“Silver City”©

By

Jeffrey G. Grisamore

The door swung quietly shut behind him - the stillness of the morning punctuated by the sound of his boots on the old wooden stairs as he descended.  He walked slowly to the old truck as he lit a cigarette, the smoke; forming a contrail behind him as he walked, coffee in hand.  June his dog had been impatiently waiting and leaped into the truck as soon as the door opened – taking her rightful place in the front passenger seat.  He swung his bag into the back, climbed in and turned the key as the reliable old truck sputtered to life, a cough of blue smoke belching from the tailpipe.

The driveway was uneven, pockmarked and weary, just like him.  As he drove down the dusty lane of his childhood, his eyes welled as he thought about the disappointments, the lost opportunities, the sadness and the inevitability of it all.  It hadn’t always been like this.

He turned left at the first dirt road junction and continued southward, further into the grayness of the still, cold morning.  His leather jacket was too light; he turned up the heat in the cab and pressed on the gas, encouraging both the engine and the heat to life.

He looked down and June’s head was resting on the frayed denim of his pant leg.  He stroked her head and got a lazy lick in return.  He flicked the cigarette out the window and finished his coffee.

Five miles down the road, a cross appeared out of the haze, above the pasture, illuminating the way to the small country cemetery which was located on the highest point surrounding the town.  He swung the old truck into the drive, worked the clutch and stick shift into second and slowed, creeping along the narrow road just up to where the aspen stand met the now bare pasture beyond.

He stopped the truck, gave a quick pat to June and rolled out onto the grassy meadow, his boots sinking into the soft ground as he walked, with no urgency, over to the corner of the graveyard, where his last name was inscribed on the granite stone.  He stood with his head down, shoulders stooped in the cold gray dawn. 

Funny thing was, they didn’t even get along that well.  Still, he felt desolate. 

He had so many questions; he felt so unsure.  He didn’t know where to start, or where it was going to end.  Everything seemed darker than before; the fish didn’t bite; the sun was never as bright; even June sometimes seemed uninterested.  

He glanced back and she was watching him – calmly, reassuringly, from the cab of the truck.  Ever his faithful friend.  He turned back to the stone and he folded his hands and he gave thanks, and he asked for forgiveness and he asked for faith and hope and peace.

To his left, a small group of people stood surrounding a fresh grave.  A rural preacher stood beside the casket, and he could hear him speak in plain, reassuring calmness.  The preacher wore a large silver belt buckle, cowboy boots and was holding an old leather Bible in his weathered hands, opened to the Book of Psalm.

He overheard him talk about the glory of life and the strength that faith required, and he asked God to take care of all of his sons and daughters, but to pay particular attention on this day to the newly departed before them who was a daughter of the Plains and who lived a strong, good life. 

Then he quietly closed with the words: “Let our souls be mountains, let our spirits be stars, let our hearts be worlds.  Come Holy Spirit Come. Come as fire and burn; come as wind and cleanse, come as light and reveal”.

Standing just a short distance from the group, he looked up and realized that the preacher was looking directly at him; speaking to him and holding him in his gaze from afar.  He nodded in acknowledgement, turned and walked the short distance back to the truck.

As they drove down the gravel road toward the highway, they were inspired by the world around them.  Unconsciously, his eyes roamed the countryside of his birth, a scrolling tableau of sights and smells of a time long ago – of a time still left uncaptured.

The steel gray dawn was turning to amber and a new day was fast approaching.  He turned up the collar of his jacket once again, wiped a tear from his eye, as June gave one big sigh before she fell fast asleep in his lap.