The Return

I've been away for a while. So much has changed in this place I once called home. To most, six years isn't such a long time. But when I look back now, I realize how much of a kid I'd been. Sure, now I'm only 21, still considered one of the young ones.

I was lucky. I got out. This is the second time I've been back. The first was just a visit to relatives. I was still in high school then. Oh, it must have been four years back. By that time it felt as if I was a stranger to this place.

Now, I'm just an alien.

But this place, it draws us back in. If you don't get out soon enough, it takes hold on you. It eats away at you until you finally give in and return. I know how it works... you can leave, but you come back. You always come back. Your youth spent trapped in this desolate wasteland until at last, it releases you. But by then it is already too late. Your life is over, or ruined, or worse, ended.

I stopped at a light that was never here before. I took this moment to check the directions, scrawled on a soiled napkin from a Waffle House on exit 59. I didn't need to. I knew the back roads that had been untouched by the sudden burst of urbanization. It would be slower, but I could turn now and take them to my destination.

At the last moment, I jerked the wheel of my car, swerving into the turn lane. Shit, I didn't realize this was my turn. Horns blared, but I didn't care as my Honda Civic shot forth and leapt into traffic. My jaw squared, I gunned it. A pot-hole jostled my car, my engine whinned. The old junk heap for a moment lost control when I'd made it through. A mailbox took out my passenger side mirror. It now dangled by a thin black wire.

I'll pull into the next gas station. Buy a roll of duct tape.

Yeah, I've been gone long enough to forget this place has a habit of breaking everything apart.

I laughed at my own stupidity, my heart slowing as I reached for the radio. The only station I could remember was 96.4 FM. It was rock, though not of the sort I cater to. At least it was something other than the country bumpkin and bible thumpin that was on every other station my piece of shit picked up.

I slammed on the breaks suddenly, checking my rearview mirror. Good, there isn't anyone behind me. With a pull of the lever, I kicked the old scrap in reverse. A few pastures backwards, and I found the driveway. It was strange, seeing a farm again. This hidden acclove, tucked safely off the main road. It was one of the few places where time stood still.

The mirror swung as concrete turned to gravel, then at last to a beaten dirt path. I was amused by a few cows here and there in the fields that ran alongside me on both sides. Before long, I could see the house. A small one story place. A single car parked out front, surrounded by a hoarde of trucks. Trucks of the sort that one would see in the parking lot at a Nascar race. I paid this no mind as I pulled in beside a mini-van tucked off to the side near what appeared to be a shed.

I turned off the radio, then the air conditioning. When I opened the door, the old Gerogia heat hit me like a semi, and for a moment I felt disoriented. I grasped the door for support as I caught my breath. I was used to high temperatures, having spent the first four years away from this place in Florida. But at least there, it rained and lessened the intensity. Here, it was just humid. Sweat already forming on my brow, I regretted wearing my best jeans and a black t-shirt.

I hit the locks and shut the door, wiping my face with arm before making my way to the front porch. I could see them gathered around the door. Others sitting on the rail or the bench swing. Most of them sat in silence, a sweating glass of iced tea in hand.

A few faces turned to me, but none spoke a word in my direction.

I gave them a small nod. I'd already missed the main event of the day. I knew I had just by the looks of the others. Dirt dusted on the bottoms of trousers and skirts. I looked around for a certain face.

I found her when she passed one of the windows inside. Carefully making my way through the congregation, I managed to get to the door. Slowly, I gave a few taps on the metal frame of the screen door.

"Mrs. H?" I ventured calmly.

A younger woman answered the door. "I'm sorry," she said. "Dolores doesn't want to see anyone right now."

I nodded my understanding and turned to go back down the porch, wait in the shade of a tree away from the others before they took notice of me.

At my back, I heard "Who was at the door?" in an old woman's soft voice.

"I don't know, I've never seen him before," she replied.

I glanced over my shoulder. She was close to the door, the younger woman trying to get the older to go back into the living room. I turned around again, and returned to the screen door. "Mrs. H," I said.

She smiled and her eyes lit up. The younger woman stood in dumbfoundment as her elder got past. She opened the door quickly. "Come in, come in," she said in forced cheer.

I nodded, and pulled a travel size pack of Kleenex from my pocket. I opened it and pulled out two, giving one to her and keeping one to wipe my face.

She led me to the living room, and offered me a seat. She sat down, her back to the window as I sat on the brown, red, and orange plaid couch. "I'm sorry for your loss," I said without thinking. She nodded and dabbed at her eyes.

"You were always one of his favorites," she said with a forced smile.

"I'm sorry for just dropping by... I'd meant to attend the service, but I didn't find out until yesterday morning," I said. "I drove all day and night to get here."

Again, she nodded. The younger brought me a glass of iced tea. I took a sip and wrinkled my nose. It was bitter. Another thing I'd forgotten about this place. Most of the tea was either liquid sugar or almost lemonade. I set my glass down on a coaster. "He was a good man," I said, then followed with, "And a better teacher."

She again nodded, rocking gently in her rocking chair. I could tell she was ready to cry again. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. My hand found easily in the old leather thing a scrap of paper. It was yellowed with time and marred by sweat and rain. I carefully unfolded it and laid it out on the coffee table. "I still have the haiku he wrote for me when I left."

She smiled, and I knew this time it was sincere. "Even though we have kids of our own, and even they have kids now, he was never as proud of them as he had been with you. His little samurai."

We laughed at our private joke.

I heard a whisper from the window, but I forced my attention from it.

Me and the old woman spent the afternoon in her living room. Crying, laughing, talking of good times. We spoke in soft, almost silent voices when we began catching up, telling of what happened to each of us, as well as the Old Man, after we had said farewell to one another six years ago.

At last, night was falling. Mosquitos and fireflies took to the air in force. I finished off the glass of tea I had been nursing all afternoon. I rose. I said farewell. I gave the old woman a gentle, but warm embrace. She cried on my shoulder, and thanked me for coming, even though I'd missed the service. She said just seeing me showed her that her husband had made a difference in the world. That people still cared, not because he was well known in this small town, but because he had made an impact on others that ran deeper than just word of mouth.

I gave her another hug at the door before stepping out onto the porch. I'd gone all evening without a cigarette. My head was throbbing from the nicotine fit. I stopped at the bottom step and lit up one of my Doral reds. Most of the others had left, stopping by a window or the door to say their goodbyes. There now remained only the mini-van, the car, two trucks, and my dark blue Civic.

I was met at my car by a young woman and a man. At first, they were hessitant to speak. So I spoke first, it was only the polite thing to do. "Hello," I said.

"Hi," the young woman replied. Her deep accent was strange to me. I hadn't heard such a thing for so long with the exception of the old woman.

The young man said nothing. I smiled and brushed my blue hair back and tucked it behind my ear. "It's getting late," I said.

"Yeah," she replied. She smiled back at me. The young man whispered in her ear. I started to pull my keys from my pocket. She stopped me with a few words. "How did you know him?" she asked.

"He was a close friend," I replied, unlocking my door.

And that was the end of it.

I spent the night in the local Holiday Inn at the edge of town. It was already late, and I didn't feel that I should wake my grandmother to let me in the door.

The next morning, I woke around five or so, and it was still quite dark outside.

When I'd finished with my shower and got dressed, it was somewhere around six. Not wanting to torture my stomach with the traditional Continental Breakfast, I gathered my things and returned the key to the front desk. I paid my bill, and I left.

After a brief breakfast at the nearest Waffle House, I looked up the number for the high school in the phone book. I made an appointment with the principal for 11:30 before calling my grandmother to tell her I was in town. That I'd need a place to stay for a while. She asked why, I just said I wanted to visit. I could hear my brother in the background.

She asked me how my mother was doing. I said she was fine. It wasn't a lie, not entirely. She was fine the last time I had seen her about ten months ago. I cut the conversation short, and said I'd see her around four, and that I'd be joining her and my cousins for dinner.

She said okay, and that she loved me, and we hung up.

I still had a few hours left to kill, so I sought out some of my old haunts and neighborhoods. I'd lived in almost every part of this town at one point in my younger days. I drove past my childhood home, which now was white. When we moved, it was still the ugly bright red that haunts most of my nightmares. Across town, I took a tour of the appartment complex I once lived in. I knew the rates here, I knew the cost of utilities. I stopped by the office and signed a lease for a one bedroom appartment in one of the end buildings before moving on. I'd already had everything here set up for my arrival when I pulled onto the highway after a brief meal at exit 59. I just had to sign the paperwork, provide proof of existence and a valid work record (to prove that I could pay my bills) and I was ready to move on. It was of little consequence that I had come five months earlier than I had already been planning to do. And with the sudden departure of my old friend and mentor, who I had already been discussing replacing at the school, the need for such a sudden and drastic change in plans was a simple choice to make.

I took a slow drive through the last place I had lived here. A large neighborhood with those new commercial houses. I drove even slower around the bend where I had once lived; the ugly yellow house with the black mailbox. The siding was white now, but I knew better. I could see from the road that my father's old yuca plant still grew in the back yard.

I smiled at it. It looked like a marajuana plant. Briefly, I wondered if the house's new owners realized what it really was.

I drove on. It was getting late in the morning by now, so I made my way back across town, back to that same four lane road that my new appartment was on. My appointment was soon, and I'd dressed rather decently for it when I awoke this morning.

I arrived five minutes early, and waited in the lobby. I read one of the old issues of some scholastic magazine. Yes, this was only late July, but even now summer school was still in progress, and would be until the end of the week.

I met with the principal at the appointed time. At first, I could tell he assumed he had been played as a fool, even after I approached him and shook his hand. Obviously, my blue hair wasn't making any friends here today. Once we were in his office, I explained my purpose for wanting to meet with him on such short notice. I provided him with a folder, listing my credentials, my degrees. All of the important things one must have to teach. Once he realized who I was, and why exactly I had come much sooner than anticipated, he was grateful for my promptness so soon after the man I was replacing was put into the ground.

By the time we were through, around 2 or so, I could tell he was impressed with me. He said he would contact the school board. He said he would push to have me approved in time to begin on the first day of school.

I thanked him, and shook his hand once more before departing.

I still had a few hours before it would be time to go to my grandmother's. I decided to kill the time by taking the back roads, to bask for a while in nostalgia before finally returning to civilization.

My brother greeted me at the door. My grandmother had a doctor's appointment. My aunt had gone with her. At first, he did not want to let me in. He said I was lying, and that he would call the police if I didn't leave. It took me some convincing, but he eventually allowed me entry.

He was uneasy, and would not speak to me, despite the fact that until now, he would always talk to me online. I had expected this sort of reaction. I was used to it by now. I broke the ice by asking him how our grandmother had been doing lately.

In the back of my mind, I was actually amazed he had not been told about me at all. I had assumed my mother had told everyone about what I had done. But, it seemed she missed at least one ear. My grandmother came in with the help of my aunt around six. Dinner tonight was going to be late. I told her not to worry herself over it. I could help fix something.

She smiled warmly at me and told me not to worry. After supper, we talked, we caught up. I apologized to her for just showing up, and for not calling her as much as I should. I knew that part was all my own fault. I knew she wasn't too happy with me, all things considered. But not once did she scold me (other than for not calling) nor did she say anything unkind. She's always been like that. But I don't blame her for it. It was the era she grew up in. Back then, whites were white. Blacks were black. Men were men, and women were women.

We had hot dogs and chilli for dinner. I spent the night next door at my other aunt's house in her spare bedroom. One of my elder cousins was interrested in the sort of work I did and my life in general. Her sister was a downright bitch. But she's certified insane, so I didn't say much about it until she had gone to sleep.

I spent the week familiarizing myself with the town, rediscovering places I'd forgotten completely. Wandering around the historic downtown area. Buying furniture for my new appartment.

My elder cousin helped me with the interrior decorating, since back in college that had been her major. Had it not been for her condition, she would currently be working in Atlanta for a high profile company. Even though she didn't ask, I paid her very well for her work. Unlike most people, I didn't treat her like a cripple. I let her handle everything she could on her own, and what she couldn't, I let her figure out how to take care of it herself. In my experience, I've found it's always best not to treat anyone special unless it is necessary.

She didn't want to take the check, but I told her if she didn't, I'd ask her mother for a deposit slip and put it in her account myself. She laughed, and when she realized I was serious, she took the check.

At the end of the week, I'd finished setting myself up, and moved in. I phoned some of my friends in Florida, and told them to pack up what I had down there and bring it to me. I would reimburse them for their trouble. After much convincing, they agreed.

On the third day of August, they arrived with my things, most of which were promptly placed in storage. The smaller things came inside. That same day, I received a call from the county school board. I was to come the next day to meet with one of the officials for a more standard interview. I knew it was just procedure. I already had the job I wanted.

I celebrated that night with a few beers and video games with my friends. Most of them went to a motel. Two of them stayed. We had sex in my room, then ate a late dinner. Afterwards, we went to sleep.

I woke up the next morning, showered, and made breakfast. We ate, and they left. I had a cigarette on my way over. It was just a few streets to the county school board office. I met with one of the board members. He told me what I already knew. I was to go on over to the school, just two streets over, and begin setting up my classroom.

I thanked him and shook his hand, then left. I stopped by the gas station across the street for a cappuchino and a cup of ramen noodles. I arrived at the school, and filled out my required paperwork.

That part took most of the day. At last, the secretary showed me around the building I knew from memory. Showed me the classrooms. We met some teachers. Most of which I had been taught by myself when I had gone here. They did not recognize me at all. Well, most of them didn't. There was this one teacher, a gym teacher named David. We'd attended the same church when I was a child. He was not pleased to see me, but he was polite.

The secretary showed me to my classroom. She asked if I'd known the man who once taught here. I said yes. He was a close friend of mine. She gave her condolences. I accepted them, and went inside behind her. There was already someone there, setting up computers and desks.

I knew who she was right away, though I'd never had her for a teacher. Her name was Ms. McPherson. Though Mr. H was still the official teacher for the class that now was mine, this woman had taken everything over.

She shook my hand when the secretary introduced us. The secretary said if I had any questions, then I was welcome to come up to the office. Ms. McPhereson was not pleased to see me. I smiled, and accepted the keys for my classroom and office and the secretary left. I took a quick walk around the almost empty room. There was a crowd of desks near the front by the marker board and two teacher style desks. Cubicle like walls separated the room in half, leaving a wide open space beyond where the computers were put out, but not turned on.

"This won't do," I said at last, standing in the middle of the open space.

"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to be polite.

"All of these computers," I replied, "Are Macintosh Apples. They're not compatable with any of the software."

"Only the yearbook staff uses software. And I've already set up-"

"I'll have to speak with Mr. Manning and the AV department. All this has to be replaced. I'll put in an order to Dell or Hewlit Packard tomorrow."

She was angry with me, I could tell. But she was not the teacher here in this domain. I was. And I would not allow her to run the show that was technically mine to direct.

We spent the remainder of the day arguing. Eventually, she threw up her hands, mumbled something about going straight to the principal, and left. I cannot say I was not glad to see her go. From what I had always heard, she was a complete power hungry bitch. I guess those rumors were true after all.

I went into my office. It was still set up from the Old Man's strange organization system. But it was one I had mastered in a mere hour in my youth, and I was able to locate everything I needed quite easily.

By the end of the week, the Apples had been ripped out and replaced with beautiful black Dells, complete with new printers. I received my software shortly after. I spent the remainder of my time installing it all with the help of some members of the AV department, my work interrupted only by sleep and faculty meetings.

The next day it was the first day of school for the children. I had three classes. The first was the class that dealt with creating the Yearbook. After a short introduction to the new system, which most already knew how to operate, and introducing myself, I left them alone. They knew what they were doing. And I trusted them.

My second class was a creative writing class. Mostly freshman, a few upper classmen, and a senior in for an easy A. I was not impressed by her to say the least. The class was noisy and wild. One of the teachers across the hall ducked her head in to tell them to be quiet. I must say, I was proud then. I knew the class had potential. It had the element of being random. After the first assignment, the standard "What did you do over summer break?" essay, I already began to make a list of students I wanted on the newspaper.

Ah, my third class. They had third lunch. At each chime of the bell, they would all jump up and head for the door, only to be told that it was not their bell. Like with the other two, I introduced myself. However, unlike the other two, I was forced to go into detail about the new system with which they would operate. One of my editors-in-chief's eyes lit up. Apparently he had worked on the paper the year before, as well as the year before that. He remembered the old system, and was glad to have it back.

The remainder of the day was spent setting up for the next, and so forth.

The first month was without incident. After that, I noticed some of the other faculty members whispering behind my back. Spreading rumors in the office. To me, they were no better than the students themselves at their little game.

Only a few teachers I considered worth my time, and they had been the ones who thought enough to bring the rumors to my attention.

One of them was Mrs. Loretta Cambell. I had been in her ninth grade English class. She had always been kind to me. Once, after a faculty meeting, when there were only a few others left in the cafeteria, she came to me to ask if the rumors were true.

I had said yes. And that was that. She didn't say anything else of them. The old woman quickly became my friend. Another teacher had been Mr. Whitsell. I remember he had always been a little insane. But that is what made him an excellent Geography teacher. It was from him I had learned that Ms. McPherson was the source of the nasty gossip. But I paid it no mind. So long as it did not affect my work, it was of no importance to me.

Out first issue of the paper came out without a hitch. I bought the kids pizza to celebrate. They were quite suprised that I'd do such a thing. The principal stopped by for a slice or two, congradulated me for my good work. I told him it was not my doing, it was the students. He smiled, gave me a nod, and left us.

By now, I had settled in quite well, though I always felt uneasy of the town. I have yet to navigate my way through the new places, but I was managing.

A/N - I will do my best not to clutter this story with too many author notes. But this first chapter needs it. First off, I wanna say that this had started as a colab project between me and a dear friend, but it has since become a solo project of mine that's sat on the backburner. So unless I get inspired to write on it more, once I've posted everything I've got of it... that's pretty much it. It's going to stary off as rated T, but may and probably will change as the story goes on. I am unsure at this time. Also, yes, that small town really does exist. Yes, I REALLY DID live there. And yes, Mrs. McPhearson IS a total bitch. Just sayin. n.n And now, the overall tone for this story is supposed to be nonchalant, as we were experimenting with existentialism at the time this was written, so it may sound a bit like a giant run-on sentence and story, but that was a bit intentional on our part. n.n