Home for the Holidays

Sometimes, we take the small things for granted, along with the ones we love.

“No, no,no this can't be happening.”
“Don't do this to me! Don't you die on me now!” Mark pounded his first in anger.
“Please, just give me one more hour, please?” He was full on begging at this point.
“No?! Really? Why?” Mark looked up to the sky as If he would find the answer. “Why me?”
Mark sighed and composed himself. Finally, Acceptance.
“Fine, fine, go ahead then…”
Mark pulled to the side of the road as his ‘01 Camry made its final clicks and groans, and then pffff. It was dead. Exhaust filled the air. Mark had that car since college. He knew it was on its last legs, but he still chose to use it to drive from Portland to his parents place back home in North Dakota. Way north North Dakota. Almost on the Canadian border.
He hated the holidays. He usually avoided having to go home. He was too busy, and honestly, he didn't see the point. They just sat around, eating food and “catching up”. Whatever that meant. He didn't see why he couldn't just send a card, or call on the phone. But, he found himself on the long journey back home, despite how hard he tried to get out of it. On top of it all, he had a terrible sense of direction and found himself lost. Mark laid his head back as he weighed his options. As he looked around he felt as though he was being engulfed by the wilderness.
All that he knew at this point was he was somewhere in the Lake of Woods County way up in northern Michigan. He saw a welcome sign a few miles back. But that was all he had to go on. No cell reception. To a hipster like Mark from Portland, this was the stuff of nightmares. How could he navigate his way without Siri?
Hitchhiking crossed his mind, but he felt up here that was a sure way to find yourself locked in someone's basement. So, he did the only thing he could do. Walk until he saw some signs of civilization.
An hour had passed, and not one car had gone by. Not one. “How the hell did I manage to end up here?” Mark kept periodically checking his phone for any wifi service. But he knew that was just wishful thinking.
As he came to the top of the hill, Mark saw a sign. “3 miles to Town.”
“Okay, just three more miles. Three more miles…” he repeated to himself. The air was raw. There was a light mist of rain. Just enough to make him cold and wet.
To Town? He thought to himself. Was that the name? Or was it just something you see in the middle of nowhere? Like a sign you are nearing the one hub where people went for the necessities. This seemed like the kind of place where people went “to town” to get groceries or gas or something. Sometimes these small middle of nowhere places are behind the times. Maybe they still had a Blockbuster?
“You’ve made it, Welcome.”
Mark breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. But made it to where, exactly. There was nothing around. Except for one tiny dinner by the side of the road.
Skyline Diner. Welcome Home!
Big blue letters spelled out on a sign above the entry. The letters were bright, and illuminated by some silverlight. It seemed a bit flashy for its environment. “Welcome home?” Mark said to himself. He figured it must be a favorite of the locals.
Mark approached the empty parking lot of the dinner. Mark thought it seemed awfully dead for dinner time. He looked to his watch, forgetting that it has stopped working hours ago. But, judging by the sunset, he figured it must be getting late.
He walked inside and took in the decor. It looked familiar. Mark knew he had seen the chairs before. They were kind of kitchy, that was his mom's style
She liked the fifties diner look for her kitchen decor.
“Welcome Dear, welcome to Starlight Diner. Did you find us okay? Some people have a hard time getting here.”
Mark was greeted by a plump, friendly middle aged woman. She had a real warmth about her.
“Thank You. I actually kind of ended up here. My car broke down about 8 miles back. I was wondering if I could use your phone or something. I haven't been able to get service on my phone, and it must have died, because now the screen is completely black.”
“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that dear. 8 miles!? That's a long way to walk. Why, you must be exhausted. And freezing, it's been misting out there all day hasn't it? Well you just come on over here and sit down and we'll see what we can do for you.”
“Umm, well I just...Okay, sure. Thank you.” Mark pushed his black rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, and followed the woman to a table. Some coffee would be good. He was pretty cold. He figured he would just sit down, warm up, and then figure out what to do about his car. His parents were expecting him. They panicked if he didn't check in regularly on road trips, so he'd have to give them a call soon.
“What can I get you love?”
“I would really love a hot cup of coffee. Thank you. And, my name is Mark, by the way.” He said with a smile. He figured they might as well get acquainted. He might be there a while, and there was no one else in the place.
The woman just smiled back.
“Coffee it is then! Oh, and we have fresh apple pie, just out of the oven. Let me grab you a slice, it's your favorite right?”
“Yeah sure.” He did love apple pie, especially his mother's.
“Wait, how did you know that?” He asked confused. Lucky guess?
“Well everybody loves apple pie!” She replied.
“This is true.” Mark laughed a little and shook his head in agreement.
“I'll be right back dear.”
Mark looked around as she walked away.
“Wait, can I use your…” As he turned to ask for the phone, she was nowhere to be found. She must move pretty fast for an older woman. He figured he'd just wait till she came back.
He looked out the window, and realized it must be pretty late, because it was already dark out. Black. He must have lost track of time.
His eyes drifted to the painting on the wall. It was two people, a young boy and presumably his father sitting on a bench watching the sunset. There was a baseball mitt and ball on the ground beside them. Mark's mind drifted back. Some of his best memories as a child were playing catch with his father outside. On Saturdays, they would head out after lunch to the backyard. Mark's dad would toss the ball and he would hit it. Every time Mark hit the ball on just the right spot, and it went flying way off, his dad would yell “Home run!!!”. It always filled Mark with such pride. He loved making his dad proud. They would stay out there until the sunset. Mark looked down and shook his head. His father worked hard all week. He could have done anything with his day off. But he spent it with Mark. He supported the family all week, working long hard hours as a truckdriver. And then, on a Saturday he spent hours entertaining Mark, and making him a better baseball player. Selfless. Last week, he called Mark. He just wanted to talk. Catch up, he said. Mark said he couldn't, he was busy. He wasn't. He was just playing video games, and then was going to meet his friends for a drink. 18 years, and Mark couldn't give five minutes in return. He caught a glimpse of himself in the dark window. He felt a little tinge of disgust.
“Pies here!!!” The woman came cheerfully, out of nowhere. Mark jumped.
“Oh, I'm sorry to startle you dear.” She placed the pie down. It looked perfect.
“Just like you like…” she said as she plopped a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. Mark watched as it melted down the sides of the slice.
“Blow on the coffee kiddo, it's hot.”
Mark put his hands on the mug to feel it's warmth. He lifted his head to ask for the phone, but again, she was gone.
“Geeze, she's fast.” He said to himself.
Kiddo, that was what his mother always called him. She still did still. And apple pie just happened to be her specialty. Or, perhaps she just got really good at it because it was Marks favorite. She made it quite frequently at his request. That, along with pretty much everything else. Pizza on Fridays, pasta on Sundays, homemade Birthday cakes, and cookies for him and his friends. In fact, she only stopped making him and his friends snacks when Mark was a teenager. He snapped at her one day in front of his friends. He told her to leave him alone, stay out of his life, stop babying him. Marked remembered that pained look in her eye. It stuck with him. “Dude, your an a*s.” as his friend eloquently put it. Now, he agreed. He took a big bit of the Apple pie. Hers was better. She loved baking and cooking. She was a homemaker, and proud of it. She found joy in being the person who kept everything running smoothly. She was the backbone of the family. She never missed a baseball game, a school concert, or an opportunity to tell you she loved you.
Mark never had one cold that she didn't remedy. Even when he was in college, she sent him care packages. All his favorites from home. Selfless. Mark played with the remaining apples, as he recalled a recent conversation with his mother. She said she was thinking of coming to visit him with Mark's father. She said they figured he could use the company. He said he was really busy, so that wouldn't be a good idea. Maybe another time. It didn't even occur to him, maybe she was lonely and could use the company.
“All set there kiddo?” Again, out of nowhere the woman returned to take his plate.
“Yes, Thank you. It was delicious. I've been meaning to ask you can I use your…” Mark stopped mid sentence. He saw three drops of bright red blood drop to the table. He touched his head confused. He felt a gouge by his temple. All of a sudden his head hurt.
“Are you ready to go home now Mark?” She asked.
All of a sudden the wall across the room dissolved into a wall if white light.
“What? What do you mean? What's going on?” The room was spinning now. He couldn't understand what was happening.
“I said are you ready to go home?” She repeated gently, motioning to the bright lights.
“You were in an accident Mark, this afternoon. You hit your head. Now it's time to go.” She took his hand.
“No, no.” He couldn't believe it. He wasn't ready to die. He was still young. There were things he didn't do. He broke down. He walked here. Did he? It was all a blur now. He didn't know what to think.
“My parents. I didn't get to call my parents. They think I'm on my way home. I... I need to say goodbye to my parents. I need to say thank you, tell them I love them, I'm sorry…” Tears streamed down his face. His mother would be crushed, and his father...He was an only child.
“There's no time for that now.” She gently said as she guided him to the light.
“No, no, no!!” Mark jumped with a gasp as he opened his eyes. He was in his car, on the side of the road. He felt his head...nothing. No blood. Light peeked through the clouds and shined down, hitting his phone. It flashed. He had a text message. Several. His mother wanted to know when to expect him. “Love you, kiddo.” She always ended messages that way.
Mark smiled and laughed as he looked up at the sky. “Thank you.” He said out loud. His chest felt as though it would burst he was so great full. He picked up his phone to call his parents. He wanted to hear their voices. Just then, he saw the note on the seat beside him. Written on a post it.
“Happy Holidays kiddo, I'm glad you enjoyed the pie.
-PS, hug your parents for me”

Reviews

[JoeM]

That was wonderful, Joan. I had a tear well up, so you can't ask for much better than that. Keep writing, you've got the gift.