Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage

by Micah Sherwood

  “I’ve been sad a lot, not angry. Otherwise, I feel great.”

  “Well your hormones are raging. Puberty is a confusing time in a boy’s life. The best thing is to stay active. When you start to feel blue, go running or riding. Keep your mind busy. And remember you can talk to your dad or Tom or your friends. Just remember that it is temporary. If you start to feel weak or dizzy, you need to go to the emergency room.” The doctor walked toward the door and turned, “I want to see you in two weeks,” and then he left.

  Micah dressed, “I’m starving. I need meat.”

  By 5:00 that evening, Dane and Micah were looking over the playa while letting the horses rest after racing around the dry lakebed, just the two of them. Tandy was in Wheeler visiting relatives, and Cory was nowhere around. A meager drizzle was falling, but the sun would periodically shine through the overcast warming the summer afternoon into the high 80s.

  On the way back to the barn, Micah diverted to the old hospital. He had to verify that he was there the night before. They tied their horses to a fallen tree and headed down the stairs to the open basement. Tracks led to the center of the cellar, rippled footprints that matched Micah’s sneakers.

  “You figure it out,” Dane asked. He was not sure what Micah needed to prove to himself. The only thing he was certain of was his friend’s feelings of disorientation and confusion.

  “Yeap, I was here last night,” Micah said as he weighted whether or not to tell about his vision. If it had been Cory, he would have. But Dane had his own problems, and he didn’t want to load him down with his weirdness.

  “This last year I have learned a lot about friendship.” Dane stopped speaking for a moment as he analyzed Micah’s mood, an exercise in which he was getting better. “You can trust your friends sometimes more than your family. A friend is someone who always supports you and tells you private things without any pretense or purpose. Sometimes the love of family is conditioned, but a true friend’s love is absolute.” Again Dane stopped to listen to Micah’s emotions. “You think that my views are colored because of my family, and you might be partially right. But I also know that I trust you and the others with my innermost secrets. I know that you will protect me and never judge me. That’s sounds a little goofy but it’s true, but what I mean, you are never a burden to me. Whatever you tell me in private remains private.”

  Micah smiled, reached out and touched Dane’s forehead. He needed this intimacy, but more importantly, Dane needed it. A touch conveys more than an acknowledgement; it communicates wellbeing or hurt, happiness or anger. “I’ve been having strange experiences. They may be dreams, but I’m not sure. I don’t think they are.” He told Dane about the apparition of the previous night.

  “Wow, that’s not a dream I would want. The shadow guy with the flowing eyes, have you seen him before?”

  “Last summer, he and two others came to my room. Remember I told you about the whispers and the shades at the foot of my bed, but then he had no eyes, and he was terrifying. But last night, he seemed to be warning me.” Then Micah told him about his grandma’s counsel.

  “I would listen to my grandma if I were you. “Just be prepared.” Dane touched Micah on the arm, but this touch was not one of affection, but of education. “You are ready, aren’t you? And you’re pretty sure what is coming down.”

  Micah shook his head yes and headed toward the concrete steps and the horses. As he was about to mount Styx, he turned to Dane. “Grandma said to keep things to myself. I don’t understand why, but that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  They rode to Willow Wood. A bank of thunderheads was building toward the southwest. Micah felt repressed rather than depressed, something he did not fully understand except that he hated it. Willow Wood had been vacant since the first of June when his mother and Elaine left to stay the summer in Kansas with Poppi, and Isabella refused to stay alone, so she was spending the next couple of months at her grandmother’s house in San Angelo.

  The boys released the horses in the backyard. The grass was long and untended; the fruit trees plush; and Micah made a note to come back the next day and tend the lawn and orchard. He grabbed his saddlebags and headed up the outside stairs and the kitchen’s backdoor. The house had the smell of decay, not overpowering but certainly noticeable. He needed to check on the empty house daily to make sure there were no break-ins and everything was as it should be. Each room was checked, each closet inspected. Then the youths descended the stairs. The smell of rot was much stronger in the den, strong enough that Micah had to open several windows to air-out the place. Everything looked normal. His bedroom, a room that he had not stepped in for over two months, was in darkness, a dimness that was abnormal and acid. He wanted to run.

  Dane hung back watching as his friend disappeared into the closet. The door to the ‘hole’ banged as it swung open and then he heard the click of a lamp. The jaundiced color of the light darted from the little utility room, fleeing from something obscene and foul, and Dane wanted to bolt. But instead, he forced himself to enter and join Micah, who stood just inside the door staring and unmoving.

  “What do you see?” Dane asked as he looked over Micah’s shoulder. He could not see anything out of the ordinary, but Micah continued to glare toward a vacant wall. Dane grabbed and shook him out of his musing. “You okay?”

  Micah nodded his head, “Sorry,” he responded and clicked the light switch off and retreated from the blackness. In Greg’s old room, Micah threw his saddlebags on the bed and then retrieved a box from underneath. Dane laughed as Micah pulled the box cover off. Inside were the girly magazines that he discovered the year before when he raided the vacant house next door. He loaded up the saddlebags with the flashy monthlies then tossed the box back under the bed and returned to the horses.

  They galloped through the gate and into the front yard. Mr. Von was waving, so Micah jumped down from Styx and walked him to his neighbor.

  “Would you like to do some work for me again this summer?” Mr. Von smiled at Micah as he put out his hand for a shake.

  “Always interested in earning some money,” Micah responded. The two talked for a few moments and agreed that Tuesdays would be his day for chores. As he walked away, he saw the Saaris pull into their driveway. Micah reached into his pocket to make sure that he had the St. Olaf medal. He stood on the driveway at Willow Wood watching as Lindy jumped out of the car, waving and walking to meet her boyfriend.

  “I’ll see you at the barn,” Dane said as he trotted away giving Micah some private time with Lindy.

  “You’re back. I’m glad.” Lindy smiled as she first looked around to see if her dad was watching, and then kissed her fella squarely on the lips.

  Micah smiled. “Want a ride?” Lindy’s eyes got big and she started laughing. “On the horse, I mean.” Micah blushed. His invitation was more of a plea than a request. He mounted Styx and then pulled up Lindy behind him. There was no talking as they made their way to the flint hill where they sat in solitude for a long time, holding hands, feeling contented, but eventually evolving beyond silent comradery.

  The thunderstorm continued to build without getting much closer. The wind increased a little, and the smell of the approaching storm teased the air with the fragrance of ozone and sage. Micah looked forward to the tempest.

  “I got you something from Norway,” he pulled the blue velvet box from his pocket.

  Lindy rubbed the soft surface before opening it, and Micah watched her smile as she pulled the chain and medal out. The gift earned him another kiss. “That’s a St. Olaf medal. He’s the patron saint of Norway, you know. It’s silver.”

  “It’s beautiful. I’ll wear it to Mass every Sunday.” She grabbed his face and looked deeply into his eyes. “Micah, I love you. It’s not infatuation like they say. I need to be around you and near you, to touch you and to feel your touch.”

  “Me too,” he responded further by hugging her, smelling her lilac fragrance, becoming absorbed in her essence. He kissed
her neck and she pressed his head against her shoulder, and they returned to their silent, gentle affaire.

  It was twilight when Micah finally returned home. Supper was being set as Micah came through the door. Dane looked up; a humongous grin came on his face. Tom turned from the cabinet first observing Dane then Micah. And he commenced laughing. The old man reached over, grabbed a towel, wetting it, and then he stepped toward his ward and started wiping his face vigorously.

  “What are you doing?” Micah pushed Tom’s hand away.

  “Well son, unless you like to parade your conquests around, I suggest washing up afterward.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “You have a very pretty and delicately toned pink lipstick smeared all over your face, looks very nice on you too.”

  Micah grabbed the towel and headed to the bathroom, his cheeks glowing cherry red. “Screw you guys!”

  The thunderstorm blew in not too long after the meal. It was slow moving and almost rainless, but the lightning was continuous, the thunder raucous. Micah watched the weather service before heading to the barn. There were two lines of storms heading their way; the second squall line was much bigger than the first and twice the intensity. Amarillo was under a tornado watch.

  Micah retrieved the saddlebags from the barn and tossed half of the girly magazines to Dane who studied their covers before opening one. “Whoa!” The word came out as a moan rather than an exclamation.

  The windows rattled from the thunder booms; the storm formed an almost continuous rumble. The lights dimmed every once in a while. Micah looked out a window. The trees were flopping around from the wind, but there had been no rain so far.

  “Jesus Christ, what is he doing,” Dane held up a page for Micah to see.

  Micah took the magazine and studied it for a minute. “I think it’s obvious.” He handed it back to Dane, who continued to flip through the pictures.

  “Oh my God,” and Dane once again held up a series of photos, one after another.

  Micah started laughing uncontrollably at his friend until a bright flash surged through the heavens, which was followed by an ear splitting clasp of thunder that shook the barn. The boys, now in the dark, went quiet and sat for a long time without speaking, just enjoying the roar of the tempest outside. The wind began to pick up even more, and the boys took to the window to watch spider-lightning webbing across the skies.

  “Wham,” “Wham,” “Wham.” Vibrations shook the bedroom, and it was no thunder but sounded more like someone hitting the side of the room with a ball bat. The boys fell on the floor, each experiencing dread and loathing in knowing someone stood feet away pounding on the wall.

  They went into silent mode. There were three more strikes against the wall facing the creek.

  Micah returned to the window, looked out and saw nothing but the trees bending in the gale. He took off his shoes and then plucked his loaded .22 from the gun rack. He looked at Dane and then pointed under the bed, where Dane retreated. Micah crept through the stables to the opposite end of the barn. The wind made the horses nervous and noisy, which would hide any sound Micah might make. He pushed the pocket door open just enough for him to step out into the storm. The thunder was a continuous roar, yet there was still no rain; the ground was dry as a desert. He touched the dirt with his naked feet, cautious and crafty. Micah got down on all fours and crawled slowly around the eastern corner of the stables then lay behind a small mound of gravel.

  He saw the intruder, a tall and gangly man, who once again hit the side of the bedroom with a fisted hand, but in the other hand he held a gun, its shiny stainless steel barrel glittered even in the darkness. The man leaned forward with both hands against the building which meant that his left side faced the boy. “He’s an idiot,” Micah said to himself as he regarded the silvery weapon in the man’s hand. Then he caught a whiff of the sickly sweet aftershave smell.

  “Harry!” and he slowly raised his .22, which shot two inches low at 20 paces, and aimed just above the intruder’s head. Harry’s passions radiated from his body like heat from a fire, making the boy nauseated from his hate, jealousy and hunger. Micah wanted to destroy the man, to dance in his gore and putrescence, and he envisioned blood and bits of bone and brain matter splattered against the stables. Micah fingered the trigger, making love to the rifle. His fingers sweated as he cuddled the firearm, captivated by his own bloodlust; his heart fluttered; his breathing labored. The thought of taking a life aroused him sending an orgiastic spasm through his young body. It took all of his fortitude to stifle a groan.

  Micah tugged on the trigger, but his mind revolted which stopped him momentarily. He contemplated, and tears began to cascade down his cheeks as he changed his aim and then fired, knocking the screaming man around and to the ground. His intent was to deliver a flesh wound to the prowler’s ass, and since Harry jumped up and stumbled toward the creek, Micah had apparently been successful.

  He waited a few minutes before moving. A light rain started falling while lightning danced through the night skies. Micah took a deep breath and felt empowered. He stood where Harry had been standing and reached down. Lying next to an empty whiskey bottle was the gun. Micah picked up the 22 caliber Ruger revolver, and with a single touch knew that the man who held it moments before had been drunk and delusional. Harry was crazy and driven by indecent desires; a drunkard and a fool, and that made him unpredictable.

  He caressed the handgun. It felt good as he slipped it under his shirt and into his belt. Micah suddenly felt spent as he returned to his room and to Dane, who was wide-eyed still under the bed. “You can come out, it’s okay.” Micah slipped the gun unseen into a drawer as he spoke, then placed his rifle back on the rack.

  “I heard you shoot. What was it?” Dane was anxious and nervous, because he was picking-up the same negative feelings that Micah had sensed.

  “A drunk, and he’s gone; I shot the rifle to scare him.”

  The rain started falling in torrents, and the pinkish lightning circuited and enflamed the night sky. The boys stood on the porch watching the deluge when quarter sized hail began blanketing the ground. In the distance, tornado sirens were going off, and soon Mr. Dorsey and the boys were bivouacked in the storm cellar for the night.

  It was much more than a cellar. Tom built it in the late 1950’s as a refuge in case of a nuclear war. Micah had heard about them but had never actually been in a fall-out shelter. He didn’t know this one existed until Mr. Dorsey guided them down a steep set of stairs inside a shed next to the house. It had two bunks, four beds in total. A storage room was adjacent to where the beds were located, and it contained canned food and water.

  He lay in a lower bunk but for how long he was unsure. The dark was absolute with the flashlight off. As he listened to Dane and Tom sleep, Micah began loathing himself, hating himself but not for shooting and wounding Harry, but for wanting to blow his head off while relishing the thought.

  “No!” he said under his breath.

  “I did what I needed to do, and I should have blown his fucking head off.” He shouted in his mind.

  He got up and made his way up the stairs and outside. The lights atop the barn were on, and stars twinkled in the now clear ski. Lightning flashes sparked in the northeast, the storm retreating. Water stood an inch deep on the ground, and the creek roared in flood. Micah walked toward the deafening sound. The murky arroyo flowed less than six feet from his bedroom door. He stripped his mud-covered pants and shoes off and tossed them on the concrete steps before he entered his room, switching on the light next to the door. He opened his dresser drawer and took out the 22 revolver, throwing open the cylinder. It was fully loaded, and he pulled one of the bullets out, fingering it for several moments and then returning it to its chamber. Micah clicked on the safety and then secured the weapon in his gun rack and locked it.

  The alarm clock said 4:00. He dressed in clean clothes and was about to commence his chores, but as soon as the thought occurred to
him, Mr. Dorsey came into the room. “I think we’ll go out for breakfast. I didn’t get much sleep, and I’m just not in the mood for cooking.”

  Micah studied his face. “You’re not sick are you? You do too much. I’d die if something happens to you.”

  “You think I’m a lot older than I actually am.” Mr. Dorsey hugged the boy. “I’m only starting to live.

  Chapter 19: Mr. Bobo

  “Animals are smarter than we are, don’t you think?” Micah looked at Mr. Dorsey as they waited in a booth for breakfast. Neither the old man nor Dane responded, because they both were sure that Micah was being rhetorical, again.

  “I read that elephants are the only other animal besides man that destroy their own habitat. That’s remarkable. You’d think that mankind would be smart enough to know better, sort of a sad commentary on human intelligence.”

  When Micah was in this mood, it typically signaled a problem, and jabbering was his mechanism to free his mind from whatever irritation he was enduring. Tom studied the boy, who was energetic and lively—a façade. Inside he was tortured by something, the same something that had tormented his soul long before his trip to Norway.

  “What seems to be bothering you,” Tom asked, and Micah looked at him a little queerly.

  “What are you talking about? Nothing is bothering me. I’m fine.” He neither grinned nor joked but became a little ashen.

  “I don’t need this bullshit. What’s going on? I want to know now.” Mr. Dorsey looked at the boy with strong and piercing eyes.

  Micah sucked in a breath and blew it out. “Harry!”

  “What about him.” Tom had a sinking feeling in his guts.