The Dawn Of Twilight
Matt M Cantelon

 

The painted carousel horses glided through their circular route, their wooden forms silhouetted against the failing autumn daylight. The carousel was largely empty, just a couple small children holding onto their chosen horses, arms wrapped tightly as if holding on for life. A few people, perhaps the children’s parents stood off to the side, drinking coffee out of styrofoam cups, their breath escaping their mouths in wisps of translucent smoke.
Nearby a man sat on a bench, his mind spinning with the methodic revolutions of the carousel. The man’s name was Tom Bryant, not that it mattered. Tom watched the children, watching the carousel and at the same time he watched nothing in particular. This was his first visit back to his hometown in almost a decade. He realized with a twinge of sadness it looked like the rest of America. Sterile, safe, with large, ornate street-lamps. The sort of sprawling suburban community the common American would feel OK with raising their 2.6 children. The rustic period architecture had been demolished, replaced by prefabricated housing, and planned parks, for planned lives.
The carousel came to a stop after a time. The children left with their parents in large sports utility vehicles, finally the lights on the carousel flickered off. After some time twilight was interrupted by a street light turned on over Tom’s head. Tom stood up, and wandered to the carousel, running his hands along the horses, their once brilliant colors, now fading into soft pastel tones, the wood chipped and broken.
He walked through the rest of the park, his mind fixed on thoughts of home, thoughts of his mother and father. Eventually, Tom entered his own car, and began driving home, humming the song from the carousel in a slow, almost mournful tone.
After driving past the miles of new housing developments and big-box store constructions Tom drove to a much different part of town. The once humble World War II era houses had now come to attract lower income owners. Grass and weeds grew in the cracks of the once pristine cement. Broken furniture and trash littered the yards in front of the houses. Even the houses themselves had fallen into decay from years of neglect.
Finally, Tom pulled into a driveway, exited his vehicle, and extracted a key from an envelope in his pocket. The key fit smoothly into the lock, he turned the handle and opened the door. The house itself was immersed in darkness, but he was able to find the switch without much hesitation. Tom wished he had had a chance to see his father before he died. He wished he could see him before Mother became too much to care for. He never thought his father was the type to burn out; burn so brightly for a lifetime and then vanish. He thought his father would fade, give him and his mother a chance at saying a long goodbye. He continued to walk. Past the end tables with plastic vases filled with plastic flowers, frames with family photos, past a staircase where the second step would always creek a little, almost threatening to give way. Tom had found his old room, quite the same as he had remembered it. Perhaps part of him remained here, enshrined forever in the pictures of high school sports teams and stacks of discolored comic books. Exhausted, Tom sat on his bed and after a time prepared himself for sleep.
Tomorrow he would see Mother.
The next morning the sun rose over the suburban community, its rays cast shadows across parking lots, across the houses, packed together, only separated by diminutive, almost non-existent front lawns. Tom rose from his bed, ran through his morning routine, his mind still filled with dreams of his childhood and entered his car.
In all of the years he had lived in this town, he had never been to this particular building before. It was forgotten, tucked away in a world of its own apart from the rest of the town. Tom drove up to the building parked his car and studied the letters “Assisted Living Facility”, printed in a large, friendly, unassuming style.
Tom entered through the automatic doors, approached a front desk and waited patiently for the nurse. The waiting room was exceptionally quiet, a fake quiet, manufactured. The only sounds were of a walker on the tile floor, as a nurse helped the nearly invalid man struggle across the waiting room. Tom studied the near-invalid. His eyes were gone, empty shells, burned out long ago. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, the man disappeared down an adjoining corridor, however, the sound of metal on tile resonated throughout the waiting room.
Tom sat in a chair, padded, straight backed. In front of him was a coffee table on its surface there were neat stacks of large books and popular magazines. No one read them.
The sun was almost at its zenith in the sky, when Tom was lead into his Mother’s room. The nurse was brief, made no eye contact, and continued on as if the visit was a momentary annoyance to be overcome.
Tom’s Mother was alert, sitting straight in her recliner, impeccable posture, even after all these years. Her television remained off, although she held the remote in her hand, as if waiting for something to occur. He walked over to her, pulled a wooden chair from near her bed and let out a quick, deliberate sigh.
“What, you can’t say hello to your own mother?” the woman said, jabbing her words into her son.
“Mom…”
“It’s bad enough your father left me here, but then I don’t even get to see my own son”.
Tom was silent, he tugged at his pants, adjusted his watch. Hesitated, trying to grasp and gauge the nature of the situation.
“I sure hope he gets back soon...” Tom’s Mother said,
“Dad has a tendency to do that sometimes, to forget”, Tom said.
“I remember one time. He took you to the carousel in the park, and then forgot about you, you must have ridden it fifteen times before he finally remembered to come back for you.”
 “Yeah”.
“You used to love riding that carousel…”
“Yeah”, Tom repeated, his voice a soft monotone.
“Seems like it happened yesterday, before he left me here.”
“Dad never did make a lot of sense”, Tom said. He eased himself into the chair.
“Don’t slouch, I’ve brought you up better”, Tom’s Mother said.
 “Sorry”, Tom remained still.
After a time the Tom’s Mother fell asleep in the easy chair, her mind previously alert, finally giving way, eyes glossing over, then silence. Tom thanked the nurse for her time and said he’d be back the next day. After leaving the non-descript building he once again drove to the park. The carousel was closed today, Sunday, and the weather lately had been less than fair. Tom wandered alone through the park until he came to the carousel. He stared at the sun as it was beginning to sink into the horizon, watching it as it gave way to twilight. From off in the distance he saw a figure approaching, a tall thin man. He heard a voice from the horizon.
“Oh God. You’ve been here all day. I… I am sorry, son. I thought you were beside me when I left and… Well at least you were here instead of… Thank God. Thank God…” Tom was taken aback for a moment, he squinted, staring off into the distance, but the tall thin man in the horizon was gone.
The next day Tom Bryant went back to the non-descript building, he patiently waited again. He did not read the magazines. Tom’s Mother was once again alert, her posture straight, and her face full and happy.
 “Hello”, Tom said, a sort of cautious optimism filling his voice.
The woman in the chair was taken aback for a moment before she finally replied. “Hello…”
“I just wanted to see you again...”
The woman in the chair frowned, “you’re not my usual doctor, unless this is Thursday…” Tom said nothing, “I just want to make sure, because they tend to forget here, if they have given me a new doctor, I have the right to know.”
After a time Tom spoke, “no, I’m just filling in…”
“I thought you might be, I have a son about your age, but he doesn’t write anymore.” The woman’s eyes began growing heavy as she slumped down into the recliner. “Never writes anymore.” Again she began to succumb to the sleep, gravity pushing her eyelids down, pushing her mind into a different place.
“Well, I’m sure he loves you…” Tom said, once again in the soft monotone. The woman in the chair said nothing, as the Tom watched her stomach rise and fall, rise and fall. Tom saw the carousel horses again, their proud and brilliant colors reflecting the summer sunlight as they rose and fell perpetually, moving round and round, always ending up where they started. Tom waited a moment, and then stood up. Finally, after a time he left, humming the song from the carousel, and all the while saying a long goodbye.

 

 

Copyright © 2005 Matt M Cantelon
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"