Lemmon's Journey

Chapter Six

Lemmon was back on familiar territory. He had returned to his former place of work, the Birdwell Meat factory, here to meet with his former employer, Simon Birdwell. Nothing about the building had changed since last time he was in here, like he expected changes to happen drastically after he’d left. The building was still standing since last time he was here—no fire or thunder had struck yet. He had run into several old friends on the way; they presumed he was still clearing out his office. Lemmon didn’t enquire who now occupied his former desk; it wasn’t his business to find out. He was here as a man on a mission, on a quest rather. Though if asked to choose, he would have preferred any other sagacious means to start than talking himself into making this trip here, sitting right now in the lounge room, waiting for the secretary to buzz him into his former boss’s office. He had been sitting here an hour now. No way he could tell if Birdwell was doing whatever he could to avoid seeing him, not that he had any reason. He could have saved Lemmon enough trouble by declining on the phone. Besides, Lemmon wasn’t here to beg for his old job back. What he came for was personal and private, not suitable to talk on the phone when he’d called three days ago to schedule an appointment.

While he sat waiting, passing his hat back and forth like a Frisbee, he reflected on what his friend had said to him the night he revealed Gloria’s letters. What if after finding Gloria, she remained adamant about not returning home? Lemmon had returned home that night brooding over the question in his sleep. Damn you Marley, for hitting the hammer on the nail!It was selfish and somewhat prideful of him to assume that all these years might have softened his daughter’s heart about returning home; all these years she’d being away, if she’d being hungry to return home, she could have done that anytime. Why wait after seven years? Wherever she is over in Harlem, she’s probably fending well for herself and her kid. Still she was young, and hadn’t finished college. The world was a beehive of danger to people like her. He should know this because he’d spent plenty noon time since his retirement soaking up what’s ongoing in the country and the rest of the world through his TV screen. So much of what he saw portrayed on the reality channels frightened him, and to think that Gloria was out there living amongst such crime activity in a far place like New York City was enough to make him lose sleep. He’d stayed up late every night reading her letters over again. He’d circled words and sentences she’d written with a pen, trying to pick out hidden clues, anything to reveal to her state of comfort. The letters were months old for him to know how she was holding up right now; nothing he could do about that. Still he gripped with himself that Abby had hid all this hidden from him almost a year now. That she had done it and he’d never once spotted any hint of treachery was confounding.

Lemmon came alive the next morning ticking off a list of what his intended journey would entail: (One)—ride a bus to New York City; (Two)—find shelter; (Three)—trace Gloria to where she worked, (Four)—surprise and reconcile with her. Last thing, hopefully, suggest she return to Sheffield with him. Whatever the outcome, he’ll take things from there. They’ll put their heads together and work something out. It sounded simple and easy, which was unfortunate because from where he sat, he was blinded to the difficulties he might encounter. New York City was a daunting place; the thought of being lost there was overwhelming. Like his good friend had said, he needed money. Such was the reason for his phone call and why he was here to meet the one person in Sheffield he knew who could grant his wish. He cringed at the thought of being turned down.

Impatient by the minute, he got up and admired the distinguished awards and plaques that decorated one half of the lounge room. He was relieved when the secretary called his name and told him Mr. Birdwell would see him now. Lemmon adjusted the collars of his suit and checked his tie before sauntering into his former boss’s office.

“Hi there, Lemmon,” Simon Birdwell scooted from behind his wide desk and shook hands with him, flashing his perfectly-polished smile. Lemmon chuckled inwardly to himself that he’d probably spent plenty of hours day and night perfecting that smile in front of a mirror. Everything about him appeared in perfect place, including his hair. “It’s being a while. You’re looking healthy.”

“I’m trying to stay old and healthy, thank you, Simon.”

“Look, about your wife’s passing, I was really heartbroken when I heard it. You have my deepest sympathies.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir.”

“Please, have a seat. How’re you holding up?”

Lemmon sat down and told him he was doing just fine. Simon asked if he wanted anything to drink but Lemmon declined. Simon returned to his seat, and they did a little catching up. It was an awkward moment and Lemmon felt glad when it drew to an end.

“So, Lem, how can I help you?”

* * *

Lemmon let himself into his house hours later and leaned with his back against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Feeling better, he went into the kitchen to make himself some coffee; liquor would have been better if he had any in the house. He dropped his hat on the table and emptied out everything in his coat pockets: his house keys, wallet, his daughter’s letters which he now carried with him everywhere, and last a check slip Simon Birdwell had written out to him with his signature paying the amount of two thousand Dollars.

Lemmon felt gracious to receive such. His expectations of success when he’d left home this morning to table his lost daughter problem to his former boss had being less than zero. Instead of being turned down, he’d felt his eyes water with tears Simon wasted little talk handing him the check. Lemmon had being thoroughly beaten and confounded by the kind gesture. It shattered every preconceived notion he’d had of him.

Lemmon ran his hand through his wispy hair and took off his coat and went to hang it along with his hat in the living room, followed by his jacket. He loosened his tie after preparing his coffee and sat by the table, taking mild sips of it. He sat across from where he normally sat with Abby, pretending she was across from him, sipping her tea and giving him that affectionate smile he always cherished of her. As he sat there taking short sips of his coffee, his eyes roamed the kitchen and he tried to imagine what it would feel like with the sound of children. Lots of children. Lemmon had always wanted more than just one, but two miscarriages later after they’d had Gloria put a damp on that dream.

Everything they had went toward making their daughter happy. In this house she had grown from a sweet child into a precocious young adult. Things came to a standstill the morning Abby found her gasping and throwing up in the toilet. The revelation of her pregnancy then came to light. Who was the father?They’d badgered her with that question but Gloria fought back with screaming fits and kept mum. As the months went by, the relevancy of that question took a backseat, especially when the baby arrived. Gloria went from high-school senior to stay-at-home mom, while all over town the gossip mills murmured as to who and why.

Lemmon held his cup in both hands and drank his coffee as snapshots of the past flirted before his eyes. It was hard ignoring the past, especially when it came calling. The past frightened him more than he was willing to accept that all these years he’d become an unconditional prisoner to it. Every waking hour of being alive presented him with the fact that he was stuck in time with no apparent future . . . except maybe inevitable death. Even the long walks he took to drive away the fear of living in the silence of his home made that more obvious to him now that he thought about it.

Lemmon had the urge to go into his room and pack a bag right now and run away. Where, he didn’t know. Probably anywhere the past wouldn’t consume him or try to hold him hostage. Another state . . . another country?

He finished his coffee and washed the cup in the sink, then hung it to dry on a rack. He picked up his wallet, keys and the check slip and went to his bedroom, needing to catch a few winks of sleep, and then think what to do later. He would cash the check tomorrow morning.

The days seemed to get longer every day.

* * *

Lemmon rolled back and forth on the bed, his thoughts flirted in and out of sleep. His sleep punctuated by the recurring nightmare of his dream. This time the dream came with an added continuum.

He was dressed up and floating over the dark highway. The highway cut through a city. A full moon hung in the sky above him. His wife and daughter stood like floating monoliths in the distance. They beckoned him to come to them, to come join them where they stood high above the city. Lemmon waded toward them, like he was swimming. They stretched their hands toward him as if to catch him. Just then the highway disappeared and a whirlwind happened, sucking him into a black hole. Lemmon screamed at them while he struggled to escape, but they stood there looking down at him. They laughed at him as he fell from view.

* * *

Three weeks came and went before Lemmon made his journey.

It was the fourth week of June. He used the last couple of days renovating his daughter’s room, putting it back the way it ought to be. He went to a furniture store and bought a new bed, table and chairs, and changed the wallpaper and curtains. He cleaned out her closet, too, and made a bonfire of her old clothes in the backyard. He was exhausted by the end of the week but happy with the cleanup result.

Lemmon took his time packing his clothes for the trip. He figured on taking whatever would sustain him for a two–week stay in the city; he hid the bulk of his money in a hidden recess inside his bag, though kept enough aside to afford him paying for a place to stay. He went into town and paid a cleaning service to take care of the place once every week and left them with spare keys to the house. It was a Monday morning. Marley left his shop and came by to drive him to the transit bus stop.

Lemmon stood at his porch with his bag beside his feet and the front door open before him. He took a long look at the house, a hint of worry on his mind whether he would return to it or if this was him saying goodbye forever. He prayed that wasn’t the case. He closed the door and locked it. Marley sat waiting inside his truck. Lemmon came and threw his bag into the backseat before getting into the front.

“You okay?” Marley asked him.

“Yeah, sure. Of course I’m okay.” He touched his glasses and then his hat as if making sure he hadn’t forgotten them.

“Just asking. Hope you ain’t left anything behind. Wouldn’t want to turn back and have you miss your bus, ‘cause you know it’s the only one leaving town right now.”

“I’ve got everything with me, now drive.”

His friend pulled out of his driveway and Lemmon looked at his house with longing need as his friend drove off. A cynical voice screamed at him to stop and put an end to this nonsense he was attempting. The voice advised that he was undertaking a stupid mission with nothing good expected to come out of it. Lemmon knew the voice was right, except right now he was on predetermined autopilot. He couldn’t put an end to what he was about to do even if he tried. He was going to see this journey through to the end.

Marley drove to the transit bus stop on Canal Avenue, close to the town’s old municipal building. The next bus out of town wouldn’t leave for another forty minutes. Lemmon fetched his bag from the backseat and shook hands with his friend.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you, Marl,” he said. His voice was brittle with emotion, as if he really wasn’t coming back at all.

“You take care and watch yourself, Lem. Go find that daughter and grandson of yours and bring them both back safe.”

“I will. At least I’m going to try.”

“Sarah and I will be praying for you. We’ll go fishing when you return.”

“I look forward to it,” he smiled.

Marley shifted his car in gear and drove off after waving at his friend one last time before he walked into the station building. He too felt a rip in his heart after seeing Lemmon walk away. The same fear dawned on him that this probably might be the last time he saw his friend again. He prayed it wasn’t so, but the thought wouldn’t stop hammering at his heart.

Lemmon bought his ticket and then a soda and chocolate bar from a vending machine inside and sat down to wait. The waiting seemed to prod him to return home. Forget about this stupid mission and lie in bed and finish that Steinbeck novel he’d been reading. Other travelers poured into the building, all of them impatient to leave Sheffield just like him. The chocolate made him queasy afterwards and he discarded what was left of it and stuck with the soda.

The bus arrived as the hour neared and everybody filled into it after stowing away their luggage underneath. Lemmon took a window seat and had the one next to him as well. He laid his hat on the spare seat and unbuttoned his coat as the bus pulled out of the station. Ten minutes later, they drove out of Sheffield and got on the I-98 highway out of town.

* * *

It was a couple of minutes before midnight. Lemmon flirted in and out of sleep, readjusted his legs continuously across both seats for comfort with his head propped on his arm for comfort, but the road bumps made it hard for him to relax. He finally gave up and took down his feet and viewed the dark world outside his window. Every other passenger inside was asleep and snoring. Everyone except him.

He was living the figment of his dream now, he knew it. He was on the highway, fully-clothed, undertaking a journey. Who knew what awaited him when he arrived at the other end.

Who knew.

He forced himself to go to sleep. The bus rumbled onward into midnight.