The Grecian Fires

The sound in all the world was bled into the seas. The two of us stood still, our eyes fixated, surrounded by an opaque nothingness, while a raging torrent of gone-by images, scenes, voices, laughter, silence, all washed over us with such great force, I imagined our skin would rip apart. Like a failed dam, this deluge of things would spill out from us onto the sidewalk where we stood, in front of what used to be our home, and we’d flood the streets of what was once our neighborhood. When the waters were satisfied and the tops of the highest homes were swallowed away, only debris of things that once were would be left to float gently over tiny waves.

It stuck slightly cocked to one side on the window aside the porch. A bright fluorescent green sticker with black, menacing words emblazoned across it. The words, “Sir, I’m sorry, but your request for another extension has been denied and at this point there is nothing more….” echoed in me. My eyes pierced the sticker while my mind was on my son next to me. Paralyzed under the ardent August sun, I pleaded inside that the ever-still desert would offer up one measly cloud; though I wanted an army of them, charging like an upside stampede of buffalo.

This was our home. I carried my new bride through that door, by which later she would plant an ambitious little Grape Ivy vine that would, in time, sprawl its leafy tentacles around the entire doorway and then eventually drape the side wall. My wife would say it was just trying to hide us away from the world to keep us safe; like a Grape Ivy force-field. She went into labor with my son, in that very driveway after which I, in a Lamaze-induced daze, put the car into drive instead of reverse and plowed through the garage door.

The sun finally began its retreat. In its parting splash of gold and orange, I closed the car door and slowly made my way up the driveway; Caleb followed. I wished at that moment that I could have had something wise to say to give him heart and spur his spirits. But I had nothing.

Our eyes roved about, taking stock of it all. Caleb disappeared into the hallway and I pensively paced into the kitchen. A sophomore in high school, he had to grow up fast in the past two years. In the somber stillness, I turned, filled a shot of vodka and tipped my head back quickly.

The house remained dark as it seemed, in a twisted sense, sacrilegious to turn lights on. “Caleb?” I called out. Absent from his room I could imagine exactly where he’d gone. Soon after the funeral Caleb began to find strands of his mother’s hair; in clothes; on the carpet along the room’s edges. He’d lay out the tattered strands as straight as he could and when he had enough for a whole lock of hair, he wrapped a rubber band around one end to keep it neatly bundled together in an envelope. On his toughest days, he’d take the envelope from his drawer, go sit on Mom’s side of the bed and run his fingers through her hair. Our family counselor said it was imperative to break him of this ritual. Looking over the top of his glasses he’d say, “Andrew, it’s healthy to grieve, but he needs to start letting go.” What Caleb nor the counselor knew was that I’d often find myself in Caleb’s drawer.

I quietly sat next to him as he ran his fingers over the lock of hair and pulled him close to me. Lifting my finger to a picture of us; all of us. “See?” I exhaled, “We’re still together. We’ll always be together, no matter where we are.”

Two weeks later the final box was packed and loaded. A small old radio filled the great hollow between the walls with the deep, drone voice of a news broadcaster nearing the end of his career:

“Today, in Greece, firefighters battling the massive blazes that have devoured upwards of 74,000 acres, say a lull in the strong winds has given the fire fighters the advantage. While the fires in some areas are still smoldering, rebuilding efforts are already under way. An unidentified Athenian man noted, ” What irony! This, a place with such rich history; and look! The smoke from the once mighty Greece can be seen from the heavens.”

Upon our final solemn inspection of the home that had been ours for so long, we gradually shuffled out to the porch without a word. We peered into the soulless living room where a whole universe of tiny particles danced about above the wood floors in the shimmering morning light; a farewell ballet. We locked the door for a final time.

Our breath trembling, we huddled around Mom’s Grape Ivy, caressing its leaves. I knelt down and dug out a small hole near the roots, where I placed the key along with years upon years. Out of the corner of my eye something fluttered. Caleb’s hand shook; he was handing me the lock of hair and once again the world became hushed. I took it in my hand and placed it softly atop the key. Caleb fell to my shoulders as I covered the hole over. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” my lips quivered.

I rose to my feet, hugged my son, pulled a map from my back pocket and pressed it to his chest.

“Time to go.” I said quietly.

“You still haven’t said where we’re going, Dad.” Caleb replied, flipping the map around a few times.

Walking a few steps ahead, “You’re the one with the map.” I noted.

“Dad, this is a map of the United States!” he called out.

I sniffled and grinned at him, “Yes, it is.”


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