10

A Chapter by Bera PT

That night, my grandfather decided to take me out with him for the evening. There was an old back road in town that everyone knew about it. It was just a big loop through the forest. Kids hung out there all the time and they were always driving circles around it. There wasn't a whole lot to keep the kids there entertained, so they made that road an attraction. They called it the Philly, and it kind of became a verb in their home grown language.

The road, as you can imagine, was bumpy and uneven. There was hardly enough room for two cars to drive down it, so most of the time people just drove in the middle of the road, at least until they saw a car coming. There was something magical and healing about going for a Philly. I had been a couple of times with Luke and it was serene. There were a few old houses, and of course, there were always stories surrounding the area, stories about KKK houses and rural witches, but other than that, it was completely relaxing.

The road went uphill. It wound up the side of a hill. It wasn't actually that high up that it went. How big can hills really get in Oklahoma? It felt like it went all the way up to heaven, though. Maybe it felt like that because you got the feeling that you were disconnected from what was below, disconnected from life. Maybe that's why he took me up there. I think it was.

"How ya feelin'?" He asked me.

"Fine." I said.

"Ah, fine as well as talkative, I see." He replied with a rather soft smile.

I couldn't help but wonder if he ever gave my father that smile.

"I'm just tired, I guess." I said.

The sun was setting, and the sky was dark red, streaked across the light background of the sky. It ran red across the background of the world. The air was thick, as it is most summer nights in Oklahoma. My shirt was damp. I was rather unsure if I was only sweating because of the heat, though.

I loved the man in the seat next to me. I loved him in a way that I had never experience. I loved him like a father. How twisted of a situation. I loved the man who killed my father like a father. Despite it, he gave me every part of himself in full, complete, and selfless love. Yet there was this innate part of me that wanted to rebel against him out of anger. But I still loved him. It was so confusing.

"How are you feeling?" He asked me.

And I honestly had no idea how to answer that. I honestly had no idea how I was feeling. I was feeling so many things. I was feeling sick with grief, I was feeling hungover, I was feeling depressed, I was feeling loved, I was feeling appreciated, I was feeling betrayed, I was feeling admiration, I was feeling so many things that shouldn't be felt in unison with each other. So what does that leave me feeling? I answered him the same way that so many people answers that question:

"I'm feeling fine." I said.

Then my grandfather said something that embodied his deep connection to people:

"Unless 'fine' now means something a lot deeper than it used to, you can tell me a lot more about what you're feeling than that." He said flatly.

I looked up at him the way a small child looks up at their dad when they need something. Except I wasn't completely sure what I needed.

We were quiet for a little while. He took me deeper into the Philly, higher up the hill. The higher we rose, the more I understood myself. The higher we rose, the more I was able to put my feelings into words.

"I'm feeling like nothing I'm feeling makes sense. I'm feeling scared. I'm scared because I love you, but I feel like I need to hate you." I said. It was a raw thing to say, but it was the honest answer to his question.

Once more, we were quiet. This seemed like the only place I could be that raw. Something about this place seemed to warrant complete honesty, completely undressed emotion.

My Papaw was wise. I always knew that, not just then, but I know it now as well. But I don't know if he was ever quite as wise as he seemed at that moment. As we rose up the hill, we rose in purity and in truth. He displayed that with the grace in which he answered me:

"Hatred, Tyler, is what the world calls you to feel. I took something from you, and for that, you should hate me. But love, Tyler, is also what the world calls you to feel. I am giving you something, and for that, you should love me. So what are you called to do? You are called to both love me, and hate me. At least, you are called to do so by the world. The world would have you believe that you were born with a muddled spirit. Because of the situation you were born into, the world would have you believe you were born with a muddled spirit. Therefore, you should be inclined to hate me. But Tyler, I've looked deep into your eyes, and that is not the spirit that you have. You have a spirit of grace, and of passion. A spirit of love, and of repentance. This is why you are inclined to love. Listen not to what circumstance whispers in your ear, listen to what your spirit whispers in your ear. If you follow that, you will never go wrong."

I was silent. I had never heard him speak in such a way. It was eloquent, like someone else was speaking through him. His tone calmed me, and it sent a soft chill through my entire body. Not the kind that shocks you, the kind that prompts you and refreshes you.

We sat at the top of the hill, with the trees still stretched high above us, and the evening breeze blowing through their leaves. The moonlight desperately searched for ways through the trees, rushing to touch the ground we were on. It found us, and it bathed us in its light. It wasn't the same moonlight that shone that night when my father killed those girls. This had to be a different moonlight. The other moon must have retired.

I leaned my head on my grandfathers shoulder like a child. In many ways, I was a child. I was facing a world that I had just now found out existed, desperate for someone to guide me, and I had found him. I clung on to him with the desperate grip of a child.

"I love you, Papaw." I told him.

"I love you too, Buddy." He replied.

As we drove down the other side of the Philly, I felt the pressure grow again and find its place back on my shoulders. I came down to earth quite literally. I wished I didn't have to come back down to this earth that I had thought I left, at least for a moment.

That night I had terrible dream. I was back at the Philly, except it wasn't going up a hill. It was descending into a valley. I just kept going down and down and down. As I walked, it got darker. It was a kind of dark that was so intense it hurt my eyes.

I walked for what felt like years. They say dreams only last for seconds, but I'm convinced this one must have lasted the entire night. My legs were tired and my feet ached. I felt blisters form at the back of my heels. They burned.

As I got closer to the bottom, I heard laughter. It was a sick laughter. It sounded dry. It sounded like someone was laughing with a sore throat, like someone who hadn't drank any water in days. The laughter intensified with each step I took. I began to sweat profusely. I was terrified. I turned around, suddenly realizing that I had the ability to walk the other way, back up the hill. Except there was nothing behind me. It was just a wall. I reached out in the darkness and pressed my hands against it. I could not walk back.

So I walked forward. What choice did I have? I walked toward the source of the laughter. I noticed a faint light in the distance as if lit by torches. I walked toward it, ever conscious of the increase in the volume of the laughter. The ground flattened as I got nearer to the bottom.

As I got nearer to the source of the light and the source of the laughter, I saw the shape of a young man. He turned toward me, and the laughter stopped. He grinned, it sent chills down my spine. Not the kind of chills that I got when my grandfather spoke to me at the top of the Philly. The bad kind.

The young man looked like me, although he had eyes that were black, similar to the blackness that I had just walked out of. He grinned, and his teeth were hideous. They were a sick mix of yellow and bright red, as if he were an animal. They didn't look like human teeth. He was skinny, and he looked sick. His clothes were ragged and torn. They had holes as if they had been riddles with bullets. He had on a shirt that looked like it used to be plain white, yet it was nothing like that color now. The top and middle parts of his shirt were soaked in dark red, as if his chest were ever bleeding. At the bottom of the shirt, it wasn't dark red, it was brown, like dried blood. He had on sweatpants, but they were clearly old and they were badly ripped. You could faintly make out a Nike sign. He did not wear shoes.

In an instant, I recognized him. He seemed to notice the change of expression on my face. He threw his disgusting head back in laughter. It looked just like mine.

"You must think I look like a monster." He said in a raspy voice. Like his laugh, his voice sounded like he had had nothing to drink in years.

I could not speak, I was frozen with terror.

"I was sorry, you know. Not that I ever had the chance to repent. Your precious grandfather made sure of that." He added. "It's a terrible thing for a son to be scared of his own father, you know." He said somberly.

I tried to speak, but I just made a faint sound like a whimper. He laughed at this offering.

"I loved your mother, Tyler. I loved her with all my heart. She left me, though. She threw me away like trash, you know." He spoke softly. "So I had her body one last time." He added with a soft smile.

At this, I gained my speech for a moment.

"Shut up." I whispered.

"What a strong boy to defend his mother like that." He said, mocking me. He laughed again. "You exist because of me, you know." He said firmly. "Not because of that old man that you love so much. All he's done for you is take away your father."

"Shut up." I said, this time a little firmer.

"But you love him, don't you Tyler."

"Shut up."

"Oh you love him so, the man that took away your father."

"Shut up."

"At least I got a loyal son out of this whole ordeal, right Tyler?"

"Shut up!" I was yelling now.

"At least my son honors my memory, right Tyler?"

"Shut up!"

"Do you love me, Tyler?"

"Leave me alone."

"Do you love me, Tyler?" Now he was yelling.