On the morning of my seventeenth birthday, I packed a bag and told a big lie to my parents. At the breakfast table, I convinced mom and dad that they were signing a permission form for an overnight field trip to Washington, D.C. Actually, they added their signatures to a piece of paper I'd gotten from the local recruiter for the U.S. Navy. Two days and a long bus ride later, I joined my fellow swabbies at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center, just outside Chicago.
I was happy to get out of town and even happier to escape my religion-crazed family. The spirit was a big deal in my little hometown and everybody was nuts for the good book and the local preachers. Religion ran in my family like ink black hair and brown eyes. We all had it. Me, I had light blue eyes and felt about religion the same way a cat feels about water. I wanted to see the world, not spend a life cooped up in fluorescent-bulbed chapels, tithing half my income to a weight-challenged minister with malfunctioning sweat glands.
Over the next couple of years, I lived in Virginia and California. I visited Japan, Italy, Spain and South Korea. Right before I finished my second year before the mast, I got bad news: my mom and dad were both killed in a car accident on the twisty, mountain roads that curled around my hometown like drunken rattlesnakes. The Navy gave me a bereavement pass. I had two weeks to take care of family business. A couple hours before I headed to the airport, I made sure to re-up for another deuce in the service.
I drove my rented car into the town square and realized pretty fast that nothing had changed back home. Same dusty storefronts, same battered pickup trucks resting by the curb, same tired old folks shambling down the sidewalks. I'd missed the funerals but - - as an only child - - there was still plenty to be done. When I pulled up in front of the old homestead, I noticed grandpap's ancient truck in the driveway. I checked myself in the mirror and strode up the front walk.
My boot heel hardly glanced the porch when the front door exploded open. My grandmother charged me, wrapping her arms around my waist and squeezing me so tight I almost yelped. Grandpap - - tall, gaunt, and eternally quiet - - appeared in the doorway, smiling sadly. I ducked my chin at him.
"Oh, praise the lord," my grandmother squealed. "He shall shelter and protect his children. Seth has returned." She squeezed me tighter. "The prodigal son has returned to be with his family and with god."
I frowned and wriggled free of grandma's clasp. She reached up to cradle my cheeks in her hands, gazing into my eyes.
"Oh, Seth," she cried. "It's so good to have you back."
I nodded. "It's great to see you too, granny," I answered. "And grandpap too."
My grandfather approached and we shook. Grandma put a tiny hand on each of our shoulders.
"All my men have come home," she pronounced as she beamed at me. "At last, at last. God's mercy is great."
Grandma tugged me into the house. I climbed the stairs to drop my bag in my old bedroom, its walls still plastered with NASCAR posters. I sat on the bed and the absence of my parents suddenly felt like a weight on my shoulders. They'd been good people. Kind. Loving. Caring. Now, they were gone. There was nothing left for me in my hometown. When grandma squawked something from the first floor, I trudged back downstairs.
The next three or four days were busy - - meeting with the town lawyer, packing stuff up, preparing the house for sale, meeting with relatives. Through it all, grandma seemed to be constantly attached to me, her arm looped in mine, her hand wrapped around my fingers. She was worried about me, but as I told her repeatedly, I was okay - - sad but steady.
Things were feeling pretty near settled after a handful of busy days. That's when grandma started in with the preacher.
"Seth," she implored me one night at the dinner table. "You need to find the lord. Only he can guide you through these dark days. He is your light."
I sucked on my beer and nodded. "Grandma," I answered. "You know I'm not big on that stuff. It's okay for you and grandpap. But it's like school, it just doesn't work for me."
Grandma's face creased with worry. "Let me just invite Preacher Bill over. You can unburden yourself to him. He will show you the way to peace."
I wagged my head from side to side and raised my hand.
"Granny, come on," I said as gently as I could. "I'm fine. The preacher can take care of the rest of his flock without worrying about me."
Grandma closed her eyes and lowered her head.
"I made a promise to your parents, Seth."
"What promise?"
Her big, brown eyes shone at me. She reached out and grasped my hand.
"I promised them that I would bring you to god," she said slowly.
I smiled, patting her hand. "It's okay, gran. They knew who I am. They'd understand."
She nodded her head and mumbled something to herself.
