Yellow

Allison steps out of her house and smiles at the crispness of the late morning air. Her brown hair pulled back with a navy scrunchy. Red lipstick and a pair of chunky, white headphones that blue tooth to her phone. It’s her favorite time of year. Fall in the Appalachians is the best place in the world to live. Chilly days with the full sun shining on her face. She likes to think it’s her mother looking down on her from Heaven.

She’s headed to the Apple Harvest Fall Festival in a nearby town; the one her mother used to take her to when she was a little girl. Her mom would point to the changing leaves. Yellow were always her favorite and she would tell her daughter, “The yellow leaves are Jesus telling you He loves you.”

Allison sees a couple of yellow leaves stuck to the pavement, smiles and puts them in her pocket.

She scrolls through her music library and clicks her favorite song setting it on repeat, “Night Moves” by Bob Segar and the Silver Bullet Band.

She picks another yellow leaf off the windshield of her mom’s old 1983 Chevy Malibu. It’s heart shaped.

*Guitar strumming through her headphones*

I was a little too tall, could've used a few pounds

Tight pants, points, hardly renowned

She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes…

She arrives at the festival and parks to the right of the main farm store on a dirt patch. You can smell the fritters and kettle corn frying in oil.

“Hey Allison. How’s it goin’? What canna get for ya?” Mr. Dawson works at the food counter and is nice to everybody.

She walks the festival with a paper cup of apple cider, fresh and a bit tart, and an apple fritter with an iced- sugar glaze. Children run around while their parents warm their hands at the fire pits, talking about this or that.

THHH-OOMP

A suction sound followed by thudding explosion of the potato launcher. A group of kids cheering each other on trying to hit a target in the middle of an empty cow field.

Another THHH-OOMP

Allison shakes her head and turns her music up a little.

Workin' on our night moves

Tryin' to lose the awkward teenage blues

Workin' on our night moves

Mmm, and it was summertime

Some kids run by, causing her to lurch backwards mid-stride. Her gait has always been a little unsteady, her legs seemingly too thick for her body. A large splash of cider down the front of her shirt.

“Li’l Shits” thinking to herself as she tries to wipe away the wet spot on her shirt; only succeeding at smearing some of the fritter frosting across the stain.

“LI’L BASTERDS!! I SEE YOU DANNY BURGESS AND MILTON GREGORS. LI’L BASTERDS!”

The families nearby go quiet, staring at her.

“WHATTER YOU LOOKIN’ AT?” barking at the nearest couple.

People avert their eyes and walk their separate ways to gather their families up.

Danny Burgess, one of the little shits. Greasy blonde hair, always in his eyes. Awkward smile, a mix of baby teeth that never fell out along the sides of permanent teeth that grew in way too big for his head.

“Now there’s a boy who could use some of Jesus’ love.” Her mama used to say. “Born nasty, that one.”

Allison is standing by the garbage can, trying to pick the sugar flecks off her shirt having tossed the rest of her purchase away.

THHH-OOOMP

The sound jolts her thoughts back. It’s a beautiful day. She takes a deep breath and decides to walk the corn maze.

Always a favorite; stalks stretched high above the tallest person, their leaves rustling softly. A faint scent of earth and sweetness from the fritters boiling mingles in the air. A group of friends race ahead, their voices echoing as they challenge each other to find the exit first.

The maze’s pathways twist and turn. Some paths are narrow and winding, while others open into small clearings with benches for folks to rest for a bit. Colorful signs posted at each opening route offering riddles and clues to figure which path leads out.

Just as Allison reaches the clearing, she sees the group of kids split up, each running down their own path. She chooses the path furthest to the left.

Twisting and turning, narrowing back and forth, she rounds a corner to a dead end. And there is an older boy just turning around to head back.

“Danny Burgess!”

His eyes widen and he smiles that gnarly grin and taunts her with chants of “Mama killer, mama killer!”

“I did not kill my mama, Danny Burgess! Don’t say that!”

“I heard you pushed her down the well! Mama killer.” He starts to walk towards her to pass.

“I did not! Jesus wanted her and pulled her into it!”

*Seger’s voice high-pitched, loud and drawing out the Rs*

And, oh, the wonder

Felt the lightning

Yeah, and we waited on the thunder

WAITED ON THE THUNDERRRR

THH-OOOMP

There’s a click-clack of shoes on the permanently scuffed, light green tiles as two men walk down the hospital corridor. The overhead lighting casts a strange contrast of too bright along the center of the hallway with purple shadows along the corners.

They come to a door at the end of the hall and peek in through the window crisscrossed with wire.

Allison is sitting in the middle of her inpatient room. There’s a twin bed in the left-hand corner, neatly made as it has not been slept in for days. Her chair is placed in the middle facing her own high-set window; her back is to the door. Her short brown hair unwashed for several weeks, with a couple strands of straw-like white poking out from her hair line.

“Allison, good morning.” No response. “This is Dr. Mason, Allison. He’s a doctor from Laurelwood who’s come to visit you.”

“How long has she had these catatonic episodes?” Dr. Mason queries.

“Ever since a farm festival about 15 years back. She was found in the corn maze with the body of a local boy lying next to her. She smothered him with a handful of yellow leaves pushed into his mouth and down his throat.”

After a regarding pause, the attendant asks, “What do you suppose she’s thinking about?”

“Probably nothing at all.”

Allison sits motionless watching summer change to fall outside her window. A yellow leaf flutters past, and she smiles.

*The music stops and a raspy voice sings*

I woke last night to the sound of thunder

How far off I sat and wondered

Started humming a song from 1962

Ain't it funny how the night moves

When you just don't seem to haaave as much to lose

Strange how the night moves

With autumn closin' in