Author: David Ferland

Entering the Bermuda Triangle

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JJ bumped into Watt the Baker at the downtown coffee spot.  Watt asked, “Why don’t you come back to meetings?”

“Things are good, trending up,” JJ said.

“We’re headed into the Bermuda Triangle y’know,” Watt said.  “Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years.  A good time to check in.”

“I’m good.  My family is in my life,” JJ said.  “I slipped up a little last summer but it’s been good since.”

“After you won all that money?”

“Yeah, that night.”

“Man, I would be dead by now if I won that money,” Watt said.

“Are you always that close to drinking?”

Watt looked at him.   “It’s always one day at a time.  I don’t think about it all the time but I’m vigilant.”

“I’m vigilant too,” JJ said.  “Mostly.”

“Man, it’s life or death with me.  I have no doubt I’d be under a bridge within a month of picking up.”

JJ thought of drinking. He looked back at the long tussle of on-again, off-again, in and out of AA, moving around the country, geographic cures then coming back home.  He doubted he would end up under a bridge or living on the streets.  Not now, with the farm and all.  Not with the money buffer.  No, JJ thought, I’ll just sink slowly into a living death, become a bitter shell of a human, and live a disgusting swamp-zombie existence.  And with no real job now to keep up appearances.  And the farm, all alone up there.  Projects, yes, but nothing really needing to be done.  Venturing out only for liquor and food.  Then only liquor and cigarettes.  And the money wouldn’t run out until…  Holy shit, he thought, I’m on the fucking edge!

“I’m fine,” JJ said.

“You look a little scared,” Watt said.

“Tell you what, I’ll hit a meeting before Thanksgiving.”

“I’ll meet you downtown tomorrow night,” Watt said.  “Let’s grab a bite and go to the 7:00.”

“I see what you’re doing, hooking me like that.”  But JJ smiled and shook Watt’s hand.  “Alright.  Meet at Jake’s at 6:00.  I’m buying.”

“Great,” Watt said, moving away then turning back to JJ.  “You know it’s gratitude month.  What’re you grateful for?”

The idea of “gratitude month” made something clench inside JJ and he felt a revulsion in his gut like he just saw a fresh plump roadkill.  Now he remembered why he couldn’t stick in AA.  The terrible slogans.  The “Bermuda Triangle” of holidays.  The clapping and all that awful joy.  He felt the clenching, the tightening of intolerance, then the withdrawal of being too cool for all that.

“Watt, I’m grateful to be alive.  But I’ll pass on the meeting and dinner tomorrow.”

“Are you serious?  I thought…”

“Some other time,”  JJ said and turned away.

“We’ll save a seat for you,” Watt called after him.

JJ stalked off.  But behind the rising tide of resistance and resentment inside him, a small stifled voice said, “You better.”  And JJ kept walking.

Thanksgiving Plans, JJ Style

/ David Ferland / 1 Comment

“It’s pretty late notice,”  JJ’s brother Brian said.

“It’s three weeks from now,” JJ said.

“These things are planned months ahead.  And it’s two weeks from now.”

“You haven’t even been out to see the place.  The girls will love it.”

“I’m sure they will but it’s not easy to change plans like this.”

“You just said you didn’t have any real plans.”

“I have to talk to Jane,” Brian said.  “She wants to serve the meal at the shelter.”

“Plus, Kari and the boys are coming.  I saw them at a soccer game.”

“I thought they were going to the Cape.”

“No Cape.  Betty and Barry are going on a cruise,” JJ said.  “I actually sent them on the cruise.”

“Over Thanksgiving?  How did they agree to that?”

“I said I booked it for myself and a friend but that fell through and they could take it or leave it.”

“Brilliant.  But, wait, were you really going with someone?”

JJ paused.  “No, it was a whim.  But then it seemed perfect for getting Betty and Barry away from us for Thanksgiving.”

“Are you still seeing that girl? Lily? Lori?”

“Lila.  No.  It looked like we might get back together but then a deer got impaled and that seemed a bad sign.”

“Umm…ok.  Well, I’ll talk to Jane but I’m leaning towards coming out.”

“Really? Great.”

“Do you know how to cook a turkey?”

“Turkey?  Don’t you have ham on Thanksgiving?  Or lasagna?  Just like the pilgrims.”

“This oughta be interesting,” Brian said.  “I’ll text you later after I confirm with Jane.”

JJ hung up and looked out the window and down the hill toward the road then up to the hills across the valley.  The leaves were all down and things were revealed, the bones of the earth picked clean and exposed, cold and gray.  William Bradford, a real-life pilgrim, once said of the New England fall, “All things stand in appearance with a weatherbeaten face, and the whole country full of woods and thickets represented a wild and savage hue.” JJ liked those pious badass Pilgrims and their savage new world.

He dialed the phone and asked Carl, “How do you cook a turkey?”

“It’s gotta be dead first.”

“I’m having Thanksgiving.”

“We’ll come over and help you.”

“Both of you?”

“Yup.  We’ll be there at 8:00 to start cooking,” Carl said.  “That’s 8:00 in the morning.”

“No shit,” said JJ.  “But were you invited?  I don’t recall…”

“No.  But that doesn’t matter.  We’ll go shopping next week.”

“Ok,” JJ said and hung up.  He stood and looked out the window.  He felt like he was on his own pilgrimage, navigating a new world of family and friends who actually wanted to be with him.  But he couldn’t shake the feeling of something lurking in the thickets, some savage, some Wampanoag maybe, ready to strike with spear or arrow.

The other shoe, ready to drop.

The End of a Season

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JJ just watched his nephews lose a soccer game.  The end of a season.  “They expected to win,” his sister said and JJ heard a voice in his head.  It was a guy named Doc the Painter from an AA meeting in Sacramento who said, “Serenity is inversely related to your expectations.”  Man, that recovery shit never leaves the brain.

A couple kids on the team cried, at least those kids with the congenital drive to win and step on the necks of kids from other towns.  Most kids seemed relieved and wore rueful smiles.  Lollipops had appeared from somewhere and JJ thought, “That was me.  I would smile and cry later, alone.  Then resent the whole thing for the rest of my life.”

His sister came over and put her arm around him, drawing him into the family.  “Well that’s over,” she said.  People were milling, saying farewell and have a good winter.  November was here, hibernation coming soon, and JJ could feel it.  The sun was warm but the breeze came from somewhere with real cold.  Like Canada.

“Aren’t you sad,” JJ asked.

“Nah,” she said.  The kids approached, sheepish but not defeated.  “It’s all in good fun.  Sports are fun.”

Not for me, JJ thought.  Never for me.  I like Wiffle Ball in the yard and football on Thanksgiving with the cousins.  I like watching on TV.  Or seeing the lights of a night game from the highway, a world illuminated as he passed in the dark, there and then gone, not too close.

“Hi, Uncle Jason.”  Nephew One said.

“Thanks for coming.”  Nephew Two said.

They came to JJ together and gave sideways hugs, one on either side, pressing their heads briefly against his ribs.  “You guys are fantastic,” JJ said.

“Coach said we’ll get ‘em next year,” Nephew One said.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Nephew Two said.

JJ bought hot dogs and sodas for his nephews as his sister talked with some other parents.  Nephew One said, “Can we come to the farm for Thanksgiving?”

Nephew Two said, “I want to play football in that side yard.  We were talking about that.  Can we do that?”

“Yes.”

“And don’t you have a turkey on your farm we could eat?”

JJ thought of his hot tub and basketball court in the barn.  He thought of the native forest he was planting in the old fields.  He thought of his lottery money and how he hadn’t thought of his lottery money during the whole game.  It was time to button up for the winter and get closer to these family people.  Thanksgiving would be a good start.

“It’s not that kind of farm.  I don’t have any animals,” JJ said.  “But we’ll definitely get a turkey.”

Moondance Part 3, The Graveyard

/ David Ferland / 1 Comment

They reached the back of the cemetery which was surrounded by an iron fence to keep the wilderness away from the dead.  Or vice versa.  The fence was about seven feet tall with arrow points at the tops of vertical iron bars.  It looked medieval and brutal in the moonlight.  JJ and Lila paused to take it in.

“There’s an opening to the right,” JJ whispered.  He took Lila’s hand and they moved along the fence.  A fetid sweet odor rose as they neared the opening.  The grounds crew dumped the grass trimmings and grave flowers here and the moist smell of rot hung as the mound steamed in the moonlight.  They paused again.  “Have you gotten any signs yet,” he asked and squeezed Lila’s hand.

“I’m trying to ignore them,” she said.  It was colder down here and she pushed closer to JJ.  “Wow, look at that!”

JJ looked where she pointed and saw three deer in the clearing beyond the compost mound, along the fence, outside the cemetery.  They were totally still and looking at JJ and Lila, some chastisement in their tense but placid gaze.  They looked like constellations in the moonlight, eyes and white tails shining.

“Let’s get closer,” JJ said.

“No,” Lila whispered.  “Don’t move.  Give them space.”

“C’mon, let’s at least go in the gate.”  He started moving to the opening and the deer started, twitched.

“You’re scaring them, they feel trapped.”

“C’mon,” JJ said and pulled Lila toward the gate.  The deer all spun in place, looking for a way out of their graveyard cul-de-sac.  Tangled undergrowth behind, dense and impenetrable.  Iron fence on one side.  Two people approaching in the middle of the escape route.  “Stop,” Lila said and yanked JJ to a halt.

The first deer sprung nimbly over the fence into the cemetery and bolted out among the gravestones, followed by the second.  The third deer, smaller, sprung to follow and his front legs cleared the tips of the iron rungs.  But his belly came down on top of the fence and he was kicking his hind legs, panicked now and frantic.  He screeched, the sound like the air released from a pinched balloon nozzle.  He bucked and kicked, his head and fore legs tipping lower toward the ground on the cemetery side until gravity took over and he summersaulted into the cemetery and ran to follow the others.  One of the iron points glistened wet in the moonlight.

They stood gaping in the sudden silence, stunned.  “Why couldn’t you wait,” Lila moaned and moved away from JJ.

JJ stared at the spot where the deer had been stuck on the fence.  It was cold and clammy here now, the mystery gone, the shadows ominous, the anticipation of being together turned to dread.  This is how a cemetery becomes a graveyard, JJ thought.  A graveyard for possibilities.

“Walk me back,” Lila said.  The signs were not good.

Moondance Part 2, A Walk to the Graveyard

/ David Ferland / 3 Comments

As the farm-warming party wound down, Pierre strummed and sang, “Je ne peux pas avoir juste une danse avec toi mon amour?”  Lila looked over to the fire and felt the chill of the cold shoulder from the guys over there. “They hate this,” she said to Carl’s wife, Anne.

“Yeah well, it’s good for them to see.  And it’s good for us.”  They watched JJ and Carl in the circle of firelight.  Carl reached down for a rock, showed it to JJ, and said something that made JJ smile.  Anne said, “They probably want to kill Pierre with that rock.”

Lila laughed and Anne turned back to Pierre.  But Lila kept watching JJ and Carl in the firelight.  The cold moping over there had passed and JJ was more at ease.  These days, he was able to pull out of the dark moods and be loose and funny, like he used to be.  Was it the money, the ridiculous lottery winnings?  This stupid farm that he bought?  Maturity?  What a horrible word, Lila thought.  Horrible goddamn maturity.

Then JJ and Carl were coming over and Lila thought they really were going to bludgeon this French guy and crush his little Euro guitar.  “Hey,” JJ said.  “We just came over to kick mon ami’s ass.”

“Funny,” Lila said.  “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah.  But we’re going for a walk in the woods. Do you all want to come?”

Lila hesitated and looked at Anne but Anne ignored them. Lila said, “Where did you get this French guy?”

“I thought he came with you,” said JJ.

“Are you kidding?  I’m only listening to him to piss you off.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, let’s take that walk and leave these bums behind.”

Carl said, “I’m standing right here.”  But then he sighed, walked over to Anne and put his arm around her leaving JJ and Lila alone on the fringe.

They walked away and the night surrounded them.  The fire and the music seemed far away as they headed down the hill.  It was another dimension out here, all shimmery silver light and shadows of shadows.  People need to walk in the moonlight, JJ thought.  It’s the world in negative, a bizarro world where things can happen and time and distance are warped and stretched like Dali clocks.  JJ felt furtive and alive.

They reached the tree line and JJ said, “The back of the South Street cemetery is down this trail.  Let’s go look at it in the moonlight.”

The woods closed in and they soon reached a small clearing where they stopped and turned to each other.  Their hands joined and they stood in the moonlight, still themselves with all their history, but also new to each other, cast in this strange light.  Nature’s masquerade.

“Well,” JJ said.  “What are we going to do?”

“I’m waiting for a sign,” Lila said.

“So let’s walk to the graveyard and see what happens.”

“Ok.  I really don’t know what we’re doing.”

“We never did,” JJ said.  And they continued down the path toward the cemetery.