The Chestnut Street Incident

Nighttime in Aberdeen, Ohio. Lying, alone, in the darkness – eyes wide open – comforted by the sound of a distant train whistle. Pondering its route – passengers or freight? Dining cars or sleepers? She thought of a train bringing her to this area – Maysville, Kentucky just a walk across the bridge over the Ohio River. She traveled 22 hours to reach her Sweet Babu. Truly the only man she would move heaven and earth for; change her life for; change herself to a better version.

This was an odd night. Or was it early morning? In the darkness of a sparsely furnished trailer in a southern Ohio river town with no street light illumination or clock, she just could not be sure. Most nights, it wouldn’t matter the time. He would be holding her in his arms with her head on his chest – listening to the beating of his heart. The beating that spoke to her of Love itself. But not this day, this night. They were in dire circumstances in this hard luck town. Where people were so tough, he said, they grew up eating nails.

She was alone because hours ago he set about to hitchhike to Lexington to appeal to his mother for provisions, blankets, anything she would part with. Said he’d make the trip and probably be back by dark. Way past dark now. No phone so no word. All she could do was lie and wait or walk and wonder and think about these last six months. Someone she didn’t even know last Christmas, now he was her focus. Quickly and suddenly he became the world she so desperately needed; which was now off kilter with him gone. Little did she allow herself to think that this would be the first of nights alone once his job would require frequent travel. His job would take him to Pennsylvania, New York, Indiana, Georgia, now with her as his traveling companion. Most times. But there would be nights that she missed him: his laughter, his scent, his protection and his love. So much so that she often felt what widows must feel. But they would be reunited. Only later would she know the truth about being left behind when he was no more.

By this time, she was sitting in the bay window hoping to see headlights. Finally, slowly driving north on Chestnut Street, headlights. As her heart quickened, hoping his mother had driven him back to her, she caught a glimpse of the mailbox he built so she’d feel like she had a home with roots. Some permanence. He used three pieces of wood for the box and she found a metal bar and a piece of something or another to make the movable pick up flag. Years later, she would become an assemblage artist; expert in utilizing found objects. She probably had him to thank. Their little project stuck with her. She learned in many ways to make something out of nothing: that is what she did. What she continues to do.

The lights grew closer and passed by. What time could it be, she wondered. No TV, only a spotty-reception radio. Let’s see, could she even dial in a station? She’d try turning slowly hoping the almost unintelligible noise would become stronger. She put the radio here then there, then walked with it. She hears bluegrass and traditional country songs. Well, a few lines here and there and then static. Static and cracking, she thought, you get that when a storm is approaching. It’s possible he was walking back from Lexington. He told her he was an expert at hitchhiking. Said it’s the way he got around when he’d given up his driving privileges to alcohol. She knew he was capable. She also didn’t trust the inky blackness of night and now and approaching storm.

She walked with the radio to the back bedroom and sat on the chenille bedspread atop their squeaky vintage bed. She continued to try to listen to a station and heard a familiar melody. The opening strains to There’s No Way by Alabama. That was their song. She adjusted the volume and pulled thoughts of him closer. God, she loved this man. This man that would make this journey so that she would have food and a few things she could call her own. This man that discussed everything with her. Told her his foibles and his strengths. His wishes and fell-throughs. His hopes and his missteps. He was open and honest and included her and for all of this and more – she loved him, so big and so good. When he held her, he enveloped her and loved the world away for her. Her filth fell away with him.

“If I had to survive without you in my life, Oh Babe there’s just no way….” She was swaying to the music thinking so strongly of only him. He may as well have been her first love, cause he damn sure was her only and would become her last. With him, she knew, she KNEW she was the priority. Whatever he did, he had her in mind. How would this option, this move, this job, this home benefit her? He lived for her, she was born for him.

Finally, a station out of Cincinnati gave her the time. 4:00 AM. She was worried yet relieved. Just a few more hours til full daylight. Certainly he could get back in daylight. He’s probably stayed at his mothers house in Lexington. Smart move, she thought. She just wished she could be sure. She picked up his guitar and even in the darkness began strumming Ode to Joy. It was the first song they sang together. He was with her everywhere. Never was she so completed by anyone. Of course she was only 26 years old. But she’d had boyfriends.

One she thought was a true connection for her. But, he was hung up a girl who had no time for him. He was damn sure, though, that he couldn’t or wouldn’t have a life with her. “Vicky” left him heart-shattered. He was of no use to anyone else. But this taker-in-of-strays said she’d wait…and wait for him. She waited and prayed, and cajoled, and sexed him for all she was worth. He just wouldn’t allow himself, no matter how happy he was, to envision a life without Vicky. This incredible woman was right there for him, and still he could not see her. Well, but she said she’d wait. Then one unusually cold night of soul searching at the age of 23, she realized she’d wasted 7 years waiting for Gary Micel to see her in her entirety. Her heart had healed from him ever so slightly though she still found it impossible to listen to a certain song, Baby Come Back. That was all about him, for her. But when she made a decision, she would stick by that decision. She knew waiting for a man who couldn’t see the fine-ness of her – not just the outward, but her gentle, kind heart – well, she knew she had been wrong abut him. After weeks turned into months and the heat of August became the chill of early November, that was that. She kept the memory of who she thought he was tucked deep with her heart.

One late night just scant weeks before she met her Actual Love, Gary called her. To her credit, she listened to his now open heart, telling her all the that she would’ve melted to hear. But she said to him, “I waited long enough. I gave love and my all to you. I offered you a life of living and loving and sharing together. Each time, you told me about Vicky – what Vicky did or didn’t do. Well, I was here before you, aside of you – and Vicky wasn’t – and I willing to show you caring like you’ve never known. But Gary, now, now it’s too late.” As she hung up the phone, she could still hear him talking. But she hung up anyway, Rested her head on the receiver and turned and walked away.

Then, quite by accident she met Charles at a coffee shop. She’d look up from her book to see him watching her and he’d look up from his Lancaster Intelligencer Journal to see her watching him. They finished their breakfasts, paid their bills one right after the other and he walked her to where she was staying. She invited him in to talk. When he rose to leave he asked her something no man had ever had the gentility to ask her, “May I kiss you?” Yes, she said and he did. Sensuous, electric-packed with emotion. He held her like a strong man holds a woman. She knew her higher moment had come. He was her Cats Pajamas! From that instance forward, they were together. Together til his alcohol drove them apart.

But alcohol hadn’t taken its toll on them on this night/early morning. On this night Her Babu remained very much active and uppermost on her mind. 7:00, 7:30 then 7:45 brought a knock on her door. It was a neighbor who brought a phone message from him. He contacted someone nearby and asked her to write then deliver it. But, be made a special request request – fold the paper in a special way to resemble a heart-shape. Through this intercessor, he assuaged her fears. He was worried; he thought he could get back before nightfall. He’d stayed at Mothers and she was bringing him home. Yes, she had food…Mother was quite generous, he said. He also said he loved her. He knew she would be alright because she was the one who kept him strong. The woman who gave her

the message seemed a tad embarrassed. She was thanked profusely and offered what small selection of food and drink remained. The woman declined, but she did say she wished someone loved her like that.

Now she could rest, he was coming home. It didn’t matter with what. Her beloved would be back where he does the most good. By her side, in her arms, in her heart. 9:23 she heard a car approach and park; the opening and closings of doors, then footsteps bounding up the stairs. “Where are you, he called. I’m home.” She ran from the bedroom and straight into his arms. He picked her off the ground and twirled her around. Kissed her all over her face. Then let her down and showed her the bounty. His mother just watched in amazement. “You know, she said, “I didn’t approve of him with a northerner. But I see how he is around you, I know why he says He is a better man than I’ve know for a long time. You’re good for him and I can see you love my son.”

“I do.” She said.

……Later in that year, she would say those words again for a different reason.