The Palm Tree

The Palm Tree

A 1994 dark blue Toyota Corolla merged to the left and hugged the sidewalk.

“Number 224, was it?” the driver confirming with the man in back seat.

“That’s the one,” he replied, buttoning up his thick coat.

The driver looked from the meter to rearview mirror, “$11.50 will settle it.”

“Keep the change,” the man said from the back seat then exited the cab.

The roads and sidewalks where a slushy mixture of white, and brown snow, salt, and rock, not the picturesque peaceful winter scene by any means but these conditions meant better business for the driver. When you grow up in a place like this, you become very acquainted to the many different kinds of snow that exist. For instance, there was the kind of snow that was almost welcomed, delicate and weightless snow, then there was heavy snow that fell with force and stuck to everything it pelted, there was wet snow that as you might guess, leaves you very wet, there is the kind of snow that develops a slippery glaze that is more than capable of leaving you flat on your butt, and you cannot forget the most unfortunate snow fall of all, is the kind that piles so high outside your door so that you have no choice but to stay home a day from work.

A block away a man and a woman exited from a building. The heavy wooden door sealed itself as the couple huddled together, clutching one another for support as they shuffled down the snow slush sidewalk.

The establishment was called, The Ship Inn. It was a small quaint place that would serve a beer to anyone who walked in as long as they looked the age and had money to pay for it. The driver knew the bar well, and the bar knew the driver just the same.

The dash clock in the drivers car read, 6:07 PM.

Not a bad time for a beer, the driver decided, calling it a day. He turned the key in the ignition and shut the engine off, and then methodically tossed his car keys into his coat pocket, unbuckled the seatbelt, ducked out of the car and strolled towards The Ship Inn. He opened the heavy wooden door and stepped inside its warm and salty interior.

Three hours had past since the driver had disappeared into the bar and since then a heavy wind had picked up in the outside. Snow had begun to fall heavily and accumulate on the ground. As day turned to night, and the weather grew fiercer, and the people throughout the neighborhood retired to their homes, shut their doors and windows tightly, and lit their wood stoves to combat the cold.

It was 9:48 PM when the door to The Ship Inn swung open, brushing a glaze of snow onto the floor of the entrance. Out shuffled six locals, the driver among them.

“You know I’d love to keep the bar open but radio says its gonna be a rough storm. Best we head home early.” The voice rang out from behind the bar.

The driver waved good-bye to his fellows before turning and walked toward his 93 Toyota Corolla.

Where are my keys? The driver stood a foot from the car door, both hands searching the pockets of his coat.

Where did they go? Now peering through the driver’s side window. They didn’t appear to be on the seat or dangling from the ignition. He knelt down to the gap between the car and the curbside and began sifting through the snow but had no luck.

The driver with one last hope headed back to The Ship Inn to see if his keys were somewhere in the bar, but as he neared the entrance, all of the lights had been turned off and the door locked.

Reserved to no other option, the driver let out a regretful sigh, dug his hands inside his warm coat pockets and began the walk home.

The driver had made the journey home from The Ship Inn several times in his adult life, and although it was not a short walk, it wasn’t the distance that had bothered him; the driver actually enjoyed stretching his legs after a long day behind the wheel. What worried him so much was the same thing that would worry anyone familiar with the rules of this town after leaving their car parked on a main street the night after a heavy snowfall. The driver knew as well as anyone that soon as the sun hit the sky the following morning, every car that wasn’t supposed to be parked on a main street, would have already fallen victim to the snowplow driver. Covered from tire to roof in a cocoon of thick heavy icy deep snow, some of the worst kinds of snow if you were to ask the driver.

The driver had been walking for about 15 or 20 minutes, one foot after the next in a methodical rhythm, every step forward he packed the freshly fallen snow down about 6 inches or so. He hadn’t yet met the halfway mark, but as always, the less he thought about walking, the quicker he would arrive at his destination.

All his life, the driver had never once stepped outside this town. He was born in this town, raised in this town, and never felt the urge to leave this town. Maybe it had something to do with the comfort of predictability. Year in and year out, nothing much changed, everything stayed the same. Or maybe it had something to do with how his brother hated living here so much that the driver felt the need to stand up for this place; it was after all the only home he had known.

All of a sudden a huge gust of wind hit the driver prying him from his footing and knocking him off his feet. His large body hit the ground and with a heavy force and the fierce wind and snow kept him there. Did a snowstorm just knock me off my feet? The driver thought, astounded. I can’t remember the last time I had fallen down, let alone from a gale of wind and snow. The driver anchored his hands and feet to help him push up off the ground but the angry snow and wind wouldn’t have it. All right, Wind. The driver relented. All right, snow. The snow and wind flurried all around him, whizzing past, nipping at his face and whipping the back of his neck, like a swarm of birds protecting their young. I’ve never felt winds and snow quite like this, thought the driver, puzzled. He sat in the snow with his hands covering his face from the furious blizzard gusting all around him. He sat in surrender to the power of the elements and waited.

After what felt like five or ten minutes, the wind and snow died down again and steadied its pace, still rough but not enough to unbalance him like before. The driver apprehensively opened his eyes from where he had been knocked to the ground. Everything was calm. There was snow still falling from the sky but it danced gently and lightly and expressed no rush what so ever to meet the ground. The driver still slightly in shock from the power and force of the storm began to gather himself and stood back up on his feet, when suddenly from the corner of his eye, he met a crisp and bright glow.

The light was coming from his right, atop a snow mound about a small-cars height. It fluttered gently as it slowly dimmed, then grew bright, and then dim again, like a soft burning candle flame.

Transfixed by the light, the driver slowly made his way to the base of the small-car sized snow hill. His right foot moved first, pressing the freshly laid snow until it had packed enough to support his weight, and then his left food followed suit.

The driver now stood atop the mound, knees bent, the driver crouched down to examine the small bead light.

A metal object stood erect from the snow, pointed and sharp as if just below the surface were the handle to a pair of small scissors. Examining more closely the driver noticed one of the blades sides was ridged like a mountain range.

“A key?” The driver spoke through a cloud of white breath.

He drove a hand into the snow and excavated the object from the mound.

Confirming to himself, the driver turned the keys over in his hand.

The chained items as followed:

House Key: belonging to the locked door at, 217 Regents St.

Car Key: belonging to a 93 dark-blue Toyota Corolla.

Palm Tree Key Tag: A cheap plastic key chain ornament sent probably as a joke from a brother who moved to warm Florida.

These keys were undoubtedly the drivers missing keys.

How did my keys get here? The driver perplexed. They should be somewhere inside my car, or buried in the snow outside of my car, or lying on the salty wooden floors of The Ship Inn.

The driver was still crouched over, turning the keys over in his hand when the chain suddenly revealed another key. The drivers face now twisted an even deeper look of confusion.  

This was an unfamiliar key.

Mystery Key: belonging to an unknown origin.

All mysteries aside, the driver now possessed his missing keys and he would be able to avoid the torture of having his 93 Toyota Corolla buried by the snowplow driver some time early tomorrow morning.

The driver left the small car-sized snow mound and retraced his footsteps to retrieve his car.

It surprisingly took little time or effort for the driver to get back to his car, passing The Ship Inn on his way, still as locked and dark on the inside as it was when he started his journey home. At the door of the 93 Toyota Corolla he inserted the car key, gave it a turn, but nothing happened. The car door did not come unlocked. The driver tried again with a little more wiggle than before but still nothing.

What a mess, the driver thought to himself, to walk all the way back here and the lock won’t budge.  

Like a cold and defeated sitting duck, the driver stared at the keys in his hand and then had a thought, the Mystery Key. The driver with nothing left to lose slid the piece of metal into the lock, twisted it to the left, and heard a click, the very same click noise the driver heard every time before.

Where did this key come from? The dumbfounded driver stared at the key in his hand. And how did it unlock my car?

Alike before, answers to mysteries could wait but the snowplow drivers wouldn’t. The driver got in his car, slid the mystery key into the ignition and started the engine.

Just before pressing on the gas the driver heard a loud KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK against the rear passenger side window.

The driver leaned over the passenger seat and rolled the window down.

“Are you still on the clock?” The voice encompassed the car yet the driver could barely make out the figures face.

“No.” The driver replied, “but I can give you a lift,” and leaned into the back of his car, unlocking the door.

The dark-grey dark figure leaned into the car and sat heavily onto the back seat and closed the door. The driver could feel his car slouch from the weight.

“Where you going?”

“Florida.”

The driver observed from the rearview mirror but still couldn’t make out the face of the dark-grey figure.  “Florida Avenue, you mean?” the driver corrected the figure but then realized he wasn’t familiar with a Florida Avenue’s around here.

“Yes.” the dark-grey figure confirmed from the back seat.

“You’re gonna have to direct me,” the driver said as they departed.

Florida Avenue. The driver away mused. Florida Ave. warm and sunny, Florida. The driver thought, the same Florida his brother moved to when he left this town. Florida Ave. The driver now thought about the Palm Tree Tag his brother sent him about a year after he had been gone. Florida Ave. The driver thought about his mother.

“Left.” The big heap of dark-grey spoke from the backseat.

The driver turned left.

The driver thought about how cold it was even inside his vehicle, then he thought about how warm it must be where his brother was now. Florida Ave. The driver returned to the gift his brother sent him about a year after he had moved, a palm tree key chain tag. The driver thought about how cheap the plastic ornament was, and how the word gift was a stretch. He thought about how he was surprised to receive anything at all from his brother knowing how much he liked to pinch every penny.

“Right.” Directed a dark-grey mouth from in the backseat.

The driver turned right.

Florida Ave. The driver trailed away again. The same Florida area code the driver dialed to call and inform his brother of their mothers passing. The driver thought about his mother again.

“Here” said the large figure the back seat.

The driver stopped the car and snapped from his daze.

“Thank you.” The dark-grey figure spoke for the last time, opened the door, leaned out of the car and disappeared into the snowy night. 

The driver turned toward the direction of the dark-grey figure to try and catch a glimpse of whom it was but when he did, the figure was nowhere to be seen.

The driver sat in the drivers seat, more confused than ever. The driver closed his eyes, rubbed them with his fists, and then re-opened them.

Miraculously, when the driver opened his eyes, he was seated exactly where he had been when the powerful gust of wind knocked him to his feet. Had I been knocked unconscious all this time? The driver puzzled. Had all of that been a dream?

The driver looked toward the small-car sized mound of snow where he had located his missing keys to see if that too had also vanished like the dark-grey figure but instead found another discovery, the pile had indeed still been there but it had melted considerably.

Right before the driver’s eyes, the mound of snow melted down and revealed a wooden bench, the kind of bench one would sit and wait for a bus.

The driver stood up from where he had been sitting in the middle of the street and walked towards the bench after inspecting its dryness, sat down.

The driver did think it was odd how the night’s turn of events led him to enjoying a comfortable seat on a bench during a warm winter night. Florida Avenue. The driver thought. This must be what a winter’s night in Florida feel’s like.

The driver let out a chuckle at his brothers expense, bathing in the same winter heat that only Florida could deliver, and yet never having to leave this town.

The driver still thought it was odd how it was warm enough to strip from his coat, hid flannel, and his hat, but not odd enough to not enjoy the warm summer-like weather in the middle of winter.

The driver closed his eyes and succumbed to his better knowledge and belief.

The driver was momentarily distracted by the noise of an engine. He opened his eyes to see a bus driving down the road toward him.

The driver still on the bench found it odd to be sitting here in warm summer-like weather, with a bus traveling down the road toward him.

The driver looked up toward the post next to the bench to see the bus schedule. The driver squinted slightly reading the letters of the bus routes end destination.

“F-L-O-R-I-D-A,” the driver quietly whispered to himself.

It was then that he noticed an older lady had been next to him, also sitting on the bench.

The driver thought for a moment about how the older lady sitting next to him seemed to remind him of his mother.

Then the bus came, stopped for a moment, and then left.

The next morning a snowplow driver pushed his way through the streets. Snowfall had been so heavy the night prior that the snowplow driver had to take his route much slower than usual, as not to overwork the engine of the plow truck.

He turned off a side street onto another side street, working his way to the main road where the real work had to be done. He turned again onto another street, all the while leaving a massive wave-like snow curl in the plow’s wake. He turned onto the main street. The snowplow driver kept the truck in a lower gear to apply torque; he was going to need all he could get to push through all of this snow.

The snowplow driver looked at all of the stores on the street that would probably remain closed today. Real Antiques, John’s Auto Repair, he kept pushing the snow off the road and up onto the sidewalk. Coffee Time, Burger-Burger Bar. The steady regular noise from the plow truck engine kept the snowplow driver calm, as if it were communicating just how much it could take. Yoga-Ready was the next to pass, and then the snowplow driver noticed something to his left. There was a car just up ahead, almost completely buried in snow. He moved up the street, slowly, turned the wheel not to hit the vehicle. The dark-blue paint shown out from beneath cracks in the snow. The snowplow driver cut the wheel back toward the curb, leaving the car behind him. The Ship Inn, came next, and then Marty’s Grocery Stop.