A Weary Night

A Weary Night

I live in Weary, MN, located in central state, over an hour to the nearest city in every direction. The population here is ninety-two, and we're not ashamed to say, we enjoy the slow pace of small town life. We have one doctor, a police station with two officers (including the chief), a cafe, gas station with a mechanic, hardware store, veterinarian, and one bar. Well, it's not really a bar. Travis Fergusson got some tables and chairs, an old pool table, and hung a cork dart board on the wall. There's not much of a drink selection, but he gets what he can, and charges enough to make what he paid for it. One year, he and his buddies built it, back in the woods, just outside of town. It was supposed to be just for them, but, this is a small town, and word got around.

Then there's Leo's, the general market. My great-grandfather, Leo Jorgenson, opened it out of a barn almost a hundred years ago. He actually named it The Market, but everyone just called it Leo's, and it stuck. Even though, above the door, it said (and still says), “The Market” in big white fading letters. Back then, there weren't many roads, but, times change, and now it's at the end of a small street, a block off Main Street, across from an empty parking lot we use for our local farmers market. I've worked here all my life doing one job or another, and I love it. The wood floors creak, and you can smell the hundred-year-old wood around you. We use the loft for overstock. We even display all of the original advertisement posters Leo put up, plus others that have been collected over time. The ones with the caricatures of either kids or adults make up most of them. Since a lot of those products aren't around anymore, they're mostly for nostalgia. The current advertisements are signs or stickers on the tables, racks, or coolers. Basically, we're your typical general store with food and other necessities people would need in between trips to the city. We also take orders for folks unable to get what they need in the city.

I took over the store four years ago, after my parents retired. Between myself and a couple teenagers I hired, the store pretty much runs itself. Adam was supposed to work today, but I told him not to come out in this blizzard since I was already here, and it would be slow anyway. The store was empty, and, I imagined, so were the streets. The snow fall was so thick, you couldn't see your outstretched hand in front of your face. It's the kind of snow that falls so heavy and wet, that, when piled high as it is right now (about sixteen inches and counting), it feels impossible to shovel it's so heavy.

Since forecast only predicted about six inches, I drove the sled thinking I'd be able to get a nice night ride in after work. It's pretty much buried now, and I'm not so sure about walking the two miles home in this. I may have to wait until I can see better. The lack of visibility lends an eerie feeling of complete isolation. It's like a remote, deserted island, even though there are families fifty yards across the lot, all cozy in their homes, that would happily take me in for the night.

The lights flicker a couple times, then go out, and the store is completely dark and silent. The kind of silence that makes your ears ring. We do have a generator, but, it takes a moment to kick in. In the dark and imagined isolation, it suddenly feels very creepy. I think I'll come in early, and do the closing tomorrow. Right now, getting turned around while walking home scares me less than being in here. I use the flashlight on my phone to gather my things, and get ready for my walk. I start to put my snow pants on, when I think I hear a faint noise in the back of the store, but, before I can react, the generator kicks in, and for the moment, I'm distracted. The low hum of the coolers fill the quiet space, and their lights give an eerie glow. Combined with the few lights above, the store is even more creepy with all the shadows. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the figures on the old posters moving, but, when I look at them, they look just as they always do..

I shake off the nervous, uneasy feeling, and grab my snowpants again. Then I hear the sound. I don't call out, since, in the movies, that always seems to gets them killed, so, I go to check it out instead. Because, that's so much safer. I get to the second aisle, and stop. There, in front of the shelf of baked beans, on the floor, is a roughly baby in a carseat about four months old. There isn't much light, but I can tell by the blue hat, and the boyish blanket, I'm looking at a boy.

Now I have to call out, but no one answers. I check out front, but it's obvious I'm alone, plus, the door wouldn't push open due to the pile of snow in front of it. Scared, I grab my phone out of my pocket, and, with a sound of frustration, put it back. Of course, no service. I went to the counter to use the store phone, but the lines were down. “What is this? A horror movie?” I say to myself. I panick a little, not knowing what to do. I can't bring him home with me. I have to walk two miles in this weather.

I take a deep breath. Where did he come from? Only locals came in today, and, I know for a fact, there are no children under three years old in town. I see his diaper bag, and look through it to see if I can find anything about this baby, but, it's just the usual stuff you'd see in diaper bags.

How long has he been here? I haven't left the front of the store in at least a few hours. I pick him up, and take him up front to a little area with a small booth, coffee cart with a microwave, and two comfy chairs. I change his diaper while his bottle heats, and sit down to feed him in one of the arm chairs. He drains his bottle, after which, he's a wide-eyed and happy boy. I play with him, making faces at him, and ask him who he is and what I should do. Unfortunately, I won't be getting any answers from him either.

I have no idea how much time went by, but he starts getting restless on my lap. I grab a blanket from the back of the arm chair, put it beneath his blanket on the floor, and place him on the blankets which seems to make him happy.

I'm completely unnerved by the atmosphere of the store, those damn posters, which I'll never look at the same again, and the whole situation in general. I try to distract myself with my new friend, but he's fallen asleep. What a good idea. Maybe he'll sleep the night, and tomorrow morning, we can figure this out.

I drift off surprisingly easy for being so scared, and I have no idea for how long, but I jump out of the chair at the sound of a man's frantic voice.

“Oh, Thank God!” He exclaims, and runs over to where I'm standing. He kneels, and reaches for what I can only assume was his child, but stops himself when he notices his son has fallen asleep. He settles for gently kissing the top of his head, and sits next to him on the floor, as if he can't leave his side.

“You're very lucky,” I said. “He was so quiet, I didn't even know he was here until just before I was locking up to go home. Another minute, and I'd have been out the door.” I look at him, “How in the world did you forget your baby, and who are you? I know everyone in town, and you're not from here.”

He looks crushed, shakes his head, and answers her. “I'm Mitch Harrisburg. This is Ian, my son.”

I relax a litte, look down at Ian, and say to Mitch, “He's perfect. You and your wife must be so proud. That still doesn't tell me how you happened to just leave him in the middle of an aisle, in a store, in a town you've never been to.”

He grimaces, but still avoides answering that question. “He's amazing. We couldn't have wished for a better baby. I never thought I could love anything as much as I do Ian and my wife.” He said, looking at her.

I study his face as he watches his son sleeping next to him on the floor. He looks tired. Not the didn't get enough sleep tired, it is the kind of tired someone has when they have something in their life that absorbs everything they have, and they're running on autopilot. Before I can say anything, he starts talking.

“You're good with him.” He says with a small smile.

I smile back, “Oh, I love kids. I remember I was the only babysitter in town. There were four families that had children half my age. Believe it or not, I was the only teenager, and the only one in my graduating class. We still don't have a school. About ten years ago, the town purchased a house to turn into a school at the request of the one teacher we ha...” I cut myself off, and say, “Mr. Harrisburg, stop trying to change the subject! I'd really like to know what happened that you forgot your son!” It's difficult to sound stern when you had to whisper over a sleeping baby.

“I didn't forget him, his mother did.”

“He's what, four months?” I ask, and continue at his nod. “How did your wife manage to forget her four month old son in a store? Especially in a strange town?!”

“She didn't mean to.” He looks as though he's struggling with what to say, and nervously plays with the blanket.

He can't wait any longer. He picks up Ian, briefly holds him, then tucks him in his carseat, trying not to wake him in the process. When he's done, we sit at the table, and he starts talking.

He begins tentatively, not sure how to start. “Long story short, she forgot him.”

He must see the disbelief and incredulity on my face and starts talking before I can even speak. “It's not what you think. It's not really her fault. She has permanent brain damage, and every seven days, her brain resets five years back, and she relives her life from there. Anything that's happened since that day doesn't exist for her. Not her job, not our house, not me, and...not Ian.” His voice broke at that last part, as if, no matter how many times he said it, it would never be okay. Which, it never would. Not for any of them.

“I woke up this morning, and she was fine. It's normally she wakes up and has forgotten it all. Once in awhile, we don't know why, she'll wake up knowing who she is. At some point during the day, in the middle of whatever she's doing, her brain chooses that moment to reset itself. That's what happened today.”

I didn't believe him for a second. “Bullshit. I've seen this movie,” I say. “Except her brain resets every single night she goes to sleep. What's the truth?”

He puts his elbows on the table, and covers his face as if he's said it times over, and knew he'd be saying it the rest of his life. “It's the truth, I swear. She suffered a stroke delivering Ian, and I almost lost her. We thought the damage would be much more extensive, but she woke up, and, physically, everything was great. She remembered me, she asked about the baby, I had my wife back. Seven days later, she woke up screaming, would have beat the hell outta me if I hadn't moved quick enough. It took a long while, and her parents, but I finally got her to believe me, and we went straight to the doctor.”

I'm still skeptical, but I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. He sees my hesitation, and sighs. He pulls a well worn picture from his wallet, and slides it over to me. “This is a picture of me and my, uh, very pregnant wife.”

I reach for the picture, take a look, and jump out of my chair so hard it falls back, startling Ian, but not waking him. I start backing away, hands up, my head shaking. “What the hell?! No. No. NO.” I say more firmly. “Who are you? What the hell is this?!”

He reaches for me and says my name, which I have yet to tell him. “Lucy, it's true. I'm so sorry, I wish I could tell you it wasn't, but you are my wife. We've been married for two years, and Ian is your son.”

I back away, and look outside for a place to go, but the storm is just as strong, if not worse, than earlier. There is three feet of snow blocking the front door. I realize in that little time he could not have come in the front door, even if it was unlocked. I turn and run to the back door. It's unlocked, and there are wet footprints on the floor coming in from outside. That means he has a key. I open the door, saw my sled parked in the back, but there are signs of almost covered footprints leading to the door from down the alley.

I hear his soft footsteps as he comes up behind me, and starts talking again. “Loos, I'm so sorry, I don't know how to do this, yet. I don't know what to say to help you understand what happened. He pulls out his phone, and hands it to me. “Here, look through this. It has your family's numbers, photos and videos of us. Everything else that says we're married that has your name, to prove it's really you, is back at the house.

I take his phone, and stare. Walking slowly past him back up to the front of the store, I sit down and begin looking through his phone. There are pictures of me I have no memories of. All kinds of pictures. We have pictures in front of a house, ones of Ian and me snuggling and sleeping. All the proof I need is in a picture of me in the hospital, hooked up to all these machines, and while I sleep, a newborn Ian lays on my chest, and Mitch, lying next to me, holds my arms around him. I realize I am unconscious for our first family photo.

Shaking, I hand him the phone, and say “I need a moment. You must be hungry, help yourself, I guess you know your way around. I'll be right back.”

I lock myself in the office, sink to the floor, and start to sob. I cried, and I couldn't stop. After about ten minutes that actually feel like hours, I collect myself the best I can and go back out to Ian and Mitch.

I open the door to the sound of Ian crying. He won't stop, so I walk a little faster, and Mitch is standing there, pouring coffee, with his back to us. I walk over to Ian to pick him up, and even though he stops, I still hear the crying. I look at Mitch, but he's still pouring his coffee.

I try to say something, but the words stick in my throat, and I can't get his attention. I'm scared, and the crying just keeps getting harder and louder. I suck in a deep breath, and push out a scream as hard as I can.

The scream sounds deafening in the silence of the night, as I sit up in bed. I'm sweating, shaking, breathing heavily, and my heart is pounding so hard, it hurts my ears, and I can feel it on my ribs. Next to me, Mitch jumps, and asks what's wrong.

“Mitch?” I ask shakily.

“Loos, Sweet, are you ok?”

I start to cry, and lean into him. “I had the most awful dream...” Ian's cries interrupt me, as I realize that's what woke me, and I start to get up.

Mitch stops me, “Let me get him.”

“No,” I say. “After that dream, I need to see him, and hold him. I'll be right back.”

As I nurse Ian, holding him closer than ever, I tell Mitch about my dream. “It was so real.” I tell him. “I feel like if I went to the store, I would see the coffee cup, and soup and crackers you made yourself sitting on the table.”

He holds Ian and me until I calm down, and finally he convinces me to let him put Ian back in his crib. It takes awhile, but I sleep soundly the rest of the night.

The next morning, I get to the store, and things are as I left them yesterday. There is no soup, no coffee mug, nothing. It still all day, but eventually the details faded, and I was back to normal. Except for those posters on the walls of the store. I will never look at those damn things the same again.