Road

In life, there are things that are stable, and things that are not.  Naturally, we as humans expect certain things in our life to be stable. For example, humans would assume that their parents’ identities are stable, right? After all, I’m 23, so after twenty-three years of believing that the woman who raised me is my mother, it’s not ideal to hear that one day, in fact, she isn’t.  I was leaving my job, and stopping by my parent’s house to wish my father a happy birthday, when he decided to fill me in on a family secret he’s been keeping from me.

“Son, I know we should have told you years ago, we just didn’t know how.”  He ran his hands over his face, then dropped them to his side.

What is the expected reaction that my father, and now this woman I feel I don’t know who is calling me her son, was waiting for? I couldn’t have been inside their home for more than ten minutes before he told me this; I still had my leather jacket on. I lost all feelings of stability, security, and family.  I had no idea what to do or say.

“Here’s your mother’s address, Raymond.  I may not be your biological mother but you will always be my son.”

I took the slip of paper she gave to me.  The handwriting was so neat one could mistake it as having been typed, except when I studied it, I could tell she’d struggled to keep her hand from shaking.  I couldn’t imagine how much time was put into writing this single address.

“Go there.  Your mother’s name is Josephine; she’ll explain everything to you.  We talked about this day when she left me; she’ll know what to say.”   My dad is a straightforward man. I watched, stunned, as he struggled to get out the simplest words.  “I love you, Raymond.”

I said nothing.  I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would be of any significance.  As I was leaving, I walked past the shelves and shelves of my childhood, pictures of me with my father, pictures of me with my “mother.”  I walked past the photos slowly; I could feel their eyes watching me, as if to see if I were going to break down hysterically. I finally reached the old squeaky door, and left without saying goodbye.  I don’t know if I could have said any words even if I tried. I walked past my hand print in the cement, beside my father’s and … his wife’s. I sat in my car, unable to start the engine, simply staring at this address.

Richmond.  I started to drive.

That afternoon felt longer, the road seemed to be narrowing, and I felt alone.  There was a hitchhiker on the side of the road. Without thinking I pulled over to him.

“Hey man, where ya headed?” he said, managing to pull me to reality.

“Richmond.  Am I going in your direction?”

“Why yes you are, thank you man this means a lot.”

When he shut the door I stared at him for a moment, I knew him from somewhere but I couldn’t exactly make out where.

“My name’s Raymond, do I know you?  You look familiar.”

“Are you Raymond Hammerick?  Do you work at the factory down off Galax?”

“That’d be me, and you?”

“Charlie, I used to be a delivery guy, I made rounds to your factory every Tuesday and Thursday.  I got fired about four months ago.”

I knew that had to be where I knew him from.  I couldn’t make out his face because he’d grown a beard.  He reeked of liquor. It looked to me like these past four months hadn’t treated him very well.

“Where you from, Charlie?”  He looked nervous; he kept folding and unfolding a piece of paper that had a little writing on it, though he never actually read the paper or looked down at it.

“I was born just south of Galax; I’ve been here in Virginia my whole life.  Furthest I’ve been from home is just as far as my delivery job would take me.”

“That’s where I’m from too.  A place as small as Galax you’d think everyone knows each other.  Not many secrets or strangers down there you know?”

“I hear that.  When I was eighteen I graduated from high school and went straight to working that delivery shift.  It seemed like a dream to me at first, driving year-round all up and down these mountains. Then before I knew it I’m 23, out of a job, and I’ve spent all my past five years on these roads.”

Something felt off to me.  It didn’t shock me that we had the same age or that we were born near the same small town.  What was weird to me was that he was headed for Richmond. It’s near a four hour drive and it’s nowhere near Galax.   Most people from Galax stay in Galax, and don’t sail off towards the coast.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s calling you to Richmond?”  Charlie took a deep breath. It looked to me like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“I suppose you have a right to know, after all, you were kind enough to give me a lift.”  He unfolded his piece of paper again, and for the first time looked down at it. “Shortly after I was fired, I sent to my mom’s house to try to get some financial help, or maybe crash there for a while since the bank had already taken my house.”  He looked out the window, lost in his thoughts. I began to wonder if I should have asked or not. “Anyways, I get there and she refuses to let me stay there in my own home, and doesn’t want to help me. She tells me that she’s not my real mother, that I’m adopted, and that she doesn’t have any money to give me.  She wrote this address for me.” He looked down at the piece of paper again, and then handed to me. “She told me to go here and get help from my real mother. So at that, I hit the road and here I am. Looking like a hillbilly, having been on the road for days.”

I didn’t say anything for a while.  I thought to tell him that I know what it feels like exactly.  Looking at him made me feel like I was looking into a mirror. We both had the same blank face.  But I figured that man-to-man, it wasn’t ideal timing to bring out a sob story. I debated turning on the radio so I wouldn’t have to say anything, but then I looked at the address he had given me.

1232 Lookout Road.  23218.

I felt my hands start to lose grip of the steering wheel.  Maybe I was going into shock, but then again, haven’t I been in shock since I left my father’s house?

“Raymond, you okay driving?  You’re almost completely in the wrong lane.”

I handed him his piece of paper along with the address my father had given me just hours ago.  I didn’t look at him once as he read my address; I already knew the expression he would have.

“Raymond, who gave you this …”

“My father gave me this today, right after he told me I was adopted.  He told me that this is my real mother’s home.”

Charlie said nothing back.

We passed a sign saying “Welcome to Richmond!”  It seemed to me that this sign would be better put as a question.  It was only a matter of time until we were on Lookout Road. We both stared blankly at the highway.  Yellow lines seemed to be passing us slower and slower, and the trees outside the window were bare and still.  I got off the highway. The leaf piles alongside the road were dry and brown, lifeless. The last five minutes of our journey were dead silent.

I read on a little black mailbox “1232,” and I turned into the driveway of a small, one-story brick house.  There was an old Carolina blue Chevy in the driveway. We sat in the car, motionless for what felt like years until I shut off the engine.  Cold air and leaves crumbling beneath our feet brought us back to the here and now. We walked up a cracked cement path and both froze at the sight of three handprints by the steps.  Two of the prints were small; clearly those of infants. The other was a woman’s. After walking up the steps Charlie stopped and looked at me.

Neither of us said a word as I rang the worn-out doorbell.  We could hear rushed footsteps, and then a woman opened the door.