Chatters on the Tide
Page 26
Chapter 24
There was a FOR SALE sign in front of Harold's grandparent’s old home place, the flourescent letters standing out even in the moonlight. Gator knew that once the house was sold he would only be able to visit on nights like this, when nobody knew he was coming and the light of the moon was only kind to his adjusted eye. He would never again be able to sit in the shade and relive the memories, or be able to step out into the bright shafts of sun and feel the clovered tops of the lawn on his ankles. In the end he knew it was just a place, that with care his memories would stay fresh, but he still felt a soft and sentimental sadness he couldn't deny.
Beyond Harold's place to Lucas' rented house next door, he walked past the Winnebago in the gravel driveway. Lucas' hog was lynched behind it on a trailer. It was full-on dark with only a half moon, and he moved unseen and unheard with silent confidence. He came around back, stopping for a moment to look next door again. Under the shed's rusty awning there was a blank spot where the little red car had been. Turning back to the RV he saw that saw that indeed the toy car was strapped down on the roof. Harold was going to keep the antique, and it made him feel good after all the work he had put into it.
The night was cool. Autumn was coming, and no mosquitoes were out. Through the window beside the back door Gator watched and listened as Harold and Bonnie kept Lucas and Opal company. The older couple was packing their things to go.
"It's amazing how little you really need when you think about it," Harold said. "I think we ended up with about what Honey? Three boxes and two armfuls of clothes each?"
"About that," she said. "If it wasn't for my books it would have been less than that."
Lucas grunted and said, "Me and Opal are used to moving with just what we can carry on the two-wheeler. This is luxury!"
"Yep," Opal said, “This is like traveling on Air Force One alright. I got us a box of plates and cups and what not for the motor home, so we don't have to buy paper. It's over by the door. Don't let me forget it, okay?"
"I won't Baby," Lucas said. “Heck, I’ll just take it out here in a minute. Say, did we ever agree on where we're goin' first?" Lucas asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Harold said. “We can go to them all. Can’t believe what we got for the condo and the cars, plus we have a little more coming from the estate after the medical bills are all paid. Hey, do you think the club will be okay while we’re gone?”
“Cantrell’s got it all covered,” Lucas said. “He’s a fine leader and he’s tight on the purse strings, so I bet he’ll still have most of that twenty thousand when we get back. Besides, we got the cell, he can call us if there’s a problem. All you got to worry about is which sights you want to see.”
"How ‘bout the Grand Canyon first?" Bonnie said.
"Yeah, that's good," Opal said, "The Grand Canyon, and then..."
"And then points West," Lucas finished. "Yellowstone's what I want to see. Grizzlies and big trees. I want ride through there on my bike, if those buggers won't eat me. Heck, they probably won't even let you go through there on a bike..."
Turning away from the window, Gator walked over to the fence and took one last look at the yard where he had learned what friendship was. There was a pile of rotten timbers that had been the picnic table where he had eaten cheese sandwiches with little Greg, learning at once about both charity and humility. His problems, his reputation, his trips to the hospital, they hadn’t mattered to the Mooney family at all. There he was always welcome, there was food to share, and games to play until late Sunday afternoons. Actions not words.
He left the driveway and took the narrow shoulder of the road, heading East toward the ocean a couple of days away on foot. As much as he wanted to stay with them and ride with them, he knew he couldn’t hack it. He determined to look them up in a year or so when things settled down, if he could find them, if he had found a voice for anyone besides his best friend, if his restlessness had gone away. If he could close his eyes with his head on a real pillow and sleep inside four walls.
Gator felt good overall. Harold and Bonne had been reunited, the Legion of Kronos Motorcycle Club was no longer living in a fantasy world, and he had come a long way toward wholeness himself. Even Brenda and Tonya were living together happily, a nice added bonus. All the years he had shadowed Harold, and all the months he had spent in the club just to make sure Lucas and Opal were decent, trustworthy folks, it had all been worth it. He was satisfied, more or less.
At the end of the block he turned onto the county road with only one real regret. He wondered if Bonnie had yet asked herself why Harold didn’t look a thing like his parents or grandparents. She was the brains on the team, he thought. Sooner or later she would figure out her man had been adopted and that he was Lucas and Opal’s son. And that was a reunion he was sorry he had to miss.
The END.
About the Author
Robert Mitchell is a writer, martial arts expert, and occultist from Richmond, VA. His fiction works include the novels Chatters on the Tide and Ghilan, as well as numerous poems, ‘zines, comic books, and short pieces. His short-story “Sign of the Times” appears in the Fall 2012 issue of the Hulltown 360 Literary Journal.
A martial artist for over twenty-five years, Mr. Mitchell is the founder and First Elder of Cabal Fang, an initiatory martial art marrying practical self-defense techniques with the wonders of the Western Mystery Tradition. In 2011 he was awarded the rank of Master by the Combat Martial Arts Practitioners Association. On the subject of martial arts he has penned The Cabal Fang Martial Arts Manual and the popular pamphlet Self-Defense for Activists.
As co-Chairman of the Richmond League of Occult Research and Education (LORE), his is also active in the occult community. His works in this arena include Wood Witch: A Wilding Workbook, and the unique instructional kit In the Drip of an Eave. Under his alter ego Modred, he is the author of the monthly column Oak-corns & Apple-thorns at www.paganpages.org.
Mr. Mitchell graduated from the University of Virginia in 1983 with a B.A. in English. He and his wife are the proud parents of four children and three grandchildren.