by Kasi Blake
~ Chief White Eagle of the Ponca Tribe (ca. 1840-1914)
Sometimes life is too much like a pathless wood, but for me, today, on this grassy patch of sun-smeared Earth, at this specific moment in time, it was the right place for love. I twined my fingers in Jason’s as we stepped along the overgrown pavement, moving beneath the crumbling granite arch of the drive-in entryway. I half-suspected the dangling wires and aged stonework would collapse on our heads as we passed beneath. Against all odds the structure stayed upright, remained monumental and silent as we approached the long-abandoned triangular ticket booth and the massive screen beyond.
Jason smiled at me, his short, chestnut hair shining in the August afternoon sunlight. “So, did you ever go to drive-ins when you were a kid?”
I nodded, looking ahead to the distinctive undulating pattern of the pavement. The hills and valleys would give each car an ideal angle to the screen. The posts with speakers were long gone, though. Only the aging projection house remained, the collapsing main screen stretching before it. An assortment of spindly trees poked up through the blacktop like unruly grey hairs on a Nigerian grandfather’s balding head.
I smiled as I looked across the fading scenery. “My mom would take me to the drive-in during the summers when I was young, back in the seventies. Our family had a dark green AMC Hornet. I would bring my sleeping bag and pillow and think it a grand adventure.”
I shook my head, turning to the massive screen, my eyes drawn to the shadowed areas where the whiteness was interrupted by decay and collapse. Philip K. Dick would have said it was a clear sign of kibble – the inevitable progression of all of life into a messy chaos which smothers us.
I shrugged. “Even when I was a teenager, in the eighties, drive-ins were becoming a thing of the past. They were something seen in vintage settings, like Grease. My friends and I went to the multi-plexes, waiting in line for Ghostbusters and Footloose, eager for chemically-dusted popcorn and filtered air conditioning.”
Jason looked over the landscape around us. “This drive-in opened back in 1947,” he mused. “It survived McCarthyism, the Cold War, and Kent State. It was only the traffic patterns on 146 which finally did it in. I hear a key reason it was shut down in 1996 was that the cars backed up too much on the highway.”
I let out a sigh, brushing my long, auburn hair from my face. “A shame. So much is becoming lost. Lost and decaying, while people are mesmerized by their smart phones and block out their surroundings with tiny white ear buds.” My eyes drew up to the large screen, the pale squares slowly, inexorably, curling away from each other. “I wonder what they were watching back in 1947.”
Jason’s voice came without hesitation. “A Gentleman’s Agreement.”
I glanced over in surprise. “Oh?”
He grinned. “My mother was an avid fan of Gregory Peck. The movie won three Academy Awards and I believe was nominated for eight.”
I smiled. “Maybe we can Netflix it tonight,” I offered. I looked around the wasteland. “However, right now we have a task to complete.”
He nodded. “And a challenging one it is, too. Though why Jeff can’t come out and track down his own gear …”
I nudged him in the side. “We had the day free,” I reminded him. “And with Citadel Airsoft being asked to stop using the grounds for their games, we need to figure out where he tucked that rifle before the new owner takes over. For all we know, they’ll be bulldozing this paradise to turn it into a parking lot.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, so far it’s gone from classic drive-in to pseudo-military combat field.” His eyebrow raised. “Complete with a boat.”
I followed his gaze and chuckled. Parked to the left of the projector building was a fifteen-foot motorboat. As we approached it, we could see a scattering of white pellets in its bow along with several small trees poking up through its floorboards. Apparently the opposing factions in the Battle for Sutton Drive-In had found the beached boat made for good cover.
Jason shook his head, looking around. “All right. Enough sight-seeing. Where did Jeff say he forgot this rifle of his?”
My mouth quirked up in a smile. “He didn’t forget it,” I teased him. “He secreted it, so he could grab it at an opportune time and sneak up on his enemy unawares.” I grinned. “Then, unfortunately, he lost track of where he had put it.”
I walked toward the western side of the clearing, heading away from the highway. The growl of slow cars was faintly audible in the background. It was nearly six p.m. but traffic was still backed up to the Millbury line. The legislators had talked often about removing the light at Tony’s pizza, to remove this evening log-jam, but somehow nothing ever was done.
I looked at the stretch of trees before us. “Jeff said something about a stand of white birch,” I commented. “There isn’t anything but forest for over a half mile in this direction. Lots of options.”
Jason chuckled. “Probably why the drive-in was so popular,” he joked. “You know how teenagers are.”
I smiled at him, and then we both dug into our pockets and pulled out leather gloves. Jason’s years in the forest ranger service had made him well aware of the issues with poison ivy, poison sumac, and disease-bearing ticks. I had been dating him for just about nine months now, and I had learned quickly. No need to risk Lyme disease just to track down a plastic replica of an AR-15.
I glanced up at the sky. Earlier in the day the world had been softened by gentle showers, but now only drifting grey clouds remained, filtering the sun and adding a romantic cast to this first day of August. I took a breath and delved into the phthalo-green shadows of the forest. The landscape was different from the nearby paths in Sutton Forest and Purgatory Chasm that Jason and I enjoyed hiking. This was an overgrown tangle, once a tame edging to a family fun spot, now left to its own insidious devices. Dense patches of Virginia creeper were interlaced with gnarled stretches of goldenrod and wild strawberry.
I smiled, enjoying my explorations, keeping a sharp eye out for a straight shape amongst all the curves. Whatever the excuse, I was immensely content to be exploring the summer wilderness with Jason. His presence was a balm to me, and I had still not quite gotten used to having him in my life. Perhaps I would always hold a tinge of surprise and appreciation that he fit so easily into my world.
I certainly hoped so.
I tripped over an upturned root and went down hard on my knees into the club moss and aster. I shook my head. I wasn’t elderly, but at forty-four I was hardly a toddler either. My yoga routine kept me flexible, but I respected my body’s limitations. I put both hands down to press myself up off the fragrant forest floor.
My left hand settled over something smooth and cylindrical, and I smiled. Perhaps the tripping had been fate, after all. I brushed away the layer of dirt and sediment, my voice gathering to call out to Jason that I’d found the elusive weapon.
The victory cry died in my throat.
The object beneath my gloved fingers was stained with time, discolored with grime, but was clearly not a metal or plastic gun barrel. Rather, it was that delicate ivory which so clearly connected with my soul.
I stared at the bone, and time stood still.
Jason must have been calling my name, for by the time he strode over to me his face was set in half exasperation, half worry. He drew up at my side – and stopped. His gaze snapped into that serious focus that I knew so well. His hand was at his hip, he dialed the three digits, and then he dropped to one knee by my side. His arm wrapped around me, drawing me in, while he spoke into his phone.
“Jason Rowland here. I’m at the Sutton drive-in. We’ve found a dead body. No flesh on the bones that I can see – at least three weeks is my guess. Maybe much longer.” He listened for a moment. “We’ll be here.”
He drew me to my feet, easing me back. I could see now the outline of the rest of the corpse. It seemed the person had been as tall as me – about five foot six – and curled onto one side. I had disturbed the femur, but the re
mainder remained hidden under a layer of dirt and moss. It almost seemed that a natural, earth-brown blanket comforted the dead person, nestling them in against the birch.
It was only minutes before the sirens began, before there were police officers and yellow crime-scene tape and endless questions. But I had no answers to give. The chaos came from all sides and a thought flickered in my mind. Perhaps the skeleton had been content to lie there. Perhaps we had disturbed its serene resting place with our brash, noisy intrusion.
At last the final interview was complete. I climbed in beside Jason in his white F-150 to head back home. He glanced over at me as he turned through the deepening dusk onto 146, now free flowing with light traffic. “How are you holding up?”
I rolled my shoulders. “It still doesn’t seem real,” I admitted. “How long had the body been there?” I looked down at my hands, pondering the sinews, the scattering of light brown freckles which made my unique constellations. “How quickly does a person go from flesh and blood to a skeleton?”
His brow furrowed, and he thought about it for a minute. “It’s August first. These past few weeks have see-sawed between record heat and steady rain. Between that and summertime insect activity, in that shallow grave, full decomposition could easily have happened within the month.” He looked ahead as we turned onto our street. “But it could be longer, of course. Years. Maybe decades. During the time of the drive-in’s use that land would only have been visited on weekends. I imagine few of the customers ever left the pavement area.” He gave a soft shrug. “For all we know, the body could even date back to before the drive-in was operational.”
We drew to a stop in our driveway. He came around and took my hand, walking me up to the door. “I’m sure we’ll find out more tomorrow,” he assured me. “Once they start looking more closely at the bones.”
Juliet, my stripy cat, was waiting for us when we opened the door, and I knelt down to pet her. I felt unsettled, lost, and I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do.
He nodded his head to me. “Go on upstairs and settle into bed. I’ll bring up some Triscuit nachos. We can watch A Gentleman’s Agreement on Netflix. It’ll keep your mind off of things and help you sleep.”
I nodded and made my way upstairs. In only a few minutes he was up with the plate, as well as a glass of red sangria with frozen peaches in it. I smiled and propped up the pillows.
The movie drew me in. I had always adored To Kill a Mockingbird, but this showcased a different type of discrimination. It was stunning to think, so soon after the real-life horrors of Auschwitz and Dachau, that people in the US could still feel it quite reasonable to have “restricted” hotels and establishments which kept out Jews.
The movie finally spun to an end and I rolled over to look at Jason. “Even though the movie made it clear from the beginning that Phil was going to end up with Kathy, I’m not sure I like it,” I murmured. “Throughout the courtship Kathy made disparaging remarks about Jews, even equating them to being old and sick. In comparison, Anne is honest, intelligent, and compassionate. She bares her soul to Phil and he seems to respond. Then, poof, Kathy makes one minor concession and he goes running right back to her.”
He grinned. “Anne did win the Academy award,” he pointed out, “while the rest only got nominated. So it seems others agreed with you there.”
I lay against his chest. “Still, the plot is a good portrayal of how prejudice can be an insidious force. This wasn’t as in-your-face as In the Heat of the Night, for example. Characters in this movie would not state right out that they had an issue with Jews. They would just turn away or make quiet comments.”
He nodded, running a hand along my cheek. “And then we have, just today, Rhode Island accepting gay marriage with nary a rumble of an issue. Back in 2004, when Massachusetts was the first state to allow gay marriage, there was a huge outcry. Now, nearly ten years later, all of New England allows gay marriage, and life goes on, serene and content.”
I held his gaze. “The world is making strides. Still, there are so many ways in which people are marginalized. Obese people are thought of as lazy. People in wheelchairs are thought of as mentally slow. When will we stop jumping to conclusions? When will we start allowing each person to shine with their natural abilities and hopes?”
He smiled at that. “They may say you’re a dreamer,” he murmured, “but you’re not the only one.”
I chuckled. “Of course not. I have you, don’t I?” My throat tightened. “Every day I give thanks that you found me.”
His eyes grew smoky, he drew me down to him, and the world faded away.
To purchase Birch Blackguards, click here:
https://www.suttonmass.org/suttonmassmysteries/
You can also get the first three books of the Sutton Massachusetts Mystery series in one handy box set!
https://www.suttonmass.org/suttonmassmysteries/
Be the change!