Jake hadn’t been to Cedar Hill in well over a year. October’s soft seasonal breezes made visiting the cemetery much more tolerable than late summer’s cruel, heavy humidity. He was sitting on the ornate concrete bench, alone. Behind him was a row of small green cedars, a pointed and feathery green backdrop separating him from the adjacent graves. It was a spontaneous visit to begin with, having made a short detour on his way home from work. He left his coat in the car but the early evening was still clinging to the afternoon heat. Intermittent breezes soothed the tiny beads of sweat just under his hairline. Still, it was a nice early evening. And peaceful as usual.
The double headstone appeared to be well kept. There weren’t any nettles or thistles to pull this time. Whatever small bit of grooming Jake had done was hardly any help to the groundskeeper. But there was no groundkeeper that would be as meticulous. Just a stray patch of mock strawberries at the foot of the vaults. But they were kind of pretty stretching across the ground dotting the patch with little round pillows of red and pink. He’d replaced the flowers in the vase with a bouquet of fresh cut flowers this time. They looked so much nicer than the fake ones his brother would occasionally leave, even if they would wilt over the next few days. The bouquet’s aroma filled the air mingling with freshly cut grass, a heavy perfume typical of most Louisiana seasons. A greeting card dated six months ago lay clinging to the side of the granite vase. His brother Ryan’s note was long faded from countless storms and showers. Even with fresh ink the note inside would have been indecipherable. The shade of the towering oaks behind the family plot was already creeping its way across the graves. It had just reached the foot of where Jake sat, barely touching the toes of his leather shoes. He couldn’t wait to get home and slip out of them.
He’d read and re-read the inscription underneath their names many times. "The Lord is good to all; He has compassion on all He has made." Psalm 145:9. It never failed to make him smile. Just above were the names of his parents: Emmaline S. LeBleu, 1943-1986, and Henry J. LeBleu, 1940-2012. A pair of wedding bands beautifully decorated the granite between their names and underneath were tiny encased portraits of them in younger days. Jake had his mother’s deep blue eyes and his dad’s dark brown hair. “Time goes by so fast,” he thought, something he’d thought countless times over. A piece of Spanish moss that hung from the oak’s massive branch dangled like a sheer curtain rolling with the breeze. How long had that moss been growing? He wondered. “So fast.”
Gathering himself, Jake left his solace behind at the little bench and walked back toward his parked car.
He drove through the spire-topped iron gate down the dirt road back to the paved highway. He still had another half hour of driving before making his was back home. He turned on the car radio and immediately recognized the song playing. He glanced at the display to read the artist and song title, although he didn’t really need to. He managed to loosen his tie with one hand with the other firmly at two o’clock on the steering wheel. His tie had been choking him since his first class of the morning, having had it tied hastily on his way out of the door early that morning. With a quick tug it was off and he tossed it in the empty seat next to him.
As he heard the lyrics streaming from the speakers around him, he slowly cracked a smile. There were always memories attached to every song he’d heard since those turbulent adolescent years. He was no longer that shy, awkward hermit of a boy, too afraid to leave the comfort of his bedroom and preferring to live vicariously through the characters in his books. And here he was back in Louisiana where it had all started, and would also most likely end just like his parents. Jake had spent so many years wanting to leave that small town, but he’d moved back just two years ago, back to St. Landry to be near his dad when he’d taken ill. Maybe it was fear that brought him back. Or perhaps some repressed longing to go home again. But, as he’d realized after buying the house just a minute’s drive from his dad’s, it wasn’t possible to really go home again. Those memories of childhood were forever kept in his teenage mind. It had saddened him so very much, that realization that going home again meant he could only visit that long forgotten phase. Adulthood had torn him away from those days of teen angst, bewilderment and wonder. He had felt like a stranger in a strange town. Some of his old classmates had never left. He’d run into some of them at the local grocery stores. Awkward conversations and surprising revelations either lengthened the distance or closed decades of gaps between the now grown-ups. Even the stores were new. National chains had moved in and taken over many of the establishments and still the locals flocked reducing them to small town hangouts. But it wasn’t enough to rekindle or even spark any sort of preconceived wish of his. Despite those changes over time, it was still the same tiny spot on earth only with new and familiar faces and attitudes that endured from generation to generation.
When he moved back he’d brought with him his own outside world to resettle. It was his broader view of life, a reformed country boy who had transformed into a city boy and back again. And he brought all that he’d found in that outside world back with him. He’d gone out into the world and made his very own family. They were small links to the new world he’d found, and it wasn’t such a small world anymore. It was exciting to start anew in a familiar place. Long gone was his fear of the outside world. Those apprehensive fears existed only in memories of long ago, still alive if only to remind him of how it used to be. He only knew he needed to be there close to his father, the man he’d never really known before. But unlike how he’d lost his mother all those years ago, he didn’t want to lose his father in the same way. He wanted to be there this time, to become the father role, something he’d been learning to do for years. His dad had been very happy with his son back, himself having grown so much. Any reservations Jake had had were gone when he’d given his father his first adult hug. “I’ve missed you,” his dad had said, his voice gravelly and with eyes heavy with years. Jake had wells of tears in his eyes, and like a levee breaking, tears ran down his cheeks when he’d heard his father say those long awaited words.
They were standing in his house, the very same one that held many happy times long before their sweet matriarch had passed away. The house had turned cold and void since and had never truly been the same. In every corner, on every wall his mother’s presence could be seen. After all, she’d done all the decorating. Her teapot collection was still in the curio cabinet, dustier and overlooked for years. It was just a house now in disarray and showed many signs of neglect both inside and out. Jake expected to be shocked at the sight of the house, but what shocked him most was how little it actually mattered. Seeing and then putting his arms around his father chased away any uneasiness he’d feared.
“I’ve missed you too,” Jake said, squeezing his father’s frail body tighter. Inside he felt a small piece of himself melt away. It was a surprising and foreign emotion to share with him. But now, he could only embrace it. Far too long had they lived disconnected.
“It sure looks different around here,” Jake mumbled, looking around the old place.
“Nothing’s changed here, son,” his father mumbled, his voice gravelly with age. “It’s always been the same here. You,” he went on, smiling. “You’ve changed. All grown up. With a family of your own now.”
Jake felt the invisible wall dissolve. He whispered into his father’s ear, “Family... It’s my turn to take care of you now.”
His dad gave him a weak pat on the back and hugged him tighter. Jake recognized the scent of Old Spice. Some things never change, he thought, but some things... some things do.
The next year had gone by unexpectedly quick. Then his father, too, was gone, lying in his bed alone, maybe even dreaming.
YOU ARE READING
Evangeline's Blooms
Teen Fiction** I'm currently editing ** Set during the late 80's in rural Louisiana, seventeen year-old Jake lives each day withdrawn from the small world around him. A year later he is still dealing with the loss of his mother. His father is quiet and distant...
