Homesick

By Glen Hamilton

They went to garage sales.
#

Mike zipped up his coat as he walked. It wasn't cold, not like the mornings in the city. It was an almost comforting kind of chill. Brisk was the only way he could describe it. A kind of chill that swept off the mountains and let you know Mother Nature was there, but she was friendly. He stopped at the corner and marveled. There were still lampposts on the corner. Not long silver streetlights with a head like a Praying Mantis looming over him. He smiled again and waited for the one car that was ambling down the two-lane street to pass and crossed the street. He walked halfway down the block and turned to push open the door in front of him. A bell clanged over him as he did and he just couldn't stop smiling. The place was exactly the same. Six tables all along the wall and the bar that doubled as the counter when breakfast was being served instead of (or sometimes at the same time) as alcohol. He could swear the two older men at the end of the counter were the same two that were here when he used to run in and grab a cup of coffee fifteen years ago. He thought he remembered them when he first started drinking coffee, slurping it in gulps as he ran, promising himself he would someday leave this little town. He used to work just up the block at the bakery that used to sit on the corner. Old Ms. Thompson had passed away and it had closed down and nothing was ever put in its place. His mother had written to tell him of her passing almost a year to the day before she herself died. The funeral was the last time Mike had been back.

Mike walked to the counter and waited patiently for the woman behind the counter to pause her conversation with one of the two men. It would have normally bothered him. This morning, he found it amusing and perfectly natural. The woman was in no hurry and she didn't have to be. She strode over and after a suspicious glance at his coat that was obviously a little too new and expensive to have been purchased in town, asked him if he wanted coffee. Mike smiled. She didn't ask him what kind, what flavor, what special whipped blend of milk. Just 'do you want coffee'. He nodded his head and she turned over the cup that sat on the counter and poured him probably some of the darkest liquid he had ever seen this side of an espresso. He withdrew two singles from his pocket and set it on the counter. He took the cup, the woman not even looking to see the money, not caring about the almighty green on the counter and walked to the table nearest the door.

There was a couple seated at the table furthest from him and Mike sat with his back to them. He knew them, he was sure. That was another of the charms he had found in his two days back in town. People never left. And they didn't seem to change. It was like walking through some sort of time warp. Almost better than that. Like outgrowing a pair of shoes, leaving them and coming back only to find they fit even better than before. But there would be time for reminiscing with old acquaintances later. Right now, he had things to do.

Mike sipped the coffee and withdrew the newspaper from the pocket of his coat. He laid it out on the table and smiled at the big red circles he had drawn over the ads there. He had done this while Stacey was in the bathroom last night, taking her ever vigilant and lengthy time of applying moisturizer and whatever other things she did in there. She wouldn't have understood. This was part of it. Part of the whole thing you did when you went to a garage sale. You circled the ones you were going to go to in big swiping circles even though there were probably no more than ten at the most and they were all on the same page. You just did it.

Mike quickly scanned down the page until he found the closest one. He was almost amazed that he knew exactly where the street was, but it really wasn't a surprise. He had almost forgot in the busy day-to-day shuffle of life just how much time he had spent growing up here. He had spent more than half of his life in this town. It seemed like such a lifetime ago while he and Stacey were driving down. But as they drew closer and he made fewer and fewer calls on his cell phone, it began to seem like not that long ago at all.

He read the list of items offered in the small print box of the ad. Baby clothes, furniture, books, etc. There was nothing on the list he really needed or couldn't just find or order somewhere. His mind flashed to when he was probably ten and his mother was looking at clothes and he had found an album he had been dying for sitting in a box marked ten-cents. He remembered pulling the change out of his pocket and absolutely beaming at the lady in charge of the sale as he handed her the coins and she ruffled his hair and smiled back at him. Treasures, Mike smiled to himself, it's all about hidden treasures.

He gulped down the rest of the coffee and hurriedly left the restaurant.
#

And there it was. The first sale of the day.

Mike paused just down the block from where the people were gathering in the driveway. This is America, he thought. He smiled again to himself. People were dressed in sweats, T-shirts, hair uncombed and probably just out of bed. People didn't do this in the city. They were all so relaxed, so unkempt, so unfit, so wonderfully unpretentious. Mike didn't see people so uncaring like this very much back there. Those people certainly wouldn't be caught dead at nine in the morning looking like this. Stacey wouldn't be caught dead looking like this, ever.

He thought about her. Probably still sitting on the bed, smoking one cigarette after the other, her anger getting blacker than her lungs with every puff. She just didn't get it. Stacey just couldn't appreciate the charms of a small town. She had been born into wealth, born surrounded by mountains of glass and metal. He had tried to tell her, show her all of the things he had loved growing up here. All she did was make snide remarks. "Tell the concierge I'd like breakfast sent up in the morning." He hadn't found that funny at all. Stacey just couldn't understand how these people lived. It was almost noble. Like the Indians. Everything reused and resold and nothing thrown out or gone to waste. Mike sucked in the scent of the grass and let it linger in his nostrils. It smelled good. It smelled fresh.

"Mike", a booming voice suddenly cut into his thoughts, "Mike Nelson. Well I'll be goddam."

Mike looked up to see exactly whose hand it was in his that was shaking it so firmly and rapidly. It took him a second to place the face. The smile that greeted him was just as large as the hand clasping his. Mike broke out into an equally large grin and gripped the hand back with the same force.

"Big Dave Olsen. Son of a bitch." Mike realized certain things had changed as he shook the big man's hand. He remembered David Olsen from the High School football team. He remembered his size and that hadn't changed. What had changed was the glint of sun coming off the empty space on his skull where his famously long blonde locks used to be.

Dave caught his gaze and withdrew his hand. He ran it over the receding hairline that made his forehead look like an egg sticking out of an Easter basket. His laugh was as thunderous as ever and seemed to echo off the open garage behind them.

"Yeah, I know." He smiled, grinning bigger than ever. "Can't expect the powers that be to let me stay this good looking without losing something somewhere."

Mike laughed. Dave still looked good. Blue eyes still as bright as they had ever been. He looked just like he imagined he would look at this age. The all-American male settled. Truth was, he liked the lack of hair on his old friend's head. It gave him an air of respectability he never seemed to have before.

"Been awhile, huh, Mikey boy?" Dave laughed and slapped Mike on the back. "Heard you went out to California or something? Come back to see what real life is like?"

"Something like that." Mike offered with a smile and let Dave guide him up the driveway. Dave kept walking him past the tables adorned with knick-knacks and clothing and books and all kinds of things. Mike craned his neck to make mental notes of what to stop back and look at when Dave halted them inside the garage. A pretty blonde woman was seated behind one of those fold-up tables that was unfolded and set up. She smiled up at him and extended her hand.

"Hi, I'm Teresa."

Mike nodded his head and shook her hand. Dave stared at them for a minute then laughed. "You don't remember her, do you?"

Mike looked at the woman's face. She was pretty, with light blonde hair and pale green eyes. She looked vaguely familiar and he searched his memories of girls they had gone to high school with. Dave leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You should remember her, Mike. You were there when I got her."

Mike stared at the woman's face again and it suddenly came to him. "From the Henderson's sale. Our senior year."

Dave put his arm around the woman and she leaned into him. "Yeah. You kept telling me not to waste the money, I already had a little sister." He kissed the woman on the cheek again. "She turned eighteen last year and it just kind of dawned on us. Mom and Dad didn't need her help around the house anymore and well, every time I would visit, things just started to happen. We got married six-months ago." He smiled down at her. "Best twenty bucks I ever spent was at that sale."

Mike remembered it all. They had stopped in at the Henderson's early. They had practice later that day and just wanted to make sure they didn't miss any good bargains. Dave had picked up the little girl. Old man Henderson had decided they really didn't need another mouth to feed around the house. Mike hadn't really found anything great. Just the Henderson's old dog that he had stuffed and put on wheels. He had picked that up and given it to his neighbor's little brother to play with. Of course the kid had let go of the rope and the darn thing had wheeled out into traffic and ended up part of Tommy Johnson's grill, but that was a whole other story.

"So, what brings you back to town?" Teresa asked, marking down a little check mark on the piece of paper that sat in front of her. She finished counting the last of the dollar bills and placed them in the metal box that sat on the edge of the table.

"I had to pack up some of my stuff I had in a storage shed up here. Figured I'd take a look around the old town." He smiled at her. "And of course, hit the sales."

Dave walked around and put his arm around him. "You want to look around out front", he asked, "or would you just like to see the good stuff first?"

Mike smiled. "Show me the treasures".
#

The door that led from the back of the garage to the backyard came open and Mike smiled as they came through it. The sun was continuing its rise and it spread across the grass, creating a yellow tinge that just screamed summer is coming. This was the good stuff. The backyard treasures kept just for the locals. The first thing Mike noticed wasn't the large table covered with a pale checkerboard pattern cloth. It was the two plastic pink flamingos that sat jutting out of the grass. Their long necks strained from the sticks thrust between them pretending to be legs and Mike smiled to himself. Dave really had settled down and become the family man.

Dave walked past Mike and put his hand on the shoulder of the man leaning over the table in front of them. "Stevie", he asked the man, "see anything you like?" The man shook his head that he hadn't and Dave squeezed his shoulder. "Well then, head back out front. Teresa should have some cookies out of the oven any second and I'm givin' those away." The man turned and Mike recognized him as Gerald Munson's little brother. Steve didn't recognize him and just nodded politely as he walked past.

"So," Mike asked as he approached the table, "is Gerald still around?"

Dave shook his head. "Naw, he got a job up North doing something. Came back last Christmas I heard, but I never saw him."

Mike smiled. It was like that. People moved away and lost touch and it just wasn't right. He looked down at the table. The items laid out were sparse. He scanned the table and pointed to one of them.

"What is that?"

Dave followed his gaze and smiled. In a small box was a human hand with wires sticking out of the end. A small battery led from the wires and the hand twitched and moved.

"Oh, that." Dave scrunched up his face. "You remember Harry Dennings? He cut his hand off working in his shop and ended up making that. Old Harry. Always trying to build something. Wanted me to put it in this week's sale. Said he got tired of messing with it."

Mike frowned. He certainly had no need for something like that, though it certainly was entertaining. He thought for a second it might come in handy, so to speak, if they ever threw a Halloween party or something. Of course, Stacey always wanted to go out on Halloween. He looked down at the rest of the table. A baby sat quietly sleeping in a crib. Dave explained it was Tracy Anderson's and her mom wouldn't let her keep it since her boyfriend wouldn't marry her. Dave asked him if he was seeing anyone and if they might be interested. Mike just smiled and told him 'no'. Stacey and kids just weren't a mix that would work. At least not right now. He continued down the table. The usual array of handguns, including what looked to be some sort of modified semi-automatic rifle, a small plant that Mike was pretty sure was either marijuana or something like that and the longest knife he had ever seen. He smiled at the two small shrunken heads that sat grinning up at him from the table. It seemed Mrs. Liana was still making her usual trinkets. He wondered if he still had the one his mother bought him somewhere in one of the boxes he packed up. There was what looked at first glance to be a small stuffed toy. He bent down and realized it was something that had the head of a cat and the body of a large bird. He picked it up and tossed it in his hand. The neck was sewn together pretty crudely.

Dave took it from his hand and smiled. "That was mine. I remember when Dad made it after Checkers got in that fight with the lawnmower and lost." He looked sad for a moment. "I used to love this thing. That owl had the softest feathers."

Mike turned from Dave and stared at the girl on the table. Her arms were spread out behind her and tied to a rope that led to two shiny spikes embedded in the ground. Her legs were laid out the same way. She glared at him with contempt and he ignored it. He was focusing on the small tattoo just above her pelvic bone that read, "In Hell".

Dave set his cuddle toy down and leaned next to him.

"You like her? That's Ben Perry's kid." Dave smiled at him and let his eyes wander to the tattoo as well (or at least to the area near it). "Ben told her he was going to put her in last week if she didn't straighten out. Told me to tell any takers to break her and if she learned a little manners, he might buy her back later."

Mike looked at her. He vaguely remembered her. She was a little girl last time he saw her and she certainly had grown up. Dave leaned over and shook his head. "She got involved with that Palmer family. I sold his kid last week when we caught him stealing from Clara's store. Marty bought him and used him for target practice." He looked down at her and shook his head. "I think she got involved in drugs. Shame, really."

Mike smiled and then something on the table caught his eye. A small silver lighter sat near the end, the sun glinting off the polished metal.

"That's mine, too." Dave said, picking it up. "This my friend, is the luckiest lighter alive."

Mike looked at him questioningly.

"I picked it up about six years ago at Donny Martin's parent's sale. Mr. Martin said I could have it if I promised never to take it out of town. Said it burned for four days and four nights for him back in the winter of thirty-two when they lost the power in the house and the snow outside was too deep to get to help."

Mike took the lighter from his hand and held it in his own. He marveled at the smooth polish of it. Dave continued talking.

"I took it up fishing with me that year. Andy Relling and I ended up tipping the boat in the middle of Cooper Lake smack-dab in the thick of winter. Froze our asses off and lost everything." He paused and smiled. "I'll be Goddam if that thing didn't light the wettest piece of wood we had and keep us from getting hypothermia."

Mike stopped looking at the lighter and asked, "So, it works. Why is it so lucky?'

Dave sighed. "You been in the city too long. That lighter lit the candle that Teresa and I were married to. That lighter saved my life once, too. Well, maybe not my life, but probably saved me from a mess of shit. Power went out like it usually does in the big storms and Teresa and I went to bed by candlelight. Woke up to some noise in the kitchen and all the candles had burned down. Blacker than a witch's heart in the house. I walked, well, really kind of stumbled into the kitchen to find this lighter and I could just feel someone in front of me. I'll be goddam if I all of a sudden didn't feel a weight in the pocket of my pajamas. Reached in and that lighter was there, but I could swear to you it wasn't there when I got out of bed. Anyway, I flicked that thing on and it light up like a Christmas tree and the dumb son of a bitch just popped his eyes wide and ran out of the house."

Mike smiled down at the shiny metal in his hand. Stacey could use something like that. Never have to worry about not being able to light her cigarettes. Maybe even show her how nice, how dependable things were in this town. Now that would be lucky.

"That peek your interest, Mikey-boy?" Dave asked, smiling. "Running around with all those rats in the city, you could probably use a little luck."

Mike twisted the lighter in his hand.

"Maybe, Dave, maybe."

#

"Honey, I'm home."

Mike smiled to himself as he shut the Motel door. Probably not that funny, but that beer that Dave had offered him had seemed to lighten his mood even more. There was no answer and Mike looked at the empty room. There was a light coming from the bathroom and he smiled and crept across the shag of the carpet.

"I brought you presents." He whispered playfully.

He turned to enter the room and saw Stacey there. She was staring into the mirror, the brush running through her hair in a forceful movement.

"I said, I brought you presents."

Stacey said nothing and continued combing her hair. Mike smiled and sat the sack he had in his hand onto the closed toilet seat lid.

"Come on, honey. I found some neat stuff."

She turned only her eyes to him and frowned. The brush continued.

Mike backed up from her and opened the bag.

"First on our shopping spree, is this lovely little cosmetic bag. Real leather, never used." He smiled and held it out and she glanced over briefly and set the brush down. She reached for a tube of lipstick. Mike smiled again and sat the cosmetic bag down. He grinned and pulled something else out of the sack. "And here we have a dolphin figurine. I know you like dolphins. It's nice, huh?"

Stacey turned and smiled at him. She took the figurine from his hand. Still smiling, she dropped it into the wastebasket that sat next to the sink.

"You are a shit, Michael. You are completely nuts. You think I want some cheesy trinket? Or some bag that I'm more than sure isn't designer? I'm sure." She turned back to the mirror and started brushing her hair again. "I must have been crazy to let you drag me up here."

Mike frowned. No sense saving the best for last. He reached into the bag and pulled out the lighter. It glinted in the light and Mike smiled at it.

"I got you this. It's a lucky lighter. Always works. I got it so you'd never have to worry about yours not working."

Stacey turned and snatched it from his hand.

"Well, something I can use. And God knows I could use a cigarette right now." She reached for the pack of cigarettes that sat on the edge of the sink. She pulled one out and twisted it into her lips. "I already packed our things. We are leaving. You and I are leaving and we are never coming back here."

Mike leaned back and sighed. He had promised Dave they would meet later for drinks. Maybe let Stacey meet Teresa. Maybe let her meet some of the nice people in town. He smiled. He could talk her into it. He knew he could.

Stacey flipped open the silver top of the lighter and clicked it on. The flame ignited instantly. She smiled and brought her cigarette to it. She sucked in gratefully and after holding the smoke in her mouth, blew it out. Mike smiled and started talking.

"See?" He said, smiling and gesturing with his hand. "Just like everything in this town. Dependable. C'mon, Stacey, at least go out with my friends tonight. Meet some of the people here. What do you say?"

Stacey looked down at the lighter, then at Mike. She smiled.

"Not a chance. Not a chance in hell." She shook the hand holding the lighter at him. "If you think I'm going to spend one more day with the Beverly Hillbillies, you are so wrong. If you think. . ."

The lighter then clicked itself open. They both stopped and stared at it. There was a rush of air and the flame burst from it and out onto Stacey's arm. The sleeve of her dress caught fire. There was a brief look of shock on her face, then the realization. Then the screaming. She whirled backwards and fell through the curtain of the shower and into the tub. The lighter fell with her, onto her lap, and the flame ran up the front of her dress. She continued screaming until it mixed with a sort of bubbling sound as the flame rushed to her face.

Mike was on his feet. He watched as the flame tore into her hair, the smell rushing to his nostrils. There was another rush of air. The flame howled, then as suddenly as it as started, sucked itself, all of it, back into the lighter. There was a snapping and the lighter fell from the tub and onto the floor.

Mike picked it up. He looked at it, then at the moaning body in the tub. He smiled. Second, third degree burns at least. He coughed at the smell. Stacey couldn't go anywhere now. She would have to stay here and get help. And after that, there would be a long time of recovery. She would have to do that here, want to do that here. She couldn't return to the city, her friends, looking like that. No, she would have to stay here. She would have the time to see how great it was. To get acquainted with everyone. To enjoy the small pleasure of the small town. And she would learn to like it. She would.

Mike smiled again and placed the lighter into his pocket. He leaned over and talked softly to the writhing form. He was telling her everything would be okay. He would call the hospital and they would take care of her. He would take care of her. He saw her mouth move and he hoped she was smiling. She was from the big city. She knew. Everything was for sale. She would learn the laws of commerce in his world. If she didn't, if she couldn't, there was always another weekend just around the corner. There was always another sale. He rose to leave the bathroom and made a mental note of the other people he had to call now that he was back in town. Dave had told him Mr. Franklin still ran the "Tasty Treat" on the end of town and he still trolled all the weekend sales looking for the latest addition to his menu. Mike gave one last look at Stacey and smiled again. Everything would be all right. She would become a part of this town, one way or another.

Mike reached down for phone that sat on the nightstand and allowed himself one more deep smile before dialing. It was good to be home.

The End

copyright c)2001 Glen Hamilton

Glen Hamilton was in fact born in Montana, though not in the fictional town of the story. Married, very happily, his previous work in the literary field was writing lyrics for the several bands that he was in before turning his drum set in for a keyboard.

Previous writing credits include "Monkey See" in the local horror publication "Shriek" in December, 2000 and "Load" in the June issue of "Peep Show".