Chapter 1: Justin
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While pulling into the driveway of my family home, I am suddenly hit in the face by a flood of emotions: anger, sorrow, and disgust. The perfect white picket fence isn’t so white anymore, and the porch swing swinging back and forth in the stormy midday heat has seen better days. I should feel bad about some of the disrepair, but all I feel is deep sadness and disappointment in the father hiding behind the closed door of a house that was never a home. Putting the car in reverse, I avoid looking back as I drive away. I may be back in Dewbridge, Mississippi, but I’m not returning to the place that holds nothing but heartache.
As I cruise past the neatly kept lawns of neighbors and friends, memories of my teen years flood my mind. I can still hear Mrs. Foster yelling at Mason to come in for supper while yelling at me to run home to do the same. Neither one of us wanted to. He had his reasons, and I had mine. We’d burn the daylight hours for as long as we could, whether it was exploring, walking downtown, or working on the old beat-up trucks Mason’s grandfather seemed to collect in the woods behind their home. We managed to get two of them up and running with help from Mr. Edwards, the town mechanic. Our parents allowed us to keep them for ourselves. I had the red 1970 Chevy pickup restored several years ago, and now I keep it in a warehouse I built to house my collection of restored beauties. I named her Cherry. Original, I know, but hey, it fit.
Dewbridge High comes into view, and I smile at Coach Hansen shouting on the football field. He has a group of boys running drills as if it were the NFL. Dewbridge High has an unbeatable team for a reason. Many of his quarterbacks receive full-ride scholarships. A few are drafted by the NFL. I was one of those quarterbacks. Why Coach Hansen stays in this small town when he’s been offered countless opportunities is beyond me. As always, in Dewbridge, there’s a story there.
While steering my truck downtown, I notice the light of Frank’s Tavern blinking against the late afternoon dusk. It’s almost five o’clock. Quitting time. Soon, the bar’s parking lot will be filled with people from Dewbridge, both young and old. Most will be farmhands or oil workers. They’ll all be here to unwind after work. Some will drink too much. Their partners are likely to either hope they fall asleep or argue about their drinking. Someone will get into a fight tonight, news of infidelity will spread, and the divorce rate in town will go up by a point before closing. In a small town where everyone knows everyone, there is always drama.
Maneuvering my truck into an empty parking spot, I gaze at the building ahead. The building, which has seen better days, is an old brick structure. Dirt and grime cover every part, and moss covers one side. The Open sign in the window shines bright against the dark interior inside. Getting out and walking around, I notice the things that need repair before I enter through the well-used door in front. The bar is empty, except for a few customers getting an early start on drinking. Frank stands at the counter, polishing a glass with a towel draped over his shoulder. The older man glances up before smiling.
“It’s been a long time.”
With a smile of my own, I head in his direction. I watch him finish cleaning before he places the glass on the clean surface between us. Taking off his towel, he wipes his hands before offering it to me.
“Welcome home, Justin.”
I had to start reading this one, too. I now have three going at the same time.