Old Town Memories

“Hey, Mom. I was planning on taking a trip to Delhallow soon.”

“Oh, that sounds fun. Where’s that?”

I scoff, “What?” and laugh, “What do you mean?”

“Sounds midwestern.”

“It’s Oregon, Mom. What are you on about?”

“What’s in Oregon? I bet it’s nice there this time of year.”

“I wanted to see if I could find the old house, thought it would be fun.”

She makes a confused little noise.

“The old house...” Dad sips his coffee,

“Do you mean the lakehouse in Carroway? Where I grew up?”

“What? No, not Carroway.” I elongate the name: “Delhallow. Where I got lost in the woods with Luke at.”

“Have you heard from Luke lately?”

“I always talk to him. I’ll ask if he wants to come along.”

“Still doesn’t ring any bells, Delhallow. Are you sure you’re not misremembering?”

“How could I? We only spent most of my childhood there.”

“Oh, you mean Carroway.”

“How do you guys not remember?”

“Did something happen, Ollie?”

“Can I look at the old albums?”

“Of course, dear. We can fish them out of the attic.”

I head upstairs with my head in the clouds.

I use a hooked pole to pull the ladder down.

A cloud of dust greets me as I step into the dark room and pull the exposed light bulb’s switch.

Gloomy golden light encompasses most of the landing, casting long shadows throughout the attic.

Mom climbs up after me.

“I should hire someone to clean up here.”

I rummage through musty-smelling trinkets and long-forgotten toys.

A large, leather-bound book sits beneath a music box.

I crank the music box, which emits a melancholic, semi-happy tune.

My mom flips through the pictures, humming to the melody.

“Here’s one of you and Devin.” She points to Luke with a smile.

The moisture leaves my mouth, and I swallow.

“That’s not Devin,” I state, “That’s Luke. That’s when we found that stray puppy he kept.”

She tilts her head, eyebrows furled.

“This is Devin, Mark and Stacey’s kid.”

“Is there anything on the back?”

She flips the photo over, which reads: “Oliver and Luke, March 7, 1998.”

“See, Oliver and Devin, you guys were about ten or so.”

---

I rest my arm on the open window of our car.

Luke taps an anxious little beat on the steering wheel.

“I still can’t believe she forgot who you were.”

“And Delhallow? She didn’t remember that either?”

“Neither Mom nor Dad recalled any of it. She was even looking straight at you in the picture, and called you Devin.”

We hit bumps in the road, jostling us around.

“Did you even know a Devin growing up?”

“I mean, possibly,” I shrug, “but I don’t know anyone by that name now.”

The warm, humid air smells of recent rain from a dense, grey sky.

“We lived there for like,” he pauses, “half our childhood, if not more.”

“Do you think your parents would remember it?”

“I don’t see why not. They have to, don’t they?”

“If my parents are anything to go by, who knows.”

“She even read your name wrong...” I whisper, tapping my leg.

A large green sign welcomes us into Ridge Creak, where his parents live.

A wolf howls in the distance.

“Wolves are out. Is that a bad sign?”

He shrugs, “Good as any.” He shakes his head.

“Has that sign always been misspelled?”

“How d’you mean?”

“It spelled creek with an A.”

“...I don’t think so?”

The empty road stretches on, with the wind blowing through the windows.

The dead trees loom overhead like clawed figures reaching for the road.

Luke clears his throat.

“What if they don’t remember you, either?”

---

The front door opens before we even reach it.

Luke’s mom takes a seat on the porch, lighting a cigarette with a practiced hand.

“Babe!” She calls out, “Luke’s here.”

She pulls him into a tight hug, then grabs my hand.

“It’s good to see you, too, Devin.” She smiles.

Luke tenses beside me.

She’s still grasping my hand.

“Devin?” I turn to Luke.

His mouth hangs open.

He swallows as his dad opens the door.

“Devin! Good to see you again!” He pulls me and Luke into a bear hug.

“Hi, Son. Good of you to visit.”

“What brings you boys up here?”

Luke closes his mouth, looking back and forth.

“This is Ollie, from Delhallow.”

“Oh, sorry. Grab a beer, dinner’s about ready.”

He pulls bottles out of their outdoor fridge.

He hands over the bottle opener, twisting it around so I can’t grab it, laughing.

“Going fishing up at Carroway like you used to?”

“We’re on our way to Delhallow.”

“I wish I could go. I miss the fishing. Sorry to hear about your mom, Devin.”

He pulls me into a long embrace, gently caressing my head.

“We’re all going to miss her,” he whispers in my ear. His tears stain my cheek.

---

Luke’s parents have gone inside.

We’re whisper-screaming at each other.

“This is weird, Luke.”

“I know, but it would also be weird if I didn’t stay the night. They’re my parents.”

“So I have to endure this all night?”

“We can just not talk about,” he sticks air quotes around the word: “Carroway.”

“They’ll probably bring it up.”

“I’m sure they won't.”

“He cried for my dead Mom!”

“Let’s just go inside and have dinner.”

He storms inside.

“Who isn’t dead!” I hiss at him.

I tilt my head back and gesture at the sky.

The muted blackness of the cloudy sky pushes back down on me.

I close my eyes, take a long breath in through my nose. The lingering smoke invades my lungs. I struggle to hold it for a second, then slowly let it out longer than the intake.

I let my thoughts run wild until they empty and slow.

My shoulders loosen as I shake my whole body.

I open my eyes, steel myself, then push through their wooden door.

---

I stop in the dining room.

I see the grandfather clock that used to be in my old house in Delmarrow.

The smell of dinner emanates in the air.

Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tock. Tock.

It’s such a nostalgic smell that I can’t help thinking of: “...Delmarrow?”

I stare into nothing, my mind blank. Eyes wide.

“...a seat.”

I shake my head.

“Oh! Sorry. I was spacing out.”

I pull out the chair next to Luke and squeeze his leg.

I only process some of the words they are saying.

Catching bits and pieces without even trying to understand context.

I concentrate on the smoky, crispy bacon.

Tock. Tick. Tick. Tock.

A mouthful of savory, meaty, thick, white gravy on my biscuits disrupts my talking.

“We’re going to Delhallow, where my parents used to live.”

“Your father didn’t want to go?”

I shake my head slowly, “He’s bedridden,” I feign.

Teck.

“He’s been battling cancer, and wanted me to grab something from the old lakehouse.”

Luke squeezes my hand under the table. Stroking it with his thumb.

“My mom wanted her ashes spread in Carroway,” I say.

I taste a tear on my lips.

I stand, screeching the chair.

Silence.

...

“I can’t, Luke.”

I calmly walk out the door.

I hear behind me, “Sorry, Mom, sorry, Dad. I... have to leave with him. I love him, okay? We have to go.”

“Tell Devin we love him.”

---

I cry into Luke’s chest, “What the fuck is going on?”

I look up at him as he runs his fingers through my hair.

He wipes his thumb over my reddened cheeks, looking from eye to eye, concern plain on his face.

“I’ll be honest, I thought you were believing it for a second,” he apologizes.

I silently breathe in the coconut scent of his hair. My breath shaky and shallow, pulled from the space between us.

He pulls me tighter into his grip. His heart beating harder, thumping into me.

We stood together, almost scared that if we let go, so would our names.

Eventually, we climb into the car from the same door, still holding hands.

I gravitate towards his leg as he buckles the both of us in, allowing him to drive.

He doesn’t immediately turn the headlights on.

Inside the car, we are entrapped by the surrounding luggage and a hopeful future.

We peer into the moonlit road.

The hill in the distance is darker than the sky.

The trees atop it are like claws reaching out of the cold, unseen ground.

The headlights bleed through the murky road, rising and falling in quick succession.

A wolf makes itself known with a sound that ever so slightly sounds like a person howling over the hill.

Luke inhales sharply as his leg pulls back.

“Sorry, babe,” I resign.

His hands tighten on the wheel, “Go to sleep.”

I wake up to him caressing the back of my neck with his thumb.

“We’re nearly there,” he sighs.

I lift off his thigh and stretch the nap out of my mind.

“Go back.”

I shiver and stop breathing.

“Luke, turn around.”

My hot face tingles.

“No, backup and look.”

I stare to our right.

“Please.” I swallow.

We slowly inch toward the old, beat-up sign.

It reads: Calloway - 9 miles

Not Delhallow.

Not Carroway.

Calloway.

“Fuck.”

---

We make it to Calloway.

The familiar layout evokes deja vu.

“Where did they live?”

“I have their address somewhere in here.”

I say, rummaging through the mixed, randomly placed luggage.

“I put it in one of—”

I slump into the middle of the seats onto the floor.

“Ollie, what’s wrong?”

The bag lies open on my lap.

“Ollie?” his voice quivers.

He pulls over to the side of the road.

He gasps, looking behind.

An urn pokes out of the zipper.

It says my Mom's name.

---

Luke unfolds the will, “My dear, Devin Oliver McCallister,”

We both pause, aghast, gaping every way we can.

“Devin,” he stammers, “Ollie, sorry, Oliver, McCallister.”

“We’re not married, yet,” I say.

He hurriedly whispers, “You have my last name in your mom's will.”

“Is my mom actually dead?” I shake back and forth.

Luke’s eyes scan over the document.

His mouth opens and closes several times.

He heaves the words out of his chest, “It wants us to scatter her ashes in the lake near the lakehouse.”

White and grey dust leers up at me from the open lid.

“Dad?” I ask into the receiver.

“We’re here.”

Luke embraces me and the urn.

We’re at the end of the dock.

I cast it all into the blistering waves.

Dust fogs the air.

Luke says, “I love you, Devin.”