Into The Woodlands

Mature.

As he drove Stan Ritter’s eyes were transfixed on the snaking tarred road while his mind was attempting to solve the riddle of how he had gotten himself into this? He was now on that most vapid stretch of roads – State Route 40A – that takes the traveler north from Tupper Springs to the adjacent community of Salmon Creek – cutting through the forested areas that is the northern thatch of the state before depositing them at the Canadian border. His hands on the wheel negotiated each bend, each hill, every hairpin turn, with precision. As the miles clicked up the answer to his self-analysis was obvious: he hadn’t wanted to be rude and say no. Now with regret he was contemplating the pros and cons of what the evening would bring.

This trip was conjured some twenty-four hours prior by random chance in one of the most seductive assembly areas known to deep rural communities – the produce aisle in the Gateway Supermarket. Over the last little stretch of miles Ritter repeatedly lied to himself that it was his mother’s fault. Yes, if mom hadn’t blossomed like the foliage this could have been avoided!

Ritter was currently on vacation from his job at the State Department, and when he could, he always made the trek north from Washington to see his parents. He was very conscious of their age these days, and knew these opportunities would not last forever. The politics of Washington and the chaos that runs through the world could wait a few days, he felt. The world isn’t going anywhere. Family has to come first. Even more so when you’re an only child.

It was now mid-October, and he knew that the colors bathing Tupper Springs would be at their most brilliant. Therefore there would be no harm if he escaped for a long weekend to decompress from the Beltway and enjoy the beauty of autumn back home.

“Yeah, get outta here.” his boss Darius Darques had said with a sigh. “Wish I could escape with you. Just be back by Tuesday. We have to prep for the meeting with ‘Five Nations’ regarding the passport identity management software proposal.”

That afternoon Ritter put up his ‘out-of-office’ auto-response to his email, called his parents to let them know he was going to be leaving in the morning, rented a Mazda CX-5, and never felt better about leaving Washington behind.

The first day had been largely consumed with driving, and stopping at that shack of a diner that served robust coffee and soft scrambled eggs, for lunch. On the second day Ritter told his mother he would take her grocery shopping at Gateway, and that she should, “Take advantage of loading the groceries into his larger vehicle.” He couldn’t believe they were still puttering around in that old tiny white Dodge of theirs. Even more amazing, that after a dozen years, it had roughly 55,000 miles on it!

“Melinda Ritkowski. How have you been?”

Ritter turned his head at the energetic voice. His mother’s name had been called out right near the fruit.

“Hello Caroline.” Mom’s response held disappointment, Ritter thought. “I’ve been fine. Yourself? Haven’t seen you in church for a bit.”

The older woman retreated slightly with a dash of solemnity, but with an expression that she was probing for just such an inquiry. She wore a light wind breaker although the warmth of the day had fully taken hold outside. She held fair colored hair that Ritter wasn’t certain was white or blond in the store’s lighting. He guessed it had been blond at one time, but that was in the distant past in spite of a few persistent strands.

“Oh, Tim and I are getting along.” she said unconvincingly. “My arthritis has been acting up, and the cold weather will be here before you know it. I also had to go for blood work last week. Then Tim has that enlarged prostate, you know?”

Ritter stood silently trying not to smile. Here it comes, he thought. The game of one-upsmenship of trying to top your opponent’s health issues. It was a contest Ritter felt that happens after people get passed a certain age. Some dark competition that’s rated on the number of doctors, specialists, and prescriptions one has. Fortunately he felt that his parents rarely engaged in such bouts, but it didn’t mean they didn’t have to endure it from their contemporaries. He was thankful when his mother interrupted during Caroline’s next gulp of breath.

“You remember my son, Stan?”

“Oh,” Caroline responded. “this is your son? He’s so grown now. I didn’t recognize.”

“Stan, this is Caroline Renaud. I believe you went to school with her daughter?”

Ritter froze. Renaud. Yes, how could he forget that name?

“You’re Annette Renaud’s mother?” he asked.

“Yes!”

Suddenly Ritter felt an awkwardness. Most certainly he remembered Annie Renaud. She had a twenty-five year old body at the age of eighteen. Some girls just develop that quickly, he remembered discussing with some of his friends. She was curvy and top heavy with sleek blond hair, and there wasn’t a boy in high school that didn’t notice her. What made the current situation more uncomfortable between the two mothers was the fact ‘Annie’ also owned his virginity.

“What do you do? Do you work at that Tupper lumber mill?”

“No.” Ritter replied. “I work at the State Department as a foreign policy aide.”

“Oh? That’s nice.” Caroline replied with a trace of suspicion. Ritter understood it. Small town folk are genuinely distrusting of outsiders, and he was worse than an outsider. He was someone who had left Tupper Springs and the safety of the forests for a career of his own, and that made him a traitor.

“How does one from little Tupper Springs end up with such a swanky job?”

Ritter grinned. He thought his job far from ‘swanky,’ but more noteworthy was the woman’s tone. Salmon Creek and Tupper Springs held a proximity rivalry where one looked down upon the other. It was her way of putting Tupper in its place, and using Ritter’s ‘escape’ from the town to ‘Big Time Washington’ to advance her position.

“Well, I just landed there after the Air Force.” he replied.

“Oh, you were in the Air Force too? My you are busy! So what brought you back?”

“Just spending a long weekend with my parents.”

“He’s a good son that way.” Melinda Ritkowski added – as if a shiv to Caroline Renaud. “What brings you down to Tupper?”

“Oh, the Gateway up there were out of these Honey Crisp apples, and I need them for the pie I’m baking for the reunion. They’re going to have a bake sale.”

Then it came.

“Hey, why don’t you come up for the high school reunion? Annette will be there. She’s co-chair.”

“Why is she co-chair for Salmon Creek?” Ritter was confused.

“Well, the classes have gotten smaller over the years, and so the thought was to combine the two schools and multiple years. If you’re not doing anything why don’t you come up?”

“I think that’s a great idea!” his mom said.

“Well, I…”

“Yeah. It won’t just be your graduating class. I think they’re combining about three of them. There will be a lot of people you know there. It’ll be a chance for you to catch up!”

This was distinctly not what Ritter had in mind. He had left Washington for a few days to escape dry and uncomfortable conversations. The awkward moments of silence. To decompress. This was the antithesis.

“What time is it?” his mom asked.

“People are going to be getting there about 5:30. There’s a social hour, and then dinner around 6:30. Why don’t you come? Annette would be happy to see you!”

“Why don’t you go, son? You don’t have to babysit your mom and dad!”

Sigh. That had been that. Now it was late afternoon of the next day, and he found himself absentmindedly driving on old Route 40A as faded images clicked through his mind. He admittedly wondered if Annie Renaud would even remember him?

Stan ‘Ritter’ Ritkowski always viewed himself as unmemorable, and for his job he was thankful of that. He wasn’t the sort of type that wanted praise nor the spotlight. An occasional ‘thank you’ always felt good from a colleague, but apart from that he shied away from any kind of exposure.

The HUD of the Mazda displayed roughly seven more miles until the Salmon Creek Fire Hall, and Ritter remembered events from long ago.

After high school graduation he had gone to three different parties put on by friends. It was how he operated – rarely staying in one place, and somehow keeping his closest friends siloed. Everyone seemed to have a connection with him. Like Kevin Bacon. He let out a bark of laughter at the thought as the tires occasionally clicked grooves in the road. He had kept things that way so that when he could he had alternatives, and it also allowed him to slip away unnoticed for ‘alone’ time when he required it. Often that was nothing more than a hike and a paperback thriller in his backpack next to a sandwich.

It was at the third party that he had stopped by that he had struck up a conversation with Annie, and for whatever reason that Ritter couldn’t figure out, she had stayed close by him for the rest of the evening.

As the summer days marched on they went out to lunch, movies, and eventually he showed her his favorite hiking trail that culminated at the triangular rock face point overlooking a small waterfall spilling into shimmering Tupper Lake.

There had been no misunderstanding in their relationship. They hadn’t been ‘dating’ in the traditional sense, and that evening when they discussed what they were doing after graduation he had explained he couldn’t wait to enter the United States Air Force Academy.

“I know a lot of people stay in Tupper,” he told her, “and who knows? I might return? However, it has been a dream of mine for a long time to enter the Air Force and do some traveling while I’m young enough to. Anything else can come later.” He had no idea just how much would actually happen.

It was near the end of a brilliant July evening against a crimson sunset melting into the lake that she leaned forward and kissed him. It was tender and passionate, and at that age when the red blood is at its warmest they both felt energized by traditional human desires. However, both resisted the urge. After several minutes their lips parted, and they agreed to pack up their little picnic and head back out the trail before it had become too dark.

During their trek back the trail had to cross a road, and roughly a hundred yards away was a convenience store.

“Mind if I use the bathroom?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

The clerk looked at them with circumspection as he handed over the key to the public restroom which was located behind the building. Ritter waited for her outside leaning against the cement wall. When the door opened she smiled back.

“Thank you.” she said.

“No worries.”

Then she kissed him harmlessly again. They broke, and then he leaned forward and, while it was not in his nature to be so aggressive, brought his mouth on hers again – his hand at the small of her back. This time their restraint was discarded and he and Annie Renaud stumbled back through the door. Under the poor lighting of the restroom they had done it not caring about the dingy surroundings; at one point her hands clutching the sink vanity as Ritter positioned behind her – both watching in the mirror as clothing hugged their ankles.

As Ritter parked the rented CX-5 his memories were a mix of fondness and shame. Why hadn’t they just gone to a motel? He didn’t know if that had been her first time either, but if so, he always regretted that it had occurred in a poorly lit convenience store bathroom rather than some place a little nicer.

In the front foyer of the fire hall was the sign-in desk, and Ritter recognized Annie’s face.

“Stan Ritkowski! I had no idea you were on the list!”

“I’m not,” he confessed. “I just heard about it yesterday. I was in town visiting my parents and we ran into your mother.”

“Oh, leave it to her. She’s Salmon’s town crier. She’s been baking all week.”

“As I’ve gathered.”

Present Annette Renaud resembled nothing of Ritter’s memory. Gone was the sweeping blond hair replaced by darken brunette with lighten ends. A slim nose ring reflected off the right nostril, and she had gained a measure of weight that comes from sitting at the desk of the lumber mill for uncounted hours. The dimples at the cheeks near the eyes had also vanished – as did the heart-shaped smile and captivating eyes. Her hand, slightly pudgy, handed him a name tag that she’d quite unsolicitedly scribbled ‘Stanley’ upon in red marker. Likely her version of the Scarlet Letter as revenge, he felt.

“Mommy! Mommy! I can’t find Julia!” said a young girl running up with a juice box.

“Go find your father.” Annette scolded. “I told you, I’m busy.” Then she produced a handkerchief seemingly out of no where and wiped her daughter’s mouth and the front of her once yellow dress now stained with youthful play.

“Julia’s her doll.” Annette looked up to answer Ritter’s gaze. “Go! Go find your father. He’s probably by the snack bar.”

Her restless demeanor and impatience was nothing of how he remembered. Gone were the soft conversations of youthful anticipation. The aspirations brought on by high school graduation and a life yet to be lived. For Ritter that had translated, sometimes for the better and sometimes not, to places in the world he had never even dreamed. For Annette, apparently, it was the stresses of parenthood and raising a family. In other parts of the country you wouldn’t dare let your children wander off in search of your spouse, but in Tupper Springs and Salmon Creek everyone knew everyone else and there was less chance of anything nefarious.

Ritter pealed back the name tag and pressed it on the front of his lightweight long sleeve Walter Hagen mock turtleneck. Might as well wear the Scarlet Letter. He felt he already stood out by not being wrapped in the predominate hunter’s plaid worn by many of the others.

“I hope we can catch up later.” he finally said.

“Yeah. That’ll be nice.” she replied evenly. Ritter wasn’t sure if the words were flat or edgy. Was there resentment?

“There’s an open bar in the back.”

Ritter took the hint and stepped away from the sign-in table. As it was a line had started to form behind him.

He took solace in a Jack and Coke, and watched the people pair off into their little cliques. No different than high school, he felt. The only difference was the mix of two schools here to flesh out the attendance, and he questioned again on why he had even come?

“Stan Ritkowski?” a female voice questioned. This was now the third occasion his name had been used rhetorically.

Ritter turned, and it was at this moment he realized the error of his faulty memory.

“Andi?” Ritter hadn’t even read her name tag.

“Yes. Amanda Renaud. How have you been?”

“I’m fine.” he said enthusiastically. “Yourself?”

“Good! Good!”

It wasn’t Annette Renaud that had seen him off that final summer before he entered the academy! It had been her older sister Amanda of about two years. The blond hair, parted on the left, fell to her shoulders, and the dimples near the eyes were still there. Her figure retained the sharp smooth curves as if manicured by a sculptor, and she retained the heart-shaped cheekbones and adoring joker-like smile. She didn’t wear the requisite community plaid outfit as so many others, but rather a smart fitting maroon blazer over a black blouse topping a chartreuse skirt. Ritter felt she had aged like fine wine.

“You look fantastic.” he said trying to suppress his awe.

“So do you. A little grayer, but we’re all older now.” she winked.

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m the marketing manager at the lumber mill. It’s pretty easy. Wood practically sells itself. You?”

“Actually I’m at the State Department now.”

“Really? How cool is that? I was always happy you escaped Tupper. You had much more going on than the rest of us. It would have been a shame if you had stayed.”

Ritter suddenly felt a rush of happiness. For the first time he forgot all the stresses and deadlines back in Washington, and the nagging self-interrogation of why he had driven out for this event quickly receded.

“You know,” Andi Renaud began, “I always loved our hikes.”

“As did I.”

“You know, I had never gone hiking before. I hadn’t even paid attention to the sunsets until we started hanging out. It really was the last great summer.”

Ritter sighed. “Yes, in a way I guess you’re right.”

“Remember what we did in the bathroom at the arcade?” she grinned.

Ritter blushed in embarrassment. Something he rarely did. Still he questioned. “It was at the convenient store.”

“No silly. It was at the arcade.” She saw his confusion. “Oh, don’t worry about that. We were young.”

“Yes. We were.” he conceded.

Ritter and Amanda Renaud obtained fresh drinks from the open bar, and then found a table to themselves so they could reminisce quietly before others joined them for dinner. He was finally pleased at his decision to drive up for the reunion. However, he was positive that Tupper Springs hadn’t an arcade. Salmon Creek did. He had passed by the abandon building on the drive in.