Short Story
Life’s Reception
Don’t Know Why
I was on the road after a girl, Darlena. The sun dipped below the horizon, and I lost my way along the highway. Oncoming traffic headlights blinked at me like a dream escape with a knife and blood dripping off my wrists for a secret to keep between me, myself, and this cup of cold coffee that’s barely keeping me awake. I wore my thinking clothes. I thanked God for the cash to fill the gas tank and surprised Darlena. What she’ll say, I don’t know. Darlena visited her mom for Christmas. She said that time needed her to listen to its directives and pan out her future with a revelation that she’d waited for if I should surface with roses to shoot me in the chest.
I folded my white dress shirt sleeves to my elbows and wore a loose red necktie under my collar. I fixed my beard with balm. The barber cut my thick, dark hair the way she liked it. I smoked a cigarette until I remembered that I had promised to stop, which was easier than giving up Darlena. I didn’t deserve her — we both knew that — but I didn’t just want her. I needed the shivers of my first love and the comfort of her touch.
I pushed a button, and a mild warmth pushed through the vents. I passed car crashes with ambulance lights flashing red and a stretcher carrying a man with a broken neck. My eyes scanned the road as my mind went wild
to the train wreck in Darlena’s gaze. I had divorce on my mind. I was on my way home to tell her. I drummed my fingers along the steering wheel’s edge.
Norah Jones played on the radio. A power company dispatched workers to repair downed wires. A police officer directed traffic.
He lifted a palm for oncoming traffic to pause. He motioned his flashlight
so we could continue with our trips. The early spring traffic reached normal speeds along the Vantage Bridge that crossed the serene Columbia River.
The desert hills on either side stretched through valleys. I switched the station to classic R&B. It was fuzzy here and pristine there, but mostly, the tunes were fuzzy. I sang a line cut in and out like a candle flickering, weaker and enriched. It dawned on me that I was like the radio. I was a lyric Darlena could sing, and then I was distant. I teared up. I know why Darlena wanted me to drive. She knew I’d find the truth within my soul;
over a radio. I listened for the break in reception. I smiled when the song returned, knowing that’s what Darlena wanted of me. I entered her small town. I passed stoplights and street signs. I pulled to the shoulder and unlocked my phone to scroll through addresses. I entered the place in the GPS and followed a narrow curve that overlooked her middle school.
“You have reached your destination on the left,” the GPS voice noted.
I parked on the sidewalk. I looked into the window. Darlena and her parents watched TV and sipped her mother’s homemade wine. I smiled and shook my head. I exited the car and approached the home. I reached to knock, but Darlena told me to come in before I could second guess.
She saw me on the doorcam app on her phone. My heart raced. I entered the home. I stood there in the living room.
Her dad sat in the recliner, and her mother was flipping through a magazine on a leather sofa.
“Darlena, you were so right,” I said, motioning with tears begging to spill.
“I didn’t pay enough attention to you,” I said. “Not the way that you needed.”
Darlena and her mom sniffled and brushed away tears.
“I love you more than anything.”
“You’re only partially right,” Darlena said, sitting by her mother.
“I’ll do anything,” I said.
“You did nothing wrong,” Darlena said as she moved tears away with a tissue. “Well, you’re right about paying more attention to me, but I came to tell Mom about the baby in person.” Darlena embraced her mother’s hand.
They both grinned.
“Why not tell me?”
“Because Mom only has a few months to a year to live. The cancer returned. I had to see her face.” Darlena shot her mom a soothing glance and returned her attention to me.
Darlena opened a letter from her mom’s clinic.
She dragged her finger across the words.
“Mom!” Darlena said.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“The cancer.” Darlena waved the paper. “It’s gone, Mom!”
“Give me that.” She scanned the letter and shifted her eyes to Darlena’s father. “It looks like you’ll have to put up with me for another thirty years.”
He moved a toothpick out of his mouth. “These have been the best years of my life, so thank God.”
“Wait.” I lifted a finger. “Did you say a baby?”
Darlena nodded, batting her lashes over her deep blue eyes.
“I didn’t want to lose this baby, too,” Darlena said.
“You thought I was upset?” I held my breath for her response.
“Not upset,” Darlena said, leaning on her mother. “Disappointed?” She formed it as a question.
“I thought this was my fault,” I said.
“I thought it was mine,” Darlena said.
“You kids are something else,” her mom said. “It’s life. Worry about this baby, and don’t throw the past in each other’s faces.”
She went back to reading. “I love you, kids,” she said, reading a Vogue magazine.
Darlena and I smiled.
I looked at her dad. “I’m not crying,” he said, brushing his handkerchief across his eyes.
“The game comes on in a minute,” her dad said. “Are we done spilling guts?”
We all laughed at her father until he broke character and laughed at something new.
(© 2024 AC)
(My new poetry collection: Screaming At Anxiety)
