Visions of valleys

I peered through the viewfinder, encasing the vista within my shot. The air was still and stifling. I paused, taking in the rolling valleys, barns, and farmhouses, with my finger on the button as though it were a trigger. Every picture on this thing is money spent, money I don't have. I have to be exact. I dropped the camera from my face and let it dangle around my neck. The trees here are deceptively lush on the river roars, abundant with fish as though this were that kind of place. I'm not sure of the kind of place this is. Everything about as far as the eye could see had secrecy and deception built into the rocks at the core of the mountains and dark secrets run deep in the groundwater.

That being said, it looks appealing from a distance. The houses are brightly painted, and cars move like beetles to and fro. It's like when you're on an airplane, and all that occupies your mind is getting off and returning to society. There's an unsteadiness about being suspended and apart, which shakes you in ways you didn't know it could. Then you land. You realize how awful and suffocating it is and why humans have always been so adamant to take flight. That's exactly what it's like, except here the forces that keep you returning are far more complex and elusive. But they do just that. They keep you here until your flesh rots from your bones.

I continued to walk along the dirt track back to my truck. I took snapshots of birds and flowers and occasionally found a perspective I hadn't imagined before. Although that's very rare. The truck began to appear in the distance. It was once a vibrant red but had since faded to terracotta. Rust had begun to eat away at the body, and someone had written “clean me” in the window dust. It works, that's what matters. Anyway, trucks are expensive. I noticed the sky began to fade to a dusky orange hue and realized it must have been some time since I checked my watch. It hadn't felt as though as much time had passed as evidently did. I can spend half an hour on one photograph and only perceive about 30 seconds of it. It's as though my mind is a vacuum of everything else for those minutes. I glanced down at my watch. The band was thick tanned and cracked leather with a gold clock face. It was already 6:00. Was Hugo’s flight landing at 5:00 or 6:00? I couldn't quite remember. Vivian told me yesterday, but I honestly hadn't been listening. I had to abandon my follies and return home.

Inside, the truck smelled of familiarity. Even though I don't smoke anymore, the aroma had fused into the fabric of the seats long ago. Tobacco mixed with the smell of the vanilla freshener I always buy. I took in the comfort of my intimate awareness of it, then turned the key in the ignition, expecting to hear a low grumble as it came to life. Much to my surprise, the air remained thick with silence. I tried once more but to no avail. I let out a deep and frustrated sigh as what had happened finally clicked. I hopped out of the truck and glanced up and down the road. For once in my life, I was hoping to see another human being. I stood there for a few minutes. Just as the interior of my truck had greeted me with its familiar aroma, the smells of the valley were something that I knew deeply. The perfume of the wildflowers hung delicately in the atmosphere. Somewhere in the distance, someone had obviously lit a campfire, and the smoky smell mixed with pungent moss. Just as I was about to give up and call Vivian, I heard the wheels of some vehicle as it moved swiftly across the dirt road. From my right, I could see a blue van rounding the corner. I stepped to the side of the road and waved frantically, hoping I might get out of this mess. When the van slowed to a stop, I let out a sigh of relief. Before me was Tom. I knew Tom from where we used to work at the paper mill. Of course, it no longer existed. Like many things in this place, it had succumbed to ruin. It always seemed it was the best things that met this fate, at least around here. Tom's a very lively man, to put it lightly. Like many of this disposition, his laughter was infectious. And like many infectious things, you didn't always want to catch it. He could make a joke out of anything, and you'd find yourself in hysterics. Perhaps against your better judgment. As soon as he saw me, his face lit up for reasons I cannot explain. Sure, we knew each other, but I had always felt as though he had merely put up with me.

He rolled down his window. “Gus! You all right there, buddy?” He seemed genuinely concerned, which I had not seen coming.

“Ah, just a bit of trouble with my truck. I was going to call Vivian and—”

“Hop in, seriously don't worry about it. I'm sure they can send someone to pick it up in the morning.”

I looked around as though I really had another option before saying, “I really appreciate it, Tom, with Hugo coming home and all.”

He smiled at the mention of Hugo. Everyone around here knew of Hugo’s important job in the city. His success had become the talk of the town for some time. Some more distasteful voices had started saying that he was sending money back home and that we were hoarding it all to ourselves. Of course, this wasn't true. I rarely even heard from Hugo. In fact, I don't think we'd had a proper conversation since he was a boy. When we did, both of us could sense the superficial nature of what was being said.

“Of course, of course. What's he doing back in this dump?” He said it in a sort of affectionate way. Only he could really call it a dump, whereas if I had said it, I would have really meant it.

“Just visiting really.” I honestly don't know why he decided to come. I got a call last week out of the blue to tell me of this trip to town. It wasn't like him at all. He's far more planned, I would say, but I don't really know if I know him. Sure, he's my son, but I had always felt there was a chasm between us, uncrossable and treacherous.

“You and Hugo should come round for drinks if you're up for it. Even later tonight, Jenna won’t—”

Normally, I would say no, but to be honest, the prospect of having everyone back in the house just sitting there scared me slightly. I could already sense the tension that even the sharpest of knives wouldn't be able to cut through.

“Uh, you know what, I think I might take you up on that offer.”

Tom took one hand off the wheel and gave my shoulder a hard pat and shook it slightly. “That's the spirit, Gus! You know, I really do miss the good old days.” I'm not sure exactly which days he's referring to. Sure, the paper mill wasn't the worst of it, but it made me slightly sad to think of this old man reminiscing about a time that he would never get back.

We pulled into the driveway of my house just as Vivian’s car was coming down the road. In the passenger seat, I could see Hugo. He looked slightly different from the last time I saw him. I could see a few grey hairs poking out between his mop of jet-black curly hair. His face seemed more gaunt, and bags marred his under eyes. I jumped out to greet him.

“What happened to the truck?” Vivian asked just as Hugo was gathering his things.

“The darn thing broke down on me. I’ll have to send someone out in the morning.”

“Hugo's pretty tired,” she declared, obviously having moved on from my truck. I nodded in response, with some awareness of what that might mean. Tom walked from behind me, just as Hugo got out of the car.

“Hey, there Hugo. I was just asking your dad if the two of you would like to come for drinks.”

“Um, yeah, I guess so.” He looked to me for reassurance, which was a rare thing.

“I'd be happy to go.” I looked to Vivian. She didn't seem too miffed at the prospect of being excluded. I very much doubt she would have wanted to join anyway. The thing about Tom is that he is very much a traditionalist or man's man as you might say. I'm sure he would be shocked and appalled to see Vivian outdrink him as I'm almost certain she would. Perhaps, a younger version of her would question him on her lack of an invite and bring up his patriarchal standards for drinking buddies. However, in the moment, she remained silent.

I thanked Tom for the lift and began to help Hugo in with his things. He had a surprising amount with him, a large suitcase as well as an oversized duffel bag. I couldn't remember how long he said he would stay. Maybe I hadn't asked.

As we walked into the kitchen, I realized I hadn't eaten all day. Usually Julie did the cooking. I turned to Vivian for answers, and she looked back at me as though she knew what I was thinking and thought in return that I was being extremely rude to be expecting anything from her.

“Pizza is alright with you guys?” Hugo had sat down at the kitchen table as though he didn't quite fit in with the surroundings or as though this were new and unfamiliar territory. They both nodded in response, and Vivian joined Hugo.

As we sat around the table tucking into our pizza, there was a distinct silence. It wasn't a casual silence, the one you might find while food is being enjoyed. This was a far different thing. It was uncomfortable, and it seemed to shout violently at us.

As we sat around the table tucking into our pizza, there was a distinct silence. It wasn't a casual silence, the one you might find while food is being enjoyed. This was a far different thing. It was uncomfortable, and it seemed to shout violently at us.

“It’s almost eight, you guys should get going. I'm gonna go to bed, I have work unfortunately.” She dramatically rolled her eyes justice Hugo scoffed. She turned to him sharply, “what was that?!” He looked shocked at being accused of anything.

“Nothing” he replied.

She wasn't going to let go of this, “no seriously, what is it?!”

Realising he wasn't going to get away with it he replied “So what exactly are you working at now? Last I remember, you worked in a bar.”

“So?!” She answered back sharply.

“I'm just saying, it's not exactly the most serious profession. Who cares if you sleep in.”

“Like I said I'm going to bed.” She got up and threw her plate down onto the counter.

Once she had left, I turned to Hugo, “You really do have to be less harsh on her.”

“You know, you're the reason she never got up off her ass.”

I was taken aback by the sudden direction of hostility towards me.

“You know what happened.” I said, trying my best to not actually get into it.

I stood up, “We can walk to Tom's place.”

We walked once again in silence to Tom's house. The night had well set in at this stage. The smokiness I had detected in the air was now in full force. On the neighbouring mountain, I could see the flicker of headlights as they wound round the windy roads.

At Tom’s, the wine flowed in red tidal waves and we had abandoned our hostilities with the help of alcohol . I took it in, knowing it would not be soon to come again. The whole night is a sort of haze now. I remember we went to the local bar and, with my camera still in hand I took snapshots of the night. The next thing that seemingly came was my warm and soft bed. It held me as my head spun. I stared up at the ceiling and watched the fan and everything else go round and round. Then sleep enveloped my senses.

I was awoken by the song of morning birds, as they went from their nests into the brand new day. I could hear some sort of hum of activity coming from the kitchen. As I entered, freshly cooked bacon and eggs wafted from the door. Just inside Vivian was standing over a hot stove. In the corner, a very deflated looking Hugo sat, in front of a steaming cup of coffee, blacker than his hair. The smoke curled in the air like kelp at the bottom of a lake.

“Morning,” I said, greeting them both. Hugo grunted in response, clearly not able for much more. I walked past them both into the garage where I had my darkroom setup. I flicked on the red lights and got to work. The place had an eerie feel, it was almost unsettling in the bask of red light.

At some point Vivian had placed a plate of egg and bacon just inside the door. I must have been so consumed with my work that I'd hardly noticed. I left them untouched and they grew cold in the uninsulated garage.

As my photo of the valley, I thought I was so intimately aware of came into fruition something wasn't right. I was expecting one thing and sure enough I got the other as always seems to happen. But this was different, as I looked down at the picture the mountains didn't look quite right. They were out of place and even the houses seemed to have been rearranged. I called Vivian in quickly, knowing she's the only other person who like me reluctantly knew every elevation and shape of the valley.

“What is it?” She said opening the door.

“Take a look at this!”

She glanced over my shoulder, with a confused look. “It's a nice photo I guess.”

“Does something not look off to you?”

She let out a nervous laugh “Should it?”

“I'm serious.” I retorted, “Everything's in the wrong place.”

“What do you mean, it's just the valley.”

Realising I was getting nowhere I dropped it, “Never mind.”

She skulked away back to whatever she'd been doing but the image still played on my mind. How could something so close, so fundamentally a part of my life be unrecognisable? I was there yesterday, I knew the indentations of every slope and the shade every house was painted. This wasn't what I saw. This was something entirely different. Next thing I knew, I heard the shrill ring of the doorbell interrupting my train of thought. I heard no one stir to answer it and so I temporarily abandoned my confusion.

I opened the door to see a cleanly shaven young man with sandy hair standing before me. He smiled at me, with a knowing look. Maybe he was one of the lad’s kids from town. He continued to look at me expectantly.

He must have seen my confusion and he went on to explain himself, “I was just grabbing some milk and I forgot my keys.” This startled me, why on earth would this stranger have keys to my house.

“Vivian!” he called, I was still shell shocked, how did he know Vivian?

Vivian came running to the door. “What's wrong?!” She wasn't talking to me but rather the sandy haired strange man.

“Is dad OK?”

At this point I exploded, “What on earth are you talking about? Who are you and what are you doing at my house?” Perhaps, this was some cruel trick Vivian had come up with to confuse me. It wasn't very funny. But instead of amusement Vivian wore a look of utter horror.

“Dad! It's Jacob, your son.”

“I don't have a son called Jacob what are you talking about?” I started both of them, trying to crack the facade but to no avail. I ran into the house into to my darkroom. I locked the door quickly and dragged a chair to block the entrance. At least I still had my egg and bacon, even if they had gone cold.

I could hear footsteps getting closer and whispering just outside. I could vaguely hear Vivian say, “I don't know what's wrong with him.” And the supposed Jacob say, “Jesus Christ, he didn't recognise me.” There was a panic in his voice, it seemed almost genuine.

Then I had an idea, if this Jacob really did exist, then surely he would have been with us last night. I glanced at the pictures which were hung up on string around the room. In the dim red light, it was hard to make out which photo was which. Eventually, I came across the evidence of our big night out. The first photo, was of me with my arm wrapped around Tom. Obviously, I had given my camera to someone else, something which is markedly unlike me. Then as I looked at the next photo I froze in sheer terror or perhaps shock. Right there in the photo the sandy haired man stood next to Hugo with big grins across their faces and pints in hand. I remember taking this photo except it was only a portrait of Hugo. And now this stranger had somehow appeared. There was obviously something very wrong whether it was with me or the universe. Something deeply fundamental had shifted and altered the course of my existence.

Next I had to decide what to do. I could continue to not recognise “Jacob” and Vivian and Hugo’s concerns could rise or I could play along with it. Either way it wasn't going to end well but one way would certainly end worse. I compose myself and gingerly opened the door. Vivian, Hugo, and Jacob looked up like startled lambs.

“Hey dad, are you OK?! You really scared us.” Vivian was the one to ask this.

“I’m sorry, I really didn't mean to frighten you. I just”

“It's OK, we just wanna make sure you're OK" Vivian gave me sort of hug and sat me down. I hadn’t realised how weak my legs had become.

I honestly don’t think I am okay, at least by any familiar definition of the word. The very fabric of my mind had to twist and contort to contend with such a lie, just as reality had done the same.