Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage

by Micah Sherwood

  Micah had to go to St. Anthony’s at lunchtime. Dr. Reeves had made arrangements for his blood tests and an EKG every other Saturday rather than a weekly trip to his office. This fit better with school and his other activities. Dane was going with him. By 11:00, the chores were complete, and they went in to see the old man. Tom was at his desk working on legal stuff. He had become very busy in the last few months. The boys sat quietly in the office. Tom looked up and saw that he had an audience.

  “What you working on?” Micah was interested in the legal work, and Tom was always happy to explain what he was doing.

  “A land sale, I’m representing some businessmen wanting to do some development on the south side of town. It involves not just the sale, but ensuring that they can get the desirable zoning they need to make some money.” Tom grinned as he watched the boy. “Tedious but it pays the bills, feeds the horses and will put you through college.” He looked closer at Micah’s face. “What happened to your lip?”

  “Cory punched me.” The boy spoke nonchalantly.

  “And why did he do that?”

  “I pissed him off, and he landed a jab square on my mouth. He ‘bout cried after he did it. He thought he hurt me, but I laughed then he laughed. All’s good.”

  Tom chuckled. “Friends can piss you off more than enemies, and sometimes the fights between brothers can be more vicious than with foes.” He put the papers down. “I need to run by the new house, and I decided it’s time for a different truck, so while you’re at the hospital, I’ll go pick it up.” He looked at the clock, “We better get going.”

  On the short trip, Micah thought about what Tom had said. “You’re working to pay for my college? Do you feel obligated? Am I making you do something you’d rather not do?”

  Tom pulled over and looked into Micah’s eyes. “I have no obligation to you: not to you, not to Cory or Tandy or Dane. What I do is out of love. I’m setting back college money for all you boys. It will be in a trust.” He looked over at Dane. “Now don’t go blabbing to your parents, I’ll let them know when I’m ready.”

  “Why? We’re not even kin,” Dane was surprised at the announcement.

  “How does that even matter?” Tom Dorsey pulled the truck back into traffic and completed the short drive. He parked next to the great white barn and honked. Tandy’s brother walked out of the center doors near the horse stalls. “Hey Boss,” Henry greeted Mr. Dorsey as he opened the truck and pushed the two boys over to get in.

  Both Micah and Dane were startled to see their friend’s brother. Henry was in his early 20s, a very quiet man who spoke only when it was necessary. He had been working with his dad at the Elliott Ranch until now apparently.

  “Henry is my new foreman, just hired him yesterday. He’s coming along to drive this truck back. He’ll use it for ranch work.”

  “I’ll get you two settled at the hospital and then go down to the dealership for the new Ford. I should be back before you’re finished with the blood work and EKG.” Tom drove toward the hospital.

  He walked the boys into the Emergency Room. “Take a seat, I’ll be right back,” and he left them to speak with a nurse at the Emergency Reception and then returned. “Okay, the nurse will come and get you when they’re ready. I’ll meet you here. She said it would take about an hour, but you might have to wait for the EKG.”

  After the old man left, Dane started making conversation. “If Mr. Dorsey is so wealthy, why does he work?”

  “He likes it. It keeps him busy and his mind alert. You have to exercise your mind just like you do your body. As long as you like what you do, it’s not really work. My dad hates his job; he says it’s a little like purgatory. It hurts to be around him when he is wishing for something different. I’m never going to be in that shape.” Micah spoke adamantly.

  “How can you stop it?” Dane asked. “You don’t know what will or will not make you happy 20 years from now.”

  “Sure I do. I don’t want to be a teacher or a lawyer—maybe a geologist, or a cowboy, or both. Something outside and where I don’t have to take orders; I’m not good at taking orders, but I’m pretty good at giving them. Also, live simply. Wanting things all the time will make you miserable. It’s like selling yourself into slavery. When Poppi bought Willow Wood, he became sad but mostly angry. I listened to momma and him argue about it. He told her that the house was more than they needed, and it was he who would have to pay for it, even though she was a nurse, it would end-up being his responsibility. And it did!”

  “I talked to him after that fight. He said that he loved momma and me, but he felt like he was in jail with no way out. He regrets not staying in Missouri at the farm. But momma wouldn’t live there. “I’m no hillbilly,” she said. And so they came here.”

  Micah continued. “That will never happen to me. Ever! I won’t depend on anyone, and no one will depend on me.”

  Dean smiled. “Yeah, we’ll see what you do when some girl gets her claws into you. Dreams tend to fall apart when girls get involved. That’s what my granddad says, and I believe him.”

  “Not me. Hug ‘um and chuck ‘um, that’s what Greg told me.”

  “Yeah, and that worked real well with Greg, didn’t it?” Dane retorted. “And you’re not hard, only someone that is hard and selfish would do that.

  Micah stared into Dane’s eyes. “No, I couldn’t hurt someone. I think that life would be easier if I could, but it’s not in me.

  Hours later, Micah and Dane walked into the Emergency Lobby, and Tom Dorsey was there waiting. “You boys ready to eat,” the old man asked. “We can go next door to that steak place, or you prefer something different?”

  “Let’s go someplace new. I’ve never been to Canyon. There’s gotta be some place we can eat in Canyon,” Micah turned and ran outside looking for a new truck, and he saw a bright red Ford parked nearby. “That’s your new truck, that red one?” Micah pointed and then ran over to it. “This has your personality all over it.” He had never been in a new vehicle, and the smell was fine.

  Tom backed out of the parking space and headed south toward Canyon 20 miles away. He turned the radio on and found a baseball game, and the three listened and sailed down the road in a wonderful new ride. As they approached the town, they descended a monstrous hill then passed by Kimbrough Stadium and West Texas State University, which was spread out on the left side of the highway and a couple of fraternities were on the right hand side. They stopped at a small restaurant, went in and took a booth.

  Micah looked around and could see only a single waitress and a couple sitting across the room. There was no one else. The server lady was talking to the man and woman. She did not appear to notice the three enter. The boy could hear their discussion. They were speaking Spanish, but the whispers were mostly unintelligible. It was clear to Micah, however, that it was not a friendly conversation. Rather, it was an intense exchange that was trekking toward some kind of violence.

  “Not here. I’m sorry but I can’t eat here.” He got up and went outside followed closely by Tom and Dane.

  “What’s the matter?” Tom was concerned as he stood near the café entrance. Dane stared at his friend who had suddenly turned pale. He also had a queer feeling about the place, but what he sensed was superficial to what Micah was obviously experiencing.

  “I don’t know but something serious. We’ve got to get out of here.” The words had barely left his mouth when there was a shot, some shouting, and then another shot.

  The boys hit the dirt while Tom Dorsey froze. After a few moments, the old man went through the door after telling the boys to get into the truck. He was gone what seemed like forever before returning. In the distance there were sirens. “We’ll be here for a while. Don’t ask any questions. We’ll talk later,” and he stood next to the restaurant entrance and waited.

  Three police cars and one Sherriff’s car sealed off the parking area; their guns were drawn, and Mr. Dorsey’s arms were raised above his head. A few seconds later, an ambulance p
ulled up, but the attendants did not leave the safety of their automobile. One of the cops yelled at the boys to lie down, and they laid low in the truck cab for at least a quarter of an hour until Mr. Dorsey opened a door to check on them. “You can sit up. There is no danger. One of the officers will be here in a moment to take your statements, and then we can go.”

  Micah started to speak, but was cut off by his guardian. “No Micah, we can’t talk right now. You have to give your statement first. Just answer the cop’s questions fully and truthfully. It will be quick.”

  After about 30 minutes, a young officer came and asked Dane to step out for a moment. Dane followed him to the rear of the truck where he answered a couple of questions, and then it was Micah’s turn. The officer had a gentle appearance, opposite of what you’d expect a policeman’s demeanor to be. He was tall and thin, and looked like he was fifteen years old. “I am Officer Vandeveer. You aren’t in any trouble. I just need to ask a couple of questions.”

  Micah had noticed that the attendants had left the ambulance, and he assumed they were inside the building.

  “Son, are you listening to me?” The officer asked.

  “Sorry, yes sir.”

  “Is Mr. Dorsey a relative?” He looked down at his notes as he queried the boy.

  “He’s my legal guardian.”

  “Did you go inside the restaurant?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And describe what you saw?”

  Micah thought for a moment. “I saw the waitress who was speaking with a couple in a booth across the room. They were speaking Spanish. It was mostly in whispers, but I heard the woman sitting across from the man say, ‘Pequeña perra estúpida.’”

  “You are sure she said that?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You know what that means?”

  “Stupid little bitch.” Micah recoiled a little when he translated the words.

  “How do you know Spanish?”

  “I studied with my brother.” Micah watched the cop’s face to see if he had any doubts.

  “They teach profanity in Spanish Class?

  “No but brothers do.”

  The police officer smiled. “Mr. Dorsey said that you left before ordering a meal. Why”

  “I was not feeling well. I was worried there would be a fight.”

  “You were right, there was a fight. It was probably a good thing you left when you did. You live with Mr. Dorsey?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Did you know any of the people in the booth?”

  “No sir.”

  “Did Mr. Dorsey know any of the people?”

  “I wouldn’t think so.”

  “I’m finished. You can go back to the truck.” Officer Vandeveer walked over to Mr. Dorsey, and then the old man returned and they left.

  “We’ll stop at Manley’s on the way home. You boys must be starving.” And then he was quiet.

  “Oh no, you’re going to tell us what happened.” Micah knew that Tom did not want to discuss the incident.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” He said to Micah. “I imagine you pretty well figured it out.” Tom looked over at his ward.

  “The man and woman who were sitting in the booth are married, or they are very close like girlfriend and boyfriend. The waitress was also the guy’s girlfriend. That didn’t sit well with the other woman who was raging; her flicker was blazing red with flames of brown. Somebody died. Maybe two people died. The waitress and the guy are dead, that’s my guess.” Micah was masking his emotions.

  “How do you know that they’re dead?” Mr. Dorsey asked.

  “If they had been alive, the ambulance attendants would have brought out the injured and transported them to the hospital. Or else no one was injured, but in that case the ambulance would have left already.” Micah waited for Tom to respond to his suppositions.

  “You are partially right. The woman in the booth shot her boyfriend, and he is dead. But then she shot herself, and she is deceased.” He looked first at Micah and then at Dane. “Are you boys okay? That is a terrible thing to observe.”

  “I am fine. I didn’t see anything,” Dane commented.

  “I’m not bothered.” Micah peered through the windshield as they drove toward Amarillo. “They were nothing to me. Are you okay?” He asked Mr. Dorsey.

  “No I’m not okay,” Tom slowed down his speed. “That was a tragedy, two young lives wasted like that. That troubles me. And I think it bothers you as well.”

  “They have people who will cry for them. It is their tragedy. I can’t bleed for everyone. Once I did, but I can’t anymore. If I do, it will kill me. I don’t think you realize what it’s like to get clobbered continuously by everyone’s emotions. It’s not a game, not something to play with. I can’t walk down the street without picking up someone’s pain and sadness. I go into the hospital, and I get crushed by people’s tears, their fears, and their hate. Do you know that when a person loses a loved one, they feel loss but also hate. That’s understandable, don’t you think? I mean being angry at God, blaming God for what happens. But I’m teaching myself to turn it off. I have to.”

  Mr. Dorsey sped up as he contemplated Micah’s response. He had indeed viewed his gift as a game, an amusement without ever considering the crippling effects it had on him, something that should have been obvious. He patted the boy’s leg. “I am sorry Micah.”

  Micah did not respond to the old man; he couldn’t because if he did, he would start crying. It was all true except for one thing; he was unable to ignore others’ feelings. He absorbed them and made them his own. Try as he might, he just could not turn the current off. Even now Tom was feeling sorry for him as he mourned the strangers’ deaths. Micah was unable to control that part of himself like Cory could, and he hated his failure. He was less than what he should be; he was weak where he should be strong. Micah closed his eyes; he wanted to sleep and never awake.

  Dane watched his friend, sharing a bit of his torment because he knew the truth. He was not as empathic as Micah, but more so than most people. He wanted to grab him and hold him, but a ten year old boy is more constrained by social expectations than most folks imagine, and men are not supposed to hug or show feelings. And just like Micah, he didn’t. The two boys just communed together silently, weeping inside.

  Chapter 7: May the Lord Bless You

  Micah stood on the back porch of his bedroom facing the creek in the semidarkness of evening. The temperature was spring like and the skies clear and free from fog. The clouds reflected the oranges and pinks of the setting sun above the trees, an elegant curiosity, but Micah struggled to see its beauty.

  It had been a difficult day, more difficult for the families of the dead couple left behind in Canyon, but tough nevertheless. He criticized himself for every self-perceived failure, every minor doubt that tagged along with him each moment of the day. The psychologist last year said that he would never be able to achieve his expectations, which would lead to depression; and he would struggle all of his life trying to find happiness. Micah understood this, but knowing was easy, fixing impossible. Micah hated himself for his doubts.

  He had read an article in a magazine where the writer said that when he stepped onto his front porch after work, he would silently hang up the day on a knob like he would a coat and suspend all of his troubles and concerns, marching into another life, an alternate world called home. He would not let his two worlds comingle. In this way he found peace.

  Micah went into the barn, found some nails and a hammer then pounded spikes into the doorframes at the entrances to his bedroom as a reminder to let things go. And that’s what he had done, hung his worries on the nail, taken a deep breath then blew his uncertainties and doubts into the nether where hopeless things belong. The physical act made his decision live; it actualized his intent and gave it form; and he was able to let the day go, released from its bondage.

  Tom Dorsey watched the boy from the corner of the barn. Micah was absorbed in thought, figuring thi
ngs out, curing himself. “Sad,” he thought, “how Micah immerses himself into his mind to analyze and overcome his struggles; never seeking help, not relying on anyone, assuming all responsibilities and blame. The boy was an enigma.”

  “It’s okay, you’re not bothering me,” Micah never looked toward Mr. Dorsey. “See, you’re not so different than me,” he smiled never turning his head toward his guardian. “You feel my struggles and they puzzle and worry you. There are things that I have to figure out and manage. Sometimes I have to mend myself. Often things confront me and I tumble. I pick myself up and try to understand why I fell so I won’t do it again. It can be difficult, but I have to do it or I’ll become lost.”

  Micah sat on the concrete step and signaled Mr. Dorsey to sit beside him. The old man came, unsure whether he actually heard the boy speak, but thinking more likely he perceived his thought. As soon as Tom took a seat, Micah started weaving a tale.

  “There was a mother who lived eons ago in the ancestral lands of the Antelope People. She loved her children, and she had bunches of them. She would do everything a mother should do: feed and clothe them, bathe them, tell them stories and sing them songs. And the children grew tall and healthy while the mother grew gray and old, but she continued to feed them, clothe them, and sing to them, even though her litluns were now adults with children of their own.”

  “One day she sat on a stump next to the east door of the lodge warming her body in the mild winter sun. Her eyes stared into the blue-blue skies, a spectator to the heavens blanketing the mesas and valleys of her birth home. Toward the south, a pack of coyotes ran up a path and stopped to study the old matron. The big female coyote whispered into the mother’s ear even though she sat 50 yards away; ‘It is time,’ which made the grandmother smile.”