Short Stories

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Going Home



He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay in the place where everything was right again, but the dream drifted away. He caught a final word of assurance from the voice he had known so well, and then it was gone. He was back in his bed, eyes closed and clinging to the memory.

The first pale rays of dawn fell on a face that was lined with age but softened by a quiet humor. It was a face that brought to mind a kindly grandfather or a favorite uncle. His countenance reflected sadness at first, but it slowly changed to one of understanding, and then to relief.

On a rug at the foot of the bed, a dog heard his master stir and thump, thump, thumped the floor with its tail. The old man smiled and patted the side of the bed. "Good morning, Chester, did you sleep well?" The dog rose stiffly and slowly and hobbled over to where the hand waited to rub his head.

The old man rose and swung his feet onto the floor. Taking Chester's head between both hands he looked into the adoring eyes, now growing dim with age. He saw that his friend understood. "It's a bitch gettin' old, isn't it fella?" Together they made their way to the kitchen and started their day.

So familiar was his routine that he started the coffee, let the dog outside and retrieved the morning paper without giving a thought. He sunk into a chair at the head of a worn, Formica topped table and struggled to turn pages with fingers that seemed reluctant to obey his wishes. At some point, again without really being aware of it, he poured his first cup of the day and let Chester back in.

The sound of tires crunching in the gravel driveway roused his attention. Glancing at the clock on the stove he said to the dog, "There's your sister, Chester, right on time. Better go say good morning." The dog obediently trotted to the door and waited, his tail wagging in impatient anticipation.

The early visitor knocked twice and opened the door without waiting for a response. "Good morning, Daddy," she called out. "Hi, Chester," she continued, bending to scratch the dog's ears with one hand. In the other hand she held a cellophane wrapped plate.

"Mornin' Annie," the man answered. He walked over to where the coffee-maker hissed and gurgled on the counter and poured his daughter a cup.
She thanked him for the coffee and handed him the plate. "There's a meatloaf sandwich and a piece of apple pie from last night."

The two sat at the table and chatted, she taking care not to be obvious that she was checking on the old man, and he taking equal care not to let on that he knew. Both of their eyes seemed drawn to the third chair at the table, the one that sat empty. Chester sat with his head resting on the woman's knee, enjoying her attention and her strong, supple fingers.

At length the woman glanced at her watch and said, "I've got to be going. I have a million things to do today." She walked to the sink and rinsed out her cup. "Why don't you come over for supper tonight? I'm making a pot-roast."

The old man started to make an excuse then changed his mind. "That's a good idea," he said. He noticed the quizzical look on his daughter's face and realized that his choice of words must have sounded strange. He flashed her a smile and continued, "I've got something for Willie."

Annie went on her way and the old man continued his morning ritual. He ate a simple breakfast and washed the dishes in the sink. There was a dishwasher he had bought for his wife for Christmas one year but he never used it. It seemed wasteful to run that big, noisy thing just for a few utensils and he couldn't bear to let dirty dishes build up until there was enough for a load. Besides, the ritual comforted him and used up a few minutes of a day that was too long and offered too little.

It was a fine autumn morning, chilly but fair, with a crystal blue sky. The old man snapped a leash on the dog's collar and pulled on a faded chore coat. "Ready to go, Chester?" The dog wagged its tail and sniffed at the door.

The two enjoyed a walk together every morning. Sometimes, if the weather was bad, they kept it short. Today, only a long one would do. They meandered across town, pausing at familiar places. If the old man lingered too long with his reminiscing, the dog nudged him along with his nose. They were both tired and ready to rest when they came to the last stop.

Every small town has a place where the old-timers gather to hang out. It is a place of refuge and companionship, of tall tales and happy memories. It is a place where ticking of the clock is quieted, at least for a while. For the old man that place was Spencer's General Store. The dimly lit room, cluttered with dusty merchandise, was dominated by an ancient, wood-burning stove. Walt Spencer started the fire in the morning, but his customers tended it for him.

Chester was welcome there so the old man led the dog through the creaking front door. A cow-bell dangling from the ceiling announced their arrival. He pulled up a folding chair and joined in the conversation while the dog wandered from friend to friend, mooching attention from each. The group would adjourn for the noon meal and reconvene in the afternoon, but today the old man would not return. He had other business to attend to.

The old man spent the afternoon doing laundry and tidying up the house. He paused when he came to the photograph that sat at the center of the mantelpiece, a photograph that had been taken by a ten year-old boy with a knack for photography. In it he saw himself, kneeling beside Chester and smiling at the camera, while the woman who had always been the prettiest girl in town rested her hands on his shoulders. He carefully dusted the silver frame and replaced it on the mantel, taking care to get the position just right.

With the chores complete there was still time for a nap before had to get ready for dinner. He dropped into his favorite chair and reached for the worn Bible that sat on the side table next to the reading lamp. He read a few passages and then dozed with the book open on his lap. Chester, lying on the floor at his feet, snored in concert with his master.

The sun was low in the sky when he awoke, his neck stiff from sleeping upright. There was one more thing to do before dinner. From a shelf in the hall closet he retrieved a padded leather case and set it delicately on the kitchen table. He flipped the catches and opened it to reveal a Nikon camera resting in eggshell padding. He picked up the camera and each lens, admiring each piece in turn, occasionally flicking a piece of imaginary lent. Smiling with satisfaction he repacked it all, gathered up his dog and headed out the door.

Willie answered the knock and gleefully let his grandpa in. The living room was rich with the aromas of good things cooking. The sounds of a good woman bustling in the kitchen gave the old man a momentary sense of déjà vu. Momentary because Willie eagerly demanded to know why he had brought the camera.
The old man rubbed the boy's head and answered, "How are you ever going to use this thing if I don't teach you?"

"Aw, Grampa," Willie protested, "I'm almost as good with it as you are."
The pair went into the kitchen where Annie gave her daddy a peck on the cheek and poured coffee into the chipped mug he insisted on using. His son-in-law came in from the garage and they all chatted and laughed until supper was ready.

The meal was perfect and everyone ate too much. Annie modestly dismissed compliments as she cleared the table and shooed the others to the living room where it was more comfortable. The old man and boy soon lost themselves in the finer points of photography. It was a quiet evening with his family and the old man enjoyed it longer than he ordinarily might.

Finally, as Willie's bedtime drew near, they put away the camera. "Why don't you just hang onto this?" the old man casually said.

The boy's eyes widened in awe and his jaw dropped. "Do you mean it, Grampa?"

"Daddy!" Annie protested, "I know how much you love that camera. Willie can't accept it."

The old man insisted. ""I hardly ever use it anymore with my arthritis like it is. A fine tool is meant to be used. Besides, if I want to use it I'll bet Willie would let me borrow it." Again, he flashed his disarming smile.

With that it was settled and a delighted boy thanked his grandpa as he carried his treasure to his room.

With a wistful sigh the old man rose stiffly from the couch and said, "Chester, it's past your bedtime." Annie politely asked him to stay longer, but the old man looked her in the eye and replied, "No, honey. It's time for Chester and me to go home."

She have him that quizzical look again, but he just smiled and reached for his coat. He snapped the leash on the dog's collar and wished everyone a good night.

*****

The sound of tires crunching on gravel came right on time according to the clock on the stove. Annie knocked twice and opened the door. "Good morning, Daddy!" Before the echo died she sensed that something was wrong. Alarmed now she called out, "Daddy, where's Chester?"

Annie slowly crossed the room and saw the outline of her father in his favorite chair, his dog curled up on the floor beside him. Neither of them moved. She drew closer, her heart pounding in her chest, knowing what she would find.

She knelt beside his chair and took his cold hand in her own. In his other hand she saw the photograph in the silver frame and she thought back to his strange remark the evening before. In that moment she understood. Her father and his friend had gone home.

The end










9

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