Nelle was relieved to have this time alone. Her open window offered little relief from the sweltering August air, but the wind blowing through her hair was comfort enough. She sniffed at the muggy breeze like a happy dog and pressed harder on the gas pedal.
The throaty engine in the old Fairlane eased her anxiety as she turned onto the highway that would eventually deliver her to the state hospital’s door. A surge of grief for her grandfather’s passing soon overtook the fear of seeing her father. Two such extreme emotions could not occupy the same space. She needed a plan.
I’ll tell him straight out. First thing. Get it over with. He might not even care. OR. He might go crazy on me – again. Maybe I’ll wait until just before I leave. Give him the cigarettes. Have a quick visit. Then tell him. Then go. Maybe that’s better.
She had no idea yet how to manage the delivery of this upsetting news but soon released her deliberations to the contentment of the road. Driving had always presented a channel for freedom and relief, and was precisely what Nelle needed now. As Granddad’s face materialized in front of her, wet cigar stub protruding from his smiling mouth, she smiled back and inhaled deeply again. I’ll be fine.
The highway was deliciously deserted except for an occasional tractor-trailer that Nelle passed gleefully to the good-natured blaring horn of fellow travelers. She responded with a raised hand pumping the air, flying down the road toward her destination. Heavy trucks were no match for her old Ford in Louisiana hill country.
Sweet smelling pine forests dotted the hills of the sparsely populated countryside. Centuries old oak trees fringed once magnificent plantation homes now gone to a stagnant decay with ancient wagons and obsolete plough tools abandoned at the edge of the fields, relics of the not too antiquated past when “horse power” had nothing to do with gasoline fueled engines. Massive stretches of pearly white cotton bolls resembled bulky clouds floating just above the ground. The blanket of silvery puffs put glamour on the hidden hurt of picking cotton, the sharp bolls slicing fingers and palms, dripping the blood of generations into the rich fields. The pastoral scenes looked like the idyllic country life, slow moving animals and people, lush patches of green meadows and grassy lawns broken up with the stark contrasting white fields of King Cotton.
Nelle spotted the big red star coming up in the distance about a quarter mile away. She had been driving at a steady clip for well over an hour and thought of Pete’s final warning before she left. Okay. He’s right. The gas tank was down to about a quarter and she wasn’t even half way.
A few seconds later, she was close enough to read the sign: VIRGIL’S TEXACO FILLING STATION surrounded by an enormous red and silver star. Underneath, a friendly welcome sign, handmade, beckoned: Fill up and set down. What’s your hurry.
She chuckled, you’re right, and pulled over onto the gravel road. The small roadside rest stop had two gas pumps, a bathroom, and a shaded picnic table. The ding ding of the gas station bell announced her arrival as she rolled in over the hose.
A wiry old man appeared from inside the station, hunched with age, his deeply tanned face shaded by a big straw hat. His loose, dirty gray pants dragged the ground, with torn and frayed cuffs that hung over his heavy work boots, making his bow-legged wobbly gait more noticeable. “VIRGIL” was thickly embossed in red stitching above his shirt pocket that held a tire pressure gauge clipped to the outside. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve and gave her a pleasant smile through his puckered lips.
“Ya’ll need a fill up, ma’am?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. And I think I’ll sit a few minutes in the shade, too,” she said, grabbing the paper bag Pete gave her and her now warm Dr. Pepper. “Do I need a key for the bathroom?”
“Naw. Locks from the inside. Nobody in there. Give you an oil check while we’re at it? Might as well. You got a low front tire, too. I’ll fix it. She’s an old beaut, ain’t she. Haven’t seen a ’57 for a long time. Run good?”
“Yeah, she’s still going. Never let me down, so far,” Nelle answered. She didn’t need the oil check but could see he appreciated her old car. Most people made fun of it. And she was grateful he had noticed the low tire.
After checking the oil, adding air to her tire, and washing down her windshields, front and back, Virgil joined her at the picnic table as she devoured the last bite of her baloney sandwich and washed it down with warm Dr. Pepper. Thank you, Pete. Perfect. She burped loudly without warning, blushed, and raised her hand to her lips. “Excuse me. Sorry.”
Virgil grinned exposing his toothless mouth. He spotted the unopened Twinkie. “Them Twinkies my favorite. Good for breakfast, lunch, and desert,” he said cheerfully.
Nelle pushed the package in front of him. “Please. Have it. I’m full. A thank you for taking care of my car,” she insisted.
He didn’t hesitate to accept, methodically opening the cellophane wrapper and eagerly devouring the treat in huge unsightly bites.
“Tasty,” he beamed gratefully with cream filling hanging from his bottom lip. He wiped his mouth with his greasy sleeve. “Where you headed? Nothing much between here and Jacksonville. Ain’t nothing much there neither except that nuthouse full of godforsaken sinners. Horrible place, they say. Never been there. Never hope to go,” he said shaking his head. “Broke lost souls….”, he said, his voice becoming quieter as he looked skyward.
Nelle stiffened. “Thanks. I need to go now. How much do I owe you?”
His comment triggered her anxiety again about seeing her father. So much time had passed between them. While she was no longer the guarded teenager, wary and distrustful because of her unstable life, and had gained confidence and strength from her trials, she also carried the enduring memories of the volatility, fighting, drunkenness, and the fracture of her family. And here she was less than two hours away from seeing him again.
Her stomach churned suddenly as she slid back into the car. She griped the steering wheel tightly. He doesn’t want to hurt us anymore. I know he doesn’t, she muttered under her breath, peeling out of the gas station, the spinning tires hurling gravel chunks high in the air.
“If that don’t beat all. She’s going to run that car into the ground,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes and dismissing her with an agitated swipe of his hand. “What got into that gal?” He reached into his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow with his dirty red rag.
As the lull of the open road restored her composure, Nelle slowed her pace, finding respite again from the demands and emotions of the last few days and hours. She drifted comfortably into the hum of her old car.
Before long, an unexpected cooler breeze carried in the sweet, fresh scent of approaching rain as darkening clouds began to gather on the distant horizon. The stifling humidity instantly vanished, renewing her vitality, and she sat straighter breathing in the perfume of an impending summer rain. She didn’t know if it was her full stomach or the blissfully cool air, but it didn’t matter, and she realized that Virgil meant no harm with his words and was probably a lonely old man who had actually showed her kindness and was merely attempting conversation. She was sorry she had left so abruptly.
Nelle drove leisurely for almost an hour more, keeping an eye on the swelling clouds that surrounded her now, thankful still for the pleasingly fresh air that had swept away the muggy, unbearably hot August afternoon. She turned on her headlights in the rapidly enveloping darkness and flinched at the sudden bright flash of lightning that lighted up the sky. A deafening clap of thunder followed, with a jagged lightning bolt zigzagging in front of her. With no warning, lashing rain pummeled the windshield, momentarily blinding her as she fumbled for the wiper switch. Even on highest speed, the thumping blades barely gave enough visibility to continue driving in the torrential downpour. Panic stuck as a fast moving tractor-trailer swerved too close in passing, splashing a wall of water over the car. Nelle’s breathing quickened, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the steering wheel with a vice-like grip trying to stay
on the road. The two-lane highway had no shoulder. Stopping under these conditions was impossible. She slowed down to a crawl and sat pole straight concentrating on glimpses of the road with her hands grasping the wheel.
The sudden violent cloudburst lasted an interminably long few minutes but finally gave over to a steady drenching rain that Nelle could better manage. The ferocious rainstorm had let up enough for her to read the large green highway road sign coming up a short distance away. She slowed a bit before passing it. Feliciana State Hospital was twelve miles away.
The final marker was a small plain white sign with a black arrow facing right: FS hospital. An entrance road was a few yards away, intentionally inconspicuous, easy to miss in the heavy rain that still showed no sign yet of ending. Nelle inhaled, summoning her nerve, and cautiously took the turn.
Veils of glistening Spanish moss hung from majestic hundred year oaks that formed a grand canopy on the winding road. The unrelenting rain turned melodious as it fell through the drape of leaves and low hanging moss inventing a soothing overture along the path that ended at the house of the lost and forgotten.
A dimly glowing light guided her to the gatehouse, the last free outpost that stood in front of the tall razor wired chain link fence. She saw the top of the brightly lighted guard’s tower that stood far behind the main house high above the deceivingly serene grounds. The former antebellum plantation home still maintained a modicum of grandeur with the wrap around deep front porch and huge Greek inspired columns that supported an ornately decorated front balcony that ran the length of the mansion. Enormous evenly spaced Palladian windows adorned the entire structure, with formidable iron bars revealing the contemporary purpose.
Nelle stuck her head out the window to address the gatehouse security guard as rain splashed her face. He opened the door slightly and leaned his body outside, frowning, and moved back against the wet, unpleasant weather almost immediately.
“I’m here to visit my father,” she said loudly, squinting against the raindrops that pelted her eyes. She withdrew slightly, and yelled again insistently above the din of the rain, “Terry Lyons! My father!”
He scrutinized her drenched face, contorting his expression as he considered her request, and handed her a well-used blue cardboard pass that said VISITOR in white letters. “Put it on your dashboard,” he instructed and slammed the door shut against the rain.
Nelle wanted to ask about parking. Thanks for nothing, she mumbled, moving slowly forward, searching for the parking lot, which was not visible from the front entrance to the hospital. She continued on the road that seemed to circle the building and spotted the directions. Peering at the half dozen building names and crisscrossed arrows, the loud honking horn behind her forced her to move ahead.
I’ll find it. All I have to do is ask someone, she thought nervously, wishing she had an umbrella or anything that she could use to cover her head at least. Driving on cautiously, she saw an undesignated parking area with plenty of space. A large white utility van was the only vehicle parked in front of the more contemporary, far less imposing building.
This will do, she thought, pulling in. She placed the visitor pass on the dashboard, secured the carton of Lucky Strikes under her arm, and walked briskly through the rain toward the doorway of the windowless single story red brick building.
Nelle pressed hard on the push bar attached to the heavy steel door. It didn’t move. She tried again, throwing her full weight into it and heard the passage latch release. She stumbled clumsily, soaking wet, into a large room occupied by a dozen or more men dressed alike in gray pants and shirts.
Her surprise entrance halted all participation in the various activities the men were engaged in. Every single one turned her way to look and gawk, and as she stood stunned, dripping wet, the entire group moved in unison very slowly toward her. She gasped, but couldn’t speak.
Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out. Commanding. In charge. “Back away! Back off! Stand down! Get away from her!”
The crowd froze in place as Terry emerged from behind, striding with authority as he directed his troops. “Move out. That’s my girl Nelle,” he said proudly, stopping in front of her, astonished to see his daughter.
Nelle started to breathe again.
“Look what you brought me,” he said, extending his hand.
Nelle gave him the carton of Lucky Strikes. “Daddy,” she said softly, allowing her tears.
The attendant rushed over, panic-stricken, breathing hard, clearly confused. “How did you get in here?” he demanded gruffly. “This is a locked unit.”
Nelle pointed to the door, embarrassed and upset. Her wet hair stuck to her face and her thin cotton summer dress clung to her body. “I got lost, I guess,” she responded, her voice quivering with anxiety. Goosebumps rose on her arms as a chill set in. “I’m here to see my father,” she explained meekly, turning to him for help.
A second attendant appeared and examined the door Nelle had entered. He opened it again and slammed it shut hard, and secured the inside lock with a key. He shook his head in obvious exasperation, blaming the night janitorial crew. “I got it now,” he reported. “We’re okay.”
“Come this way, you too, Terry,” the attendant said, relieved the temporary commotion did not result in chaos, but he needed to get them both out of the day room quickly.
As the patients parted to let them through, many grinned and chortled over such excitement injected into their routinely monotonous therapeutic activity time. “Could have got out that door,” a young wild looking patient snorted smugly, eliciting a stinging warning glance from the attendant who had secured it.
They were escorted to a different large and comfortable common area in the main house where patients and visitors were allowed to visit together under the watchful supervision of hospital staff. Nelle began to recover as she sat at the table opposite her father. She was surprised by the graying of his once jet-black hair and the gaunt look to his face that made his teeth seem too large for his mouth. His blue eyes were tinged in redness, imparting a weary and worn appearance. As they sat in awkward silence, she noticed him studying her, too.
Father and daughter were both absorbing the experience of being together again after a long and difficult absence.
“You look like your mother now. You didn’t used to,” he said, breaking the silence.
“I’ve grown up. Been a long time, Daddy.”
“Where’s your pony tail?”
“Oh, that’s it. I cut my hair.”
“Yeah. That’s it I guess,” he nodded, his lips curling slightly with a hint of a smile. He was taken aback by her resemblance to her mother Maggie, who was around Nelle’s age when they married. He unintentionally stared, spellbound by the resemblance, and found himself back in Japan with his beautiful new bride.
“Daddy?” His far off gaze disturbed her. She could see that he had gone somewhere else, a familiar signal she had learned to read and a disquieting reminder of unhappy times. “Daddy,” she said more forcefully.
He shifted his body and returned to her at the sound of her voice.
“I have something to tell you.”
He looked at her blankly.
“Granddad died. Last week.”
He titled his head quizzically and narrowed his eyes.
“Your father. Your daddy died,” she said sadly. “I came to tell you.”
Terry shook his head hard as if trying to rid the words ricocheting in his ears. He looked at her again. His face had turned ashen.
“I’m sorry. He had a heart attack. His heart gave out,” Nelle said in a gentle and quiet voice.
Terry took a deep breath and let it out with a long slow whistle. His shoulders slumped as he lowered his head and clasped his hands together.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy. We loved him so much,” she mumbled to his cowered body.
He raised his head and blinking back tears said wistfully, “I can’t remember the last time I saw him. Maybe I was still a boy.
We played dominoes back then. Do you remember that Nelle?”
“Yes, Daddy. I do.”
“Want to play now? We got some right over here,” he said, pointing to a game table.
“Yes. Sure. Let’s play dominoes. He’d like that.”
She followed him to the game table and sat down, watching silently as he shuffled the pile of dominoes face down, once, then again. “Pick,” he said, pointing at her.
Nelle chose her first one, turned it over. Two black dots on half of the ivory tile, one black dot on the other half. “Three,” she said disappointedly. “Now you.”
Terry chose a double two. “Me first!” he chuckled, reshuffling the pile, passing out one to her one to himself, until each of them had seven.
Their game proceeded in silence for several minutes, the familiar sound of clacking tiles producing a calming effect on both of them, diverting attention from the message that Nelle had delivered.
After a few minutes of concentration on the black and white blocks, each silently calculating the numbers as they placed them in a wild zigzagging path, Terry stopped and leaned back heavily into his chair. He had come back into himself, into the present time once again.
“He was never around much. Always on that river. Liked it more there. Left Mother alone. Guess he did the best he could for us. He was mad at me for leaving. Told me my duty was at home and said I was too young to enlist. But that life made me old. I never felt young. Taking care of everything. I had to get out.”
The Road to Home Page 3