The Walk Home

The Walk Home

“Greetings and salutations, faithful reader, allow me to introduce myself. I will begin by saying that most people, and I’m sure you’re one of them, know the story of the very curious earth-goddess Pandora, and how she unleashed all the evils and miseries of the world by opening a forbidden box. I’m part of the story as well. My name is Elpis, which means hope and, at the very least, expectations. I did not escape from the chest, and so I can still speak softly to those who wish to hear. I try to be there as a beam of optimism for people who believe in me and my message of dreaming and trust. This is the story of one such human.” 

***

Fall came with its cooler weather and brilliant colors, and as usual on Friday evening, Jake Nelson left the village behind and slowly walked towards the longstanding footbridge. He steered the old wooden cart, which was being pulled by Lulu, the goat. The trip was taking twice as long as usual because Lulu kept stopping to nibble on whatever she passed. 

Jake took off the straw hat that used to be his grandfather’s and gently swiped the goat’s backside. “C’mon. Lulu, we don’t have all day.”

As the goat, the boy, and the cart moved onto the bridge, Jake could almost hear the old landmark groan with the weight of the hundreds of villagers who relied on it to join the main part of town to the farms on the other side of the water. 

Jake paused a while. It was hard to believe it had only been a few weeks before, that the weather had permitted him to climb onto its unsteady railing and dive off. The thirteen-year-old boy loved to splash into the welcoming coolness of the stream. Now with the air turning brisk and the sun setting earlier, the water seemed to dare him to jump, and he trembled at the thought of reaching the menacing darkness.

Laughing to himself, he thought that at least he would have the image of Martha and her sister Pauline skinny-dipping to keep him warm throughout the Nebraska winter. The season would be bad, it always was, but he knew his family, as a Nelson had lived here for over a hundred years, would be prepared.

           Jake stroked his fingers over the many names of lovers carefully carved on the banister by hopeful youngsters from long ago. He knew the biggest signature was his great-grandfather Joshua’s, who helped build the bridge, with lumber cut down to clear the land for the Nelson’s homestead. He also recognized his grandparents’ and parents’ names. Right then, Jake decided he would add his and Martha’s name next summer. 

The young boy glanced down and noticed some leaves riding on top of the water like tiny boats. He wished he could be on one, setting out somewhere far away. It didn’t really matter where, just not here. Knowing how much his parents depended on him, he felt guilty thinking that way, but still he wondered what it was like in other places. Places that were warm and sunny all year long. Somewhere with friendly people who didn’t get angry if it rained too much or, even worse, if none came at all. Conversation around here always seemed to center on the year’s crops, the price of corn and wheat, and the uncertainty of the market. He was sure he would find such a place, at least he hoped so.

Jake and Lulu moved on and took the familiar footpath that went through the meadow and came out on the edge of the cornfield. He turned to the right and slumped down the cobblestone road. 

Suddenly Jake shivered. The wind was building up speed as he followed the familiar route home. Sometimes it seemed like a voice to him, and he thought it was calling his name. He even swore he heard it laugh. Although it sounded crazy, he was sure he recognized it. Then Jake knew exactly what it was. His father, Ezra Nelson, was waking up. The boy stepped quickly to the back of the cart and pulled back the burlap cover.

“We’re almost home, Pa.”

Ezra, sobering up in the wagon, gave another chuckle and then turned over.

Jake would give him a little while longer, then he would make him get out and walk the rest of the way. It was important to Jake that his father looked alert, at least a little before they reached the farmhouse. Jake’s mother would wait, as she always did. He didn’t exactly understand why. At his young age, he thought she was foolish to stay. He didn’t understand commitment, at least not yet, but he understood mean, and his father was just that, a mean son of a bitch. Course, he would never say that out loud, but thinking it seemed acceptable.

One day he got up the nerve to ask her, “Tell me, Momma, why can’t we just get out of here?”

“Where would we go? Your father would die without us.”

Jake didn’t care. In fact, he would admit, but just to himself, that might be a good thing, no more drunken father, no more waiting mother, no more cold winters, no more anything. He’d go to where it was warm all year around, sunny, and bright, with just a soft breeze. Not like the winds here that beckoned him and made him shiver with a coldness that curled its way into his spine and stayed there all winter.

Jake helped his father out of the cart and got him on his feet to walk the last quarter mile. He knew this didn’t fool his mother, but she pretended everything was fine and dandy. Supper was quiet and his father was falling asleep before it was done. Jake and his mother helped him to bed and the sound of his slumber was loud and deep.

Back then, Jake didn’t hate his father, not completely, anyway, but he vowed never to be like him. In fact, he promised himself that he would be as different as possible from him. Someday he would marry Martha and they would leave this vile place. At least he hoped so. He would never disappoint her and go to town to drink away half of the month’s wages, or smell like a dog in the rain.

***

“Pardon me, it’s Elpis again, my faithful bibliophile, if I may interject at this point. You may wonder what Jake did with the gift of hope I gave him? Well, everyone says time is a thief, and it stole the days and months away from the Nelson’s farm. So, with that in mind, let’s continue the tale.”

Months turned into years and harvests came and went. Some were good, and some were bad. Some people left because they chose to, and others were gone because their time here in this world was up, and as you know, there’s no choice in that. Course, some things stayed the same, like the old wooden bridge that still goes across the water. The railing is a little more shaky and there are a lot more names notched on it. It’s Friday night and again a boy is slowly walking along the footpath through the meadow, where the shadows of the balding trees are deep as they always are in the fall. Finally, he continues following the cobblestone road until he is near the farmhouse.

He calls out, “We’re almost home.”

Jake Nelson drags the burlap cover off himself as he laughs and sits up. “You’re a good son, Billy. Take the cart to the barn. I’ll walk from here.” 

On unsteady legs Jake weaves his way to where Martha stands, as she always does, on the porch, where his own mother had stood all those years before waiting for her husband until the day he died. Jake took over the responsibility of the farm, hoping it would just be a temporary situation. But the farm was an albatross that slowly sucked all the hope out of him. 

Right now, young Billy loves his father but, soon, that could change. He already swore, to the powers that be, that he would never be like him, never, not ever. His heart is full of hope, and the boy declares he will move away and live where it is warm all year round, sunny and bright, with just a soft breeze, not a strong impatient wind that whispers his name and freezes his soul. 

***

“Before I bid you good-day, and since my gift is not fortune telling, I can honestly declare, faithful reader, I don’t know if Billy will reach his goal or not. But this I can say and ask you to please remember, I am Hope, and I won’t ever leave you. It is you who abandons me.”

                                                  Elpis