CURRENT
“Here I go again”
That was my only thought for the last 12 hours and change. Three planes, two layovers, a ride with an old friend, and in an hour or so, I’d be in the one place I’d sworn multiple times I’d never be again. But this town is a black hole, and it keeps sucking me back in.
Funny how that works.
What am I doing here? It’s simple…I’m here for a funeral. Two, and a wedding, to be fair. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
A WEEK AGO
“Who the hell is calling at this ungodly hour?”
I check the phone, my cousin is calling…this can’t be good. “Hey Miranda, somebody better be dead for you to be calling me this early.” I said, without even greeting her. Something about being woken up at 3 am by a ringing phone just puts me in a foul mood. “Shut up asshole, someone is dead. Pawpaw just passed away.” Now that I was more awake, I could hear the tears in her voice. Well damn, this is awkward.
“Shit, sorry, Randi. What happened?” I wasn’t going to get off that easy, but she let it pass for now. It had been years since I’ve seen most of my family, but I’d stayed in touch with Miranda, due more to her stubbornness than anything else. Her dad is my mom’s brother. She kept me in the loop as to what was going on back home, who was getting married, who was getting divorced, that sort of thing. It didn’t really interest me, but it was nice that someone in my family didn’t consider me to be the devil incarnate.
“Don’t know. He told us he was going to lay down because he wasn’t feeling well. Dad went to check on him an hour or so later, and he was gone.” I could hear the tears coming again. “Ok, let me get up and dressed and find some coffee and I’ll call you back. Give me fifteen?” “Sure, that’s fine.” This is the last thing I need right now. The one thing that could get me back there.
CURRENT
“You’re always seventeen in your hometown”
A-fucking-men brother. I don’t usually listen to country music but Alex, my best friend since we were old enough to know what those words meant, listens to nothing but. And since I’m currently sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, he’s in control. It’s not like there’s much choice though. In this neck of the woods, your options are country, gospel, or right-wing talk radio. I begged him to let me play my music, but the years haven’t changed the rules…the driver controls the soundtrack for any road trips.
“Does your dad know you’re back?” I guess one of us had to bring it up. I haven’t spoken to my dad since he threw me out at fifteen. Alex’s mom took me in, though as a single mom, she had a hard enough time providing for Alex and Amy, his twin sister. I think of her as the mom I never had, since mine died giving birth to me. A fact my dad never let me forget. He had a string of wives and girlfriends after my mom died, but he always blamed me when they inevitably left…never mind he also had a mean streak and a temper that was only worsened by the buckets of Jack Daniels he drank.
“Do you really need to ask?”
We rode in silence for a while. Truth is, I didn’t feel much like talking. There’s so much going on in my head, I don’t know where to even begin.
A WEEK AGO
“Leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again”
“What time is your flight? I’ll be waiting at the airport, first round’s on you when we get back to town.”
Which is Alex’s way of saying we were going straight from the airport to Hangar 18. It’s not much as bars go, but Mike was still there, just like he’d been since he opened the place when we were kids trying to sneak in to play pool. The name stuck out like a sore thumb in our hillbilly hometown, but everybody knew Mike, and knew he wasn’t a bad guy. “He’s just a little “off””, they’d say. His stint in the Air Force changed him.
CURRENT
“Nothing seems to change, but nothing stays the same”
As we approached the outskirts of town, a sudden tension settled in the air between Alex and me. The ride through town was like a movie, each building telling a story of faded memories and nostalgic moments frozen in time. It felt like a ghost town, once vibrant storefronts now weathered with age and neglect.
Alex pulled into the cracked pavement of the parking lot outside Hangar 18, the neon sign flickering weakly in the dusk. I don’t think it ever worked right, even when it was new. The familiar scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke wafted out, mingling with the heavy, humid air of the summer night. I could hear the distant sound of an 80’s metal cover band playing inside, the scream of guitars and pounding drums seeping through the walls.
“You ready for this, buddy?” Alex’s voice cut through the silence that hung between us like a shroud. I took a deep breath, not sure how to answer. The memories flooded back – laughter, fights, love, loss. It’s still kind of bizarre to be standing here, looking at the building in front of me.
“Fuck it, let’s go. Rip it off like a band-aid.” I cross the parking lot and open the door.