Wild Rock

Colleyville, home of the Cougars, is just like any other small town.  A couple of decades ago, it thrived, boasting a new movie theater – the only one for 30 miles. City lights illuminated the night sky, promising a bright future. And, teenagers cruised the strip through downtown. Without fail, you could expect a rowdy party out by Wild Rock every Saturday night. See, living in Colleyville, that was a fine thing to do. But, like most fine things forgotten, they tend to rust or rot as time keeps passing.

Driving down main street takes me back to a simpler time. Though most of what once made this town is long gone, there is a familiarity that washes over me.  It's surreal looking at the old businesses, now dilapidated buildings, looming on every street corner. Depressing, isn’t it? As the sky fades to gray, it seems to take the town with it. This aside, it feels oddly satisfying coming home after all these years. It almost makes me forget why I left. Almost.

As I walk up to the red brick structure that is still standing after all these years, my mind is flooded with memories of what used to go on here. Most I’ve forgotten solely from passing time. But, some — those are etched into the walls of the darkest, deepest caverns of my mind. Waiting to be rediscovered. A reference, proving why I am the way that I am.   

Inside, I sit down on the couch. It hisses as air escapes through the cracked leather in the cushions. The smell of old cigarette smoke and ammonia reminds me of them. Mom and dad. Mom never had a bad thing to say about anyone. She made sure the house was always tidy, dad was always fed, and that everyone had what they needed. Never seeming to spend a moment to consider her own needs. One thing’s for sure, though, she never missed church. She went every Sunday until she died six years ago. As for her husband, dad.. There isn’t much to say about him except the smoking finally caught up to him, killing the son of bitch. 

I wasn’t surprised when I got the call. I’ve been waiting for him to die since the day I left, hoping it would help me remember the things that he stole from my childhood. But, your mind has a funny way of reminding you of the people that you want to forget most. No matter what I do, everywhere I look in this house, my childhood home, he’s there. Lurking in the doorway, my own boogeyman. Always there. 

Down the hall and to the right is my parents' bedroom. Though, I guess it's more of a mausoleum nowadays. The last door on the left was my room before I left. There’s nothing in here but stacks of dust covered boxes along with a plethora of strange decorations and old cigar boxes, overflowing with receipts, now. I can’t help but to stare at the walls and try to remember what color they were. A part of me thinks that nothing has changed at all. But, then again, I’ve tried so hard to forget this part of my life that the finite details are all cloudy now, swirling in the melting pot of countless other memories.

Shouldering a stack of boxes out of the way, an old brass grate appears over the vent in the floor. Instinctively, I lift it up. Though, it feels more like I’m peeling it away from the old linoleum. Hurling myself to the floor, I reach in as far as my arm will go. My heart is thumping in my chest and my mouth has become a well of saliva. A lot like the moment just before you vomit. 

Blindly and unconcerned for what may be waiting in the darkness, I feel around in the old ducting. Then, I knock against something familiar and my heart flutters. Grabbing a hold, I pull out one of my dad’s old cigar boxes. It’s tattered and dampened, likely from years of condensation. Its edges are soft and sloughing off.

Inside, there are several things that I have since forgotten their value. Among them is a bracelet, a half smoked cigarette, a small book that seems to be charred on one of its corners, and an old black stethoscope that’s been consumed by rust. Peaking my interest, I grab the small black book that bears no title and open it. I watch as a small polaroid falls out. I can hear the slowing beat of my heart pounding in my ears, disorienting me slightly, as I watch the photograph float to the ground. There she is. The reason I had to go. My reason for forgetting.  

—

Bewilderment overwhelms me as I drive down East Main towards Wild Rock. For years, my dreams have been plagued by tormenting glimpses of her – never revealing her wholly. Darting back and forth, my eyes are drawn from the road to her photo plastered to the dash. To gaze into those eyes slowly reminds me of before. Like a lens out of focus, our time together is obscured, but sharpening with each moment. She has evaded my thoughts for too long, but steadily I can feel what once was coalescing with what’s now. And, now, it is time.

—

Hoisting myself up, I sit, dangling my feet off the top of Wild Rock — the longtime Colleyville party spot. Surrounded by tall pines everywhere you look, the ground has to be about 15 feet away. Growing up, you could expect a hub of underage drinking, fucking, and fighting every Saturday night out here. It was no secret what went on. Our parents knew. The police knew. Hell, everyone knew. Regardless, nothing ever changed. From what I understand, a lot of people stopped showing up after a girl was found dead near here years back, but, in true Colleyville fashion, the party carried on. 

Again, familiarity devours me and distant memories have never seemed so near.

I close my eyes and I can picture the pine needles suffocating the forest floor. The fallen and rotting branches that hug the trails so tightly you have to be careful not to gash your leg on their sharp edges. I can see you. You’re walking ahead of me with the rest of the crowd, looking as beautiful as ever. Tantalizing me with every twirl of your hair, switch of your hips, flash of your smile. Absolutely, I am taunted by your presence. 

The sun is sinking and a growing darkness engulfs the forest. The only light now flickers from the roaring bonfire at the base of Wild Rock. My eyes are fixed and my vision is narrowed, like a hunter stalking their prey. The way your body moves, dancing to the fading music and casting your shadow on to the wall of that ancient rock. It beckons me. It’s almost like you are pleading to me. So heartfelt and sincere. You know I’m watching. Staring, even. But, you don’t care.

The night grows long and cold. The liveliness at the Rock is starting to dwindle along with what remains of the fire. The shimmering embers let off a thick smoke that escapes into the night sky as people begin to nod off. Some are huddling together to prepare for the early morning’s chill, but we decide to go. The silence is menacing as I wait for you in your car. Trying to kill time, I peruse through the small black book sitting atop your textbooks in the passenger’s seat.  Fumbling through your nurse’s bag, I see you emerging from the top of the path, finally. But…

You aren’t alone. Why is he with you? 

Leaning forward as if that will give me a clearer view, I watch as you step into the warmth of his chest. Suddenly, your face is illuminated by a low glow from his cigarette lighter.  You don’t smoke. Why are you smoking? 

My heart races wildly as you peer your face towards the moon in laughter and my ears are throbbing as you grab his arm, inviting him in for more. Don’t you understand that I can see you? I’m looking right fucking at you. 

And, you kiss him. Watching your lips touch his should make me boil with indignation, but instead, I feel numb. It’s like a primordial switch has been flipped inside of me and, all of the sudden, everything is clearer. It has never been so clear.

I sink back into my seat as you approach the car. Getting in, you don’t acknowledge me even though I could pierce your skin with my glare. We sit for a moment. Even the silence seems loud now. 

I watch as you search for something, likely your keys. Still not even a word. Then..

You look up and our eyes lock in the reflection of your rearview mirror, and before you can make a sound, your own stethoscope is around your neck, except this time it isn’t there for you to examine someone’s breathing. It’s to stop yours. Wrenching on its ends, I slam your head backwards so hard that the seat breaks, snapping it into my lap. You scratch and claw at my face, thrashing your body as if you're seizing. And, I taste the warm iron as it flows and meets my grin, but the more you fight, the harder I get. Throbbing, I heave harder, waiting for the ultimate climax, and then, you’re weak. You’re exhausted, starving for oxygen. While I starve for you. 

Seconds seem like hours, as I peer into your beautiful, blue and bulging eyes. You’ve been still for quite sometime now and I’ve watched the dampness of your eyes turn almost waxy. Your hair is still soft but your skin is like ice. Frozen in place. Gently, I lean forward and kiss your forehead ever so softly, thinking how I have fantasized of this moment.  To kiss the girl of my dreams.  After grabbing a few things to memorialize this momentous occasion, I glance down and wonder. I wonder if you were confused. Did you even know my name? I lean down one final time, whispering it in your ear and turn back into the darkness, leaving you forever.

Until now. Opening my eyes, I realize that this place, your picture, and that memory is enough. Enough to ensure I never stay gone so long again. I came back for you, and now that there is nobody left to keep me away, I’ll be sure to come visit.

—

Driving back down Main and on my way out of town, I glance around at the corpse of what was once a great town, reminiscing on all of the memories.