Smoke & Mirrors

Time. Its passing can go unnoticed. Tomorrow comes and goes. Weeks pass by, turning into months, months into years, then the years charge by like wild horses, free and untamed. Before you know it, time has taken pieces of you, changing you. You’re a little bit slower, but wiser and more empathetic. You become retrospect in those days gone by; the mistakes you made, the people you hurt. It weighs heavily on the soul to make amends. At least that is how it is for me.

The one place where time slows down, almost to the point of stopping, is the American small town. The people seldom change, each generation claiming a small portion to call their own. Their friendly faces are quick to say hello as they walk down streets lined with century old homes and businesses whose aesthetic charm makes you feel as welcome as the joyful residents. Tradition is the staple that binds these small communities together, and a small event leads to a large gathering.

I grew up in one such town. It goes by the name of Whispering Falls, named after the waterfall that comes down off the mountain the town is nestled beneath. I left there thirty years ago in the dead of night. I was never good at saying goodbye. I was never good at saying I was sorry. I’m not sure what kind of reception I’m going to get coming back now.

As I drive along Main Street, through the heart of town, I see familiar faces, and familiar places. On the edge of town, my high school choir teacher, Mrs. Nolte, was tending her flower bed. She has to be somewhere between seventy-five and eighty, but she was going strong. I honked. She waved with a smile and quizzical eyebrows. I was a student I’m sure she’d love to forget. I pass Peterman’s Hardware where my dad would take me every weekend. There was always something to fix around that old house. Mr. Peterman always had his dog in there. It was a big, brown and white, shaggy thing that I loved to play with. Mom was allergic to pet dander, so I never had a pet of my own. Those trips to the hardware store were special. Cattycorner to Peterman’s is Cecil’s Diner. Me and the gang would hit that joint every day after school for a burger and shake. When I turned sixteen, Bobby, Cecil’s grandson, gave me a job as a dishwasher. I eventually worked my way up to cook. That’s where I got my start. Today, I’m a big city chef. Crossing the intersection, I see old classmates Tommy Tillman and Blanche Dela Rosie, probably Blanche Tillman now, walking hand-in-hand. They were high school sweethearts. Class of ’85 – who thought those crazy kids would have lasted this long.

I reach my destination, Miller’s Pub. I park on the opposite side of the street. I turn off the car. I take a deep breath and let it out. I look in the mirror and fix my hair. I look up and down the street for his car, as if I know what his car looks like. I sigh and shake my head. Doubt fills my mind. I start to wonder if I made the right choice. Are some things better off left in the past? Am I opening old wounds? What am I expecting to come from this? I take another cleansing breath and let it out, then pop open the car door.

It's quarter past two, and Miller’s is empty, with the exception of old Wilbur Greyson, who was an old drunk when I lived here. He is shoveling peanuts into his mouth like they are trying to run away from him. They’re probably the only thing the guy eats every day. The last thing I want is to be engaged in conversation by Wilbur, so I take a seat at the opposite end of the bar. I pull up my stool and look past the perfectly lined up bottles of spirits into the mirror. The reflection of a much younger, thick haired man buying a round of shots to celebrate my best friend’s engagement appears before me. As I passed out those shots, I saved two for last, mine, and my best friend’s cousin’s, a girl I had my eye on all night. I made my toast and clanked her shot glass. Then the conversation between us began. A year later it was my best friend buying the shots.

My reminiscing came to an end when a younger man pulled up the stool beside me. My heart skipped several beats, and I froze for a moment.

“Cal Devers,” he asks, looking straight ahead.

I glance over at him. He’s the spitting image of me, twenty-five years ago. “Yeah… yeah, I’m Cal. Are you…”

“Jack,” the man says, interrupting me. “I’m Jack Devers.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

The bartender interrupts us to take our orders. We both get a draft, take a sip, sit it down, and sit silently for a moment.

Jack breaks the silence. “This is your idea. Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“How are you?” That is all my panicking mind can come up with.

“How am I,” Jack asks, sounding a little irritated. “I’m fine. How are you? You’re the one who called me after thirty years wanting to meet. What, are you dying and want to clear your guilty conscience?”

“No. No, no, no, nothing like that. I mean, yeah, one day I’ll die, so before it’s too late, I’d like to make amends and be a part of your life.”

Jack takes a couple big gulps of beer. He sits his mug down firmly. Firm enough that he sloshes beer onto the bar. He’s quiet for a moment, then says with all sincerity, “No.”

“No? Just like that – no?”

“Just like that. I was five. You were my hero. Not to mention how devastated mom was. I have a family of my own now. I don’t want you around them. You know what? How dare you! How dare you come back here after all this time and ask me, of all people, to clear your conscience and let you back into the family you deserted. What do we get out of it – you?”

I lower my head and stare into the beer that I’m twisting nervously in my hands. I say lowly, almost apologetically, “You have two sisters, three nephews, and two nieces.”

“For Christ’s sakes Cal, I don’t care. Good for you! Yippie! You went out and started another family and left mom and I alone to struggle. Well, you’re not getting your picture around the Christmas tree,” he says as he stands and pulls a couple dollars out of his wallet for the bartender.

He almost gets to the door when I call out to him. “Jack!”

He pauses and glances over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye, son.”

And like that, he’s gone. I thought there would be more conversation than that. I thought there would be questions. I prepared some answers. Then something I wasn’t prepared for happened. A familiar voice addresses me from behind.

“Hello, Cal.”

It’s Cindy, Jacks mother. I look in the mirror before spinning around on my stool to confront her.

“Hi, Cindy, can I buy you a drink?”

“I think that’s the least you can do.”

She casually takes the spot her son was sitting in only a moment ago. She doesn’t seem mad or hurt. I’m not sure what to make of this unexpected surprise.

“How have you been doing, Cal? You look the same, plus a few pounds,” she says with a smirk and an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Is it wrong to say I’m doing alright?”

“Of course not. I’m glad you’re doing well. After all, you’re still my husband.”

“Theoretically.”

“Legally.”

“How about you, Cindy? How are you doing these days?”

“I’m an RN over at the county hospital. I live in Springdale now. I work nights and watch Jack’s kids during the day while he and Suzzie work. Would you like to see pictures?”

“I would love to.”

Cindy and I move to a booth where we look through three envelopes stuffed full of pictures. Most of them are of Jack growing up. We drink as she shares stories of Jack as a boy and as a father. We talk about each other’s lives since we last saw each other. She never remarried. We have a lot of good laughs. It’s just like old times. Then the laughs fade. The elephant in the room is hanging over our heads.

“I’m sorry I left, Cindy.”

“I’m sorry I cheated on you, Cal, but divorce would have been easier on Jacky than you disappearing like that.”

“I couldn’t process it all at that time. It all swam in my head; losing you, losing Jack, losing everything I worked for, losing everything I loved. I just ran away because I couldn’t bear it all.”

“I understand, to a degree. I don’t agree with it, but I understand. The problem is it was Jacky who got destroyed when you left. Speaking of Jacky, how did your meeting go? I was waiting outside. It didn’t last long.”

“In so many words, he told me to kiss off.”

As she puts on her coat to leave, she says, “Tell you what, give me your number. I’ll talk to him. Maybe he’ll call you some day.”

I write my number on a napkin and give it to her. She kisses me on the cheek, then she too is gone.

Time. Like smoke and mirrors, doing something over here while you’re looking over there. I should have reached out to Jack sooner; a long time ago, actually. But time had me looking in one direction while something else was going on in another. Time is deceptive. If you can’t manage it, it will get the best of you.