Black Balloon

Chapter 26

The big moment arrived with no more fanfare than had thus far preceded it. The Fourth of July holiday the previous day was exactly as one would imagine; a parade, fireworks, people crowding the streets to declare their love of God and country, women with big hair and oversized sunglasses, men puffing cigars, kids excitedly chasing candy thrown from the floats and waving to passing marching bands, red blooded Americans scarfing down hotdogs and blowing shit up to proudly differentiate themselves from the godless commies. Vendors fattened up Whitefish's children with cotton candy, ice cream, and soda. A local dance troupe, The Mountain Gals, had regaled us with their synchronized tap. The mayor wore a ceremonial sash and pledged his allegiance to "the greatest country in the world". Life in a small town. Suckin' on a chili dog outside the Tastee Freez. Pick your Mellencamp lyric. The next day it was business as usual in Whitefish with less than 5 hours until Zero Hour.

I nearly overslept that morning, believe it or not. Here it was, the big day, THE main event, and I snoozed like a baby until after eight. Not sure how else to prepare, I'd spent the previous day packing myself a suitcase, gassing up the Studebaker, and cleaning my apartment, which I expected I would be vacating by day's end. I placed my suitcase on the passenger seat and parked Stu just a few yards from the street corner, ready to make a hasty getaway, ready to...well I wasn't sure what I was ready for, but I would be as ready as I could be under the circumstances, which is to say not very. I had purchased a wrist watch and synchronized it to what I considered the most official time in town, the clocktower on the Town Hall building. I ate a late breakfast at Honey Creek, took a leisurely stroll through River Front Park, and carved my name, my real name, below the Baker Avenue bridge: Miles Lee Vandergriff, scratched into the concrete with a chunk of limestone, one final gesture to prove I had ever been in this town in case any future persons would care to know it. And that was it. At long last, the waiting was over. The Zero Hour had nearly arrived.

Despite it finally being the big moment, the event I had waited for and obsessed over for 33 months, I somehow found myself strangely calm. Zen. I should have been a wreck of nerves but I wasn't and I can't explain why. Maybe I was no longer capable of feeling anxious. All of my jitters had been shaken away through hundreds of restless nights and thousands of hours of worry, like a person that spends so much time mourning their loved-one's impending loss that by the time the family member actually dies, the only thing left to feel is relief, all of the grieving having been done in advance. For me, by the time the legendary moment actually arrived, I had nothing left to do except exist in it.

At 11:30 I made my way downtown. There were four street corners at the intersection of 3rd and Central and I'd had plenty of time to decide which was best. I chose the one on the corner across from the church with an empty patch of grass. This mini meadow sat in the shade of a sprawling pine tree and was maintained by the city. It was the perfect spot to lounge or picnic...or wait for the apocalypse. I sat in a folding chair receiving strange glances from passing pedestrians, but why would I care what they think? They wouldn't matter soon, anyway. None of it would.

Another thing my dreams had correctly predicted was how boring it would be, this supposedly "epic" showdown. It was a Saturday so there was no weekday lunch crowd buzzing about. Nor were there crowds of worshippers pouring out of the chapel on their way to a Sunday lunch at Grandma's. The streets were nearly empty and what few people were present didn't seem to be in a hurry to get to any place. Nobody knew.

I looked at my watch. It was 11:45. My ears occasionally perked up at the sound of an oncoming car or approaching footsteps, expecting any little thing to be THE thing, but by 11:55 it, whatever it was, had still not arrived. I began to get nervous. What if nothing happened? What if my dream was right? How would I feel; relieved? Stupid? Disappointed? What would I do then? I didn't know. It was a contingency that, despite having considered many, many times, I had never been able to plan for. My only plan for if NOTHING happened, if you could call it a plan, was to leave town with my tail between my legs and never look back.