Years ago I left home planning to get my military service out of the way before moving on to what I really wanted to do. Twenty-two years and many military assignments later, I am nearing 41 years old and have only known the military way of life. I forgot what it was I really wanted to do. I have only myself and my few belongings packed into my pickup. Fortunately, I have a cab-over camper in the bed of the truck and not dependent on roadside motels. I forgot which highway I was on only remembering my next destination, Elliott. I was about an hour away.
Elliott is a town I remember growing up, it is rural, low population, a community built around farming and farmers. I knew no one in the town with my plan to stay at the Elliott campground for a couple days of cleaning up and laundry. After that...?
After that was a final 70 miles to where I grew up, my hometown where I hadn't visited in years. Why was I even considering going back there? Everything that once was for me 'at home,' probably doesn't exist any longer.
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I pulled to the side of the road atop a hill overlooking my hometown. Modernization changed the skyline. Where once stood two and three story department stores, furniture stores, and a couple theaters, now stood steel and glass monuments to business.
The last couple miles rolled under my tires and quickly, I was on a street only vaguely familiar, the street where I grew up. I parked, got out, and began to quietly walk the sidewalks I'd played on in my youth. Visions of the faces of kids I used to play with entered my minds eye. For a brief moment of recollection, we played again.
The block had aged. There were no children playing, and the few folks out and about were my age and older. I said hello to a couple people and was able to strike up a conversation with one or two. I shared my memories pointing out family names that once lived in this house or that. "I grew up in the last house at the dead end."
There were snippets of detail that led me to believe most of those who had been neighbors no longer lived nearby. Such is the case, grow up and move on. I sat in my truck for a moment of reflection.
**********
With no one in the neighborhood from my youthful days, home became a past memory, a lost memory of times when I was care free and innocent. I pined for those days and all my neighborhood friends. Had I made a mistake or was this stop just another in long list of places I wanted to visit one more time?
I wanted to pull away from the curb and point my truck down the road and away from what could never be again; yet, I dallied. Once more I felt youthful afternoons spent running up and down the street with friends, playing games of tag or hide and seek. I was lost in memories.
My moment of recollection lasted until I heard a tapping on the passenger side window. Standing on the curb was a younger woman, late 20s, I thought, not older than early 30s. Her features resembled those of the family who lived three doors down from where I grew up. She must have been no more than nine or ten when I left home. I couldn't put a name to the face. I lowered the window and we gave our greetings.
"You are Fred Flicka, aren't you?" She was smiling brightly and I was shocked she knew my name. "I don't blame you for not remembering me, Fred. I'm Terrie Addams. I was nine or ten when you left."
Terrie had been a skinny beanpole of a girl who was as much Tomboy as girl. Life had been kind to her as she was now a very attractive adult woman. I alighted from the truck and walked to curbside. We extended hands and shook.
"Terrie, I recognized the family resemblance but, sorry, I didn't recognize you all grown up. What happened to the little bean-pole Tomboy?"
She smiled, "I guess you approve of the changes in appearance. How come you never came home all these years?"
That was the question I was unprepared to answer. When I left for the military, I wanted to escape my narrowly defined world and explore what existed beyond this town, state, and country.
"Terrie, I knew a bigger world existed and I was determined to see it. All."
"Did you see it, Fred?" The expression on her face was one of jealousy mixed with dismay and wonder.
"I found places of great wonder, of great surprise, and great distress. The world is rich in surprise and poor in its treatment of underprivileged. The contrast between rich beauty and dirty poverty is disheartening."
Terrie's expression didn't change much, "I wish I could see the world just as you saw, or see, it."
"You can, Terrie. You have to take the risk. Do what moves you and don't look back." In the back of my mind was the nagging thought that if she wanted to take the risk, my pickup has room for one more and the camper can sleep two as easily as one.
"Tell me about your life from then to now, Terrie. I'd like to know."
**********
Terrie's story sounded similar to stories I'd heard before. Married young, divorced young, no children, stuck in a rut, and afraid to force a change. In the almost hour that we sat on the curb and talked, I knew Terrie needed to occupy the other seat in my truck.
"Fred, pull your truck into my driveway and let me make you a nice meal before you hit the road again."
I smiled thanking her for the offer. "Might that include a nice hot shower and a couple loads of laundry?"
A twinkle emerged in Terrie's eyes; she quickly rose, tried the door handle on the passenger side and jumped in. I followed her lead and sat behind the wheel for a drive of 30 seconds. Parked, we jumped out with Terrie taking the lead again.
"Bring in whatever it is that you need to wash. I'll show you where everything is. You can get a shower and laundry started while I work on something special."
The thought of something special played on me while I started a load of wash and showered. I hadn't been close with anyone in a long time, yet, I felt closeness with Terrie that both excited and frightened me in the same instant. I shaved off my four-day growth and dressed in clean fresh clothes.
I watched as Terrie spun some fresh vegetables into a tasty stir-fry. When I saw the steak on the grill, I knew she was cooking up something special.
