used to go to before we got older. Getting out of the car and walking up to the stand we placed our orders.
“I’ll have a chocolate chip waffle cone.” I said to the girl working behind the counter.
“I would like a double scoop of rocky road in a chocolate dipped cone” David recited, an order which he knew by heart; he always gets the same thing when we came here.
We sat on the bench outside together, watching the cars go by while playing “red one, blue one” to see who can get more cars of their color. This is something we used to always do with our parents, but those are vague memories that feel more like dreams.
“Red one” I said between licks of ice cream.
“That was more orange than red.” David said sarcastically, trying to get a rise out of me.
“Blue one!” he shouted.
“Okay well then that blue one is more purple.” I retorted, causing him to laugh a little.
Finishing my small cone, I took a cigarette out of the back pocket of my jean shorts. Lighting it, I took a drag before resting my hand on my knee. With my other hand, I began to trace the scar on my left thigh I got from falling out of the oak tree in the backyard when I was young. I remember the tsk of my mothers tongue as she stitched me up. She being a nurse always knew what to do and we rarely had to go to the hospital for little things like that. I slowly blew the smoke out and watched it swirled in front of me; the wisps rose and disappeared into the air above.
“I wish you wouldn’t smoke anymore, Alice” David said quietly, looking into his ice cream as he spoke. He held his head down; disdain and worry were clear on his face. I felt a tang of guilt build up in my stomach before rising as words of comfort in my throat; I stopped myself from apologizing for smoking because I needed these right now.
“I’ll probably quit cold turkey again after the funeral on Tuesday,” I replied honestly, watching the burning embers at the end of my Marlboro Light. Almost instinctively I dropped it on the ground and put the butt out with my foot before throwing it in the trashcan on the other side of David.
“Thank you.” he said softly, watching the cars pass us through town.
Again, I said nothing in response but leaned against his arm and put my head on his shoulder. Inhaling deep I took comfort in the smell of Old Spice and clean cotton from his tee shirt.
“Do you think anyone will show up?” David asked me. No, I didn’t think anyone would show up, at least not anyone important. Maybe some of the Corps Cadets from Texas A&M for David, maybe some of my friends from graduate school, or maybe some estranged relative we don’t know about. But no one else, there isn’t anyone left for us.
“Yeah,” I lied, “maybe people will.” I didn’t have it in my heart to hurt him even more. But I could not come to think of anyone who would show up; since our mother died we have lost so many other people or were abandoned by family for lack of communication, because who knows what to say to two kids without a mother and a husband who lost his wife? We already have so many other things to deal with before the funeral anyways, it’s best not to think about the turnout. Student loans, tuition, the farm, the insurance companies for the car, and our dads last will and testament all have yet to be dealt with since ceremony and burial plans have been first. I’d probably send David back to campus and I’d stay home to take care of everything, but I didn’t want to think about it right now. I just want to think about the next red car to go by, sitting on the same bench we’ve always sat on eating ice cream.
“Red one.”
“Blue one.”