(Credit: Author)
Now Playing: “Satellite City” – Kimock
Tired, red eyes make haloes in the neon-lit darkness. Blurred metropolises of glowing blue and hazy gold pass in the night like unfriendly ports of call as we continue slipping through this neon-lit dark dreamscape serve to remind us in our vehicular cocoon of the world out there. Those satellite cities feel like dreams.
I hadn’t expected to spend so much of my Thursday afternoon slinking pass glittering clusters on the horizon. However, Allison and I left later than anticipated and we ran into traffic around New York City, which I should have anticipated. After our conversation yesterday, things between Allison and I feel lighter. All may not be completely forgiven yet, however, I am more than willing to enjoy the time we’re getting together because, as Martin so helpfully pointed out, I have bigger fish to fry.
The lights take on their distinctive haze. My eyes are getting tired already, but my mind is still racing. Allison is blissfully asleep in the passenger seat, though we still have a ways to go until Philly. I took over for her somewhere in Connecticut, and she provided excellent entertainment until the fatigue got the better of her.
So, I’ve wandered through my memories, maybe searching for some clue as to where mom got off to. It’s exhausting reliving the worst moments of my life, but it’s too draining to leave them behind either. I’ve been retreading well-trodden ground in the most miserable way imaginable in the vain hopes of identifying some magic puzzle piece my mind has not painted over the more I have viewed and painted over these canvases.
Tired eyes and a racing mind are never fun. I’ve been working myself too hard to produce too little, keeping myself up at night to try and find some answer within so I don’t have to face the world outside. These tired eyes now scan the darkness, watching for the exit signs to bring us closer to our final destination. The voice cuts off the music to announce we’re a few miles out from the split in the highway. Still far too many miles to go, which means still too much time left for me to contemplate.
The New Jersey turnpike is thoroughly depressing. No glittering lights for a solid fifty miles, no traces of civilization to look at across the night, barely any roadway signs to try and play the alphabet game on, which means I had no damn help in keeping me awake tonight. Just a whole state of nothing but roadway, peppered with fellow travelers headed elsewhere. Most of them slip through with greater speed, but I’ve got out of state plates and there’s no way in hell I’m giving the state police a reason to slap me with a ticket.
The melody on the speakers lulls me dangerously close to the same warm sleep as Allison in the passenger seat. The rhythm of the machine responding to my every command draws me into a comfortable headspace. I’m unaware of half my decisions now, but I understand why autopilot changed aviation. Golden shafts stretch out ahead of me, illuminating scattered fragments of reality. With so many boring stretches on the interstate to occupy our driving, my mind has been wandering more as I see less of the world around us.
Celestial navigation is hard when stars are invisible. Tonight is for getting lost and not being found. At the end of the line stands the promise of answers. The world slips by outside while making this trip to a city that I have no desire to visit other than to get some answers on such a painful subject. The prize being information which might allow me to be the hero and maybe put to rest some of these old ghosts may be the only thing compelling me onwards.
I watched the sunset over the highway tonight. I wanted to capture the magic, sketch it in my head the way my hands won’t. It was the first beautiful thing I’ve seen in ages that didn’t have some form of ancient baggage attached. Some stretches of this trip, once the sun set, felt like we left the world behind. In transit, there is only me, my passenger, and everything in our direct eyesight. The rest of the world could have ended for all we knew.
Metropolis after metropolis glow in the distance like passing ships. Made up of a million artificial stars. White and yellow gold, rubies and emeralds and citrine shine ahead and behind me. The orange dot matrix signs, holdovers from a tomorrow as dreamed by yesterday, send messages to weary travelers like us.
While stuck in traffic near New York City, I enjoyed watching the planes take off and land at LaGuardia, JFK, and Newark. One by one those flights broke the bonds of gravity and slipped away into the night sky. I envied that freedom, both in a metaphorical sense and in a literal one. If I wasn’t a broke radio producer with an old car needing to be fixed traveling with an unemployed loser, we’d have flown. Or at the very least, taken Amtrak.
The world is quiet outside the car. In the daylight, you can see everything around. Nighttime gives a sense of isolation, though, since the mind can make sense of the little pieces of the world revealed by the light. The unseen becomes the source of creative conjurations. Every star in every distant city is a life of which I’ll never have any knowledge.
It makes it easier to write their stories in my head.
Distant towns become beacons cutting through the darkness; lighthouses showing me my way. Lives I’ll never know represented by specks of gold and white making constellations on the facades of buildings. I consider the people staring out at the highway from their offices or apartments. Maybe we’d lock eyes if we could see that far. We share a moment before disappearing without meeting, like ships into the night. The ghosts of my guesswork fade as fast as they appear.
I cross the bridge with glittering jewels on either side. The lights of marinas and riverside houses delight my eyes. There’s even something pretty about the shining white lights of the chemical plant. I suppose industrial beauty is still a kind of beauty. It’s a welcome distraction for my struggling eyelids.
We close in on the city of brotherly love. In the distance, looming in the mystery, stands the promise of answers to my questions, even if I’m not wild about facing my family.
Now Playing: “Under the Pressure” – The War on Drugs
I never really got Philadelphia. Maybe it was just too far south for me to care. The only cities I ever gave a crap about were Boston because it’s close to home, and New York because it’s the next closest. Anything farther south of us on the east coast just didn’t matter. Or maybe because I was so young whenever we’d come to Philly that the city never felt real. I still honestly can’t say that I know it all that well, it was at least two years before mom left that we last visited her family down here. My grandparents and uncle came up for the holidays because Grantchester was that much more scenic and less crazy in the wintertime because it’s a beach town.
All that being said, Philly after dark has its charms. Center City, as I understand it to be called, glimmers in the distance. Fun fact for the day, but there was a gentleman’s agreement not to build any building taller than the statue of William Penn atop City Hall. When that was broken in the late 80s when one of the two buildings in front of me was built, Philadelphia sports teams didn’t win a championship until the Phillies won the World Series in 2008.
There was an unfinished song in mom’s notebook titled, “Philadelphia Traffic.” I think it was about her high school days and fighting the roads to see her boyfriend on the other side of town. If it wasn’t so late while we’re getting in, I’d have similar frustrations. Late October makes it feel a little hollower and emptier, I’d guess. It’s not even that late, but we’re at the time of year when the sun sets early and I don’t really mind the darkness.
Allison stirs gently, asking me if we’re close.
“Not close enough for your tastes,” I say,
“Well, I’ve napped enough for a while.”
I’m secretly gleeful at her announcement. The last hour or so felt boring without my best friend. Since we had it out yesterday, this trip has been smooth. Almost. I feel like we’ve spent too many hours in the car for how little sleep I got last night. Then again, this is the farthest I’ve driven away from home. Grantchester was a place I never felt like I could escape from. As much as I yearned to be free from home, there’s a level of comfort in my town by the ocean that nowhere else in the world could hope to match.
Still though, I cannot say I’m not excited to see my uncle, aunt, and grandmother. My uncle Derek and his wife Lucy moved my grandmother in when their kids went off to college and my grandfather passed. Grandma Grace, or ‘G.G.’ as she signed all her cards to the grandkids, was beloved by all. From what little I talk to mom’s side of the family, it seems she’s a welcome addition to my uncle’s household. It’s been too long since I’ve seen any of them. At a certain point, it became too painful to really engage with all of the pain. If we didn’t have to talk with each other about our grief, it’s almost like it wasn’t real.
“We’re almost there,” I inform my traveling companion as she stretches and pulls herself together so she doesn’t look like she just spent a lot of time sleeping.
“How are you doing?” she yawns. “Are you ready for this?”
“No, but it’s about time we have a good old reunion.”
I pull the car up and park, taking a deep breath. Allison gently rubs my arm to reassure me, but the only thing it succeeds in doing is make my heart start beating even faster. The incessant pounding in my chest steals my breath and I am decidedly unchill about it. I didn’t think seeing my family would be this nerve-wracking, but here we are.
My uncle lives with his family in a warm brick townhome that has soft gold light spilling from the windows. My grandmother’s maiden name was Castellano, and she grew up right here in South Philly. My grandfather, Matthew Winters, was an engineer in the Navy who was stationed at the Navy Yard. The two met, married, and later lived abroad in a few other places like Tokyo, Hawaii, and Norfolk while my grandfather worked for the Navy. Eventually, they settled back down in Philadelphia which is where they stayed ever since.
I steel myself and knock on the door. A gold doorknob turns and the black door swings open and a wave of warmth hits me.
“Casey,” my grandmother greets in this voice which can only be described as a warm buttermilk biscuit, which she makes quite well, and if the smell wafting through the house from the kitchen is any indication, they’re a component of tonight’s dinner.
“Damn, I missed you.” I collapse into a grandmother hug which I have been sorely missing from this side of the family. The periodic phone calls just don’t hit the same spots. Grandma Grace has the sort of face that fits a grandmother. She’s the warm old lady who bakes apple pies, knows everybody in the neighborhood by name, and could disarm a shooting war with a few stern but gentle words about peace and tolerance.
“It’s good to see you,” she squeezes me tight before letting me go and turning her attention to Allison. “Allison, it’s lovely to see you again. Come in you two, it’s cold as hell outside. I’ll make some tea.”
The other thing I always loved about my grandmother is that she was a no-nonsense lady. Sharp-witted with an even sharper-tongue, Grace Winters was the smartest person in the room ninety-nine times out of one hundred. Allison and I look at each other, shrug once, and follow my grandmother deeper into the house, ditching our coats and dropping our bags as we do.
“Is that Casey?” my aunt calls from the kitchen.
“It’s me!” I holler back.
“Perfect timing! The ribs are almost done!”
“The dry rub?”
“What else would I make?” The splash of charm my aunt adds to every sentence makes anything that might sound like frustration to be playful fun.
I pump my fist in triumph. Aunt Lucy grew up near Memphis and her dry rub ribs are the absolute best I’ve ever had. I look over to ask Allison if she remembers ever eating my aunt’s ribs, and her mouth is already watering behind a gleeful grin. Suffice to say, she remembers.
“I can’t believe we rolled out the red carpet for you,” my uncle teases as he comes downstairs, presumably from his office. My uncle Derek is a tall man, medium-gray hair and a slim build. Derek was the older sibling, who went to college like a responsible adult, and got a good paying job. Mom was the college dropout with musical ambition that managed to pull off a career as a rocker across the east coast at least. Mirrored Reilly and I to an extent.
“I know, after I came all this way, and my cousins cannot be bothered to see me,” I tease back, before gesturing to my best friend, “You remember Allison, right?”
“Of course I do! Last time I saw you was at the high school graduation party up in Massachusetts,” my uncle offers a handshake, “Lovely to see you again.”
I know he’s glad to see me, but the shadow in his eyes and the slight chill in his voice only serve to remind me that my presence comes with its purpose and the baggage of mom’s disappearance. Truth be told, I was never super close with my uncle. We lived in different worlds when I was young, and by the time I got old enough for us to establish anything, mom was gone, and I became an uncomfortable reminder of that fact. I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t paranoid about retrieving those letters myself, and if I hadn’t wanted to see my grandmother.
“Weary travelers, make haste, for good food and hot drink await,” my grandmother, in her showman voice, bids us to the kitchen. My uncle gestures for us to lead on, and Allison and I make our way through the cramped, slightly messy but homey abode and into the kitchen where a table upon which those biscuits, mac and cheese, and those fantastic ribs await. Allison and I practically race each other to sit down to the amusement of my grandmother.
We spend dinner reminiscing about family stories, and getting Allison up to speed on the whole family history. She endears herself to my family with tales of Seattle and I charm everyone with tales of chaos at the radio station and my budding local music career. Everyone asks about dad, and then the conversation turns to Reilly, all whilst we gorge ourselves on my aunt’s fabulous cooking.
Allison volunteers to help clean up while my uncle heads upstairs to retrieve the letters, and my grandmother gives me her signature look. I follow her into the den, which I sense is her space on the first floor, and she drops her folksy charm and warm grandmotherly affectations for a minute.
“You’re uncle told me why you’re really here.”
“I knew there was no point in hiding it from you, I just…didn’t feel like going ten rounds with Derek in front of everybody.”
Grandma Grace smirks and chuckles. Her hotheadedness rubbed off onto my uncle. According to her and Derek and my father, mom took after her father, rest his soul. I never knew Matthew Winters except by reputation. He died when I was very young, and I don’t have any memories of the few occasions when I did meet my grandfather. I was lucky to have three grandparents growing up, even if one was somewhat far away.
“Do you think you can bring her home?” My grandmother, with an intense stare, gives her blessing to my quest.
“I have a whole plan. Dad gave me some of her old stuff, like a notebook I’ve been trawling through. I’ve been calling contacts, and I hope I can cross reference with these letters and figure some things out.”
My grandmother leans back in her armchair and purses her lips. She stares at the wall over my left shoulder for a few moments before looking back at me. “I believe in you. Do whatever you have to. Bring her home.”
My grandmother would never stoop as low as to break down in front of me. She’s too prideful for that. Her eyes give her away, though. She’s spent time looking, probably when my uncle isn’t aware, and has come up short. I don’t intend to. Her sadness cloaked in sharp wit is the same mask as my uncle’s cold demeanor towards me. Everyone’s hurting over mom being gone, and we’re all equally shit at expressing it.
“Now, tell me about Allison. What’s going on there? She comes back after five years and you’re traveling together?” My grandmother turns into a gossipy schoolgirl once the serious stuff is out of the way. I’m only eighteen percent sure she isn’t screwing with me.
“Just catching up, repairing our friendship. She came with me because I didn’t want to drive this far alone and she isn’t working yet. And we’re seeing a band tomorrow night at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park, which I’m doing because you know how mom loved Springsteen and I wanted to see the place.”
My grandmother bursts out laughing. “That girl did not come visit the family with you because she wanted to see a concert by the ocean.” In her way, my grandmother lets the implication do all the talking for her.
I furrow my brow and take on a defensive tone, “I have a girlfriend, Jordan, back home.”
“You mentioned,” my grandmother replies flatly, but with a mischievous look in her eye. I narrow my own, and she curls her lips into a sly grin.
“What?”
“Casey, don’t make the dumbass mistake of forcing your way up a hill that you can’t climb when the path meant for you is right in front of your face.”
I opt to play dumb on the metaphor. I get it, it’s not exactly subtle. But it invites a conversation that I don’t really want to happen.
“Casey, you have always put serious matters first, and you focused on other people’s happiness at the expense of your own. I know you’re searching for Melanie because you want Reilly to have her mom there, not because you’ve been missing her yourself. Sometimes, you need to learn to be a bit more selfish in life.”
Footsteps from the doorway prevent me from responding. My uncle makes his presence known with a clipped but otherwise neutral question. “What’s going on in here?”
“Oh, nothing, just giving a little grandmotherly advice.” Grandma Grace shoots a sweet grin with sly eyes. That is her to a tee: a sly old schemer masquerading as a simple old lady. Warmth and conniving come together in one of the most fascinating individuals I have ever met. And I understand where mom and I get it from.
“Well, come on, let me show you where you’ll be sleeping. I put Allison in the better guest room, sorry about that. The letters are on the dresser for you,” my uncle bids that I follow him up the stairs. The stairs creak beneath us in off-beat groans made more audible by the weird breathing and heavy silence between us both.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” I finally muster after an awkward ascension. Despite being on carpet, his foot almost squeaks with how hard he stops and turns to face me. His face is long and sad, and he takes a deep breath.
“No, I’m sorry. We’re happy to see you. I missed you so much, Casey. It’s been too long, and I’ve been unreasonable about this whole thing. Your mom’s disappearance isn’t your fault and taking it out on you isn’t fair.” My uncle pulls me into a tight hug. “I love you, and nothing will ever change that.”
“I’m going to bring her home, uncle Derek. Promise.”
“I know you will. You’re the only one of us who can. Now come on, we have dessert downstairs, and I know your grandmother is busy giving Allison all sorts of hell.”
“About what?” I scoff.
“Something or other.” My uncle chuckles and I join in as we return back to the family where I can already hear my aunt talking about the warm apple pie she’s serving alongside the best vanilla ice cream anyone’s ever had on account of it being homemade, and my best friend and grandmother voicing their approval in response.
It gets hard to remember that the family members older than I am are just as messed up about mom going missing as me. I guess hope travels fast since it seems everyone in this house knows what I’m up to, and I think they’re counting on it to succeed. Even if it is for selfish reasons. Hell, I want mom back for selfish reasons, but I’ll never say that aloud.
Maybe I do need to learn to be a little more selfish at times.
Ark of the Lost Angels 
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