Blades of Winter

The road back to Waukesha felt longer than Ralph remembered, but when he turned onto Cedar Lane, memories flooded back. His childhood home at 1524 Cedar Lane, a charming single-family ranch-style house built in 1957, stood just as it had, though time had left its mark. The 876 square feet of living space, with its three bedrooms and one bathroom, had always felt warm and cozy, but now the house had been modernized, its original character masked by layers of remodeling since his parents sold it in 1976.

The property, sitting on a 9,148-square-foot lot, still featured the 2.5-car detached garage where he’d spent countless hours with his father, rebuilding a Studebaker. That space, once a workshop for father-son projects, would soon be transformed into something of his own: a licensed radio station.

The Hillcrest Heights neighborhood, once a quiet place where families put down roots, had also changed, though it still retained its charm. Known for its medium noise level and proximity to schools and transportation, it was the kind of place Ralph had always envisioned coming back to. Now, with his successful startup behind him, he was determined to bring new life to the town he’d once left behind.

Though he didn’t know what the future held, Ralph knew one thing for sure: he needed something real, something that mattered. His ten years as a military captain had taught him resilience and leadership, but nothing could fully prepare him for the challenge of rebuilding both a forgotten town and his place within it. With the garage as his foundation, he was ready to restore something meaningful to this town that had shaped him.

Ralph pulled up the “For Sale” sign, now marked with bold red “SOLD” letters plastered across it. He paused, looking up and down the street. None of his old friends—Bruce, his brother Mark, Buz, his brother Jerome, Chris, or Jason—were around anymore. They’d all moved on, scattered elsewhere. Even the old elementary school principal, Mr. Menzel, had left the neighborhood after retiring. His house now sported a flashy muscle car, clearly not the old Volkswagen Beetle Mr. Menzel used to drive. Everything had changed.

Ralph sighed as he walked back toward the house, the familiar sights now feeling foreign.

He stopped by the empty nook where the trash bins used to be. Guess I’ll have to pick up some new ones, he chuckled to himself as he dropped the sign onto the concrete. He quickly turned and made his way up the back porch, just like he had when he was younger. Opening the side door, he stepped inside.

The house was eerily quiet. He glanced at the old stairs leading down toward the basement entrance and turning right, he walked into the kitchen. It was modern now, but the layout remained the same. He looked out the window to the backyard and imagined his dad sitting in his favorite chair, gazing out at the view just as he used to.

Ralph walked further into the house, passing through the kitchen and into the living room. The large bay window still framed the view he remembered so well. How many times had he sat on the floor in front of the very first RCA color TV ever produced, the one his mom had bought with her hard-earned money from her job as a cleaner at Godfrey Company, watching Disney every Sunday night?

He continued down the hallway, passing the bathroom. It, too, had been remodeled—no longer the old Irish green tiles and tub. Now it featured sleek ivory-white fixtures and an antique sink. The master bedroom remained unchanged, as did the rooms of his two sisters. Good and bad memories flooded his mind, but he quickly pushed them aside when his phone buzzed.

Looking at the screen, it was the moving company confirming the delivery of his meager belongings. Since he’d sold off most of the larger items from his apartment, he was only receiving a few things. His time in the military had taught him to live sparsely—moving every few years or being shipped out to a new post in a combat zone. Storage was expensive, so it was easier not to accumulate much.

A week had passed, and Ralph had settled into the house, occupying the master bedroom and the living room with his meager furniture. It was enough for him—it was home. The kitchen featured a new fridge and electric stove he had bought from Home Depot, along with a washer and dryer, now neatly installed in the basement next to the utility sinks, just like his mom had set up all those years ago. The previous owner had remodeled the basement, and it now boasted beautiful wood paneling. One side, which had once been his dad’s workshop, appeared to have been a man cave given the heavy-duty TV mount still bolted to the wall, while the other side looked like it had been transformed into a game room or play area, all nicely carpeted.

For now, Ralph decided to leave the basement and the extra bedrooms as they were, uncertain of what to do with them, if anything.

Looking at his bare refrigerator and pantry, Ralph decided it was time for some serious grocery shopping. A man couldn’t survive on milk, bread, coffee, and peanut butter alone. Grabbing his keys, he headed to the garage and got into his Subaru Outback, ready to make the trip to Woodman’s Market, if it was still where he remembered, over on E. Main St.

The supermarket was exactly where he remembered. He walked in pulled a shopping cart and headed down the aisles. Midway through his perusing the aisle and adding items to his cart he was suddenly pumped into by a little girl and dropped the jar of PBJ he had in his hand. Seeing the shocked look on the child’s face and the glass shards surrounding her he quickly picked her up and set her aside away from the mess. He asked her if she was okay and she shook her head yes as tears started welling up in her eyes. It was then that he heard a somewhat familiar voice.

Riley Mckenzie, what on earth are you doing over here? The voice whisper-shouted in a semi-faint Irish accent.

He looked up, a chill running down his spine as goosebumps prickled across his arms. There, walking toward him, was a blonde woman wearing oversized dark-framed glasses and the warmest, chocolate-brown eyes he hadn’t seen since high school. She was followed by two boys, one around eight years old, and the older one looked to be about ten. The little girl, Riley, seemed to be about six.

He stared at her, recognizing her instantly. It was Connie Grower from Catholic Memorial High School. He glanced around, wondering if she might recognize him, but there was no sign, no indication that she did.

Suddenly, Riley started to cry. “I was running away from Reed ’cause he was pulling my hair, and then I accidentally bumped into the man,” she explained between sobs. “He dropped the PB&J. I’m sorry, Mommy. You can pay for the PB&J from my allowance. Please don’t be mad.”

“Hey, hey, young lady, Riley, right?” he said, looking at her mom. “Don’t you worry about that—I was clumsy and dropped it before you bumped into me, okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked gently.

“No, sir,” Riley sniffled in response.

The ten-year-old walked up to his sister, picked her up, and hugged her to calm her down and protect her. “Sorry, sir, she didn’t mean to bump into you.”

“Not to worry, no harm done,” Ralph said with a reassuring smile as he glanced back at Connie and then down the aisle. He caught the attention of one of the cashiers at the end of the aisle. “Hey, miss, clean up in aisle 3. This clumsy old guy dropped the peanut butter.”

The cashier chuckled, having witnessed the incident and understanding that Ralph was trying to make Riley feel better. She quickly instructed one of the bag boys to clean up the mess.

“We’re really sorry about that, sir,” Connie said, her familiar Irish accent softening the apology.

“That’s quite all right, Miss. I’m fine,” Ralph replied with a smile.

“Connie McKenzie,” she introduced herself.

“Ralph Becker,” he said in return. “Have we met before?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Connie hesitated, studying him for a moment. “No, no, I don’t believe so. Are you from around here?”

“I just moved back,” Ralph replied. “Bought the place I grew up in this past month. Getting settled in and familiarizing myself with my old stomping grounds.”

“Well, welcome back,” Connie said with a warm smile. “I’ve got to get going and finish up our shopping to get these young ones home in time for a hockey training session.”

Ralph noticed that Connie and the kids were all wearing Waukesha Battalion Knights hockey jerseys, and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He remembered that Connie had been the goalie for the team back in high school, and she’d been one of the best. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was still involved in the sport, even if only through coaching.

He pushed the thought aside and quickly finished his grocery shopping, eager to get back home. There was a radio station to build in his garage. The sooner, the better—he needed to start making connections and earning money. Not that money was the essential reason. He didn’t need it; he was financially secure after selling his startup for a sizable sum. What he needed was to stay busy, and what better way than starting his mission to bring new life to the town he’d once left behind?

As he loaded his groceries into the car, Ralph’s thoughts drifted back to Connie and her kids. The image of them in their Waukesha Battalion Knights jerseys stayed with him, lingering in his mind. He couldn’t shake the memory of her from their high school days—she’d been the goalie for the Catholic Memorial Saints, always so determined, so strong. Back then, he’d admired her from a distance, a quiet admiration that had never really faded.

He shook his head and smiled as he started the engine. The past was the past, after all. Still, as he drove home, he couldn’t help but feel that, in some small way, reconnecting with Connie had opened a door to something more. Maybe it was a reminder that life had a funny way of bringing people back together, whether by chance or fate.

And, perhaps, this was just the beginning—not only of rebuilding the town but of reconnecting with pieces of his past, pieces that had always been part of his story.