Home Again

HOME AGAIN

The heater wasn’t working. Melanie turned it up to the highest setting but could barely feel any warm air coming from the vent. She wished she got the gloves she saw at the airport. After living in Atlanta for five years, she forgot how cold Pennsylvania winters could be.
Her nerves were shot and she wished she hadn’t quit smoking. She passed Lincoln’s mini-mart, resisting the temptation to run inside for Virginia Slims. Her first boyfriend had been a gas attendant there. They used to hide behind the counter and make out when the aisles were free of customers.

Last she heard he went to Saudi Arabia during the Gulf War. Where was he now? She bit her nails to soothe the nicotine craving. She passed the Lincoln Center Mall where she had her first job back in high school. It had since doubled in size and now there was a movie theater.

So much has changed, but she hadn’t come home in over five years.
Is there something wrong that it took a tragedy to bring her back? No. The last time she saw her father, he was drunk, spitting and screaming that he never wanted to see her again. It was too easy for her to leave Philadelphia for the South.

She barely thought about it until two days ago when her cell phone rang out of the blue. It was her brother, Gary, who sounded more effeminate than she expected. They occasionally emailed each other over the years, so hearing his voice was an unexpected surprise. The last she heard, he moved in with his boyfriend and was similarly not speaking to their father.

“Hey Mel,” Gary sounded so sad, Melanie thought he must have had a terrible breakup. “It’s Nana.”

As she turned down the dirt road that led to Nanas farmhouse, she was flooded with memories. She could feel the sun on her face and smell honeysuckle as she helped pick vegetables. Her car lights danced over mounds of snow in the horse field where she and Gary caught fireflies as children.

Nana never ventured past the yard saying the field made her too sad. Melanie didn’t remember her grandfather, but Nana didn’t keep up with the horses after he died. The last horse had died when Melanie was nine or ten.

She parked behind her father’s car and sat for a moment, heart beating heavily. The back bumper was dented and she remembered the time she borrowed it. It was not her fault a 16 year old rear-ended her at a stop light hard enough to lose pressure on the brake and smash into the Land Rover in front of her.

But that’s how it seemed when Daddy Dearest arrived at the scene, wanting to know what she did to his car. “I’m fine,” she mentioned as a side note.

Her breath formed white puffs and snow danced around the rent-a-wreck, covering the last tips of the grass in the yard. Despite the dilapidated barn, the house looked like a Christmas card. Red bricks sparkled with snow and the porch was lit with blue and white lights, too festive for such an occasion.

She approached slowly and stared at the door, watching the shadows pace back and forth. Should she knock or let herself in?

“Who are you, anyway,” she heard Gary mutter sarcastically, but she could tell he was upset. “This is affecting me too.”

Her father sounded drunk, but that was expected. “I can’t even look at you.”
“Well don’t. I’m used to it.”
With a deep breath, she opened the door.

Dad looked about 20 years older than she remembered. He needed a shave and the black circles under his eyes revealed several sleepless nights.
Gary seemed healthier than the last time she saw him. He must have gotten off the drugs. He looked pale, but it seemed intentional. They shared an understanding smile. Her father glanced at his watch in welcome.
“I got the first flight I could,” she said quietly. She already felt guilty enough that she hadn’t spoken to Nana except on the occasional holiday. She hung her coat on the back of a chair and slipped into it.
“Well, it took you long enough to get here. If you waited until tomorrow, she’d probably already be gone and then how’d you be feeling right now?”
“Okay,” Melanie snapped. The heat was rising in her veins, melting any hint of snow that may have followed her. “You could have called last week when she had the stroke. One day is hardly notice.”

“You’re never home.”

“I have voice mail, I have email.” She tried to glare at him, but felt her face soften. He looked so old and tired. She didn’t remember her mother dying, so she couldn’t imagine what he was going through.

“I hate those things,” he muttered. “You never answer your cell phone. Why do you even have one?”

“Leave her alone,” Gary retorted. She could tell he’d been crying. His black eyeliner was smeared. She patted him on an over gelled fauxhawk. Nothing needed to be said.

Just then a tall, gaunt man came into the kitchen, like something out of an Ed Gorey book. He was dressed in black with hollow eyes and a balding head.
“I’m Father George,” he said and she noticed his white collar. She thought he might tell her to repent. “You should see your grandmother,” he whispered.
Her father drained his beer and tossed it noisily in with the recyclables. He sat heavily in the chair she vacated.
The living room was dark and calm. It felt like another world compared to the one she just left. She tiptoed past pictures of herself and Gary as children, a fading one of her young father and her mother who she barely knew. There was a new one of Gary and a handsome boy with black hair. She approached Nana’s bedroom door and knocked softly. There was no answer, so she entered quietly. The scent of Nana’s lilac perfume greeted her, but it was clouded by something strange and medicinal.
“Nana?” Her voice cracked as she looked at the frail figure of her grandmother. She knelt beside the bed, suddenly aware of hot tears that fell onto the lacy quilt.
Nana was dry and powdery and Melanie was afraid to touch her, but found her hand and held it. Nana opened an eye and Melanie wondered if she remembered her.
She spoke so quietly, Melanie had to lean in to hear her.
“Do you remember,” the words were an effort, “my favorite horse?”
It was the last horse to die, she had an unusual name.
“Yes.”
“What was her name?”
She couldn’t remember, but was glad for the diversion. Nana watched her closely and she felt like a child again. Nana had been a great teacher because of her patience.
Melanie pictured the horse in her mind, black with a white triangle on her nose. It came to her. “It was Annabelle Lee. She was named after a poem.”
Nana nodded and patted Melanie’s hand gently. It felt like feathers. “You were always smart,” Nana whispered. She coughed a deep rattling sound that chilled Melanie to the bone. She drifted back to sleep.
After several moments, Father George entered with her dad and Gary. He sat beside the bed and read his Bible, whispering words of the afterlife. Melanie and Gary sat close, not speaking. There was so much to say, but there would be time later.
Moments stretched into hours before Nana woke with a deep gasp and the family rushed to her side. Her father grabbed Nana’s hand and wiped sweat from her brow with her handkerchief. She became very still. Her breathing was labored, but the pain seemed to have receded.
All was quiet once again. The priest’s eyes were closed, but his lips moved in silent prayer. In the distance, Melanie heard the whinny of a horse. She pulled the curtain back to reveal an empty field of snow. The sound of galloping hooves grew closer until it seemed like it was in the room.
Nana put her hand forward, to pet the invisible steed. Melanie heard a neigh and even her father and Gary looked around. The sound of a trot broke out into a gallop that grew quieter until all was silent once again. She turned to see her father take Gary and pull him close. The priest closed his Bible and made the sign of the cross.
Melanie looked at Nana, smiling the peaceful smile that only death could bring.