Lemmon's Journey

Chapter Two

The days came and went but the season remained the same. The days grew longer, so too were the nights. The weeks appeared endless; the month seemed to take like a millennium before it ended. Lemmon’s home was like a prison: he had all the time he wanted to remain in bed whether it’d be dawn or noon. Everything around him seemed to emphasize the fact that he was still as he saw himself his last day at work: like a man on a boat floundering on a stormy sea without a rudder. Every waking morning came with the agonizing need: what to do with himself between morning and before night fell.

His body betrayed him. His body craved for work, for something to do, and this undeniable aspect kept him awake plenty of nights and way into the morning. Each time he shuffled into the bathroom and gazed at his mirror reflection, he swore his features were sagging with his eyes looking blearier than the previous night. When in bed he curled on his side slightly away from Abby’s sleeping form, like he didn’t want her touch to remind him of where he was, or that he had someone to share his misery with. His thighs pressed together in fetal posture, his hands clutched the pillow under his head while his ears listened to the eerie, captivating beat of midnight outside the windows. His eyes twitched perceptively under his eyelids, though not wanting to come open. Lemmon knew if he did that that would be the end of sleep for the night. He would spend the remaining hours in purgatory-type wakefulness, listening to his wife’s breathing and the wind howling outside. This is hell, he admitted to himself. All the years he remembered as a child attending endless Bible classes with his parents, it dawned on him now that this was the malevolent hell the preachers had spoken on in their sermon. And this was how he was meant to spend his hellish eternity: spending everyday with nothing on mind. His dreams added further salt to his pain, becoming evidently baffling to him each night. He waited one morning to share it with his wife.

Abby made him his usual cup of coffee, scrambled eggs and waffles, and sat across at the kitchen table with a cup of herbal tea in her hand. Lemmon didn’t reach for his cup. He sat in his bathrobe with one leg crossed over the other and his arms folded across his chest, looking like an invalid, observing the wisps of smoke that curled out of the brown surface. Abby blew into hers and sipped her tea with not a care in the world. The world outside the window was awash with brilliant sun. Lemmon remained staring at his cup for more than a minute.

“Your coffee’s getting cold,” she reminded him.

“I know,” he mumbled.

“Something on your mind, honey?”

He looked at her. “This is kind of strange. I’ve been having a weird type of dream lately. I guess it started around the time I got retired.”

“What’s the dream about?”

“That’s the weirdest thing, I don’t know. It’s kind of peculiar. I thought nothing of it at first, but I’ve been having it quite regular for some days now. It even comes sometimes when I’m taking a nap in the living room.”

She dropped her cup and looked at him with total concentration. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It happens like this,” he uncrossed his legs and arms and shifted forward in his chair. “It’s the middle of the night. I’m all dressed up carrying a bag, looking like I’m ready to travel, and I’m standing in the middle of a highway. The highway kind of stretches into the night through some deserted country. I really can’t tell for sure. I don’t know where it leads, and I know I’ve never traveled down that road before—nothing familiar about it. Anyway, I see myself moving, carried along, sort of like I’m flying through the air. Except I’m not really flying, per se. Something’s pushing me. I try to stop, but I can’t.”

“Sounds peculiar. Where are you flying to?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know. It’s just me floating along this highway. That’s the dream.”

Abby gave him a quizzical look. “That ispeculiar. You’ve been having this same dream all this time and you don’t know what it means?”

He shook his head. “Weird, isn’t it?”

“Not for me to say, you’re the one that’s having it. How come you never mentioned it before?”

“I thought it was nothing—just a stupid dream—now I don’t know.”

“What it is, it doesn’t sound scary. Does it scare you?”

Another shake of his head. “Not really. I don’t know if it’s some stupid dream, or something I’m trying to think about but don’t know what of.”

“Want to know what I think? I think you’re letting yourself be worried over stuff you shouldn’t. I think you’re stressing yourself for no reason.”

“You think so?”

“Honey, in case you haven’t noticed, you haven’t really been yourself since you retired. Sometimes you make like you’re the walking dead. Like your body’s head but your mind is elsewhere I don’t know.”

Lemmon swallowed. She was right, he hadn’t been feeling right since. A lot of times he couldn’t make out what he was feeling, or in fact why, like he was coming down with a fever. He’d look at the calendar, at each succeeding day and wonder why they all felt like the same to him. All part of him lost at sea.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” he agreed.

She reached for his hand and he felt nurtured by her warmth.

“You are my highway,” she said to him affectionately. Her thumb rubbed his fingers. “I can’t think of any other highway I’d want to be besides here with you.”

“You’re my highway, too,” he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

That brought a smile to her face. Lemmon couldn’t help been envious of that smile.

“Drink your coffee, honey. You ought to get yourself a haircut and a shave, too. You’re way past due.”

He ran a hand over his chin and felt his stubbly growth, surprised he’d ignored it this while. “Yeah, you’re right about that.” He picked up his cup and sipped his coffee. “Just worried about nothing at all, I guess.”

They ate breakfast in silence, just as they usually did. They went their separate ways afterwards: Abby loaded up the dishwasher then went up to her studio room to finish with her portrait. Lemmon vacuumed the living room and the passageway. Afterwards, he slipped into the garage where he had some old machinery stuff he’d begun tinkering with since his retirement became official. He worked for an hour before going to the bedroom to change his clothes and then was off to get his hair cut.

Someone knocked on their door that evening. Abby went to answer it. It was Marley Simmons, an old friend of Lemmon’s. Marley was the same age as Lemmon. A former Marine who’d lost his left leg in the first Gulf War and now managed to get along with a disability pension that compensated for the prosthetic appendage he wore. The remainder of his benefits had afforded him a fertilizer feed store he ran with his two sons. He and Lemmon had been friends since junior high and he had been Lemmon’s Best Man at his wedding. With his gray beard and low-cut afro, he looked a lot like the actor Danny Glover, even down to his craggy voice.

“Hi there, Marley.” Abby welcomed him into her home. “Was wondering when you were going to show up.”

“Sorry. I’ve been way too busy,” he kissed Abby’s cheek before taking off his cap. “Been working my boys hard at the store. I can’t trust those sons of mine not to goof off when they ought to be minding the till.”

“You here to steal my Lem away?”

“Just for an hour or two. With the lady’s permission, of course,” he gave her a curtsey bow that got her laughing.

“You’re about the only thing that gets him out this house. Sometimes I have to beg him to go out for a stroll or something. Anything to get his mind off his problem.”

“Retirement ain’t never an easy thing to get past. I’ve been there sort of, and I know.”

“I just hate seeing him looking miserable every day—he’s hurting himself for no reason. How is your wife, Sarah? I didn’t see her at the bridge club last weekend.”

“She had a cold, that was why. I thought I called to let you know. She can be forgetful sometimes.”

Lemmon had just woken from a nap and went to wash his face in the bathroom before joining them.

“Hey there, Marley. Thought I wasn’t going to see you till weekend.”

Both friends shook hands. “Managing that store can be hectic sometimes, especially around this time of the year. You in the mood for some outing?”

“You know me, I’m always game.”

Abby brought him a jacket from the bedroom and told them to have fun as they stepped out of the house. Marley’s truck was parked in front of their home. They waved back at Abby as she stood at the porch waving at them as they drove off. She returned into the house to see about dinner.

They drove to the Sheffield College football stadium. Marley shared janitorial duties with two other retirees and tonight was his turn. He gave Lemmon the key who came down and unlocked the gate for his friend to drive through before going to join him. Marley had brought along a six-pack of Coors and a some cupcakes his wife had made for him in a lunch box. He parked his truck and together they huddled up the bleachers and sat at the top row gazing down at the football field. It was less colder up here. They each popped the tab of their beer and drank to each other’s health, then had a share of the cupcakes. They listened to the placid silence in the stadium while they recalled old gossips and jokes. The sky grew dark and the wind got colder. Lemmon sighted a flock of bats traveling east in scattered formation and wished he could be like them right now: soar high into the sky and let the wind by his compass and take him wherever it may, just like in his dream. That brought a tinge of sadness to his eyes when the memory of his dream flooded his mind and he couldn’t help mentioning it to Marley. He cherished his friend’s opinion as much as he cherished whatever Abby told him, figuring his friend’s answer would be more incisive with his thoughts than his wife had offered.

“What do you think?” he asked after he had finished his tale.

Marley hunkered in his jacket. His breath gave off cold vapor. “Want to know the truth? I don’t know what to think,” he said eventually. “I might dismiss it as just some dream, but you said you’ve been having it since you packed in. How long ago was that?”

“Getting to two months now.”

“Ain’t that long.”

“No, it ain’t. But feels like a century to me.”

“Do you miss it? Your former job, I mean.”

“I do,” Lemmon admitted. “I can’t help it. But there ain’t nothing I can do about getting it back. Some days when I wake up, I swear it feels like I’m sleepwalking.”

“And you say it’s this same dream over and over again?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m having it every night,” said Lemmon. “Some nights I get through with no dreams at all, but yeah, it’s been pretty much the same dream I’m getting. A little different sometimes, but basically the same. It’s kind of like it’s trying to tell me something I don’t know about.”

“What do you figure it’s trying to tell you?”

“That’s the same thing Abby asked me. Truth is I don’t know, Marl. I’m no psychic to figure that out. Nothing about it seems to give.”

“What you need is an old Gypsy woman,” joked his friend. “Too bad we ain’t got those women around here no more.”

“This is serious, Marl.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” His friend sipped his beer. “Look, it’s probably some type of anxiety attack you’re going through, you know from not working with the meat company anymore. It gets to you when you think it won’t—when you can’t think straight about the future anymore. I’ve been there before, so I know.”

“You had dreams like mine before?”

“Worse than yours,” Marley’s voice was somber. “You feel like you’re falling asleep when awake and you’re awake when really you’re sleeping. Feels like you’re standing on a cliff waiting for someone or something to push you off. Yeah, I’ve been there before.”

“When did yours happen?”

To answer, his friend pulled at the hem of his jeans to reveal the prosthetic limb he possessed for a left leg. It ended in a stump hidden inside his shoes.

“When I lost junior here,” said his friend before dropping back his jeans.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

His friend waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Perish the thought, man. I’ve gotten over it. I’ve got two kids and a wife who still need me around,” he said. “That was enough to get me through my spell. It took a long while to realize that and it wasn’t easy. A lot of times, and I’m telling you this ‘cause I ain’t let nobody in on it yet, not even Sarah But there was a time when I came an inch close to biting the bullet.”

“Suicide?”

Marley nodded, his voice grew solemn and dreamy. “They don’t call it the best medicine, but most times you feel it yearning for you. when you’re in that world of hurting pain, the kind that grabs your soul, it’s all you think about. Sometimes it’s the best pill any man can have, except in my opinion you’ve got to be more tougher than leather inside to want to go through with it.” he stopped to drink his beer before continuing. “I kept having these crazy nightmares when I got back from the Gulf, trying to patch up what was left of me in Walter Reed hospital up in DC. One I remember vividly, and you’d think it crazy: I saw myself running down a race track, like I was gunning for the Olympics or something. In the dream I still both my legs. In the dream I must have run that race track for miles and then for no reason fell into this giant rat trap and my leg got cut off. I held my dismembered foot and wouldn’t stop howling like crazy, and then I’d wake up in the hospital and find that I actually was screaming my head off. The nurses appeared and tried to hold me down, most times they’d dope me off to sleep. I’d cry my eyes off every morning when I’d look down and not find my foot where it ought to be. I tell you brother, suicide then would have done me a lot better.”

Marley spat a gob of spite on the bleacher bench below then drained his beer. He dropped the empty can beside his feet then reached for another. Lemmon still had his first beer in his hand. He waited to hear more of his friend’s secret while all around them the world grew darker. Marley popped the tab of his beer; his eyes were gazing miles beyond the purple sky.

“I had plenty of sessions with the army shrink, whatever good that did. When I got discharged, I thought that would be the end of it. Sarah came and got me from the hospital—the brass sent someone over to hand me a medal and a handshake—then we made it here to Sheffield. I thought that was finally it and that somehow I was going to pull through, but that was a flat-out lie. The nightmares returned and things got crazy. Some nights I’d wake up screaming out of my head, scared the hell out of my kids, including Sarah. I saw another shrink who got me turned around. I got to realize there was a demon inside me, making me feel miserable about my lost piece of foot. The demon kept suggesting to me to end my life and be done with everything. If I hadn’t been strong enough to resist that bit of temptation, you and I wouldn’t be sitting here drinking all these beer. I’d be sleeping till forever up on Mulland cemetery right now.”

“How did you get over it?” Lemmon asked, awed by his friend’s confession.

“That’s the problem, you don’t get over it. It’s a part of you, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s like your shadow, you know—it goes wherever you go. Every man’s got a dark side, and it comes down to how much ear you pay attention to it. I guess you’re just gonna have to find a way to make peace with your dark self. Keep reminding yourself why your ass is still alive, and acknowledge the fact that something inside you is missing. You may not know about it yet, but be patient with yourself and you will. For me, I know I left a piece of foot back in Kuwait and I ain’t getting it back anymore. But it’s all right, I’ve learnt to live with that. For you, I don’t know. You’re just going to have to keep searching, but stop being so hard on yourself about it. Ain’t no use you hurting yourself the way you are already.”

“What happens if I can’t find it, Marl?” Lemmon beseeched his friend. “I mean what happens if I don’t ever know what it is I’m missing, what happens then?”

Marley threw up his hands in resignation. “I don’t know. I guess you’re going to keep getting more of whatever dream it is you’re getting. Sorry if that wasn’t enough to help. I guess that’s all the answer I’ve got in me right now.”

“No harm, no foul,” Lemmon conceded. “I’ll just have to do away with whatever answer I can get. Anything besides me thinking I’m going crazy.”

“Nah, Lem. Your white ass ain’t nowhere getting crazy. I’ve been to a war before and I know what crazy looks like. Trust me, you ain’t even close,” his friend crackled before taking a swig of his beer. “On to other things, you thought hard of what you’re going to be doing beside looking at old car batteries in your garage? Abby told me you’re driving her nuts the way you’ve been acting around the house.”

“I reckon, though I ain’t found that answer yet. You’re gonna laugh at this, I was thinking about taking up some golf,” Lemmon offered humorously. “Thought I’d have to head all the way up to the city to enjoy that crap. I’ve got enough money salted away. Plus my pension is enough to ride me and Abby along. Right now all I’ve got time for is looking at old car batteries.”

“Boring,” his friend remarked.

“Damn right it’s boring,” Lemmon laughed. “Kind of like watching paint on a wall dry.”

“Must be some lovely wall, you and Abby alone in that house. Too bad you both ain’t young no more, or you’d be doing some role-playing fun in there.”

“At my age, the only role-playing fun I can do is her asking me not to fall asleep each time I’m in the shower.”

That cracked Marley up. Both men howled with laughter.

“I know what you mean. I get the same grip with Sarah. She’s strong-willed when it comes to raising the boys. I told her one time if we’d had her in Desert Storm as a general, ain’t no way in hell we wouldn’t have kicked Saddam’s ass. She gets mad whenever I tell her that,” he chuckled.

"It still doesn’t change much for me, Marley,” Lemmon complained. “I’m not my happy self right now, not since I retired. The way it’s going, I don’t think I’ll ever be so happy anymore. I can’t believe how grumpy my life has become.”

“Take it easy, Lem. One day at a time. Something’s going on happen along that’ll put you back on strong path. Anyway since you’re pretty handy with tools, I hear Marcus Brody’s old man, Jeb, is setting to quit his car-pooling workshop down on Forgarty road. I’ll see if I can swing by and talk with Marcus if he’ll need an extra hand; chances are he will. The pay ain’t going to be much though.”

“At my age I don’t care, Marley. I’ll take whatever it is I can lay my hands on. Anything to keep me going and busy. Maybe then I’ll stop having that weird dream I’m getting.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll drop by his workshop tomorrow while delivering my feeds. If I don’t call you, then I’ll drop by and let you know. Ever since Jeb’s arthritis grew worse, it’s been hard leaving his kid to carry the weight of that workshop of his alone.”

“Must be tough for both of them. Thanks, Marl. I mean it.”

His friend smiled. “Ain’t nothing to it. Now how about we finish these beers before the full moon gets here.”

Lemmon laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”

* * *

They were laughing and crooning a classic rock tune when Marley drove his friend back to his home. The streets were empty and Marley was level-headed with his driving, not wishing to get himself a speeding ticket; Sarah would throw a fit if she found out about that. He pulled into Lemmon’s driveway and Lemmon got out, careful not to fall on his feet.

“Okay, Marl. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” he slammed the door, his words sounded slurry.

“You take care, you hear. And say hello to Abby for me.”

His friend honked his horn before pulling his truck in reverse. Lemmon stood there wobbling and watched his friend drive to the end of the street and then made a right, waving at him before he slipped from view.

“Abby, I’m home!” Lemmon hollered as he pushed past the screen door then entered the living room, shutting the door behind him. He fumbled his arms out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor.

Lemmon lumbered into the kitchen and filled himself a glass of water. He reclined against the table while he guzzled the water down, feeling it lower the weight of alcohol in him. He wiped his lips with his arm then let go a loud belch. There was a pot of boiling broth on the kitchen stove. Lemmon checked its contents before turning off the gas. Abby had probably forgotten about it, he thought.

“Abby?” he called out as he stepped out of the kitchen. “You left the pot burning.”

No sound from her. He trundled up the stairs but didn’t find her inside the studio room. He closed the door and returned downstairs and went looking in the bedroom. She wasn’t in there either, and what occurred to him right away was that she was probably at the Morrison’s home playing solitaire. But that was something she left to do on weekends. He flopped on the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. He took off his glasses and ran his hands over his face. His fingers worked at unbuttoning his shirt and then kicked his feet out of his shoes, wanting to have himself a shower. It was a good thing Abby wasn’t home; she never liked smelling anything alcohol on his breath.

The bathroom door was ajar when Lemmon stepped inside. Nothing occurred to him as he stood facing the sink and slapped water repeatedly on his face before stopping to admire at his features in the mirror. Behind him was the shower stall. The curtains were partly drawn to shield whomever might be in there having a bath, though he noticed something odd when he looked at the reflection past his shoulder and saw something sticking out of it. It resembled a person’s slouching form. Lemmon turned around aghast, recognizing the slumped form of his wife in the stall in her house clothes. Lemmon yelled his wife’s name as he pushed back the shower curtain and knelt beside her. Abby’s head was twisted at an odd angle, reclining against the linoleum wall. There was blood oozing out the back on her head. Her eyes nightmarishly rolled up in their sockets. Lemmon shook with fright and wouldn’t stop screaming her name; tears flew out of his eyes while he did.

“Abby! Speak to me, Abby!”

He wouldn’t stop shaking his wife in his arms. Water rained down from the shower fountain; everything was starting to appear blurry. Lemmon had flashes of Abby smiling at him hours before he left with Marley. He was still lying there hopelessly hugging his wife, screaming and crying when a neighbor appeared at the bathroom doorway, followed by another. He wasn’t hearing them as they turned off the water and struggled to drag him out of the stall. They too yelled at him to let go of his wife’s corpse, finally pulling him away instead.