Bound by Name

    They met each other when Frank and I were three years old, one of my first memories is of them coming home after we had gone to bed; mom woke me by laughing loudly and falling over the furniture. I saw a spray paint can fall out of her hoodie before quickly going back into my room; I always remember the color was red, I saw remnants of it the next morning on her fingers. Despite the few playful shenanigans between them, the fighting is what I remember most. I accepted long ago that the likelihood of why they stuck it out for as long as they did, was a shared desperation for child care support. It’s unimaginable to see them single parent for too long before taking a trip to the fire station. For my seventh birthday they stuck candles in a lasagna and tried to make some grand premiere out of watching The Godfather. The big event for Frank’s seventh birthday was taking us to slide on flattened cardboard boxes down a big hill behind a drug studies site- a victorious forty minutes before getting escorted off the premises for trespassing. My parents knew the site well; it was their main source for making rent, usually checking in for 2 weeks at a time, a win for all. During those study trials we could fantasize more easily without the yelling and suspicious thumps competing with our beloved fairytale family flicks. Our Disney subscription was our trip to Disneyland. Going the pet shop once in a while to browse, was our version of having a pet.

     Frank and I normalized parental distance and neglect. We played along with the dashes of theatrical affection, such at times when trying to finagle a discount at public park events. Every day the bright side to my dim life was having a friend throughout it all that I got to call my brother. I suppose it could have been worse, who knows where those nice firefighters would have landed me. By the time we were eight, we’d spend all day long out in the free world; all we needed were our bikes. By the time we turned ten, we knew our way around bike repair so well, the neighborhood kids knew they could come to us for a small fix- Twenty five cents for air, a dollar to patch a tube, an additional dollar if they wanted their wheel to be set back on. It wasn’t a full on business but it kept us fed while trying to avoid going home. When you come into this world without a tour guide, survival skills aren’t lost on you. In fact, you hone them a lot quicker because time isn’t wasted on a disintegrating candy coat. This sort of reasoning is how we coped with having such crummy parents.

     I turn over in bed, the clock reads 5:02am, I can’t sleep, I get up and use the adrenaline to dress and call a taxi. Nausea increases the further I get from my cozy apartment of two years, the local store I landed a job at, my home in Vermont. I note that the driver has taken a vow of silence and will not expect me to engage in conversation. I’m curled and learned into the seat head butted against the window looking out at the navy sky as the pines begin to slightly reveal themselves under the last hours of the moon. In minutes, they become blurry..

*   “Aisley, Frank!”, mom catches us as we were trying to run past the living room straight into mine. The typical pace you would choose to run to safety. Inspired previously by ill comments like “ Y’all better not be diddlin’ each other in there.” Most interactions with our parents could really mar an otherwise perfectly good moment. Dad is sitting at the card table that would double as a dining table if ever a blue moon. They pulled up mismatched chairs from various corners of our house and had us sit for a talk. “What’s this about?” I say. Mom responds by widening her eyes and tracing them from me to the bar stool that was pulled up. Almost immediately after Frank fell into the plastic beach chair, she says, “Paul and I decided we want off the train, we aren’t going to be living together anymore.” I look over to my father figure and his face is straighter than ever, which didn’t surprise me. We kids were doing a pretty good job caring for ourselves, their contract was over, the arguing and fighting would stop as well as the household friction. All in that same thought I began to feel relief and a sense of happiness for the potential of having two homes with Frank. I managed to keep my blooming glee down and tried my best to display some sense of sorrow for them. Frank was less premature with reacting and sat there dumbfounded holding off for the other shoe to drop. “Frank and I will be moving to Arkansas, your mother and I want a clean break, just doesn’t do anybody and good carrying on like this. I got a better job there and grandma Joanie has the space for us.” “No, Aisley can come? Dad?” Frank starts getting hysterical and tears begin to form. “What?! We’re not going to see each other anymore?, I ask. When is this happening?” We all begin to overlap in chatter; I was already too checked out to hear the answer to my question, all I could do was mentally prepare to run away that night. Starting a checklist in my head of what we would need and where we might go.  I stormed off feeling angry, scared, hurt and sad. “Now everyone just take a breather”, Paul hollered as Frank followed me to my room. [That was my mom and Frank’s dad for you, no regard for any type of human emotion or thought about what we might have wanted or how we might have been affected by splitting up. Like a couple of teenagers sweeping lumpy problems under a rug to be ignored.] They didn’t seem to have one human emotion about us coming up on 8 years as a family- we were both thinking it as I packed a small bag; Frank got the idea and went to his room to do the same. Since they thought we were just “taking a breather” no one came to check on us; we simply hopped out our window and headed toward town center on bike. It was typical to see us about town by ourselves.

    “Aisley, I don’t want to never see you again; does it have to be this way? What are we going to do?”

    [I still remember just how his kid voice sounded.]

    “I don’t know Frank, they can’t tell us not to know each other for the rest of our lives.”

    “But Arkansas is so far away, how can we do anything about it? I hate them Aisley I hate them!

    Their hearts are all closed up like a couple of (his kid brain tried to search for an insult) locked hearts!

    They’re rotten!” He lost grip of his bike and started bawling.

    By this time we’d walked down to the Tallahatchie River and sat while the sun set. With Frank’s head in my lap, tears seeped out of my eyes in livid disbelief.

    “I will keep you in my heart and just keep me in yours. They may not be foolin’ Frank; we need a solid  

    plan. September 24^th 1984, a whole month before your 20^th birthday. We make it back here in this

    exact area, right here under the Bankhead St. pass, same side of the river as the rail station.”

    Frank looks up at me.

    “No matter what.. no matter the weather, I will meet you here in nine years if I don’t see you

    sooner. I promise.”

*   I’ve made it to the airport and I’ve never been so uncertain about such a monumental itinerary. Could ten year old me have been more specific? What time of day are we meeting? I’m struggling to find confidence in pursuing a five hour double flight journey- all to possibly end up staring at my disappointed reflection in a murky river. I’ve thought about Frank over the years, and every time I feel a pang of missing him and hopeful excitement for the chance to see him again. I hope he hasn’t forgotten or grown cynical of this elaborate notion we had as kids. A flurry of questions occupied my senses and I managed to arrive at baggage scan without even noticing. I’m in an autopilot state; my sky blue backpack stamped with white daisies crosses in front of me, bright and animated by the moving conveyor belt in an otherwise dreary surrounding. Capturing my attention -it seemed to be intentionally presenting me with a reminder that the day has an exciting promise in store.

    Union County Airport surprisingly delivered a dose of relief, nothing had changed even some ads were still up that I remember- Its familiarity gives me a sense that Frank is near. I remember us running around the marble circle bench before me, it inspires a smile as I make my way out of the sliding doors with a resurge of dedication to reuniting with him.  I have no desire to walk around the city, “better to reminisce with my partner in crime”, I think- as I trace over the bike like bell at the motel’s service counter.

    I picked up a six pack of Tab at the general store along with some trail mix, a sandwich, my journal, a radio, a lantern and a pocket knife -because we’re talking about a railroad bridge possibly after sun down. A forgotten pack of Twinkies are the last to be shook from the bag, it bounces brand side up, another silly sign that produces a nostalgic sensation in me that Frank is near. I’m almost tempted to go out, thinking I’ll run into him but some superstitious part of me wants to prevent any sudden predicaments from jeopardizing tomorrow. I’m going to waste the whole day in this motel, watch the tube, read my book, maybe play solitaire and turn in early.

    By 6 am I’m out the door, I started walking into town and threw my thumb up. I’ve hitchhiked a few times and heard some bad things but I’ve picked up some sensible street guidelines. For one, I’m only three miles from the station; if the ride goes south I’m sure someone will notice a tussle. I’ll shake up a tab and smear twinkie cream in their eye, that ought to give me a head start. Amused in thought, an old farm style pickup slows down; chicken coops are stacked in back. That reduces my chances of anyone seeing a tussle when the vehicle is already a busy sight. I walk up to the window and this old man is peacefully petting a chicken sitting next to him, “no harm in that” I silently confirm. “Hi, name’s Ned, where you headed?” “Just down to the RNA”, “That’s just down the road, I can take ya.” Third, come off as seasoned and not lost. The RNA stands for Ripley and New Albany Railroad.

     “Bye Ned” as I hop out 5 minutes up the road, the baby blue truck trails off with wisps of white feathers frantically taking flight into the wind, guiding me to the realization that the sky is a similar shade of blue and it’s speckled in big white clouds abound, a flashback of my backpack on the belt yesterday validates my path even further and I sense Frank’s presence again. I want to run there, the spot I was with him last but I have the whole day to sit and it seems pointless. I take the ten minute walk, slow and in awe of how perfect the weather is, I gather it’s eighty five degrees. The sun is kindly at bay and will have a playful day of hide and seek with the clouds.

    I’m almost there and I see something bright red and flapping. I can’t yet make it out until I curve around a small bend; butterflies are fluttering in my stomach. I’m now about twenty steps away from a tent, is it him? A concoction of glee and pain escape from my eyes and my hands clutch my bag straps as I’m face to face with the tent. I inch over to the unzipped flap, where inside a young man’s body is belly down, he has short brown hair, a short sleeved flannel and a tattoo on his arm. The tattoo is a human heart wrapped in a chain with a small lock. An ache so large rises in me and is ejected as sound- I made prayer hands over my mouth to catch it and fell to a crouch next to him. I fall over shortly onto my bottom and my bag fell from shoulders hitting the ground. The body began to move as one would, being woken slowly. In seconds his head lifted and he turned around. My hands part “My baby brother” I muster through choking up. “Aiislee”, he says in an endearing tone, shuffling out of the tent and stands for a hug. I stand and hug him with everything in me, as though I almost lost him to death and he was just resuscitated.

    “I have some chairs, do you want to sit here for a bit?”

    “Yeah, you slept here all last night?”

    -He pulls out the camping chairs and sets them up,“Yeah I couldn’t remember if you said a time to

    meet. I came here last year just to make sure I had the year right. I was so afraid I had missed the

    date and luckily I talked myself into thinking it was definitely this year. I think I might have just shown  

    up every year.”-We both sit.

    “Frank, that is so relieving I’ve missed you! I never allowed myself to think I was not going to see you

    again.”

    “Naw Aisley, I took that day pretty hard. My dad tried to be with a lady that had a daughter and I

    raised hell, total rebellion, enough to push her away. The nerve of him, trying to put me through

    more trauma and empty promises of family, we could never really be close after that day they

    separated us.”-The sound of a few cars swooping overhead filled the pause.

    “You want a Tab and some twinkies!? ,I offer”

    “Sure, he answers with a smirk, you still eating gas station food?”

    “I got them at the general store, I’m going to have to get to know you all over again, this use to be

    your favorite.” -After a couple minutes of us tearing into our signature snack, we both look at each

    other and let out comments of disapproval

    “Yuck”, I say with a scrunched face.

    “Man, is this what we liked? What else you got in that bag..”,he interrupts himself. “The dAisyy bag,   

    you still have that thing?”

    “I was going for nostalgia if you hadn’t noticed.” I say, in playful sarcasm.

    “I’d say you’re hitting the mark. Thank you. Thank you for not forgetting me. I got this tattoo just last  

    year, it’s like how you said- for me to put you in my heart.”

    “I thought that might have been what that was about, it looks pretty slick. I’m honored.”

    -We smile at each other, and there’s another pause, this time the train rolls through.

    “Do you want to walk around? Thanks for camping out last night, so I didn’t have to sit in this spot

    all day, I forgot about how loud and frequent the train is.”- I started helping Frank take down his tent

    and pack up.

    “Yeah, I’m used to it, I live by a train out in Portland.”

    “Portland, Maine?” - I say, anticipating a yes.

    “Oregon, you?”

    “Vermont”, I say on a low note. -Another pause was in order as we processed that silently continuing

    to unloop tent poles. We ended up on different sides of the country, where do we go from here?

    *It’s been a month since Frank and I reunited, I’ve been playing over and over the events of those few days we had before having to part again, walking around our old playground, revisiting places and discovering new ones. Our last night there we had a long dinner and a new pact was made. I see the mailman arrive and run down eagerly to meet him; it appears he’s carrying an envelope I’ve been awaiting. This is understood so he’s holding it up conveniently for me to pluck. “Thanks Mr.Barnes!” I run back upstairs and open it eagerly-

The note reads: “It’s done sister, Looking forward to Thanksgiving!”

                                                                Love, Frank Lockhart

    The envelope includes a photocopy of his new ID and a certificate of name change. Immediately, a grand sense of healing surrounds me. I open my desk drawer, pull out my new ID and place it next to Frank’s photocopy-Frank Lockhart, Aisley Lockhart.