Living Legacy

Matt Folger stuffed the last few items in his carryon luggage and zipped it up. After finishing packing, he looked up and smiled fondly at the pictures on his nightstands. On the left was a picture of him and his girlfriend Abigail after their high school graduation ceremony. On the right nightstand was a picture of his parents in their twenties. It was taken in the Philippines where they had met. It was where they both served during their time in the Peace Corps. They were sitting on a fallen branch by a river with a native boat and boatman behind them. The Peace Corps… Matt still couldn’t believe he’d gotten in. It was a dream of his to serve in the Peace Corps just like his parents. He wanted to honor that legacy. That word legacy… It was a word that he and his two sisters always heard growing up. It was deeply instilled in him now.

A knock on his door jarred him out of his reverie and he turned to see his twin sister Libby standing in the open doorway of his bedroom.

“You really love that picture, don’t you?” Libby said with a smile as she looked at the picture on Matt’s right nightstand.

“I also love that story,” Matt said with a smile. “I always thought it was romantic. Do you think I’ll get to have a love story like that over there in Cameroon?”

“Matthew Levi Folger!” Libby said with a palpable mixture of shock and indignation, swatting Matt’s arm. “Don’t you dare cheat on Abbie while you’re there, or I swear by the Styx below, I will fly myself to Cameroon and personally kill you! Do you understand? Do you understand?”

“Ow! Jeez, what the heck, sis? It was a joke!” Matt said in surprise. “Okay, alright! Understood.”

“If that was supposed to be a joke, Matthew Levi Folger,” Libby said. “That was the lamest joke I have ever heard. Not funny, Matt.”

“Sorry,” Matt said, properly chastised. “No cheating on Abbie and no jokes about it. Promise.”

“Good,” Libby said. “Now that that’s out of the way, I’m sorry about hitting you. Oh, and everyone’s waiting downstairs.”

“Alright,” Matt said. “Let’s go.”

Libby helped Matt carry his things down the stairs. As prescribed, he had two checked bags and one carry-on. He also brought with him his dad’s old backpack emblazoned with the Peace Corps logo. He put his sneakers on and was out the door in no time. He loaded his luggage into the back with his dad’s help and slammed the hatch shut.

“Well, that’s the last of it,” Matt announced.

Suddenly, Abigail was on him, kissing him furiously like there was no tomorrow. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and Matt returned the gesture, not wanting to let go but knowing he had to at some point. Part of him wasn’t ready to let go—the part of him that wished this moment would last forever. Part of him was excited to start this new chapter in his life and couldn’t wait a second longer. He felt as though he were torn in different directions that he didn’t know which way to turn. He was the rope in a fierce game of tug-o-war. Ultimately, however, his desire to make his parents proud and continue their legacy won out and he let go. As he did so, he noticed how wet Abigail’s cheeks and eyes were. More tears threatened to spill over and he wiped them with his thumbs, then he rested his forehead against Abigail’s—forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Then he buried his face in her yellow hair, committing the scent of her shampoo—lavender and roses—to memory. He wanted to remember her every feature for the duration of his service in the Peace Corps.

“Text me every day, okay?” Abigail said.

“I don’t know how much messaging rates will be,” Matt said with a laugh, which made Abigail laugh. “So I can’t make any promises. We’ll probably do once a week. I mean, I still have my parents and sisters to text, so…”

“Yeah, let’s not have you running out of money,” Abigail said with another laugh. “Promise me you’ll give me weekly updates though?”

“Promise,” Matt said, before giving Abigail one last kiss.

After saying goodbye to his girlfriend, Matt said goodbye to his childhood best friends Andrew and Ryan next. They were always the Three Musketeers. Andrew extended his hand for their customary Roman handshake, but Matt went in for a hug instead, catching Andrew by surprise.

“Have a cup of coffee for me when you land,” Andrew said. “Or twenty.”

“There’s coffee at the airport,” Matt said with a chuckle. “I can drink one for you there before I board.”

“No,” Andrew insisted. “Have a cup of coffee for me in Cameroon. It won’t be as poetic if you drink one here since we’re still on the same soil.”

“Have a cup of coffee for me too,” Ryan added, joining their hug. “We’ll each drink a cup of coffee for you as soon as you land.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a very corny joke,” Matt said and all three friends laughed and cried.

“Come back after two years, alright?” Andrew said as they all let go. “I want you to be my best man. I don’t think Erin can wait more than two years.”

Mr. Folger honked his horn.

“I’ll see you on the other side of the war,” Ryan said.

“I’ll be backh,” Matt said, doing his best Terminator impression. And with that, Matt climbed into the van where his parents, his sisters Libby and Tarrah, and their cousin Gwen were waiting. Once he had safely buckled himself in, Mr. Folger drove off, the house that Matt grew up in growing smaller and smaller in the distance until he couldn’t see it anymore.

“Took you long enough,” Gwen said with an eye roll, causing Tarrah to step on her foot. “Hey! Ow! You little she-demon!”

“That’s just how Gwen is, El,” Matt said, comforting his 12-year-old sister. “You know that, right? Underneath her prickly exterior is a warm mushy heart that loves us all even though she doesn’t let anyone know.”

“Ew, God, no,” Gwen said, making a face in disgust. “By the way, out of curiosity, why do you call Tarrah ‘El’?”

“It’s short for Eleven,” Matt explained. “Look at her. Who does she remind you of?”

“Suffering Slytherin!” Gwen exclaimed with a gasp. “Oh, wow. I never noticed before how much you look like Eleven in Season 2!”

“You can’t call me that, though,” Tarrah interjected. “Only Matt can call me that. It’s a special nickname.”

“Do I get to have a special nickname too?” Gwen asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, you do,” Matt said. “In my mind I call you ‘Brat’.”

Libby choked on her water and sputtered, coughing.

“Aw, man, that is great!” she said in between coughs.

“Ha-ha,” Gwen said. “Very funny, Matt.”

They talked, laughed, and teased on the way to Portland International Airport, which helped put Matt’s mind at ease, at least for the time being. The sight of Abigail crying and the thought of leaving her and his childhood friends was heartbreaking enough. He was sure that there would be more waterworks when they reached the airport. And sure enough, there were tears. Except for Gwen, who stubbornly kept a stoic mask on. Mrs. Folger and Tarrah cried the most, the latter clinging tightly to Matt’s waist, refusing to let him go until Mr. Folger had to gently pry her off and comfort her.

“Alright,” Matt said. “I guess this is it then.”

“So it is,” Gwen said nonchalantly despite the tight lump forming in her throat.

“Quit being a punk and don’t give your Uncle Pete and Aunt Martha any headaches while I’m gone,” Matt said, hugging his cousin. “Alright?”

“Yes, Dad,” Gwen said sarcastically with an eye roll and a smirk.

“What did I just say?” Matt reminded her sternly.

“Alright, alright,” Gwen said. “I’ll try. No promises though.”

“And no fighting, you two,” Matt said, reminding Tarrah to be nice to Gwen. It was also a reminder to Gwen to be nice to Tarrah.

“Promise,” Tarrah said with a sniffle, giving Matt one last hug.

“Remember,” Matt said. “A promise…”

“Is something you can’t break,” Tarrah said. “Ever.”

Next, Matt hugged both of his parents.

“Take care, son,” Mr. Folger said. “Text us. And call us.”

“Don’t forget your supplements and vitamins,” Mrs. Folger reminded him.

“I won’t,” Matt said. “They’re all in my luggage.”

“Good,” Mrs. Folger said. “Email us, okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” Matt assured her. “And if email doesn’t work, I’ll send you telegrams or snail mail. Or a carrier pigeon if all else fails.”

“Oh, you,” Mrs. Folger said, laughing and shaking her head before kissing Matt’s cheek.

“We love you, son,” Mr. Folger said hoarsely, clearing his throat. “We’re so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Matt said, patting his father’s back before letting go.

Lastly, Matt hugged Libby before going in line to check his bags in.

“Take care, sis,” Matt said. “I’ll be home for Christmas. Wait for me.”

“We’ll save your usual chair,” Libby said.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Matt said with a chuckle.

When he had said all his goodbyes, Matt checked his bags in and went through security, which seemed to take forever. When he was finally done with the checkpoint, he made his way to the gate. No time to wait in the lounge for awhile like he had originally planned. His flight number had just been called. He presented his boarding pass at the gate and walked the long jet bridge to the plane’s door. Once onboard, he proceeded to search for his seat and placed his belongings in the overhead compartment. He sat down and buckled himself in and listened as a flight attendant gave safety instructions to the passengers. As the plane slowly taxied up the runway, tears stung Matt’s eyes once more and they threatened to spill again. He thought he was done crying already. Apparently not. He looked out the window and watched as the plane picked up speed and the tarmac began to blur. Pulling the window sash closed, he leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes, letting his tears fall. He pretended to yawn so his seatmate wouldn’t think he was crying from sadness. He hoped his seatmate would think it was from exhaustion. Then he wiped his tears away and reopened his eyes, gritting his teeth. He had to steel his resolve.

As the plane reared and shot into the sky, the words of Dan Fogelberg’s Leader of the Band played in his head.

I thank you for the music and your stories of the road

I thank you for the freedom when it came my time to go

I thank you for the kindness and the times when you got tough

And Papa, I don’t think I said I love you near enough

The leader of the band is tired and his eyes are growing old

But his blood runs through my instrument and his song is in my soul

My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man

I’m just a living legacy to the leader of the band

I am a living legacy

To the leader of…the band…