The Heart of Turnpike

A Collapse and Closure

In July, he got a call from Detroit. Thinking it was a bill collector, or his parole officer, he answered. The voice sent absolute chills down his spine. Calm. Quiet. But nonetheless, full of malice. She had only said his name, at first, nothing more, but it was enough to make him crave a bottle of Grey Goose, an old car, and a bridge. If it wasn't for the watchful eyes of his parole officers, he would have satiated that deadly craving long ago.

He had distanced himself from everyone in Turnpike by that point, even his family. He had tried to harden during his year in juvie, but nothing had kept Jessica out of his head. He heard her scream in every dream. There was never a happy memory, only pain. Pain. God, he had never wanted to cause her that much pain. Her pain stormed his life, unable to fully let go and move on Jessica was the monkey on his back; she never left him. 

And Thomas was feeling her presence more as he got closer to the heart of Turnpike. He hadn't seen Liberty yet, but he knew she must be nearby. His once placid demeanor was, once again, a panicky mess.

Liberty could see Thomas slow down drastically as he neared the fountain. His hands were quickly shoved in his pockets, daisy forgotten. Every step became more careful and methodical. Watching him, Liberty receded back into her shell, growing colder and darker. She couldn't accept this anymore than she could at seventeen. 

Thomas was ten feet from the fountain now, and it scared Liberty. His face was unreadable, like it had been in the courtroom. His chin was angled down at the picture frame and flowers. Brow furrowed and lips between teeth, he slowly kneeled, placing a hand near her memorial. He did not see Liberty, or hear the clattering of a shaking cup landing on a saucer. Her heart was now bursting, frantically trying to catch up to her lungs and thoughts. 

Liberty was remembering everything now; every memory she had suppressed seeped out of their barely-stitched wounds. She remembered screaming, calling out her sister's name as she watched water rush from the faltering fountain. Her knees shook as she remembered kneeling in the water next to her sister, brave enough to touch her hair and talk to her, but too cowardly to turn her over. She remembered her pants staining pale pink like the water around her. Sirens, metal snapping yelling first responders, nothing was spared from her mind as it all collapsed in. She shook her head, only to have them return again, and again, and again. She hadn't wanted this. She wanted to scream at Thomas, confront him. But this...this was far, far worse for her. 

By the time Liberty calmed herself, she heard the first wail. Through glass, she watched the hand slip away from marble and hit a teary face. Again, a wail, a cry that sounded way too deep to be her own. Then a third time, but by then, his face was covered, shoulders crumpled around him. 

It was not dramatic, like she wished. There wasn't screaming, or shrieking, or even loud sobs. Just a man, a man who held in so much pain for so long. He wasn't speaking, just crying, curling into a ball underneath the fountain which was running with purple lights for her. She could see the muscles in his back quivering.

The pain in her chest was far more pronounced than the fire behind her eyes. Witnessing this collapse was far worse than causing it. Her words hadn't made him collapse. Her eyes hadn't made his tears fall. It was nothing but that picture of Jessica, and five years of pain and suffering. 

And that was all she needed. This is what she had missed when Thomas was in court, when he was sent off to Detroit's juvenile detention center, when he had been int he hospital after the accident and two suicide attempts. She didn't doubt his pain or how he suffered and cried the many times before. This wasn't the man she was expecting to see. This wasn't the Thomas she had dreamed of many times. He didn't have vodka breath, red eyes, or the Devil by his side.

Thomas heard the cafe doorbell ringing violently, and heard heels hitting the pavement, but he didn't lift his head. He was staring now, blankly at the base of the fountain. He had a purple flower grasped in one fist, and a picture of Jessica in another. Tears trailed further down his face, his breathing was still shaky, but he was okay. He was here, and her smile was plastered in pictures forever. Her memory was not of a drunken night, but of a beautiful girl and a fountain. She was not only a sad story, but a story to help the rest of this town.

By the time he pulled himself to his feet, he saw the changes in Turnpike. He saw the purple lights under the water. He noticed that there were more purple flowers than red around town square. Coffee shops and bike rentals had taken over the old antique shops. A lone teen came with a tattered notebook and pen all over her hands, like some had when he was in school. A couple walked together, holding hands and dressed for a football game. 

While Thomas ordered a coffee and took his place at a table where a dirty cup still rested, Liberty reached her car and wiped the tears from her face. She was still shaking, but she managed to get the key in the ignition and start the car. She lifted her hand to touch the picture of Jessica, pinned above her and shifted the car into gear.

Three hours seemed like nothing as she pulled her car out onto the street. She settled into the seat, glancing out the side windows to see the flowers and not once her mirrors. Her knuckles relaxed around the wheel, fingers drumming slowly to an unheard beat. After five years, Liberty reached over an turned on the radio in her car, humming quietly to drums sounding like a heartbeat.