Liberty Meadow

Preface

  NYC Midnight hosts an annual short story writing competition. I competed with over 1,400 writers in the first round of the 2015 writing challenge. Writers are placed random in heats and are given a genre, subject, and character assignment. They then have 8 days to write an original story no longer than 2,500 words. Heat 9, my heat, was assigned Ghost Story for the genre, Agoraphobia for the subject and Divorce Lawyer for the character. I came up with two stories that I liked, Liberty Meadow and Do Us Part. I submitted the former. For your reading pleasure here is that story.

  Liberty Meadow

  By Aaron Blaylock

  © 2015 Aaron Blaylock. All rights reserved.

  The light from the morning sun flickered in and out of her window as she drove down the aspen lined road. She passed an old wooden sign, inscribed Liberty Meadow. Her hands trembled. She gripped the wheel with white knuckled fury. She would not, could not, look over at the spacious meadow to her left. She did not need to; she felt it pressing upon her consciousness. In spite of her seatbelt and grip on the steering wheel, she felt untethered and on the edge of losing control. Desperate to calm her racing heart, she focused on the bright yellow leaves that blew gently to the edges of the asphalt as her Mercedes plowed through them.

  “Breathe,” she reminded herself aloud.

  Just ahead, a small white house with dark green trim came into view. The pavement ended at a narrow dirt driveway. She pulled into the yard and parked her silver sedan just inside the opened gate. Next to her on the passenger seat was a manila envelope with a name and address printed on the front. She retrieved the package and opened her door. The fresh mountain air met her perspired body and chilled her to the bone. The trees were much thicker around the property than back on the road, which calmed her slightly. The trembling stopped and she could breathe deeply again.

  She ascended a pair of steps and stopped at the front door. It appeared the porch had not been swept for some time. Dozens upon dozens of leaves gathered in the corner beneath a rickety porch swing. She brushed aside a layer of dust with her foot to reveal the gray concrete beneath. With a composing breath she knocked on the security screen over the door. Cobwebs and dust covered the green trim on the window beside the door. The beige curtains behind the window moved and parted to reveal half of a man’s face.

  “Hello,” she greeted the man who peered out at her.

  The drapes fell closed and she looked back and forth from the door to the window. After a moment she heard the deadbolt click and the doorknob turn. The door inched open and she looked in at the dark haired man behind the screen. He looked at her, expressionless, and didn’t say a word.

  “Hello,” she repeated. “Are you Mr. Harris Grunion?”

  “Yes,” the man answered.

  “My name is Samantha Michels,” she said. She pulled out a business card and attempted to slide it through the slit in the screen door. “I’m with Lang, Danvers and Quill. Could I come in for a minute?”

  Harris opened the screen door and took her card. He looked down at it for a moment and then back to Samantha. “You’re a long way from home. What’s this about?”

  “I’m here on behalf of your wife,” she responded.

  “My wife?” he asked. “You spoke to my wife?”

  “Yes.”

  He cocked his head sideways and examined her. She felt the warmth from inside radiate out to meet her. The screen door open and she looked him up and down. He wore a blue flannel shirt and gray sweatpants. A dark stubbly beard covered his pale face. He had soft green eyes, which matched his gentle demeanor.

  “Come in,” he invited. He backed away and pulled the door open wide. Samantha stepped inside, cautiously, and surveyed the room. Thick curtains were pulled closed over the windows on the side walls. A love seat and a chair flanked the fireplace on the far wall. Between them was a rectangular coffee table covered with books and photo albums. Behind the small couch was a wood-paneled antique record player next to a box of old records on the floor. She stood aside as he closed the door behind her.

  “Please, have a seat,” he gestured toward the love seat to the right of the fireplace.

  Razor thin streams of daylight shone through the cracks in the curtains. Most of the light in the darkened room came from an old floor lamp by the door and the dwindling flames in the fireplace. She walked with purpose over to the love seat and sat down. A tiny cloud of dust rose from the couch and settled softly back on the cushion. She placed her hands in her lap atop the manila envelope and waited for him to join her. He stood back by the door and watched her. After a minute or two he walked over and sat in the lounge chair, on the opposite side of the coffee table.

  An odd sense of comfort fell over her. The room’s dark and dusty cave-like conditions made her feel safe. It was as if the room had engulfed her in giant warm hug. Still, she could not help but pity the lonely man who dwelt there. Although she knew her business would not be pleasant, she hoped to prolong the meeting and delay a return to the distress that lay beyond his dusty front porch.

  Harris sat in his worn and ragged chair and looked back toward the floor lamp by the door. Then he looked over at Samantha and studied her some more. When it became apparent that he was not going to speak first, she began.

  “Mr. Grunion.”

  “Call me Harry.”

  Samantha smiled and nodded. “Harry, I have a letter from your wife. It will explain why I’m here today.”

  She opened the manila envelope and pulled out the piece of paper on top. He sat up in his chair and leaned toward her. She extended her arm and offered the paper to him. He looked at it and then looked over at the lamp in the corner.

  “You read it,” he said.

  “Very well,” she replied. She placed the paper on top of the envelope and began to read.

  My dearest Harry,

  I can’t bear to see you like this anymore. You refuse to go out and live your life. You have shut yourself away from the world in this house. There is so much you have yet to experience and you have so much to offer. I won’t stand by and watch as you throw your life away in this miserable existence. This is not what I want for you.

  I will cherish forever the wonderful years we had together but sadly they are gone. May those memories remind you of the life we shared and the good times we had. My hope is that they will lead you back out into the world to find yourself again. There is no end to my love for you. I am not doing this to hurt you, but because I love you. I know you will never leave me so I am leaving you. You are released from the vow you made. I don’t know what happens next for you or for me but let us be brave, my love.

  Forever yours,

  Marie

  When she looked up from the letter, Harris still faced the lamp in the corner.

  “You wrote that?” he asked.

  “I typed it,” Samantha replied. “The words are hers.”

  Harris turned back to face Samantha. His eyes were filled with tears. She had delivered news like this dozens of times, but this time felt different. She felt a kinship to this man. She wanted to console him. She felt uniquely qualified to help him and she resolved to try.

  “I know what you are going through,” she began. “I’ve been where you are.”

  “I don’t think you have,” he replied.

  “I have,” she interrupted. “When I was a little girl I got lost in the woods on a family camping trip. I didn’t even realize I was separated from my family until I came to a large field. I just laid there in the middle of that field and cried. It was hours before my father found me. It was traumatic. I felt unhinged, I still do. Just the thought of being out there, in the open, is terrifying. I know how you
feel, for years I shut out the world.”

  “You don’t understand,” he argued.

  “But I do,” she interrupted. “Even now, in here I feel safe. But I know that you can leave this place and everything will be alright. It was hard, especially at first, but I got better. There are people who can help. I can help. She is trying to help. She’s out there waiting, you can go to her.”

  “That’s just it though,” he finally stopped her. “She’s not out there.”

  She paused and looked into his tearful eyes. His solemn face turned back to the corner of the room. Samantha followed his gaze to the old floor lamp with an orange umbrella shade. With his attention in the corner she looked down at the open photo album in front of her. There was a younger version of Harris with his arms around a beautiful brunette. They both smiled up at her from the glossy page of the book.

  “You say you spoke with her?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  An image of a large pavilion with a glass roof came to the forefront of her mind. Peter, a partner at the firm, stood over her with a worried look on his face. The onlookers behind him all stared at her with the same expression. She tried to shake free from the image. Her heart rate increased and her hands began to shake again. She could not remember when she had spoken with her. She saw the face of the beautiful brunette from the photo floating