News of a death can be disturbing.
In any family it always various and sometimes, very different effects on the individuals and family members involved. Some of those affected are sad and grief stricken, some, not so much. Some, while upset, are relieved. Most however, feel love and compassion for the loss of their loved one.
Any when family and friend gather, many will reminisce and share fond memories of the happier times they spent and shared with the dearly departed.
When I heard the news of my aunt passing, my emotions were very mixed.
Of course, I felt bad for my aunt's immediate family. And I was sad for my mother. She would be laying her youngest sister to rest. Sibling loss hurts even more when you are close. And although they were in two different countries and a thousand miles apart, my aunt and mother had remained close even when they had entered into their eighties. But the loss of my aunt had a strange effect on me. As sad as it may have made me, it also made me smile. And it made me want to be where she was being laid to rest.
*****
The call came in on a Monday afternoon. My aunt Joyce had passed during the night. It was after a lengthy battle with illness. She fought hard. Her struggles and courage lasted through many battles. But in the end, it was a war she just couldn't win. Her daughter, my younger cousin, would be following her mom wishes to have her cremated. Then her ashes would be spread in multiple areas where she had grown or at one time had lived. But the ceremony, along with some ashes being tossed into the wind, would happen on Saturday, in Crystal Beach, Ontario.
Crystal Beach was and is a small town in Canada. It isn't far from the Buffalo, NY boarder. A once thriving amusement park town. It was now a shadow of the party and play community it once was. Now it is a quaint residential, retirement community on the lake. Its once thrill seeking, tourist laden, streets are now more relaxed with bars, craft breweries and hip restaurants.
I hadn't been there in over thirty years, but when I received the news, I promised my cousin that I would be there by Thursday, latest, to represent my side of the family.
*****
By chance, my grandson, Liam had been at my house when the call came in. Like every other eighteen-years old, he was on summer break. We had planned to do some fishing not far where my family lived near Arlington, but when I told him I would be driving north, he offered to come along for the ride. The idea of getting out of chores around his own home, sounded good to him.
Not being one to decline company, I accepted his generous offer and picked him up at my son's home bright and early Wednesday morning.
*****
"Liam, did you bring your passport?"
"Affirmative, sir."
"What about a dress shirt and a jacket? Never can tell how casual things like this will be."
"Check, sir."
"Cut the sir shit right about now, or I'll pull out my old credentials and have your smart ass locked up in the brig until you start school in the fall."
"Sir. Yes, sir."
My foot touched the brakes on the Yukon slowing it by about 10 miles per hour. I put my signal on and pretended to pull to the right.
"Okay. Jesus, Grandpa. I'll stop, but only to keep my sorry ass out of prison."
Liam is a good...no...he is...a great kid. He reminds me of his father, my son. And they both remind me, of me. We have so many of the same traits it is sometimes uncanny.
"So, tell me again where we're going."
"Canada. I used to spend my summers up there when I was your age."
"Sweet. Is it the place with the scary old rides you tell us about?"
"Same place."
"And if the rides were so shitty, why did you keep going back every summer."
"Not once did I tell you the rides were shitty. I told you they weren't up to the standards of what amusement parks have to offer nowadays. All the looping coasters that go faster than the speed of sound. No, these weren't like that. These rides had style. They'd scare you shitless, with style. Plus, the park wasn't the only reason I kept going back."
"Oh...let's hear it. Is Crystal Lake where you met Grandma?"
"Beach. Crystal Beach. And no. I met your grandmother at the academy. She was one of the many nurses who worked there."
"Then who was it that kept you going back?"
"An old friend."
"Tell me about her."'
"Not once did I say, 'her'. And even if it was a 'her', it's a long story."
"Longer than nine hours? Because GPS says we're more than nine hours out."
My story was one I had only told to my wife, and even then, I only told her portions of it. But for some reason, I had the need to tell someone about my summers up north. Anyone. And Liam was right beside me, so he would be the recipient. Although I would tell him my story, I knew I would only replay the graphic details in my head.
Remembering the story was not difficult. There was no need to close my eyes to see the past. No, whenever I heard the words Crystal Beach, or my aunt Joyce's name, the memories flowed into brain giving me a dopamine rush and an overload of joy in my heart. For it was there, a small town in Canada, that I met the love of my life.
*****
My uncle Jack picked me up at the Buffalo bus station. On June 30
th
. It would be my first time in Canada in a few years.
I remember it clearly because I was pissed at missing the Fourth of July party my baseball team would be hosting, but my mother promised I was in for a treat. Canada had some kind of party of their own. On July 1
st
. And because so many Americans lived along the lake in Crystal Beach, they also celebrated July 4
th
. She said it would be a double party. As reluctant as I was to go up to Canada, I was happy that I did. It was there that I met the love of my life. A girl a knew I would eventually marry.
The station wagon he picked me up in was the size of a bus. A Mercury Marquise. Pure seventies magic. It was so smooth it glided and floated down the highway. And without moving the wheel, it swayed from side to side. Almost like it was trying to put you to sleep.
Their home was on Alexandra Rd. I clearly remember how odd it was. Small front yard. With a front porch that was very close to the street. But with a large, tree filled backyard. I also found it funny how in those days, no one used their backyards. They all sat on their front porches.
It was strange I would be spending my summer with them, because they barely had enough room for themselves. They were four people living in a two-bedroom house, but they had a very cool back porch. It was screened in to keep the bugs out and it had a large overhanging roof to keep out the sun and rain. It was to be my home until late-August. My first ever summer away from home.
*****
"Love of your life? Wow, did Grandma ever know about this...this girl?"
"Jeri. Yeah. I told your grandmother all about her. And that Jeri once saved my life. Literally."
"How?"
"I swallowed too much lake water, and Jeri thought I was drowning. As she tells it...she saved my life."
"Did she?"
"No."
"What did Grandma think of it?"
"Well, she thought I should try to reconnect with Jeri. Reach out or look her up on Facebook. When Grandma was dying, she made me promise I would."
"Did you."
"No. I couldn't bring myself to do it."
"Seems a shame. Who knows Pops. Maybe she's out there waiting for you."
"Can I continue?"
"Please do." My grandson said with a sarcastic little laugh in his voice.
*****
My first day in Crystal Beach didn't include the beach. It was spent with my aunt and uncle. We pretty much talked about my mom and others in the family for the entire day. We caught up on what was old and new. Joyce and Jack welcomed me into their home with open arms and told me I was free to wander the small town at will, but to be careful.
The old suitcase I brought with me on the bus wasn't big. My aunt and uncle said I didn't need much because they did laundry three or more times a week, so I didn't need two months' worth of cloths. So, I put my case on a wood stand and opened it. The contents were the same as most guys my age. Sneakers. Jeans. Jean shorts. T-shirts. Swimsuit. Underwear. And a half dozen Hot Rod magazines.
The old cot was way more comfortable than it looked. The cotton filled mattress had been beaten into submission. It almost seemed afraid to "not" form to your body when you laid down on it.
It was from there, that cot, that mattress, where I saw her for the first time.
With my magazine held in the air, I was reading about a 1955 Chevy Highboy. A badass coupe with a mighty big block. I was so into the story, I almost missed seeing the movement from the corner of my eye.
The flap on the old army tent opened. A green oiled canvas tent was in the neighbor's yard. Joe and Rita, I was sure my aunt had said.
A girl about my age climbed up and out from inside of the tent. Her small arms swung an old sleeping bag so that it hung over an old clothesline. She seemed tiny, but she was far enough away. Her greasy hair and choice of attire gave her a very, "tomboyish" look. Yeah, the t-shirt, cutoff jeans, gray wool socks, rolled down to the tops of her high-top Converses, definitely erased many traces of femininity. But as she walked toward the fence, it was easy to tell, she was a she. And the closer she got, the more apparent it was. When the girl stopped and put her hands on the rusty chain link fence, I could see she was a very pretty girl.
"Hey. Are you Andy?" she yelled to me from her yard.
Standing so she could see me. I yelled back. "Yep. Are you Rita?"
"Rita? No. What? Why would you think I was Rita. Who told you..."
Pushing open the old screen door, I stepped onto the long un-mowed grass and into the tree lined yard for the first time.
"No. Sorry. Joyce told me Rita and Joe lived there. I must have got the houses mixed up."
"You didn't. My brother and his lunatic wife live here. But her name's Shirley."
"Cool tent. You sleep out here?" I asked. Changing the subject.
"Yeah. It's wicked hot during the day. But at night, if I leave the flap open, I can see the moon and some stars. Where you sleeping, Jack and Joyce's place isn't very big."
Pointing to the cot on the back porch, Jeri nodded her head.
"It's actually more comfortable than it looks."
"Same with the tent," she agreed.
"You visiting your brother?"
"No. I'm here for the summer. I babysit while they're at work, but I'm free most nights if you ever feel like going down to the park."
"Sure. Yeah." Where the hell did the name Rita come from, I thought to myself.
"You ever been?" she asked looking me up and down.
"No. Well, yeah, I have, but it was like five years ago."
"Hasn't changed much. Except you can probably go on all the rides now."
"Maybe I could have five years ago. What if I was tall for my age?"
Jeri had a cute smile. It curled from the corner of her thin lips.
"Funny. Every Canadian who lives around here full-time, thinks Americans have a stick up their butt, but that was funny."
There was something about the neighbor. I liked her. Maybe it was the sun kissed look of her skin and her hair. Maybe it was the way she smiled and her piercing eyes. Or the way she made it so easy to talk with her. But whatever it was. I liked her immediately.
"Yeah. Going to the park sounds good. What about the beach?"
"I work here during the week. And by the time my brother gets home, it's usually too late to catch any sun."
"Oh..." I said. It may have sounded like I was disappointed. So Jeri immediately came up with a solution.
