Page 134 of Xavier

Forty-One

Him

Do you ever wonder what they mean when they say, you can never go home? Do they mean that home isn’t really a place, a location, an X on a map? Maybe it’s just a feeling you have in your heart that can’t ever be recreated.

I never really thought about it, I guess, because I don't know where home is. I love Manhattan, I really do. The hustle and the bustle and the manic chaos and the anonymity while having nothing but a thin wall between you and your neighbor excites me, keeps me feeling alive. But home?

I don’t know. I don’t know what home is supposed to feel like.

But some places, home or not, are coded in your DNA forever.

That’s how I feel as I step off the company jet onto the tarmac in Portland, Maine.

The last time I was here, I was eighteen, sitting on a bus, backpack stuffed with three days’ worth of clothes, a crumpled letter in my hand and fear in my heart.

Scared but, I remember, I felt alive.

And oh, how alive I feel now.

A gust of wind kicks up as I walk to the car Patricia booked ahead for me, and blasts against my face. I close my eyes to shield them from the dust, while breathing in the scent of mown grass and sea air.

I throw my overnight bag into the back seat of the convertible and settle into the driver’s seat, breathing lungful after lungful of nostalgia. And something inside me starts to heal over.

I plan for the drive to Langham to take me almost half an hour. Or it should only take me half an hour, but I can’t help constantly stopping along the way. Every few miles I pull over to take in the landscape of my childhood. We didn’t take a lot of trips after my father left but in that short time when I remember having two parents, on lazy Sunday afternoons he would have us all jump in the car, then somebody would shout out a town name not too far but close enough for us to play several car games and off we would go. Off to Gray, off to Auburn, off to Reid State Park we would go, the six of us crammed into his old Buick with so much excitement sometimes I think the car ran solely on our energy.

Somehow, everything looks the same and yet everything looks different. The road signs are different, the fields of wildflowers have been leveled for farmland, the old lobster shack that you could see from the road with its red roof is faded and covered in spiderwebs. Every few miles I stop and take it all in, readjusting the images in my head of what Maine looks like now. It’s almost two hours after I land when I finally turn off the exit into Langham. I try to pretend I don’t know where I’m going but my internal navigation system steers me to the place that I’ve been longing to return to.

I turn into the half-full parking lot and the sign tells me they’re still open for the summer season. The sign still says Dairy Joy but it’s faded, the menus on the windows have changed to typed and laminated, a far cry from the owner’s messy scribbles on the chalkboard. The door is closed probably to lock in the cold air. Two kids laugh as they race their way out of the ice cream parlor to a bench under the shade, multicolored ribbons of ice cream already trickling down their arms. I slide through the closing door and the aroma that wafts into my nostrils instantly takes me back.

Takes me back twelve years to the first time I saw her. I was standing at the counter handing out some samples which she walked in the door. Something about the ding of the bell sounding different from the thousands of times before and l looked up just as she swept in, her curtain of blonde hair messy after a long day of high school but still shimmering in the afternoon light. Her face glowed with a smile, seemingly about nothing in particular, and in that moment I didn’t know it but she had stolen my heart forever.

“Can I help you?” says the man standing behind the counter, drawing me out of my reverie. It only takes a moment for the question in his eyes to linger, but then it clicks. “Xavier? Is that really you?” He shakes his head, as if to combine the image of me in his head with the person standing in front of him. He holds out his hand to me, awkwardly. It’s funny what the passage of time can do. Last time he saw me I was just eighteen. And he was my boss. Hardly the type of person he’d be offering his hand to. But times have changed and he knows why I am here.

“Hi Mr. Horsham, how are you doing?” I ask, taking his hand and giving his a good shake, then following up with a grin.

“I’m doing okay, Xavier, I’m doing good.” He hasn’t let go of my hand yet and I have no reason to pull away.

“That’s good, I’m glad to hear it.” There is another ding of the bell as a family comes in behind me. “I’ll get out of your way. I just wanted to come and see how you are doing.”

“No, please, stay for a minute. Can I get you something?”

“Sure, how about one of your famous banana splits. And don’t cheap out on the whipped cream,” I say giving him a wink remembering the hundreds of times he would tell me off for being too generous.

He laughs and steps over to the serving station. Someone comes from out back to serve the other customers while I stand there taking in the sights and sounds of my high school summers working here. It takes him less than a minute to put my sundae together and he gestures for me to follow him outside. It is still warm considering that the summer is in its very last days and the tips of the leaves are starting to turn. I let a mouthful of ice cream melts into a creamy puddle on my tongue before I swallow it.

“Xavier, I don’t know how to thank you-” he starts.

“No. Please. You don’t have to.” I cut him off.

“No, it has to be said. If you hadn’t given me that gift, that… loan, you know we wouldn’t have been able to stay in business. I’m not even sure how you knew about our troubles. I tried to contact you but… you never returned any of my calls.”

“It was the least I could do, Mr. Horsham. You helped me when I needed it most, and you taught me how much just one kind person can make a difference to your life. “”

“You know, I still regret letting you go that day. It’s just… those kids…” he says his voice dropping.

“No. It was the right thing to do. I know now how important it is to run a good business. And you always did. This place would not be the same without you. I did it just as much for me, for Langham, as for you, sir,” I say. I mean every word.

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