Page 1 of The Leaves In Autumn
CHAPTER 1
Aargon
The fading Montana light is a metaphor. The sun’s going down on me. Forty-eight.Forty-eight.The thought makes my face pinch like a fish is rotting inside the car. For some unknown reason I feel mad at myself. As if I had any say over the issue.
Seems like eighteen was just a few minutes ago. Now signs of age are pressing their case. Reminders all. There is not a thing that can be done to slow time’s approach. It wouldn’t surprise me if my balls start hitting the water any day.
Wait. What is there to complain about? Haven’t I been trying to escape the present? It has been years in the making. Maybe this is the stage I have been running toward, hoping for some relief. It might be the starting point in life that will suit me best. The boundaries of age make it easier to hide from people and their good intentions. I know it without exactly arriving there yet.
Years back, I came to terms with preferring my own company. It was not always that way. I know exactly when it started. And what happened later to lock it down. Psychological trauma turns out to be extremely efficient. It changes you without effort. One day you are this man, and the next, someone completely different.
Heartbreaking scenes appear and move one to the next, like an old silent movie that refuses to age. It’s all black and white, because the color of my life faded when they died. Forcing myself back, I replace the past with an image from the future. I am a white-haired bearded man in a recliner, pretending not to be home so I don’t have to answer the door and talk to anyone. Exaggeration or premonition?
Barbra’s call breaks the dark thoughts and pulls the attention. Shorthanded greeting has become habit. I like that about our friendship.
“Hey.”
“Where the heck are you?”
“Five minutes away. Why?”
“I’m on a schedule here, man.”
“For what? You better not be doing any birthday shit!”
“Don’t get your boxers in a twist. I am doing absolutelynothingfor your birthday. There’s something in the oven that will turn to crap if it cooks too long. Christ. Get over yourself.”
My shoulders relax.
“Okay. Sorry. Be there soon.”
I disconnect and chuckle about her fiery comeback. Some guy out there is going to have his hands full keeping pace. She is not afraid to speak her mind or tell me, in a hundred creative ways, to fuck off. That’s what my brothers and sisters did, so why not her. Now that we will be family, I see it being a lifelong symbiotic relationship.
Maybe I will let her bring me food when I become a recluse. I won’t let her in of course. But she could leave it on the porch. I will wave through the window, then close the drapes. Nobody will expect more. My sister-in-law’s sister. What’s that called? If I ask, she will come up with a funny name. No doubt.
It is clear what attracts us as friends. Simple. We do not annoy each other and are connected by a shared disdain for the constant bullshit people like to spout. She fit right in with the Lyon family. Yeah. Peas in a pod. I hear my mom talking. And her mother.
Plus, the boys are a tribe. Her twin nephews, my Teddy, Kristin’s Sam. All four. When your child shows genuine affection for someone, the person immediately rises in your estimation. Like their opinion is a clearer vision of who is being authentically themselves. I saw it happen three years ago when we all met at the lake. She called her nephews dipshits when they fucked up. Teddy liked her for that one comment, and their affection grew and was organic. When they speak, she treats him like an adult and he lifts himself to meet the image.
While it is technically true, I don’t know if I will ever see my boy that way completely. It is not only mothers who still see the face of the toddler or the baby when looking at their grown child. Fathers can too. Even when childhood is long gone, we remember the magical innocence they were born with.
I guess it works that way because of how you are seen through their eyes. I was Teddy’s hero. Especially so when he had no idea what the word meant. It was pure love, given just because I existed. A man does not forget the experience. Or wish they could go back for just a day to feel it again. No matter how great your kid turns out, no child stays in that initial I want to sayholinessthey came here with. Life gets ahold and changes us to mortals.
Barbra has held on to a youthful spirit longer than most. I get a millimeter happier around her. It doesn’t hold, but nevertheless it happens. She communicates well with whoever she is talking with, whatever their age. The life force is strong in her. It always looks like she is enjoying the experience a little more than the rest of us. Kind of lifts a person’s spirits to think an adult is still having a great time being human. Most of us find it taxing.
We are comfortable in each other’s company. Tonight good food, the wine I have brought, and episode four of the new season ofStrangerThingswill pass the time. In a few hours myspecial daywill disappear till next April twenty-sixth. Only three-hundred-sixty-five days till I have to worry about avoiding it again.
Rounding the last turn, my eyes settle on the disturbing sight outside her little yellow house. What is that? Oh shit. What the fuck! I immediately call, and it is answered on the first ring.
“Party Central! How can I help?”
“You are pissing me off! Take that birthday banner downandthe balloons.”
“They aren’t for you, asshole!”
“Who’s it for then?”
Walking out the front door, cell to ear, she looks very pleased with herself. Dimples, auburn hair, and hazel eyes. All attractive features that put an exclamation point on the fiery personality. A man could mistake her for soft when she is something different. As soon as she opens her mouth, you know she’s strong.
