The World Is Round

        Only flat-earthers think running from their past will get them anywhere. Truth is, the harder you run, the sooner you’re right back staring it in the face. I’ve run most of my life. And don’t misunderstand me—I’m a damn good runner. Better than most.

         But I’m tired. I’m burnt out. I feel like I’ve been stretched too thin and there’s simply not much of me left.

         Demons are my family’s heirlooms, and at only twenty-three I’ve lived longer than any girl has a right to. I knew when I began the initial preparations for this journey that it may be the end of me. But I would make it one hell of an end. For once, when my knees buckle, my breath escapes me, and my head throbs into blackness, it would be on my terms. Like I said, only flat-earthers think running from their past will work. But I know the world is round. Oh, I know it so well.

The Chevelle rumbles as I put it in neutral.  A turn of the key and the engine kills. I sit in the silence, letting it wash over me like a wave. The sun rests low on the horizon, orange and hazy in the Appalachian sky. Already fireflies dance in the wooded shadows and cicadas and bullfrogs drone in the growing twilight. A gentle breeze whispers through the open window, carrying the displaced memories of youthful summers spent in these hills.

         I step out of the car and listen, relishing the sounds of a lifetime past. I don’t have much time, but I don’t expect to take long. I cross the dusty road and climb the opposing hillside to a small collection of grave markers near the tree line.

         It is here where I have feared to tread for nearly ten years. I stand amidst the gravestones, not bothering to read the inscriptions. I don’t know yet which one is his, but I don’t care either. Not yet. I sink gingerly to my knees and survey my surroundings. I am enclosed in a long narrow valley, a single dirt road running through its bottom, hugging a creek. The cemetery belongs to a shell of a chapel that sits just over the knoll. The chapel belongs to no one, its slatted sides cracked and weathered from disuse.

         Finally I raise my eyes to view the inscriptions on the marble slabs. There’s Aunt Evelyn. Grandma Josie. Great Uncle Henry. And Uncle Jack…

         Only four markers. Uncle Jack’s is right before me and I realize with a gasp I must be kneeling right over his body—what’s left of it. I feel a wave of nausea sweep over me and I tell myself it’s just this sultry summer heat. I suppose he would’ve liked that though—me straddling him even after death. I can hear him laugh and I stand up abruptly and take a few steps back. Perhaps I was premature in thinking I should come back here.

         God dammit…

         Ten years had passed since he died. I didn’t attend the funeral. I was the only family member absent. I was also the only family member never to visit his grave since his passing. He was only 54 when he died. He would have turned 64 last week.

         I sit back down on the grass and let the wind caress my face, pulling strands of hair and tickling my nose. I close my eyes and dream. I’m not sure what I should be dreaming about though.

The past is all I have and the future is all I want. Neither is promising.

         Memories of my 12th birthday return uninvited, but I don’t dismiss them. I can feel the cool touch of cotton sheets against my bare toes and the yellow glow of my night light in the corner. It’s around midnight and shadows from the TV down the hall still flicker. Uncle Jack is watching one of his west coast baseball games that always end in the early morning hours. He claims he’s a big fan of the Anaheim Angels. He only seems to give a damn about them though when he’s spending the night. I think it’s so he can stay up late and see me. My mom says it’s because the guest bed is uncomfortable.

         I notice the TV go off and I hear Uncle Jack rise off the sofa with a sigh. A moment later his shadow appears in my doorway.

         “Hey Alli baby,” he whispers, “You awake?”

         “Mmhmm,” I murmur.

         The shadow moves closer and he sits on the edge of my bed. “You have a good birthday?”

         I nod. He smiles and pats my head.

         “I’m glad,” he says. “I’m sorry your aunt and I couldn’t get you much—“

         “No,” I shake my head. “It’s okay, Uncle Jack.”

         “I’m just glad I got to see you on your big day.”

         “Me too.”

         Uncle Jack smiles warmly, but his eyes seem distant for some reason. His breathing is a little more ragged. He runs a hand through his thinning hair and smacks his lips like he does before saying something important. I’ve heard him do that a million times when he and Papa are sitting around the dinner table talking politics.

         “You know, Alli,” he says, “I love you. Always have. And now that me and your aunt are getting older and all, I don’t suppose we’ll be having any children of our own.”

         I nod slowly, not sure what he means by all this.

         “I guess what I’m trying to say is you’re like a daughter to me. Don’t get me wrong, Alli! You have a great dad! Wonderful man. I’m not saying I’m like your father, but still, you’re like a daughter to me.” He shakes his head and chuckles softly, as if embarrassed. “What I’m trying to say is you mean the world to me. You’re awful important to me, Alli. Sometimes things just don’t come out the way you’d like them to.”

         I nod again and smile.

         “Tell you what,” he says. “Tomorrow we’ll go by the old drug store and get you some ice cream. Then I want to show you a place I’ve been meaning to take you. It’s a hidden tree fort out by the old bridge. Used to play there when I was your age. But you’ll have to promise me something?”

         “What?” I ask.

         “You can’t tell no one about it. It’s between the two of us. Got it?”

         I nod.

         Uncle Jack laughs and pats my head again. “Night Alli. You sleep good; tomorrow’s a big day.”

         I drift to sleep shortly thereafter.

         The following day, as promised, Uncle Jack takes me down to the drug store on Main Street and buys me ice cream. From there we drive out of town. I always liked to watch the plumes of dusk billow behind us as we drive. It had rained earlier that morning so no dust cloud followed us that day.

         Soon enough we were at the tree house, a dilapidated assemblage of planks nailed precariously amidst a cluster of trees. It was the forlorn remains of a hunter’s perch that had been salvaged by some rope and a few scraps of wood. But it had given Uncle Jack hours of enjoyment in those youthful summer months that he so fondly recalled to us kids.

         As we crunched through leaves and made our way to the ramshackle abode, Uncle Jack said little. He fidgeted more than he usually did. On occasion, he would glance down at me and offer a nervous smile.

         I still had my ice cream, mostly eaten, when we stopped to sit on the old bridge, watching leaves float by underneath our feet. Uncle Jack sat next to me, his large hand cupped over my knee.

         “Alli, you sure are a swell little lady. You know that?”

         I shrugged and shook my head. My heart fluttered slightly, sensing his discomfort. I enjoyed getting compliments from Uncle Jack, since he was the only one who ever offered them. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what he meant by them though. Mama often complained about how he talked to me, as if he was trying to steal me away from her and Papa, she said.

         “Well, I mean it.” Uncle Jack said with a squeeze of my knee. “You are. I’m a lucky man to have you as my niece.”

         As he spoke I felt the warmth of his hand move to my thigh, not overtly deliberate, but a casual sliding up my leg. As it continued, my heart pounded in my ears and his words faded into a swirl of background noise that comingled with the babbling of the creek. I shouldn’t let this happen. Mama would be furious if she found out.

         “Uncle Jack…” I spoke, but my mouth felt too dry to speak any louder.

         Uncle Jack said nothing as his hand gently slid beneath my shorts and down between my thighs. The warmth of his hand sent a chill up my spine and made me feel sick to my stomach. A rush of blood to my head made me feel dizzy so I leaned back from the edge and tried to take control. My head swirled and all I could think about was Mama glaring at us. If she knew what was happening she would raise such a fuss, the devil himself would up and leave the county. I thought Uncle Jack would stop, but he didn’t.

His hand lingered for a moment, fingers pressing into me. I gasped at the pain, wincing, but unable to speak. Hot tears burned my eyes, but I hid them well. A moment later he had removed his hand and I realized my ice cream had melted and was trickling down my arm. I tossed the cone aside, no longer hungry.

         “Well, Alli,” Uncle Jack said, “I thought you liked ice cream.”

         “I don’t feel good.”

         “You don’t.”

         I shook my head.

         “Well, baby…”

         “I want to go home.”

         A long silence followed. Uncle Jack looked at me, then down at the creek. “Okay, I’ll take you home. But you promise me something, okay Alli?”

         I nodded meekly.

         Uncle Jack placed a painfully firm hand on my knee and looked me in the eye. I squirmed but he didn’t let go. “Promise me something baby.””

         “What?”

         “Can’t tell no one about this place,” he winked and his grip loosened. “It’s our secret, right?”

         “Yes, Uncle Jack. Just us.”

         He smiled and helped me up and we walked to the car. The drive home blurred into a nauseas dream of familiar sights and sounds that somehow felt so detached, as if they had never been real. Nat King Cole buzzed dimly in the background. The cracked vinyl seat hurt my bare legs, but I ignored the pain. The whole ride home, I pressed myself tightly against the passenger door. We didn’t say a word.

*          *          *

         I slowly drift back into the present, realizing I had gotten lost in my memories. For a moment I still feel the stinging throb from Uncle Jack’s first touch. The next few times hurt less and less, and he told me one day I’d really enjoy it. He wasn’t around long enough to see that day, passing away unexpectedly early the following year. He died six months to the day from my 12th birthday.

         As I stare at his grave, part of me wishes I could dig him up, destroy what’s left of him. He’d probably like that too much though, having my hands all over him even after he’s gone. I take a few deep breathes and sit down, realizing I had been pacing wildly. As I begin to sober, I quietly wish he could sit down across from me at that very moment. What would he say? What would he have to say to the questions of an angry twenty-three year old woman? It’s only been ten years, but ten years can be a lifetime.

         Uncle Jack walks calmly out of the tree-line and sits down near me. I know I must be losing it, but I don’t interrupt my hallucination. The sight of him evokes instant fear, vulnerability, followed closely by rage. I look him in the face. The same familiar lines and scars are present. The awkward grin tells me it is indeed himself. As I study him, his mannerisms, his expressions, his eyes, something unfamiliar and unwelcome stirs within me. Pity.

         He smiles at me but his eyes gaze right through me. He looks detached, as if something out there, something unknowable to me has his unwilling attention.

         “Uncle Jack,” I say softly.

         His eyes remain fixated, unmoving. I notice he is no longer breathing. His body has stiffened, motionless in the rising dusk. His skin thins and stretches and his hair grays before my eyes. He still stares though, as though nothing else matters and I see a glistening in his eyes. Before I can speak another word he has crumbled into dust and is carried across the field by a gust of wind.

         I wake up and I’m on my back in the grass. The sun has passed behind the mountains, but it is still light. Uncle Jack is gone and I know I must have passed out. I rub my eyes and stand to my feet.

         What had captivated Uncle Jack? Why would he not look at me, I wondered? Fucking idiot, it was a dream, I tell myself. Regardless, I play the scene through in my head over and over as I walk. Something haunted him. The empty, shell of a human that I saw in Uncle Jack was not unfamiliar. I had seen that same shell every morning for the past ten years in the mirror.

         Soon I have reached the old hunter’s perch, rather what is left of it. A few rusty nails in tree trunks and a single plank, half rotten. Further down the path I come to the bridge. As I round the corner, I see a little girl sitting on the edge with an ice cream cone. Instantly my breath catches in my throat and I can’t breathe. Tears sting my eyes as I stumble forward, hand outstretched. The little girl vanishes as I approach and I’m left alone with the murmur of the water beneath my feet.

         “This has to have an end,” I say, surprised as the sound of my own voice. “It has to fucking end.”

         So many words I wish I could have said escape me, but I know that they are now unimportant. Uncle Jack is dead. He has been dead for ten years and the only person who I’ve been destroying with my rage is me. The little girl is still alive though. Somewhere she has to be alive. I wish to God I could find her and tell her everything will be alright, that things get easier with time, that times heals all wounds.

         But God dammit, those are lies. Everything isn’t alright. Things only get harder the more you dwell on them. And time doesn’t heal a goddamn thing. Time just festers the wounds that are buried.

         I’ve said it before. Only flat-earthers think running from their past can work. But I know the world is round. I’m through running. Now this is on my terms.

         I look down at the creek, believing that somehow Uncle Jack can hear me at this site of sacred obscenity. “Fuck you. It’s not okay what you did, so fuck you. And fuck whoever did it to you, Uncle Jack.” Tears stream down my cheeks as I see his face overlaying my reflection in the water. “You can’t follow me anymore.” I shake my head vigorously. “You have to stay here now.”

         I take a step back and look at my surroundings. The twilight is thickening and pools of shadow rise from the hollows. I begin the trek back to my car. A weight has lifted off my shoulders and I can physically feel the difference. Pain ravages my thoughts, interspersed with bouts of rage. A war has just been declared. But I am through surrendering. I must call the shots now, and I must win. I am terrified of my future, but for the first time I feel at peace with my past.

         It happened. That is all.

         For the first time in ten years, I know I will be alright. Somehow, that little girl will survive, and when the sun rises again, she will glow all the brighter.