That Day in '73 by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

“Hard to believe that it has been forty years, Achara. Four whole decades have come and gone. Well, actually, one day short of four hundred eighty months. You know, when measured in months, I’m not sure if it seems longer or shorter.” The 60-year-old, spindly, hazel-eyed Dutch-Irish American scratches his rusty beard. He looks about the same – about what I expected. I guess. Wonder how he has maintained his weight. Hiking?

“It was certainly a long time ago, Marvin,” the somewhat curvy, 59-year-old, jet-black-haired-save-a-few-gray-streaks, dark-brown-eyed Thai American female remarks. “So, you remembered the exact date. That’s impressive. Good memory. I only remember that it was a Saturday in July.” The years have treated her well. Such a casual elegance.

“Sure did; it was July 14th, Achara. I found it marked on an old Crescent [City] Harbor wall calendar. Now it’s just a filed-away Saturday from way back in 1973. But, what a sublime day that was. We’re such a long way out from that picnic under the shelter near the mouth of Oat Creek. Yes, what a splendid summer day by the sea. Remember those crisscrossing sailboats; that narrow, unusually turquoise, almost-tropical-looking band of water; that light southerly breeze; the cawing birds; the sunlight glistening on the undulating swells; that primo leaf [high-grade marijuana] from George?” Marvin chuckles.

“I do, indeed. It was a nice day, though I was stoned out of my mind.” Achara pauses and smiles. “So, do you still smoke it, Marvin?”

“No, not anymore,” Marvin answers. “Though, I do eat it once in a while. THC-infused gummies for back-aching dummies.” He chortles freely.

Achara’s left eyebrow raises noticeably higher than the right. “So, did you pop down a few before coming here?” Gosh, he seems so high … and so silly. Just like on that day.

“Uh, I can’t remember.” Marvin chuckles again.

Achara shakes her head. “Marvin, you are still as silly as ever. You seem quite happy, though. Most men that I meet your age are grumpy and bitter.”

“Just happy to see you. Just glad to know that you’re alive and well. Oh, how the time has flown by in retrospect. It hasn’t been all joy, though. Some long, chilly, rain-to-mist-to-rain winter nights in Honeydew. [a very small community in northern California] Just one dank, dark, doused day could feel like a week. Ah, but here we are. How have the intervening years treated you?” Quite well it appears.

Achara studies him. “Pretty good, Marvin. No real complaints. Got married to a smart Caucasian guy two years after finishing college. He went on to become the vice president of a major apparel company. We have a nice house and a great life in North Carolina. Very fortunate. Anthony’s a really great guy – a driven-yet-kind, respectful, caring husband. I got lucky.” Sounds like it.

“Any kids?” Marvin asks as he sips from the maroon-tinted, plastic, iced-tea tumbler. Bet they have two – a boy and girl – both with tier-one postgraduate degrees and plum office gigs.

“No, but I’m still a kindergarten teacher in Raleigh. Well, part-time now. It kind of fills that offspring void. To be honest, after five days with the hyperactive tykes, I’m glad to be child-free on the weekend. I guess it would have been nice to have had at least one. One of us was infertile. I suspect that it was me. My husband never seemed bothered by it. He even joked once: ‘Lucky is us, [sic] honey; we don’t need to spend money on birth control pills or condoms.’ I laughed, too. But, still a sense of ‘what if?’ never totally fades. But you know, Marvin, that’s life; it’s not perfect. For anyone. And we have so much to be thankful for. I could have married a deadbeat, disrespectful, pill-popping loser – like my older sister did. So, what about you? Did you find your forever soulmate on a trail somewhere in northern California?” Achara grins. Bet he married some hippie chick and had nine kids. Oh, why did I think that?

“I found all three of them, nine years apart.” Marvin chuckles. Bet they were all flower childs.

“You still [sic] a bad boy, Marvin. So, for you, nine years is when you get bored with the lady? Or, is that when she has had enough of your nonsense?” Good guess.

“A little of both, I’d wager.”

“So, single once again?” Achara enquires as she takes a sip from the white porcelain cup.

“Single for the rest of the game. Three divorces. Not proud of it. I struck out at marriage, Achara. I’ll just ride it out solo from here to the casket.” So morbid!

“You shouldn’t talk like that, Marvin.”

Marvin half-grins. “We all die. I’m ok with death at this point. Did all I wanted to do. No regrets. Well, actually there was one.” Hope he doesn’t say that it was the loss of me. It will be awkward. 

“You’re not suicidal, are you?” Achara is genuinely concerned. Maybe all that laughing is hiding a severe depression. Is he now bipolar? Could that be it?

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to imply anything like that, Achara. Hey, remember when we started to walk up the ridge on that day? The higher we climbed, the more awesome the view became.” And we were headed to a bad scene.

“I certainly do, Marvin. I lost a small stud earring somewhere up there. When that little footpath ended, you still wanted to keep going.” To God knows where. / Never knew she lost an earring that day. How unobservant of me. Why didn’t she say anything? When did she realize that she had lost it? Wonder which earlobe it was in.

“Was that why we never had a second outing together?” Marvin solemnly asks.

“Maybe so, Marvin. I realized that I wasn’t quite as adventurous as you. I like to stay on the trail; you seemed to prefer to wander off it.” She’s right. A perfect metaphor.

“So, was that the fork in our road?” Marvin probes.

“Well, that and this image that I saw hovering above the ocean – the image of Krasue.” What? Who?

“Krasue? Is that the Siamese devil?” Why did she never mentioned this? The secrets that women keep.

“No, in our folklore/mythology, Krasue is the ghost of a young woman’s head with her internal organs dangling where her lower neck should be. Krasue has no body, arms or legs. My mom told me that seeing Krasue means something is not right – something very bad could happen in the near future if one – especially a female – does not change her course.” Ah-ha …

“So, we were done in by an inauspicious apparition?” Marvin softly sighs.

“I know that I was high as a kite that day, Marvin, and I know that superstitious beliefs should only be taken with a grain of salt … but the combination of those omens …” Became an omnipotent portent?

“Well, thanks for sharing that, Achara. After all these years, I thought it was my body odor.” Marvin chuckles yet again.

Achara rolls her eyes and grins as a dirty-blonde-haired, 30-something waitress suddenly appears at their two-top table.

“Ok, ready to order some food, folks?” she asks with her old-style, light-green order pad in her left hand; red ball-point pen in her right.

“No, just another cup of black coffee for me,” Achara quickly states. She wants to get going. Soon. Get back on the road. She’s heard enough of my update. And seen enough of me. Wonder where her final destination is today. Guess I could ask. No harm in that. / Must make it until dinner. Will power. Don’t eat now! Need to keep the calorie count down.

“I’m fine with just another refill,” Marvin replies after a short pause. “No food for us this time. Thanks.”

The waitress turns and retreats towards the kitchen. This time? I’ve never seen these two in here before. Do they just order sugar-free drinks wherever they stop? Are they on liquid diets? More weird in-state tourists. Bet they’re from San Francisco. Or somewhere around the bay.

“It has been nice seeing you again, Marvin. Glad we could catch up and eliminate some of the mystery that is created by longtime absence.” What a way to put it.

“Likewise, Achara. So, after Rio Dell, where are you headed?” Marvin boldly asks. Bet she’s headed to Arcata.

“Going to see a few old friends up near the college.” Knew it.

“Are all of them doing ok?” Marvin asks as he notices the gigantic diamond on Achara’s left middle finger. Jeez! Is her husband a millionaire?

“Yeah, they are all in pretty good health. Two are divorced and remarried. One is a widow. Her husband was a lineman; he got electrocuted during a brush fire nine years ago. Some kind of miscommunication she said. The wire became energized without warning. I think she got a bit of money in a wrongful death lawsuit.” I bet she did.

They finish their second round of beverages and get up to leave. The waitress smiles as she sees the $10 tip. That’s over 100%. Easy short work. Hope they come back again. Doubt it, though. Wonder what their story is.

In the rear, broken-chunks-of-asphalt parking lot, Marvin hugs Achara. “Stay safe.”

“I will. And you do the same, Marvin.”

And with that they get in their cars – Achara’s, an almost-new Infiniti G37 rental; Marvin’s, a front-bumper-dinged 2004 Ford Fiesta – and drive off in opposite directions thinking about what might have been: the positive, the neutral, and the negative.

The next day Marvin hikes to the aforementioned shelter around noon. It’s a bit dilapidated, but still intact. The weather is very similar to that day in ’73. Exactly forty years ago to the day. Still such a gorgeous sight to behold. Looks about the same. Nice that development has been restricted.

He then starts walking up the ridge. Stopping where he and Achara stopped four decades ago, he lightly brushes the loose soil with a fern branch. Oh, what am I doing? This is madness thinking that a tiny earring would still be here 40 years later. How many hikers have trod over this spot since then? 909? Someone probably saw it the next weekend. It’s probably in a vase on a mantle somewhere. Did Achara keep the other one?  

Marvin suddenly sees a metallic fragment and gets excited. Nope, just a zipper tooth. Strange existence.