Homecoming

“Yeah Bowie, it’s now coming back to me. This is where it all started,” Sanford Thomas explained to his pup while strolling down Main Street. 

“Oh my! Can you smell that? There’s no mistaking the glorious aroma of Millie’s Bakeshop. It’s as if she’s baking those pies out in the street. The richness of the blueberry filling. The sweetness of her magnificent crumb topping... Wash that down with an Arnold Palmer and you’re close enough to heaven to tickle God’s feet!” 

Bowie howled. His owner chuckled. 

“Sorry my friend. No pie for us today. We’ve only got a little while before Jeanie comes to find us. She certainly wouldn’t be happy if we spoiled our dinner!” 

Sanford kneeled down and stroked the underside of his dog’s neck. Bowie pouted, craving a delicious treat. 

“Next time. I promise! I still can’t believe the bakeshop has withstood the test of time. Do you know, every year I used to pick up an apple and blueberry pie here for Thanksgiving dinner at my folks’ house. It’s probably why they kept inviting me back... And, from the smell of it, good old Millie hasn’t lost her touch!” 

Rising to his feet, Sandford gripped Bowie tightly and continued up the street. A few blocks down, he noticed a change. The sounds of automobile tires striking speed bumps and potholes, along with the occasional pedestrian clomping by, was replaced by boisterous, gleeful cheers. Sanford proceeded forward until the volume peaked. With his right hand he grasped a chain linked fence and took in the scene. 

“Hey boy, I do believe we’ve reached Independence Park. And from the sound of those kids, they seem to have added quite the playground.” 

Bowie stood beside his owner, tongue protruding and tail wagging vigorously as he observed two dozen children swinging on swings, climbing the rock wall and monkey bars, and balancing on the seesaw. 

The clatter of skateboards on the pavement and the clanging of bells ringing from circling bicycles were music to seventy-eight-year-old Sanford Thomas’ ears. He couldn’t help but reminisce about the countless weekends he spent at this very same park when he was a child. 

“I know you want to play with the kids, Bowie, but not today. Jeanie will be here soon. When I grew up here in Breton Hollow, Independence Park had a central gazebo, a large sandbox, a few swings, a basketball court, and a few benches to take in all the action. Mother always reminded me of how I was pretty much raised in this park. Hours in the sandbox until I was old enough to ride a bike with training wheels. Then, when those trainers came off, you couldn’t stop me and my friends from tearing up the park on our dirt bikes. And finally, when I was old enough, Mother eventually granted me the freedom to ride over and hang out with my friends unsupervised. Yes, I made so many memories at this park.” 

Sandford stared up at the sky, appreciating a young boy and girl on the swings no more than fifty feet from his position. Each cried out, “Whee,” as they flew past the other on their way to the apex, before gravity returned them back to Earth and the cycle began again.  

“Yes, my friend, oh so many memories,” repeated the man. “The court sounds empty for now, but when I was growin’ up, day and night, the gang and I owned that court. There was this boy... What’s his name.... Oh yeah, Tommy Henson. Man, could that kid play ball. Best jump shot I ever saw. You know, he took us all the way to sectionals Senior year. I didn’t get too much playing time on the Varsity, but it was one heck of a run. I believe Tommy ended up playing college ball somewhere in Indiana or Ohio before he unfortunately tore up his knee. He later went on to sell insurance somewhere out east. Made a bundle!” 

A soccer ball rolled over and rattled the fence not far from Sandford’s position. A five-year-old girl ran over to retrieve it. Bowie abruptly barked twice, startling her. She quickly snatched up the ball and ran back to her dad. 

“Easy boy. No need to get excited,” Sandford attempted to calm his pup. “We should be on our way, but before we go, I’m gonna share a secret with you. I remember the gazebo was located in the middle of the park. Somewhere in that direction (He pointed with his left hand.) When I was sixteen, a few of the guys were hanging out here on a cold, dark night; you know, sneaking a few beers. We were a curious bunch, but honestly, never caused too much trouble.  

So, that night, I was sitting right in that gazebo when my friend Dave introduced me to the most amazing person. Even though I could only see what the moonlight permitted, I was instantly drawn to her she long, silky dark hair, gorgeous eyes, and a smile which on its own could’ve lit up the entire park. As I learned the following day, a few guys from my crew conspired with this setup before providing some much-appreciated privacy. Neither of us kept track of time, and boy did I pay the price when I missed curfew. But it was worth it!  

We shared a few beers and chatted for hours; learning everything there was to know about each other. And then, when the moment was right, she leaned in and kissed me. Yup, right on that very gazebo. Sure, she later joked with me; blaming the kiss on having a little too much to drink, but I knew better.  

Bowie, I’ve had some great memories in my long life; graduations, weddings, my honeymoon, the birth of my daughter, grandchildren and countless celebrations with them, but that night remains at the top of the list. Thankfully, Molly Stewart granted me a second date, and a third, and then a fourth, and, well, you know where I’m headed with this! Molly and I have now been married over forty years. And it all started on a cold, clear night in Independence Park. 

Sandford released the gate and wiped his teary eyes with a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket. He tightened his grasp of Bowies reins and suggested, “I think we’ve lingered here long enough. Let’s move on.” 

While he found his footing, what the gentleman was unaware of was the middle-aged woman who had been standing not far from his position along the fence. Having overheard his story, she too was touched by his tribute and as the man paced away from the park, a tear ran down her right cheek.  

Bowie guided his owner further down Main Street, stopping at the corner. Sandford reached for the crossing mechanism, locating and pressing the small button. The two waited until the light changed and a rhythmic beeping noise emanated out into the street. When his right foot stepped down from the curb, a new emotion immediately filled Sandford’s mind and heart. Wisely deciding to complete his journey across the street before sharing with his companion, Sandford eventually climbed up on the opposite corner and lowered himself to his pup’s face. 

“Did you feel that, boy? That’s the last cobblestone street in Breton Hollow. There was a time when every street made the tires on your car and bicycle bounce up and down until you felt like you were one of Millie’s delectable milkshakes, but no longer. I was still in high school when they started paving these roads. Though never understood why of all the streets in Breton Hollow, they decided to keep cobblestones on Maple.  

I must confess that it’s been too many years since I headed up to the top of Maple Avenue and visited Mother. I know we don’t have time today, but I feel remorse for how I’ve neglected visiting a woman who was so kind, so caring, so nurturing. A woman whose only mistake in life was getting cancer and leaving me too soon.” 

Choked up with emotion, Sandford quietly edged back toward the curb and dipped his foot back into the street until he appreciated the uneven stones on his sole. Bowie countered, maintaining his stance as to not allow his owner to wander further into traffic.  

“It was the week before graduation, and while my friends and peers were partying, celebrating with family, and preparing for college, I sat by Mother’s bed until the time came to say, ‘goodbye.’ I made the arduous climb to the top of Maple Avenue every day that summer until pops insisted I pack up for State. I can still hear his voice in my head, ‘Sandy, you worked too hard to sit around here crying over something neither of us can change.’ 

Pops was a man of few words, but when he spoke it was difficult not to listen. Despite his broken heart, he lived a lonely existence for the next twenty years. I should’ve visited more, but at least he got to know Jeanie. Whenever we’d come by, those two were inseparable.” 

Bowie pulled his friend back on the curb. The toe of Sandford’s sneaker briefly fell between two cobblestones until it lifted, and he once again had two feet securely on the corner. He then turned his head up Maple Avenue in the direction of “Hilltop Cemetery,” bowed his head, and inhaled a few deep breaths. Tears pooled in his ducts, but Sandford fought them back as he again addressed his dog.  

“Too many regrets. But I guess there’s no going back. It’s been way too long. Too many memories, both good and, well, not so good. But I guess that’s life. At least I’ll have quite a story to tell Molly when we get home tonight.” 

He again lowered himself, feeling for Bowie’s full, soft coat. He embraced his friend, finding much needed comfort, when the woman from outside the park decided it was once again time to intervene.  

“Dad, it’s me Jeanie,” she called out from right behind his right ear. 

“Jeanie, is that really you? Hey boy, it’s my girl Jeanie,” he explained while rising to his feet. 

“Yes, dad, it’s me. I’m right here,” she grasped her father’s hand and helped him turn in her direction. Sandford warmly hugged his only daughter. 

“Honey, I didn’t hear you sneak up on me. Hope you haven’t been waiting long. You do remember Bowie, right?” 

“Of course, I do. You’ve had him almost three years since you started to lose your vision. He truly is a godsend!” she reminded her father. “Did you have a nice walk?” 

Sandford Thomas described the brilliant aroma of Millie’s bakeshop, and the sweet sounds of the children at the park. Jeanie always found it interesting that her dad never shared his pain which was triggered if and when he’d arrive at Maple Avenue. She always followed just close enough to ensure that he’d safely crossed the street, but typically hung back and allowed him to work through his emotions. 

“Are you ready to go home, dad?” asked Jeanie. “The car’s parked only a block away.” 

“Yes, dear. Though it has been nice taking a stroll down memory lane. I guess we’d better get home before your mother starts to worry. I believe Bowie is getting a little hungry as well.” 

With her right hand, Jeanie clutched her father’s left forearm and assisted Bowie in guiding him back across Maple Avenue to where she parked. When they reached the car, she helped her dad and his dog comfortably inside the silver SUV and then walked around to the driver’s side. Sandford heard the door close and remarked, “Sure was a nice day for a walk. I should do this more often.” 

Jeanie shook her head, finding no benefit in reminding her father about his daily strolls which had become routine since he moved back to the family home a little over a year ago.  

“You’re right about that. There’s no better time of the year in Breton Hollows than Autumn!” she affirmed. 

After pulling away from the parking space, Jeanie drove up Main Street, bypassing Maple Avenue on the seven-minute ride home. Despite his loss of vision, Sandford's neurologist, Dr. Klein believed the walks benefited both his mind and body, yet there were aspects which remained painful for Jeanie to witness. And while the walk across Maple Avenue was one such moment, it typically paled in comparison to the ride home. 

“Jeanie, what do you think your mother’s making for dinner tonight? Bowie and I are hoping for steak, but she’s always worrying about my heart.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you two, but it’s lasagna night,” his daughter replied. 

Although she knew it was only a matter of time before she’d have to once again remind her father of a most painful reality, Jeanie held off and allowed him to enjoy the car ride home. And while she’d considered finding him another location for his daily walks, there was something about Main Street which seemed to stimulate his senses.  

Having witnessed her grandfather suffer so many years ago, many aspects of her own father's dementia weren’t too much of a surprise. The only thing Jeanie never understood was why her dad’s subconscious permitted feelings of sorrow and remorse for his parents yet suppressed these very same emotions for his wife, who was buried beside them.   

Arriving at the home she grew up in, and was later gifted to her by her father, Jeanie opened the passenger door, allowing Bowie to escape. She then gripped Sandford’s hand and assisted him up from the front seat. Peering at the man who spent his life caring for his wife and daughter, Jeanie asked, “Did you have a nice day, dad?” 

Sandford Thomas looked back in the direction of his daughter’s words. Suddenly, the smell of Millie’s Bakeshop and sounds from the playground returned, creating a warm tingling in his heart. He softly smiled before concluding, “Honey, it’s always nice to return home.” 

Jeanie’s eyes watered as she helped her father into the house, knowing all too well the question which awaited as they passed through the front door.