A Contemporary Fiction Story
By KL Storm
[Content Advisory: Alcohol/Substance Use/Abuse, Addiction]
Attmyer Acres Dairy Farm
Malcolm City, Pennsylvania
Dang girl, that’s hot.
Seventeen year old Hazel Attmyer struck a cocky pose in front of the full length mirror on her bedroom door. Her brand new snow white jeans fit like a glove. The elegant belt buckle at her waist shimmered in the light of the sixty watt bulb above her head. She brushed her chaotic dirty blond curls back and out of her face. For once she actually felt confident, comfortable in her own skin. Where that was all of a sudden coming from, she didn’t really know.
But she did know one thing… She was ready to show her dairy cattle at the county fair. Her favorite show heifer was in tip top shape this year, and she walked perfectly on the halter to boot. This was going to be her year, she could just feel it.
Lane could just take his opinion on her obsessive passion for cows and shove it. Ugh, stupid brothers. All he cares about anymore are frat parties and video games. So what if he or anyone else thought she was weird. Cows were her safety zone; her escape from the cruelty of high school. The place where she could just forget about all the snooty, judgmental girls around her.
Cows were her life. The farming life on handed down land was the only one she wanted for herself. Just like Mom and Grandma before her, she’d be next to carry on the torch.
Later that afternoon Hazel was still chilling in her room, just lying on the bed, enjoying her Saturday downtime before evening barn chores. Her father’s voice coming from downstairs interrupted her daydreaming. “Hazel, you up there? Can you come down here please?”
Hazel sighed and got up. “K, be right there,” she yelled back. She rolled her eyes as she headed towards the stairs.
“Probably bought another rusted, half broken ‘antique’ lawnmower to add to his museum up the road and wants to show it off to us,” she muttered to herself.
Upon arriving in the living room, she met not only dad, but mom and Lane too. She made eye contact with mom and then shifted to dad. A strange chill ran down her spine. Not another word had been spoken, but something was wrong. Their eyes. Something in the atmosphere was just off. Hazel felt it in her bones. Even Lane looked disturbed.
She sunk down into a chair. “What’s going on?”
Her parents exchanged glances before speaking. Dad sighed. “Lane and Hazel, we have something to tell you. This isn’t a decision your mother and I have taken lightly, but unfortunately it’s the way things have to be.”
Hazel’s heart began to pound. The normally lazy, apathetic Lane shot up out of his chair before anyone else could get a word in.
‘You’re getting a divorce, aren’t you!” Hazel could actually see his lips quivering. That only brought her internal freak out to a new level.
“No, no,” said Dad. He and Mom both shook their heads emphatically. “Our marriage is just fine, don’t you be worrying about that too.”
Lane staggered backward a few feet. “Then what?”
Mom stepped in. “I know you both know how low milk prices have been over the past year. We’re drowning in debt and the hole is only getting deeper. I hate to say it, but there’s no other way out at this point. We’re selling them farm. Well, It’s technically already sold.”
Shockwaves coursed through Hazel’s body. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Numbness set in. Her worst nightmare coming to life. She’d seen the news stories. She knew the odds were stacked against them. Every week it seemed, the word spread of another farm being snuffed out.
Still, somehow she’d always believed her family’s dairy was different. Call her naïve, but she thought the Attmyers were surely immune. They always found a way. They’d be the ones to triumph and make it another fifty years. They had to be!
Lane glanced at Hazel, looking genuinely upset, but he nodded to their parents. “Okay. Nice update on the inevitable I guess.” He grabbed his dirty baseball cap off the coffee table and headed towards the door. “Excuse me.” His tone went cold. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the other three inside.
Dad came over to his daughter and gingerly draped an arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry dear, I know this is hard for you too.”
She just stared off into the fireplace on the opposite side of the room. “What’s gonna happen to the cows?” She heard the words come out of her mouth, but honestly felt like someone else was saying them.
“They’ll go to a buyer in Indiana. The trucks come Monday.” Mom’s voice grew shaky, she paused for a moment. “We’ll milk for the last time that morning.”
Hazel blinked. “Monday! This coming Monday? Seriously? And you’re just telling me this now?”
“We’re sorry honey, yes, we probably should have given you more warning. The time got away from us a bit…”
Hazel’s numbness exploded into a primal rage. She sprang to her feet and grabbed a random church bulletin off the table next to her chair and crumbled and crushed it into a ball with her hand. “The hell you should have! You couldn’t have at least waited until after the fair to ship the cows? Me and Lane were part of this farm too and this is how it ends?”
“Please, take a breath Hazel, please,” Mom said gently. “Look, you have your whole life ahead of you. I know you can’t see it now, but, there’s so much more to chase after than cows and this old place. Just think of it, college in another year…anything you want out there. I know it hurts, but in all honesty- we’re doing this for you.”
Dad nodded. “We refuse to saddle you and Lane with our debt, our mistakes. It just isn’t fair for us to leave it all to you.”
Hazel snapped. She gave the sweaty paper in her fist one last squeeze and chucked it at Grandma’s large oil painting of the farm from years ago that hung on the wall. She turned and stormed out of the house and onto the porch. She couldn’t comprehend anything they were trying to say to her anymore, it was all too much for her teenage mind to take in.
Through the tears that started to burn her eyes, she noticed dad’s pickup truck in the drive with yet another old, cast off lawnmower in the bed. The tags from a local auction yard were still attached, indicating that he’d just bought it.
He’s been throwing money away into that dumb museum all along, nothing more than an outdated tourist trap, all while the farm has been dying. Thanks a lot Dad- send all my dreams and hard work down the drain, while you keep rescuing your stupid scrap metal. Doing this for me, huh? Yeah right…
Do any of you people care at all?
***
The next 48 hours were a painful blur to say the least. By 4 p.m. on Monday, the milk cow barn, heifer barn, and calf hutches all stood empty. The horrible silence of no cattle was deafening, the lack of life eerie.
“Hey sis, you want to go for a walk with me?”
Hazel had been leaning against a fencing panel, staring out across the former heifer pasture, watching the traffic fly by on the highway in the distance; when she heard her brother’s voice behind her. She turned and squinted through what were surely bloodshot eyes from all her crying.
Someone must have kidnapped the real Lane Attmyer and replaced him with an impersonator or something. Go on a walk with his little sister? She shrugged, it suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Not like she had any cows to take care of anymore or anything.
She stepped towards him, still putting on a fake, slightly annoyed attitude. “Sure why not. Let’s go.”
They strode to the end of their gravel drive. Then they followed the main county road for a bit, then walked onto the half completed, technically closed bike trail that had been abandoned by the park’s department some time ago for lack of cash. Not much was said between them, they mostly just listened to the rhythm of each other’s breathing and footsteps.
The trail led them into the heart of downtown Malcolm City. It used to be a rather nice small city, the home of several factories that employed a healthy amount of people. Attmyer Quality Lawnmower & Small Engine, Inc. used to be among those, the cream of the crop place to work. The company was founded by Hazel’s grandpa and his brother, but they sold it decades earlier to someone outside the family when Grandpa fell ill with cancer. These days it stood disgraced and empty on the skyline along with most of the other industrial buildings. The exposed skeleton of yet another dying Rust Belt town.
The only real evidence left that Malcolm city used to be known as the lawnmower capital of the region? Attmyer’s Lawnmower Utopia on the opposite side of town, just off the interstate. That lawnmower museum. A real thorn in Hazel’s side at the moment.
Lane led them off the path and through a maze of crumbling city streets. Eventually they came upon a liquor store and he headed towards the doors. He looked back at Hazel trailing behind him. “I think we could use a good stiff drink or six, hmm?”
Hazel had to chuckle a bit. “I can’t disagree.”
Lane purchased a selection of beverages as he was of legal age, and then they continued on their hike.
“Down to Herman’s Lake?”
Hazel snorted. “And get arrested for trespassing on a deadly Superfund site? I think you’re nuts.”
“I wasn’t planning on climbing over the forbidden fence or anything. Come on, I hang with the guys over there all the time. Don’t tell me you haven’t been to a Herman’s Lake party- cuz I know you have.”
“Oof, busted,” Hazel mumbled.
Herman’s Lake had been a long time problem for Malcolm City, due to years of haphazard industrial waste disposal and intentional dumping. Attmyer Quality Lawnmower & Small Engine, Inc. was surely a major contributor to turning the lake into a toxic cesspool. Even though the current generations of Attmyer’s had nothing to do with what happened, it sure left a nasty stain on the family name for anyone who knew the history of the area.
They proceeded into the brushy secluded area on the east side of the lake, to a popular hangout spot for high school and college kids alike that the cops had pretty much given up on patrolling. They set up camp, right outside of the high chain link fence, in the shadow of the ominous sign:
DANGER! ABSOLUTELY NO TRESPASSING! TOXIC WASTE AREA.
The siblings made a toast to their life as they knew it falling apart, and drank the evening away.
***
Later that night, Lane called one of his college buddies over in Warden Falls to give them a ride back to the farm. They had walked quite far from home to get there earlier, no way were they reversing that… in the dark, hardly able to walk straight.
But Hazel didn’t stay home long. In her impaired state, she couldn’t stop thinking about Attmyer’s Lawnmower Utopia, and her parent’s misplaced priorities. She wanted revenge. She’d show them all how she really felt, because so far…no one was hearing her. Hazel went out into the machine shed and grabbed a crowbar- the first implement she laid eyes on capable of doing damage.
She set off down the road to the museum and stood there staring at the stupid old building. She gritted her teeth and marched in a circle around the building, smashing the glass in every window with her crowbar as she went. Once she started, she didn’t stop.
***
Hazel opened her eyes, a pounding headache and the piercing sunlight coming through the windshield greeted her. She looked around in confusion, she was in the passenger seat of her dad’s truck. He was driving. She looked down at her hands in horror, they were bloody and full of cuts. Her eyes grew wide and panic gripped her as pixelated recollections of what she did the night before crept into her brain. What did I do? I’m dead. Oh I’m so dead.
Dad turned to her, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Morning.” He reached into the console between them and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic, gauze, and an assortment of bandages. He tossed it all into her lap. “Better attend to your hands.” He turned his full attention back on the road. Hazel fumbled with the first aid stuff, still stunned like a dear in the headlights.
She was waiting for his wrath to coming flying at her. He knew exactly what she did. There was no way that he didn’t. Obviously he must have found her passed out on the ground outside his precious museum with the crowbar and glass everywhere.
She opened her mouth but no words would come out. Dad glanced at her, but his face didn’t look angry, just tired and sad. He just pulled out a sports drink from the cup holder and handed it to her as they pulled into their driveway. “Better get this in you too. Then I want you to go up to your room and really think about what happened last night. Is this how you want to live your life? It won’t get you very far, I can tell you that.”
For reasons that Hazel would be left to wonder about for the rest of her life, the incident at the museum would never formally be talked about again. Dad never brought it back up or wielded punishment. Mom never got involved either, even if only for her sanity’s sake. Beyond the words he spoke in the truck, Dad simply raked up the debris, boarded up the broken windows, and went on with life.
Things were supposed to get better. A new chapter post dairy farming was right there and allegedly full of promise. But would that actually be the reality for any of them?
Chicago, Illinois
12 Years Later…
Hazel stared at the blinking cursor on her computer screen until everything in her line of sight blurred together. 10 p.m. had turned into 1 a.m. instantaneously, or so it seemed. She’d lost count of how many times she’d read, reread, erased and restarted the same dang sentences.
So that was the day I started down my road of destruction- the day my parents sold the cows.
She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again with a sigh. Getting up in front of all the people at church the next morning to share the story of how she’d managed to screw up her life and then find her way back to God and such…that was not going to be easy.
I couldn’t bear to stay in Malcolm City once we moved off the farm. Just days after my 18th birthday, I left my parents a note and took off with an older guy I hardly knew. We ended up here in Chicago. It was not a healthy relationship. I started drinking more to cope with stress from that, then the inevitable breakup, and then living on my own. I still had no idea where I was going in life, who I was, or what I wanted to do.
Hazel stopped typing again. The emotions this brought up where unpleasant to deal with. Sure, her twenties had been a booze fueled, meaningless blur. There was no way to get that time back. Even so, it wasn’t completely wasted. She did get her drinking under reasonable control for a while and enrolled at a community college, hoping to find a career path that would spark her interest. Unfortunately that ambition didn’t last long and she embraced her bad habits again with gusto.
About four years after Hazel left town, Dad tragically fell off the roof of his house while taking down Christmas lights, and passed away from his injuries. Hazel showed up for the funeral, but it ended in a huge fight with Lane. She couldn’t remember what she said, but it must have been bad.
I’m thankful to say I’m just over two years sober now. It probably never would have happened if it wasn’t for the grace of God in the form of crashing my friend’s car, the DUI, probation, and court ordered recovery program. That was the kick in the butt I needed. And I certainly couldn’t have made it this far without the support of my amazing roommate, Veronica.
Hazel stopped typing again and smiled. Yes, she was not going to waste away this fresh decade of her life. She could only move forward. She was moving forward.
The corkboard on the wall behind her computer caught her eye. Or more specifically the long distance bus ticket tacked to it. She untacked it and studied it. The nervous lump began to rise in her throat as she read the print.
To: Malcom City, PA
Tuesday morning she would face one of the most difficult parts of her recovery journey, a big thing she kept pushing off- going home to see her Mom for the first time in eight years. More like twelve years, because she could hardly consider that funeral debacle a visit. She had to attempt to fix the mess she’d made. Was that even possible after everything? Maybe not, but she knew she had to at least go and make contact, admit her wrongs, and seek forgiveness.
***
Monday evening Hazel sat in the bedroom of her apartment, trying to figure out how to make everything fit in her suitcase. That was a minor problem compared to the other complications of the day. Number one, she was having trouble finding a working phone number for her Mom. She didn’t want to show up totally unannounced.
Number two, dear old Lane was sure to have her number, but she’d called him multiple times just to get no answer or call back. He’d also moved away from Malcolm City, for a better job. She’d learned that from creeping on the publicly visible information on his social media accounts.
C’mon Lane. I know you don’t want to have anything to do with me…but please call back. This is kinda important!
A little while later, Hazel’s phone began to vibrate on the bed behind her. She spun around a lunged for it. “Philadelphia,” She said, looking at the area code on the screen. She swallowed hard, that had to be him. Please God, let it be him. She tapped the screen and put the phone to her ear.
“Hello?” Her voice shook way more than she thought it would. “Speaking?”
“Hazel?” It was without a doubt, Lane’s voice. “What do you want?”
He sure didn’t sound happy.
Hazel drummed her foot against the floor and felt herself begin to sweat.
Lane continued before hazel could put any words together. “Listen, if you want money I don’t have any to give. You got yourself into trouble? No way in hell I’m bailing you out…don’t got time for your crap.”
“Lane, wait. Please listen and believe me- I’m not that person anymore. That’s not why I’m calling.”
He laughed disparagingly. “Oh sure, that’s what they all say. Punks like you never change.”
She took a deep breath and just ignored his snide response. “I’m going home to see Mom tomorrow. I was just looking for her phone number and was hoping you had a current one. That’s literally it.”
Lane’s end of the line was silent.
Hazel shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Lane? You there?” Please tell me you didn’t hang-
“You’re going to see mom?” Something in his tone changed.
“That’s what I said wasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it’s too late kiddo. You’re too late.” It was Lane’s turn to have a shaky voice.
Hazel’s mouth went dry. “Wait, what are you talking about?”
“Look, you’re clueless because you weren’t there. You weren’t there all those years ago to see what I saw.” She could hear Lane’s breath rising and falling more intensely with each word.
“With Dad- you weren’t there to watch the depression suck the life out of his body after the farm sold. He lost fifty pounds in no time. Hell, the only reason why he even put those stupid Christmas lights on the roof was so he could feel alive again, I’ll go to my grave with that opinion. He wouldn’t listen when I asked him to wait for me to help him take them down that year. Someone should have been there- I should have been there…” his voice trailed off.
Hazel had nothing to say. But the hurt in his voice was piercing.
“And with Mom- you weren’t there to watch her pray her guts out, day after day, begging Jesus that her wayward daughter would just stop mucking around and come home. That was all she wanted.”
He didn’t say any more for quite a while, but she could still hear him trying to catch his breath.
“You’re too late because Mom already got an answer to those dumb prayers, Hazel. All she got was the crap deal of having a freaking stroke six months ago.”
What? A stroke? Hazel felt as though everything around suddenly shifted into slow motion and she’d been plunged under water. This couldn’t be reality. Surely she had fallen asleep and was caught in another bad dream. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Wait, is she dead?
“She’s still alive,” Lane continued, apparently reading her mind. “But the stroke affected her brain stem and left her with a rare condition they call locked-in syndrome. She can move her eyes, but that’s about it. She can recognize people and understand speech- just can’t express herself with anything other than her eyes.” He hesitated. “I suppose since I didn’t tell you about it, no one did. Honestly thought you were too far gone to care. ” He paused, then added his barely audible addendum. “Sorry.”
She moistened her dry lips with her tongue. She thought she would have been angrier at him for not telling her then she actually was. The shock was still dominant. “Yeah, clearly I didn’t know-” She sighed, the guilt and shame began to rise up. “No Lane, I’m so, so sorry. I’ve been terrible. I should-”
He huffed, cutting her off. “Yeah well whatever, some good that nonsense is now. Do you want the address for the special nursing home I have her in so you can see her at least? ”
She gulped. “Please.”
“Herman’s Lake Advanced Nursing Care & Rehab.” He rattled off the street address. “It’s actually part of the old side of the hospital. Oh, and by the way, you’ll be surprised when you see the lake these days. It’s weird actually. That Malcolm City Re-imagined campaign is really something for the books.”
Hazel’s mind spun with all sorts of confusion. First the man was practically in tears over their poor mother, then he’s off talking about political campaigns? She slapped her palm to her forehead. “Wait, what?”
“You’ll know when you see it.”
“Oh-kay.”
“Is that all you wanted?”
“Wait, are you paying her bills?” She had to say something. To let him know that she genuinely cared, even though she feared it would fall on deaf ears.
She heard him sniff forcefully. “Who else would be? Yeah me and insurance. But mostly me.”
“Please, let me help pitch in. That’s not fair to you. I want to help.”
“Nah, I don’t think I’ll be needing your help. I’ve been getting along quite alright without it. I’m getting ready to figure out what to do about her house anyway. Then to get rid of Dad’s blasted museum that she’s still been holding onto for all this time. I doubt there’ll be a line of people fighting over who’s gonna snatch up that disaster,” He scoffed. “Anyway, that’s the scoop and it sucks like usual. Later Hazel.”
The line went dead and Hazel just stared at her phone screen for a while. She hadn’t even dreamed that she’d be encountering a monkey wrench in her plans like this.
“Hazel?”
She turned her head to see Veronica standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
The bottle of shampoo Veronica was holding fell to the floor with a thump. “Hazel, are you okay? Oh my, my- you’re sooo pale!”
Hazel’s lips began to quiver and then the tears came. Veronica dashed over, sat down on the bed and wrapped her arm around her friend’s trembling shoulders. “I-it’s about Mom.” That was all she managed to utter for quite some time.
***
Hazel sipped on her mug of chamomile tea. It was 1 a.m. Veronica had huge dark circles under her eyes and was clearly fighting to stay awake.
She put down her tea down on the desk next to the bed and leaned back against the wall. “What do I do now, Veronica?”
“Go home as planned and see your mother. Tell her the things you need to. You just got to trust she can hear you and wants to see you again. But either way, you need to get it off your chest so you can keep healing and move forward. Right?”
Hazel simply nodded.
“I don’t know if I’d believe everything Lane says either…sounds like he’s battling a lot of troubles of his own. Who knows, your mom might actually be more responsive then he’s letting on.” Veronica shrugged. “I guess it just comes down to doing the right thing, and I know you know what that is.”
She sighed. “Yeah, it is the right way. Would be nice to think Lane is fooling, but I don’t know.”
Veronica leaned forward, planted her palms on Hazel’s shoulders, and looked her in the eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you? I can tell my boss it’s a family emergency.”
Hazel chewed at her lower lip and sighed. “No, I’ll be okay. I can do this.”
“Alright. Well, whatever happens, just don’t forget what we’ve talked about. I’ve got your back, sis. You’re never alone. If you feel like you’re going to lose it when you’re out there-what is it that are you’re going to do?” Veronica waited with and expectant look on her face.
She bobbed her head with confidence. “Call you of course.”
“Bingo.” Veronica lifted her left hand off Hazel’s shoulder and instead extended her pointer finger towards her. “Twenty four seven, don’t even think twice. I’ll drop everything and come get you if you need me. Promise.”
Hazel embraced her friend and smiled sleepily. “You’re the best, I owe you forever.”
***
Hazel arrived in Malcolm City in the dead of night. It was a long, uncomfortable day of traveling on a bus of very questionable condition. Someday she’d get brave enough to start the process of getting her driver’s license back so she wouldn’t have to deal with such things as bus travel. It got the job done though. She checked into her motel room, shot Veronica a text to let her know she’d arrived, and passed out moments after her body made contact with the bed.
Upon waking the next morning, she decided to take a walk downtown in search of some proper breakfast. Although her nervousness about seeing her mom in an hour was building and food wasn’t very appealing, she knew she’d regret it later if she didn’t begin the day with some sustenance.
She was also about to get her first good look at her old hometown in over a decade.
“Wow,” she said as she strode along Main Street. She kept on stopping to look behind her and all around. “Did I get off in the wrong state?”
The downtown thoroughfare no longer looked ghostly and boarded up. Charming little shops and boujee cafés lined either side of the street. At almost every intersection, bike and scooter rental kiosks had popped up. Hazel was familiar with that concept, as it was commonplace in the big cities. She just never dreamed she’d see that kind of thing here. What a transformation. How is this even possible? She felt like she just walked onto a movie set. Where was the camera crew? Something felt…artificial?
Choosing the next coffee shop she saw, she went in to order breakfast. Service was quick and soon she was sitting down at an outdoor table with a “basic” breakfast sandwich and a beverage “pretending” to be coffee- good, just way too sugary and fancy for her semi-bland tastes.
She finished eating and checked the time. The moment had come to do what she came to do. Mom. She shakily got up, and continued on to her destination.
After arriving in the lobby of the nursing facility and hitting the restroom, she checked in at the front desk. An employee led her on through a maze of hallways and around people shuffling about with walkers, towards her mom’s room.
“I’m Lena,” said the staff woman, smiling over her shoulder at Hazel. “I’ve been one of Fran’s regular nurses since she came here.”
Hazel smiled back, trying to swallow her nervousness. “Nice to meet you.”
“So some good news…she’s been showing new movement in her right hand recently,” Lena explained as they walked. They came to a stop outside of a door to a patient room. “That’s encouraging to see after not seeing any real improvements for such a long time, you know? Her therapists are working hard to strengthen that ability as much as they possibly can.”
“Good,” said Hazel. “And I’m glad to hear therapy can help. I didn’t really know about that before.”
“Yes, absolutely! It can work wonders. She’s generally able to answer yes and no questions with her eyes now. Looking up would mean ‘yes’, while down would be ‘no.’ Make sense?
Hazel nodded.
The nurse glanced down for a moment and picked some debris off of her shirt. “I’ve known your mom for years… well, she was an acquaintance anyway. Farmer, tough as nails, but also sweet. You likely don’t recall, but I remember you too.”
Hazel frowned, trying to figure out if she knew this stranger from somewhere, anywhere. “Hmm…”
“Didn’t think so, that’s okay. I was a temporary nurse at your elementary school way back, only there for a few months. I don’t know, for some reason you just stuck out to me.
Hazel grunted. “Like a sore thumb, right?”
Lena clicked her tongue and shook her head in response to Hazel’s self-deprecating remark.
“Oh, now, now…”
Lena grabbed the handles to a cart full of medical supplies that sat in the hallway and looked like she was about to leave. “I’m glad you came back. Lane stops in almost every weekend. He always looks so tired. I know, this is a lot for anyone, but I still worry for him.” She fingered her wrist watch. “I know it wasn’t easy for you either, and it still isn’t. But thank you. I wish you and your family the best with everything.”
Hazel nodded and smiled slightly at Lena as she turned to go onto her next task. “Thanks.”
She turned to face the door of her mom’s room again. She shut her eyes, opened them, took one last deep breath, and went inside. She honestly had prepared herself to find her mom looking really rough. But aside from not being able to move or speak, she didn’t look too awful. The same springy curls of hair that Hazel always remembered still framed her face. Obviously she was being well taken care of, and that helped her relax a bit.
She sat down by the bed and opened her mouth to speak what she’d rehearsed.
“Hey, Mom. It’s me- Hazel. It’s been a while, I know. Wow, a lot has happened. I have some things I need to say…things you should know…
***
Hazel stood out on the sidewalk in front of the nursing home after finishing seeing her mother. Her pulse still throbbed as she just kind of stared, shell shocked. Holy crap, I did it.
What else was there to say? Her fumbling, albeit sincere apologies were accepted based on Mom’s subtle communication ability. She had to believe that. But it was still hard, the whole situation just blew her mind.
She needed to go somewhere and clear her head, somewhere that didn’t smell like antiseptic and soiled linens- that aroma needed to be expunged from her nose immediately. Upon seeing signs for a public boat launch ramp at Herman’s Lake, she decided to follow them.
Rumor had it that the lake was no longer the cordoned off, shimmering cocktail of industrial poison that she’d grown up in the stench and shadow of. This version of Herman’s Lake, according to the billboards she’d seen around town, was touted as the pride and joy of Malcolm City Reimagined.
Now that, Hazel had to see for herself. She arrived at a newly constructed boat launch area and flopped onto a park bench that overlooked the water.
Wow. She blinked and stared out over the rippling liquid mirror in amazement. The decades and decades of intense remediation efforts spent on the lake and surrounding land had finally paid off. Swimming, boating, fishing, and the like were all permitted. Campgrounds and fancy cottages available for summer renting by tourists had sprung up all along the shoreline. Seeing as it was the middle of July and prime vacation time, Herman’s Lake bustled with activity indeed.
Her phone vibrating in her pocket startled her alert just as she was zoning out. She froze as she realized who is was.
Lane? Why is he calling me?
She put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hey Hazel? It’s me- uh, Lane.”
“Yeah, what’s up?” She bit at some peeling skin around her fingernails.
“N-nothing. Just wondering if you got to see her.”
“Uh-huh, I did.” Her words just seemed to hang in the air.
“Are you good?”
“Yeah…what do you mean?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he said with haste, then he paused. “I just thought I should call to see if you were okay, alright? Anyway, never mind. I got to get back to work now.”
“Woah, wait.”
She could hear him sigh. “What now?”
“Thank you.” She swallowed. “For doing that. You didn’t have to… considering, well, everything. But I’m gonna ask again since I got your ear, is there anything I can do to help you out? I took the week off work, I don’t have to back in Chicago until Sunday.”
Lane took his time replying. “Well if that’s the case, you could go over to the museum and start trying to organize stuff. Figure out what is really junk verses what is actually worth money in there?”
She shrugged. “I could do that.”
“The city zoning board came out last week and yellow tagged the door. Also sent me a lovely fine in the mail. They say it’s an ‘eyesore’ and we have sixty days to begin making improvements to the outside appearance or they will officially condemn it, and slap us with more fines.”
Hazel frowned. “Oh dear. Because you just didn’t have enough worries, Lane.”
“Yep. Remember the key to the back door we hid under the statue out front?
“Now I do,” she mumbled.
“Well it’s still there and it still works. So you can get in. Just don’t torch the place or anything crazy like that, okay? Not yet anyway.”
She had to chuckle a bit at that. “It’s a deal. I’ll see what I can do.”
***
Hazel mounted her newly rented bike, and began to head towards the museum. The city also finally completed and officially opened the bike trail that had long stood abandoned. She marveled at it as she peddled along the velvety pavement. Crazy… in Malcolm City, what are the odds?
Lane was right though, about what he had hinted at the other night. A lovely as it all was, something did stick out as odd. She just couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
She came to the end of the bike way. She didn’t want to look to the right, but did anyway- like some outside force pulled her in that direction. She could just make it out in the distance. The tall neon sign for the massive truck stop and travel plaza that swallowed up the land that used to be her dairy farm. She shook her head, pushed the memories back, looked left, and rode on towards the land of rusty lawnmowers.
What Hazel didn’t expect when she arrived- was the strong wave of nostalgia that washed over her when she turned into the weathered parking lot and laid eyes on the pond scum green colored building. Oh the irony, not too long ago she stood in the same spot and wished hellfire on the place. With all the extreme changes around her, just looking at the ugly old building felt like a warm hug. Her chest grew tight as she began to realize that’s probably how Dad always felt about the place.
She ditched her bike and went over to the tacky statue, an enshrined lawn tractor upon a pedestal. She carefully reached her hand up under it though a little opening in the bottom and felt around for a key. After some groping about, her fingers finally found it. Hazel pulled it out and headed towards the backside of the building.
Something else struck her as she rounded the corner. The windows in the back were still boarded up tight. Dad had fixed the front and side ones in public view, but the rear was stuck in time. A very dark time. She jammed the key into the rusty door lock and struggled to turn it. Oh what am I even doing back here?
She pushed the door open. The burst out outside air sent of shower of unknown debris and dust down from the ceiling. Hazel cringed and let the dust settle down before proceeding “Yikes.” She pulled her t-shirt up over her nose to filter the air.
“No ghosts in here right?” she called out in the darkness of the back workshop. She found a light switch on the wall, flipped it, and the burst of illumination made her sigh in relief. Much better.
She walked out into the main part of the museum, it was much less dark and spooky than that backroom. Turning on more lights, she took a good look around. “Huh, this doesn’t look bad at all.”
It really didn’t. It honestly looked like someone had already done significant cleaning. Lane? Not likely. Mom before her stroke was more probable. Clusters of plastic tubs and cardboard boxes laid spread out all around the showroom and between the permanent exhibits. They were full of pieces and parts of everything related to lawnmowers and small engines. Organized chaos would be the proper term for the state of the place.
“Looks like the internet will be my best friend in figuring out what all this crap is,” she muttered to herself, continuing to peruse the building. She circled around the whole place, even to the kid’s discovery room with the pedal tractors and pretend mowers. She remembered well when Dad added that on, how much fun they had zooming around on the tractors… it was totally Mom’s idea though.
Soon she found herself in the back workshop again. That area had always been off limits to the public, where Dad would repair and restore behind the scenes- and where he’d hide the real clutter.
Hazel scanned the mess, and the shelves on the walls that were sagging down about to snap from all the weight on them. She sighed and shook her head. Got our work cut out for us in here, geez.
Then she spotted some pictures. Tacked to a 2×4 on the wall, partially hidden behind a hoard of oil cans. She moved away an ungodly number of oil cans to take a better look at the fading photographs. One was of a high school aged Lane, posed and smiling ear to ear with a five point buck he’d taken down on opening day of deer season. The next one she grabbed was of herself, middle school era, grinning with her Holstein junior champion and prize ribbons at the county fair.
She remembered that year well; in spite of the rather forced smile on her face, she was actually being squeezed to death by her show pants. She’d outgrown them over the winter and failed to try them on until 20 minutes before show time. She snorted and giggled at herself as she put the picture back. Just one of those things to laugh and reminisce about years later.
The last one though, that made her heart skip. Mom and Dad were kissing on the back of the hay wagon with a fiery sunset behind them. The same wagon that they all sweated though countless summers on- where they all learned how to work until the job got done. Back when things were good. Or at least back when Mom and Dad sacrificed much to protect them from the cold reality of how things actually were.
She shifted her attention to some of the lower shelves on the wall next to the work bench. She picked up a sealed, never opened bottle of Kentucky bourbon. Hazel just glared at it. Nope, you don’t own me anymore. She thought about getting rid of it so it couldn’t temp her later, but she just put it back on the shelf as another item caught her eye.
A big beat up cardboard box. It stuck out over the edge of the shelf and had cobwebs draped over part of it. It only stood out because of what was written on it in bold black marker:
To Build With the Grandkids Someday
She bit her lip. Guess that wasn’t meant to be. She took the box down off of the shelf and blew the cobwebs away. Upon opening it she found parts to some sort of lawnmower. Surprise, surprise. An old fashioned push mower that didn’t use gas? Whatever do I do with this now? An uncomfortable feeling grew inside her as she looked through the stuff, and she didn’t like it. She promptly closed up the box and replaced it on the shelf with a sigh. I don’t know.
She stepped back from the shelves and her attention steered back to the boarded up broken windows. Can’t let them stay like that. I broke them, I’m going to fix them.
It didn’t matter to her whether the building would just end up as a pile of rubble in the end. She had to resolve this; it was long overdue. For her family, and for herself.
After taking some measurements and such, Hazel locked up the building and got back on her bike. Her next stop was the nearest home improvement warehouse. Order supplies to make some windows. Have it delivered tomorrow. It’s a plan. I’ve got a plan.
***
The next morning Hazel decided to get up and go for a run before going to see Mom again. The bike path had been extended so that it now looped around Herman’s Lake, and she itched to check it out. Hazel hadn’t always been the running type, but it was a newer habit she’d picked up; one she crediting with helping her stay alcohol free.
Even though it was early morning, the heat was already turned up outside. She could tell that it would really be a scorcher by the afternoon. As she was plodding along on the trail, panting and sweating her face off, a new thought came to her.
I should ask mom what she wants to see happen to the museum.
It only seemed fair. Of anyone who deserved to have a say in what should be done, it would be her. Hazel finished her run, showered back at the motel, and headed over for another visit with Mom.
***
“So that’s what’s happening over at the museum,” Hazel said as she sat by Mom’s bed, explaining about the tickets and fines they’d received. “Those darn zoning boards, you know?”
Mom’s eyes moved upward, indicating engagement with Hazel’s story.
Hazel took a deep breath. “So, question for you. If you had it your way; what would you do with the museum?”
She gave her a few moments to think. “Like, would you want to call it a day, and sell the stuff inside and the land? Or would you keep it in the family, even maybe finding a way to reopen it?”
Hazel paused again and looked away. This was still so unnerving.
“So tell me yes or no- sell the museum?”
Mom didn’t respond right away, but after a few moments, she signaled ‘no’.
Hazel wrinkled her brow. “So you want to keep it?”
Mom relayed ‘yes’
“Ok, cool. Good to know.” Then she thought of something else. “Has Lane asked you about it?”
She couldn’t decipher a response; Mom looked like she was falling asleep.
Hazel got up from her chair. “That’s alright. Do you want the TV back on?”
But she was already out. At least she got the information she really needed. Mom wanted to see the museum stay. Whether that would be realistically possible, she was unsure. Whether Lane would agree with that, she also didn’t know. What she did know was that she needed to make mom’s wishes known and vouch for her. It was the least she could do. Mom was still alive in there, and still a real person; just stuck in the most frustrating and unfortunate way.
Back out at the museum a little while later, Hazel arrived to find that her window supplies had been already dropped off. She rubbed her sweaty palms together and surveyed the neatly strapped bundle of stuff. “Well, here goes nothing.”
She dragged the items inside, out of the glaring sun and sultry heat. It was much cooler inside the sealed up building, but she knew that wouldn’t last once she started opening up and airing the place out. The two measly bottles of drinking water she packed sure wouldn’t last long either.
Hazel got down to work, and toiled away as long as she could stand it. With some thick translucent plastic paneling cut to size, strips of lumber for framing, hardware, and manual dexterity… Hazel had four DIY windows fashioned in a reasonable amount of time. They looked almost identical to the original ones Dad made years earlier.
She got two of the four windows tacked in to their proper spots in the building wall in before deciding to call it quits for the day. She was out of water and beginning to feel woozy. As much as she didn’t want anything to do with the place…she had to do it, there was nothing else closer. She got on her bike and rode down to that evil truck stop…to quench her thirst and soak up in some air conditioning.
Sitting down at a table in the dining area of the travel plaza with an extra-large fountain drink cup of ice water, Hazel sucked the liquid down. She began to look around the room at the decorations suspended from the ceiling and mounted on the walls. The whole place had a rustic vibe, with cute trendy farmhouse type décor mixed with some antique farm equipment. She found the atmosphere gratingly similar to the vibe put off by one of those cheesy pop country radio hits, clearly written by someone who’d never, ever been whipped in the face with a wet cow tail.
Her jaw dropped as she scanned the wall behind her. She stood up abruptly and stared, then rubbed her eyes. Surely she was hallucinating. Oh. My. What?
Grandma’s painting- on the truck stop wall! The one of their farm that once hung proudly on their living room wall. When exactly, but maybe more importantly, why, would her parents sell something as special as that?
Hazel walked up to it to have a closer look. She could see the bumps of the oil paint under the glass frame. Yep, genuine. Something else struck her. There was no caption anywhere. No tag citing the artist. Nothing saying that this restaurant used to be, no so very long ago, Attmyer Acres.
That really made her start to fume. “No one knows,” she muttered. How she wanted to jump up on a table top and scream about it. To these random strangers know, the Attmyers were here first! Here the last remaining dairy farm in the whole county once stood. This was her sacred ground. To yell about the injustice of it all…of dreams and family legacy- buried forever under massive asphalt parking lots.
It took every ounce of self-control in her to just leave the building and not do anything stupid. She couldn’t afford that. Her previous brush with the criminal justice system was quite enough. Instead, she gritted her teeth and pushed all of her anger into the bike pedals, and sped away.
We’re being erased. They might have taken the farm, but you know what? That’s all they get- the museum is staying. Somehow, I’ll make sure of it.
Part of her couldn’t even believe how the tides had turned, regarding her feelings toward the museum. Was she really losing her mind?
As she rode on, her passions began to cool, and she could think more clearly again. Tourists like museums. Of course they do. If this town is all about the tourists now; why wouldn’t the “re-imagine” people want to help save such a unique landmark?
That was it. She’s make a visit to city hall and petition the folks in charge of all these grand improvements. Obviously they were just dripping with cash so why not? Genius. She turned and pedaled towards City Hall.
***
Hazel double checked the nameplate, and knocked her fist gingerly against the office door at City Hall. It was opened just a crack for her to see in.
“Come in,” a man’s voice called from within.
Hazel pushed the door open and stepped inside. She smiled. “Good afternoon, sir. Uh, Mr. Turnburton?”
“Aye.” He furrowed his brow as he looked at her. “Are you with the paddleboat company?”
Hazel pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Paddleboats? Oh, no I’m not…sorry.”
“Pfft, I’ve been waiting on them all day,” said Mr. Turnburton, not looking thrilled. He pulled his chair closer to his desk. With his elbows propped on the desk, he folded his hands together and rested his chin on top of them. “Anyway, I apologize. Who are you then?”
“Hazel Attmyer, sir.” She brushed a stray hair back from her face. “I’m here to petition your assistance- with repairing a building that is significant to the history of this city.”
He rolled his chair back away from the desk abruptly. “Did you say Attmyer?” He reached into a cubby hole on top of a filing cabinet behind him and grabbed a piece of paper. He took a pen from behind his ear and clicked it several times. He frowned again, more intensely this time. “What’s the building you’re talking about?”
“Attmyer ’s Lawnmower Utopia. Out by the interstate. Been there for years, sir.” She continued to explain her current family struggles, and the predicament of the museum.
He listened to her story, and scribbled down a few notes on his paper. Then he crumpled it up and dramatically chucked it into a wastebasket on the other side of the room. He rolled his chair back up to his desk again.
“Look, Ms. Attmyer . I appreciate the fire in your belly and desire to preserve this relic of family and city history. However… I don’t think you understand, but here in Malcom City these days- we lead with an environmental conscience. The need to protect and preserve this rare planet for the future… is at the forefront of everything we do. And of every project we take on.”
Hazel nodded fervently. “And I totally agree with that, sir. I absolutely support that. You’ve done an amazing job cleaning up this town. Trust me I know, I grew up here.”
“So I see.” He slapped his palms down forcefully on his desk and then stood up. Hazel cringed and stepped back. Something told her she’d already lost here.
“Listen, and I’m just going to be frank with you about this. You Attmyers are no friends of the environment. Never have been. There is nothing noble about your so called legacy that your ancestors left-unless you consider mass pollution from their factory and ecosystem destruction the kind of thing you like to praise and leave behind. A museum honoring all that? I don’t think so. Not in my city.”
Mr. Turnburton moved towards Hazel, not so subtly backing her towards the door.
“Again, sir. I totally get that. But I’m sorry, every story has its bad parts. Do we just let that be the only thing remembered?” She cleared her throat that was rapidly growing scratchy. “Did you know, that my parents contributed money, for years; to the cleanup efforts around the city? They did care; they never ignored the fact that there were problems.”
Mr. Turnburton had her in the doorway. He raised his eyebrows. “Not good enough.”
She stood her ground. “And while we’re throwing around all these buzzwords, did you also know that my grandfather’s company was founded on the principles of workplace equality- at a time in history when that wasn’t exactly the norm? Do we just now sweep that good under the rug and turn away?”
Mr. Turrent was breathing hard. “Ms. Attmyer, in a moment I will need you to leave. But you are barking up the wrong tree here. Go over to the historical society uptown and bother Mr. Floyd. Maybe he can help; you’d be right in his wheelhouse.” He paused and stroked his chin. “Oh, or how about you go down the street from your place to that big bad wonderland of gasoline and diesel? See if they’ll give you a bailout. Otherwise, you are on your own with this. The yellow ticket and fine I issued you and your building are still in effect. No extensions, no fine reductions. Do you understand?”
Hazel shrunk back. Her shoulders sagged. “Yes sir, understood.”
“Good luck.” With that he shut the door and turned the lock; leaving her alone in the hallway.
She bit her lip. Well crap.
She turned and powerwalked towards the stairs. The historical society; she remembered that place, and a guy named Mr. Floyd. Dad used to hang there a lot and nerd out over old stuff in his spare time. It was worth a shot anyway. She still had to try. It was late afternoon already, if it wasn’t closed yet it would be soon. She needed to hurry
***
Hazel made in to the historical society building a few minutes before 4:30 p.m. Hope someone is still here. She got off her bike and walked around to the front of the building. This structure was really showing its age too. It looked to be about the same vintage and condition as Dad’s museum- with the peeling paint, and sagging gutters with a whole forest of little trees growing in them.
She got to the front door and stopped. There it was, that same bright yellow code violation tag; stapled right at eye level. She cringed as she reached for the door handle. Oh no, not good.
The door was unlocked at least, so she went inside. Hazel called out into the dimly lit building. “Hello? Mr. Floyd?”
A man of short stature slowly poked his head out from a door frame at the back of the room.
“Yes? Can I help you?” He emerged fully from behind the door.
Hazel stepped forward, introduced herself, and presented the same story and appeal that she did to Mr. Turnburton. She finished, and the two just stood in silence. The ticking of the massive grandfather clock in the corner of the room seemed to grow louder and louder.
Mr. Floyd lowered himself onto an old church pew type bench that ran along the wall. He stared down at his hands in his lap. “Yes, I was a good friend of your father. Marty was an admirable fellow.” He looked up at Hazel. “If there was something I could do to help you in your efforts out there, I would.”
Hazel nodded slowly but didn’t say anything. Hope was flickering.
“I’ve tried my hardest to stand up to Mr. Turnburton and company since they came in and took over everything. It’s all nice and shiny on the outside but that’s about it.” He shook his head. “Notice the tag on my front door? They slapped me with the same sentence here too. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but they have an agenda. People like you and me simply don’t fit.”
Hazel frowned. “But why bury history like this? This city wouldn’t even exist otherwise…”
He smiled slightly. “I guess you do give me hope that they did make some of you millennials with sensible brains after all. But yes, it boggles this old guy’s mind too. It ain’t the right way to go.”
“Yeah.” She shook her head sadly.
“I’m tired, miss. I’ve made my contribution to this place. I can’t afford to fix what they want me to, I’m done. I have to accept my defeat and retire with grace. Let the kids have their day now.” He got up from his bench. “I’m sorry.”
Hazel sighed but tried to give him a smile. “That’s okay, sir. I understand. I’m sorry they came after you too. You do deserve a nice retirement though, don’t cheat yourself out of that.”
***
Hazel fled the historical society building on her bike. That melancholy, fatigued look on Mr. Floyd’s face might as well been branded onto her brain. She couldn’t unsee it.
A thunderstorm was brewing in the west. Fat raindrops began to pelt Hazel’s arms, a small relief. She had planned to just go back to her motel room before the sky released its full fury, but as if someone or something else had grabbed the handlebars of the bike, she found herself automatically heading back towards the museum.
Suddenly she didn’t see Mr. Floyd anymore- his face morphed into a flashback of her defeated father, sitting next to her in the truck, the morning after her infamous vandalism spree.
In a heartbeat, her thoughts began to spiral downward. Despite all her hard work and commitment to changing her thought patterns, that old familiar funnel of self-loathing over her past sucked her down. She knew better than to wallow around there- the pitfalls loomed around the corner. But something about beating herself up over everything; it felt so good for all the wrong reasons.
Lane’s right. It’s too late. I’m too late.
She made it to the museum, just as a bolt of lightning struck something in the nearby woods too close for comfort. Pulling the back door closed behind her, she shut out the angry wind. Hazel flipped on the light in the messy back workshop and sank down onto a greasy wooden stool that sat in the corner. Tears began to well up in her eyes.
How pretentious of her to think she could actually just show back up like this and make a difference in this situation. To think she was somehow now capable of doing anything other than breaking things and hurting the people who loved her the most.
The world moved on a long time ago without her. Hazel was still, and rightly so- a nobody in this place. Her new found nostalgic feelings about a dusty old building meant nothing to anybody else. They certainly didn’t carry enough weight to triumph over the money and power held by those in charge.
After sulking for quite some time, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked up. The pictures of her family from years ago tacked to the wall caught her attention; her throat constricted all over again. I don’t deserve them. She blinked hard and diverted her line of sight away from the photographs.
Then Hazel fixated on something else. That bottle of bourbon on the shelf.
Oh how the craving hit her. She thought she would have been stronger than this by now, but apparently not. To put the bottle to her lips and pacify her situation was all she wanted- like she used to do without giving a second thought.
What difference does it even make anymore? She picked up the bottle and opened it, a familiar sweet scent tickled her nostrils.
A competing thought grabbed her. Wait, what the hell am I doing?
She knew she couldn’t win this match alone. Not here. While still gripping the bottle in one hand, she groped for her phone with the other. Trembling, she managed to pull up Veronica’s phone number. Hazel just stared at the screen and the image of her friend smiling back at her.
For some reason she couldn’t bring herself to hit the button to call. She felt frozen in limbo- unable to put the bottle down, and unable to call Veronica.
Then she heard something different. The wail of a siren? She ignored it at first, ready to give in to the temptation of the whiskey. Just once… The alarm sound stopped and then started again. But it didn’t sound like it was from a moving vehicle. It was stationary- from the front parking lot of the museum. Then she heard muffled yelling.
“Okay, what in the world?” Exasperated, Hazel got up. She set the bottle down, shoved her phone back in her pocket, and headed out towards the front entrance of the building to investigate.
She grabbed a piece of metal pipe out of a box of scrap metal, just in case there was a serial killer out there or something; trying to lure her to her death. Gingerly, she unlocked the door and opened it just a crack.
A fancy SUV sat parked out in front of the building, lights flashing and alarm sounding. A middle aged woman circled the vehicle, holding up what looked like a key fob and pointing it at the SUV as she walked around helter-skelter.
Hazel set her defense weapon down and went outside. The alarm finally quit.
“Uh, hi there?” Hazel called out to the woman as she tiptoed towards her. “Is everything okay?”
The lady turned around, her face clearly flushing with embarrassment. “Oh. Hello. I’m sorry. Yes, yes…everything is fine. I’m just old and dumb and this is a fancy rental car.” She shook her head and laughed. “Tripped the alarm somehow and couldn’t figure out how to turn it off…again! All these bells and whistles- gets me every time. My name is Kate, by the way.”
Hazel chuckled and smiled at her. “Oh, no worries. I know how it goes.” Hazel watched the passenger side door of the SUV open and a teenage girl slid out. “Hi, Kate. I’m Hazel. Can I help you with something?”
The storm had moved on through, letting the sun poke back out.
“Well, we weren’t even sure if this museum was open anymore, but we were passing through and saw the billboard, so we had to check,” Kate said, glancing at her wrist watch. “I’m guessing you’re probably trying to close up for the day though, aren’t you?”
The girl started to whisper something in Kate’s ear before Hazel could say anything.
“Okay honey, I’ll ask,” Kate said to the girl. She turned back to Hazel and laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “This is my granddaughter, Willow. She’d like to ask you a question, is that okay?”
Hazel shrugged. “Uh, sure. Of course.”
Kate nodded to Willow and waved her on.
Willow beamed as she stepped towards Hazel. She clasped her hands behind her back and exhaled forcefully. “Excuse me, miss? Are you a member of the Attmyer family?”
Hazel was puzzled a bit but grinned back. “Um Yes, actually. I’m Hazel Attmyer; pleasure to meet you.” She and the girl shook hands. “And you’re… Willow? Love your name by the way, so pretty!”
The girl’s smile grew even bigger. “Oh my gosh! I’m sooo excited!” She squealed and pulled a bandana out of her back pocket and held it out towards Hazel. “Can I please have your autograph? Pleeaase?”
Hazel furrowed her brow, out of confusion more than anything. Okay, weird. Me…scorned one minute, a celebrity the next?
She turned back to Willow and accepted the bandana. As she did, she noticed a logo for a lawnmower repair shop stitched on it. “Sure, if you want. I’ll have to find a marker or something to write with. So I get it, you must be a lawnmower enthusiast like my dad was, huh?”
That was the only thing she could think of as to why anyone would want her autograph.
Willow suddenly shot her grandmother an anxious, confused look. “Enthusi-what?” She stumbled over the pronunciation.
“En-thu-si-ast, Willow. She’s asking if lawnmowers are your favorite thing in the world.” Kate produced a permanent marker from inside her purse and handed it to Hazel. “Here, I came prepared. See, it pays to have a messy purse sometimes.”
“Thanks.” Hazel uncapped the marker and prepared to ink the fabric.
“Seriously though, if you’re closed for the night, we can come back tomorrow.” Kate slapped at a mosquito that landed on her arm. “Don’t want to keep you away from things you need to do.”
Hazel hesitated at first, but then shook her head. “Nah, I didn’t really have anything planned.” She noticed through the open rear door of the SUV what looked like luggage, and maybe some tent poles and tarp like material. “You two going camping out at the lake on the other side of town?”
“No, we’re actually moseying our way back to Scranton. We decided to stop here and check into a motel for the night,” said Kate. “We were camping up at Lake Michigan all last week though. I promised Willow we could swing by to see if your museum was still here.”
Things were finally starting to make more sense to Hazel. How could she explain the disorganized state of the museum interior without point blank bursting their bubble? She cleared her throat.
“Ah, very cool. You are welcome to come in and check things out. I do have to warn you though, we’re doing some…eh, renovations around here and it’s a little messy inside. You know, new windows, rearranging exhibits- stuff like that and the chaos that goes with it.”
Willow bounced up and down with excitement. Hazel shuffled towards the front door of the building.
She couldn’t just turn them away. What would letting them have a peek around hurt?
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Kate sniffed, and took a tissue out of her handbag and dabbed at her nose. She turned back to Willow with a stern expression on her face. “Listen to Hazel’s instructions when we go in, please. Watch yourself.”
Willow’s grin turned solemn and her voice sincere. “Yes Grandma, I will.”
Hazel smiled, held the door open, and motioned them through. “After you.”
Willow shrieked with excitement again. She’d disappeared inside the building before Hazel even finished shutting the door.
Hazel turned on some more lights and pushed a few boxes of parts that were in the middle of the floor into a corner. “Just watch your step, but yeah- this big room holds the bulk of our collection as you can probably tell.” She gave Willow a thumbs up gesture. “Enjoy.”
It took mere moments for Willow to be engrossed in looking at the dusty old machines. Hazel couldn’t help but stare in amazement. She couldn’t imagine that Willow had many girlfriends her age who also shared her fascination with lawnmowers- but maybe she was wrong.
Kate walked a lap around the displays and then came back to join Hazel where she stood.
She glanced at Hazel and then looked away. She pressed a tissue to her eyes, then wiped her nose again.
A lump formed in Hazel’s throat. “Hey… you okay?”
Kate inhaled, shook her head, and then managed a small smile. “Do you have any idea how much of a hero you are to us right now?”
Feeling dazed, Hazel blinked. “A hero? Wait, what? No-”
“I’ll need to explain.”
Hazel squinted. “Uh, please do.”
“I’m witnessing a miracle with my own eyes. Willow’s been through things no kid should ever have to go through.” Tears streaked down Kate’s face; she made no effort to hide it anymore. “Last Thanksgiving… I haven’t seen Willow this happy and full of life since last Thanksgiving.”
She paused to compose herself. “We lost her mother in December. Long story short, she had a lot of struggle in her life- she overdosed two weeks before Christmas.”
Everything stood still in Hazel’s perception as she came to realize the weight of Kate’s story and where the girl who swooned over the machines was coming from. Her voice caught in her throat. She grew uncomfortably hot. “Oh my, I’m so sorry to hear.” Her words sounded so inadequate and canned as she heard herself say them.
Hazel found stools for the two of them to sit down on, and Kate continued her story.
“I don’t get Willow’s obsession with lawnmowers. I never have and probably never will, but it’s her thing. It’s given her something that she can really shine in, as she’s always struggled getting along in school,” Kate explained. “Give her something hands on and mechanical like that and she’s an absolute genius.”
“Miranda…her mom; she was doing so well there for a long time. She did her time, worked hard to get her life back, and cleaned up…all that. Then she earned custody of Willow again.”
Kate paused and pressed her fingertips together. “So where did the lawnmowers come in? Tinkering with engines was something Willow really bonded with her mom over. It was odd to me, a bit dangerous… but amazing. For the first time in pretty much her whole life, Willow actually had a mom- until the bottom dropped out again and she didn’t.”
“Wow.” It was all Hazel could say as she studied the vulnerable girl who’d walked into her self-absorbed world. The guilt she felt for getting as close as she did to turning back to her own vices earlier that evening had her silently praying for forgiveness.
Kate continued talking. “After Miranda passed, we lost access to the garage where she and Willow would work on their projects. She lost all interest in it anyway for a while in all the grief; I struggled to get through to her at all. That’s why I’m so happy this worked out, it gives me hope Thank you for letting us in. It means a lot.”
Hazel squeezed her eyes shut before looking at Kate again. “Oh. Well honestly, I have to thank you too. I was needing some hope tonight as well; you two brought it.”
She went on to quietly tell the truth about the plight of the museum, and a little about her own family.
Kate’s expression held warmth and understanding. She patted Hazel’s knee gently. “Honey, I honestly figured it out right away that this place hasn’t been in business for a long time. Depending on what you and your family ends up deciding about the future, we might be able to help.”
“See, my son in-law is a contractor. He does roofing and siding and the like. Knowing him, I’m sure he’d be willing to come out some weekend and help you get the building back up to code.” She and Hazel locked eyes. “Just felt like I should throw that out there.”
“I appreciate that, thank you,” Hazel replied. “By the way, you should encourage Willow to keep studying engine mechanics as a career path maybe- she’s a natural.”
“I want to, she starts high school in the fall. I’m hoping that will open up some options. She’s been in special education programs all along, but I haven’t been thrilled about how they’ve dealt with her over the years. Sometimes that makes things harder. But I will fight for her and see about changing schools if needed.”
“Definitely,” said Hazel.
Kate and Willow finished looking around and retired to their motel a little while later. They planned to come back in the morning. The pair wanted to help sort through the boxes of mower parts as a thank you for keeping Hazel out late that night. Willow certainly knew her stuff too, and was super excited to come back.
Hazel stood alone in the museum once again. She was still trying to grasp everything that just transpired in the whirlwind of the evening’s events. As she pictured Willow with all her young enthusiasm and passion, she couldn’t help but remember and feel the similar emotions from her teenage years.
She worried for Willow. With all the tragedy, disappointment, and confusion in her life, she feared she was at risk of walking down the same path that Hazel did- or the one that took her mother’s life. Hazel knew what it was like to lose her sense of purpose, and to watch her aspirations die out.
There was a reason why she crossed paths with the girl during one of her darkest hours. Just when she was about to be tricked into thinking that it made no real difference to anyone if she fought to stay sober or not. The timing honestly had her freaked out, yet thankful.
She walked through the showroom and looked over all of her father’s metal implements yet again. If I can take these broken old machines and help save Willow’s dreams and future… I will. It’s worth it.
***
The next morning, Hazel went out to the museum early, before Willow and Kate were due to show up. She picked up coffee and donuts and other drinks and snacks to keep them fueled during their great organization adventure. She found herself shivering in the chilly morning air; chilly in contrast to yesterday’s heat anyway.
She went back into the messy workshop to search for a broom. Hazel stopped abruptly as the open liquor bottle greeted her, right where she had left it in the middle of the floor. She cringed at the memory.
She picked the container up and glared at it. “Time for you to go.”
Hazel opened up the back door and went outside. She walked back to an old concrete patio area, facing out towards a large empty field. Tall weeds and grass grew up through every crack in the neglected pavement, almost obscuring it completely. Inhaling deeply, she held the bottle up high and chucked it against the ground with all her might. The liquid splashed everywhere and the glass shattered into dozens of satisfying pieces. She smiled and turned to go back inside.
Take that, you still don’t own me.
The darned broom was still MIA, but as she searched around the backroom, she again took notice of the big box her dad had left.
To Build With the Grandkids Someday
Those words scrawled on the side still stabbed at her. But then she had an idea.
I could try to build whatever is inside with Willow and let her take it home.
She opened up the box and looked over the pieces inside again. It felt right, better than letting it waste away on a shelf forever. She began to get choked up at the thought. Walking back out into the other room, she glanced up towards the ceiling.
“I hope you’d be okay with this…but Dad, this is for you.”
***
Later that morning, after the three of them had sorted through quite a few boxes of stuff, Hazel pulled Kate aside and asked if it was be okay with her if she and Willow worked on assembling what was in her Dad’s “sort of a mystery” box. Kate agreed and Hazel brought out the parts.
Hazel knelt down on the floor to join Willow. “What do you think Willow, would you like to build this with me?”
Willow’s eyes grew wide as she zeroed in on what Hazel revealed. “Woah! Is this a world famous Attmyer Original Series rotary mower?”
Hazel felt her cheeks growing red with embarrassment- she really wasn’t sure and there wasn’t exactly any instruction manuals in the box. Thanks Dad. “Well now, you’re the expert. Is that what it looks like to you?”
Willow held up a piece that had a metal plaque on it, inscribed with a serial number and other details. “It is! Wow, it’s brand new- these are like super, duper rare!”
“Sweet, looks like you are one lucky girl today.” Hazel grinned. Then she got serious. “Willow, look. Your grandma told me, I know working on stuff like this was something you and your mom used to do- and I’m really sorry for your loss.”
Her expression grew sad. She stared at the wooden piece she still held. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Please know, I’m not trying to take your mom’s place or anything, no one can do that. But my parents wanted this saved for someone special, and I think you fit the bill. I thought we could build this as like a tribute to your mom, so then you can take it home and have something that will help you remember the good times you had, and the passions she helped you find.” Hazel paused and made eye contact with Willow. “Are you okay with that?”
Her sad expression melted into a timid smile. Then she unexpectedly lunged forward and gave Hazel a hug, nearly knocking her backward. “Oh, I’d love that! Thank you!”
“Awesome, let’s get to work.” Hazel straightened up and slapped her hands against her thighs. “Show me how to build this thing!”
By early afternoon, they had the contraption finished, and Willow and Kate were getting ready to leave and continue their trip home. They managed to get the lawnmower loaded into their vehicle somehow, amongst all the camping gear. Then it was time to say their final goodbyes.
“Well Ms. Attmyer, you have my phone number,” said Kate as they stood out at the SUV, about ready to climb in. “Please keep us posted, we’ll gladly make another weekend trip out to help you guys out with things. My son in-law is willing too.”
Hazel reached out and shook hands with Kate. “I sure will- thanks again. Take care.”
***
Hazel gnawed at her lip as she held her phone to her ear and listened to the ring on the other end of the line. Her nerves were getting the best of her again.
“Hello? Hazel?
“Hey Lane, it’s me.”
He half sighed, half groaned in response. “Ok, now what?
She took a deep breath. “Lane, we need to find a way to keep the museum alive and open for business!”
Silence. Then sarcastic laughter. “Hazel Attmyer , shut the front door! You want to what? Ok, now I know you are definitely on crack or something. Good bye.”
“Oh stop it just hold on,” Hazel shot back. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m being serious. I don’t want to see it gone anymore. Neither does Mom– neither do my new friends Willow and Kate.”
He sighed again, sounding very exasperated. “I’m so confused right now, like, are you sure you’re okay? Who in the world are Willow and Kate and what do they have to do with anything?”
“Oh, and I didn’t even mention what I learned about Mr. Turnburton yet and his re-imagine plot thing,” Hazel continued saying. “He wants to just cut out the parts of town history that he doesn’t like and anything that reminds him of it; meaning our museum! Who even does that?”
Lane grunted. “Well where in the world have you been? That sort of stuff seems to be the trend these days.”
“But Lane, I hope you’ll come out to see mom before I have to go back to Chicago.” Her voice started to shake. “There’s some other things I need to talk to you about first, but only if you’re willing to see and at least listen to me after all these years. I promise to listen to you, too.”
He didn’t say anything for a while, but Hazel could hear his heavy breathing. “I was actually just packing my bag to leave.” The volume of his voice dropped. “I’ll let you know when I get in, okay? I guess we do need to talk.”
***
Upon finishing the phone call with her brother; she biked off to check in with Mom again.
Mom wasn’t in her room when Hazel got there. Her physical therapist had been working with her and getting her used to using a special wheelchair. Hazel found her out in the peaceful garden area that the facility had set up for residents to enjoy. She pulled up a chair and joined Mom out on the patio amongst the flowers. Hazel knew she might be in for another uphill battle once Lane arrived, but she knew she had to do her best and press forward.
“Don’t worry Mom, I’m working to make sure that the legacy that you and Dad built will not be forgotten. You worked too hard for too many years for it all to disappear. The best I can do is to just keep building on to what you started.”
She paused and glanced down, nervously picking at a hangnail. She looked at her mother again, still as brave and as lovely as ever. ”Call me crazy, Mom. But I see Dad’s museum as a hopeful place now. We breathed a little bit of life back into a child’s faded dreams today. And thanks to her, maybe I’ve discovered some new ones of my own.”
As Hazel sat there in that surreal, but beautiful moment, something crazy happened. Even if it was just for a second… she swore she saw Mom smile.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
©2022 Kim Buddington
Fading Blue Owl 