Eutsodil

Eutsodil by Mitch Norris

To my mother, Beverly, who relentlessly encourages me every day and who introduced me to Narnia. My biggest fan, my confidant, and my rock. May God bless you and keep you and make his face shine upon you.

***

"It was beautiful. All the time. And there was no death."

***

My name is Philip. This is a strange story, and you may not believe it's true. I don't intend to convince you otherwise, I simply wish to record my experiences so that I can remember them clearly while the memory is still fresh. For a long time, I lied to myself. I tried to convince myself that I had made up the stories of Eutsodil as a child to cope with my loneliness and isolation. My recent experiences have convinced me of the truth.

The rain pelted the windows as I drove. I hadn't come this way in a long time. It was a cold, gray day. I watched a raindrop slowly descend the length of my windshield. There was a sign that said: "WELCOME TO LOUISIANA" to my right. The sudden jolt of my car passing over a pothole lets me know I am indeed coming back home after all these years.

"Welcome Home" I said to myself.

The roads looked nearly empty compared to where I live now. The occasional flash of headlights through the rainswept mist gave my approach an eerie feeling. Going back to the place of my childhood feels so surreal. A sudden phone call from Anne, unusual for her, and I was on my way. Was I really here? What was I doing? Did I really still...believe? The last time Anne called me was when.... Well. It's almost too much to think about.

Memories of both of those phone calls dance in my head, mixing together, amalgamating. Did I have long hair back then? Now my hair is shorter, and I'm still deciding if this goatee is working for me.

As I came to a stop in Anne's neighborhood; my old neighborhood, I saw a boy on a bike ride past me. For a second I thought I saw a grown man on that bike. I thought I saw...

It couldn't be. I watched him ride away. It was just a kid after all. I knew coming back here would conjure up old memories, but not like this.

I got out of the car and Anne was waiting for me. Before I could take out my bags from the trunk, she rushed over and threw her arms around me. I hugged her as tight as I could. She buried her face in my chest. I could tell she'd been crying.

"I'm so sorry," I said. Amanda, Anne's wife, emerged from the door giving me a sad smile. She put a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here," she said. " She needs you. I'll get your stuff and bring it inside."

"Thank you, it's good to see you again."

Anne still hadn't let go, so I didn't either.

The three of us sat at the dinner table. Anne did not eat, but I had cleaned my plate.

"You aren't hungry, Anne?" I asked.

Amanda shook her head.

"She always does this: prepares a meal, doesn't eat it."

The vague trace of a smile appeared on Anne's face.

"I like cooking for people. And when I finish, I usually don't have an appetite left for myself.

Besides, how could I eat at a time like this?"

I looked down at my plate guiltily, suddenly brought back to the reality of the situation.

"It was delicious, thank you" I said, pushing my chair slightly away from the table.

Anne sat there staring at her bowl of soup. Finally, she spoke again.