A Case of Beer and a Long Walk Home...
The man left the gas station with a case of beer and happened to start crossing the road as I passed him this morning. Why does this send a rush of memories through my mind? I can smell the damp air and feel the breeze, and I can hear the crickets in the nearby woods. I had just spent "quality time" with my dad at a bar about a mile from my house. I sipped my sarsaparilla and ate popcorn while he drank. The waitresses were the highlight of my time there. I often wonder what went through their heads as they served me my snacks with a smile on their faces. I always felt the smile was sympathetic, but it didn’t bother me. It made sense that they were sympathetic.
I was my Adalynn’s age at the time - 6th or 7th grade. I was the only under age person in the room. It really was a nice bar. It was attached to a moderately expensive restaurant and it was the closest bar to our home. I’m thankful for that. We had walked there because my dad had lost his license for too many car accidents. He had had a terrible almost-fatal accident about a year before. This was the result. That story is for another time.
I’m not sure how many times we went to this bar, but I do remember that we would end our night with stopping at the convenience store on the way home to get a case of beer. If you don’t know, a case of beer is the one with the handle built into the box. It’s super handy for carrying 24 cans of beer easily. This was necessary because the alcohol consumed at the bar was never enough to get him fully drunk.
We would then walk the same route home in the dark. It was very dark because there were not a lot of street lights. There was a portion that we walked through with a swamp/pond on the right and woods on the left. In my mind this was always the creepiest part of the walk. I would walk a couple steps behind my dad and vigilantly search the darkness for any danger. Right after the creepiest part of the road, there was a bend in the road that led to an uphill climb with street lights and houses on both sides. Ah! Light. We never talked, that I can remember, which added to the stillness. He would carry the case of beer in his right hand and, because it was heavy, he would use his left hand to balance as he walked. He walked with determination. This picture is branded in the part of my brain responsible for vivid flashbacks. Why? I really don’t know, but I know that when I saw that man this morning, the picture came in a flash. So familiar. So distant.
Since I can’t quite define what was going through my head other than getting home as fast as possible, I started to consider what was going through his head. His accident had left him blind in his right eye, hence all the car accidents that followed. He was always a strong, confident, massively prideful man. I think the only word to describe this time in his life is “defeated.” Is there a word stronger than defeated to explain his psyche after his loss of independence. I can’t think of one. However creepy the walk home was, I had a sense of safety because I knew he would protect me at all costs. He felt defeated, but in that moment he was my protector. A noble role to play.
He didn’t realize at that time who he was “protecting” as he walked me home. You see, my sister and I are the bend in the road. There was darkness and hopelessness that surrounded our family before the bend in the road. Alcoholism and pride defined his life and the lives of the generations before him. Then, my mother started praying, and through those prayers she has created a bend in the road for her grandchildren and great grandchildren. No longer dark and creepy and supremely uncertain. I don’t look back with sadness at the determined broken man with the case of beer in his right hand balancing with his left hand. I see my protector and the protector of the bend in the road. Its a bit nostalgic for me and hopeful for the man that I saw crossing the road today. Maybe his mama will pray and he will become the bend in the road.