Unit I

As I pulled up to my destination, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect after a decade absence from the Falls. What has changed or improved? I cautiously maneuvered my silver Acura around the Interpretive Center and entered the parking lot. It was bare except for one beige minivan and a dark blue pickup. I was thinking either a family was running around in the fossil beds or a father was taking his eager son to fish near the 300 million year old site and starting point for the Lewis and Clark expedition.

I proceeded to steer my car thru the semi-vacant lot before finally backing my car into one of the many empty spots, failing to notice if I made it between the white lines. I eased the emergency brake on and shifted the car into park and then paused. The music was still blaring through the windows and sunroof. I turned the radio off and then paused again. Now all I hear is the idle engine quietly purring.

With the Midwest heat still flowing into the cabin, my hand reached for the keys dangling from the ignition. With a swift counter-clockwise rotation of my hand, the car shut off. Again, I paused. Why I was just sitting there I have no idea. Scanning the area, I noticed an empty park bench on the overlook behind the Interpretive Center would provide a stunning view overlooking the Falls and fossil beds. “Why not go there and sit?” I thought.

I removed the keys from the ignition and exited the car. I closed the car door then approached the walkway leading to the overlook. Out of habit, I reached my hand into the right cargo pocket of my khaki shorts and pulled out a menthol cigarette and a red lighter I bought from a gas station the day before. When I arrived at the bench, I placed the cigarette between my lips and lit it and sucked the burning tobacco into my lungs. I took a seat on the metallic bench and propped my left foot on my right knee.

The solar waves were still radiating the metropolis, but the sun was now in the direction of the westerly Sherman Minton Bridge. A soft but swift breeze came thru just enough that I could smell the murkiness of the Ohio River. After 10 years away, I was surprised that I could still identify that smell. And then I realized, “This was it. This was home.” Clarksville, Indiana.

As I took another drag from the cigarette, I reminisced to the days of my youth growing up in Clarksville. I was 14 years old when my dad moved my brother and me here from neighboring Jeffersonville. Even though they were separated by rock-throwing distance, I might as well have moved across the country. I had to unwillingly abandon my childhood friends to go to a different high school, as a freshman. I hated it! It didn’t seem fair. But I also embraced it. I thrived in it. I was the “new” kid that was the nephew of a well-established senior. Nobody knew who I was, so I reinvented myself. Distancing myself from the previous 13 years, I started to become more outgoing and spontaneous.

A smirk gradually grew upon my face as a product of the realization of why I was sitting on a bench behind the Falls of the Ohio Interpretive Center. This site is one of the most memorable moments of my high school career. Well, maybe a contributory site to one of the most memorable moments.

The spring of 2001 marked my first trip to the spring break Mecca, Panama City. I was young, excited, and foolish. Driving southbound on Interstate 65 during “Senior Skip Day” with four carloads of a dozen or so friends, we made it to Montgomery, Alabama before the two lead cars were pulled over by state troopers. I was bringing up the rear of the group, along with an SUV packed with varsity squad cheerleaders.

Knowing what I know now, it’s fortunate we didn’t stop to check on the first two cars because they ended up spending the night in custody for possession of a “funky” substance. Only the problem was that the reservation for the guys’ room was in the name of one of the detainees. No, I guess it really wasn’t a problem now that I think about. I mean, what 17 year-old dude isn’t going to accept the head cheerleader’s offer to stay with them for the night?

The smirk on my face evolved into a smile as I started to snicker under my breath. I could only shake my head, as I took another lung capacitating inhale of menthol smoke, remembering that it wasn’t the first night from the trip that corresponds to the Falls, but the sequence of events throughout the days that followed. In particular, the seventh of the nine days we were partying there.

Leading up to that historic Thursday night, my tolerance level was at the maximum. However, that night I was as sober as a priest on Sunday. I didn’t think anything of the five cans of Bud Light in my cargo shorts’ pockets as I walked along the Panama City strip that was bumper-to-bumper with intoxicated, bare-chested coeds. But somehow, out of nowhere, red and blue lights were surrounding me as if I was a “Goodfella” and just knocked off the community bank next to the parking lot I was standing in. It wasn’t long until I was in the backseat of a cruiser, my hands tightly bounded by steel cuffs behind my back. Official report: possession of alcohol by a minor, sentenced to community service.

The ultraviolet rays were still beating down on my SPF-unprotected skin as I glanced to the family of five walking up from the fossil beds. It’s the same path I walked several times during my 30 hours of service collecting discarded material in a thick, black plastic trash bag. I gave a hand wave and slight head nod to the family as they proceeded by me to their waiting beige minivan. The cheerful mother joyfully ushered her three muddy sons in through the sliding side door. I felt a sense of happiness. Happiness felt not for me, but for the name-less family. Being able to enjoy time with my wife and son is what I desire every day. I guess that is why I feel happy for them.

I slowly rose from the bench, my shirt now sticking to my clammy back, and took the last drag off the cigarette before extinguishing it. I sensed replenishment. A desire and happiness so miraculously instilled in my heart that it could’ve only been a working of God. It was a faithful understanding that helped me realize that I had to come home in order to get home.