The River

I stand on the spot along the river where I once watched my twin brother walk into the French Broad River and drown. I swore I would never return to this place. It has been fifteen years, but I know in the depths of my soul this dark river is keeping secrets.

I climb back into my rental car and reluctantly pull out on the main road heading towards town. It would be so easy to turn this car around. I’ve run for so long, and technically I survived, but this is not the life I want. I rejected family, friends, and memories to shield myself from a truth I can’t avoid any longer. I never really escaped this place, it’s been eating away at my sanity, and I need to confront the past if I want a chance at a real future.

I turn right on Main Street; my chest tightens as the car creeps closer to my childhood home. Turning up the narrow drive, I can hear my internal voice screaming, “Run! It’s not too late!” Instead, I lean out the car window to press front gate’s buzzer. It looks like it stopped working 10 years ago, which would give me an excuse to turn around. It is not my lucky day though, and I hear a distant voice crackle to life over the rusty speaker, “Patrick, dear? Is that you?”

“Yes, Aunt Kate, it’s me. Would you let me in, please?” The huge iron gate slowly moves to open. I hold my breath, and my grip on the steering wheel turns my knuckles white. Here I go. I inch the car forward and it shudders as it passes through the gate. I drive slowly, taking in the towering trees lining both sides of the drive. The tangled branches rise on both sides forming a canopy hung with Spanish moss creating this dark tunnel.

When the car clears the trees, the house comes into full view. Before I left home, it was a well maintained late 1800’s Victorian farmhouse, crowned with lacy gingerbread trim. After 15 years of neglect, it is a crumbling shell, the only evidence of its former glory in the rotting gingerbread disintegrating in the corners of the wide covered front porch.

Making my way to the porch, I wonder if the steps will hold when I see Aunt Kate come rushing through the door with her arms outstretched. She wraps me in a tight embrace, and there are tears on her cheeks when she steps back. “Patrick! What a blessing to see you after so many years. I wish your mother were still here, but I know she’s with your father and brother in heaven standing on the porch of their heavenly home and smiling down on us.”

“I don’t know if I believe that. I figure they’re more likely to be cursing me than blessing me after I abandoned them.”

“Oh, enough of that nonsense! Your father never held it against you. We understood why you left. Your father always had a special insight into his boys’ heads and hearts. Your mother never understood the deep things that you boys were wrestling. She lost both her boys in an instant, and it was more than she could bare.” Kate shared a sympathetic smile then patted me gently on the shoulder before turning back toward the house.

“Come on in, and let’s get you settled in your room.”

“No!” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I’m sorry, I’d prefer to stay in the library. I can pull out the sleeper sofa.”

“Of course, dear. Why don’t you head that way, while I grab fresh linens and a pillow for you.”

I follow Kate through the front door. The space seems so much smaller than I remember, but time has a way of distorting our memories. It is a small entryway with stairs on the right leading to the bedrooms above, which is where Kate heads to find linens. The living room is to the left of the foyer, and the dining room is to the right. I walk slowly down the dark hallway dividing these two rooms and head toward the back of the house. There is a small bathroom under the stairs, and at the end of the hallway behind the dining room is the kitchen. Opposite the kitchen is a set of heavy wooden pocket doors that open into the library, which was also my father’s study.

I push the doors open slowly and see the desktop is meticulously organized. This is a clear reminder dad is no longer with us, because when he was alive this space was typically in complete disarray. His study, like his mind, was cluttered and disorganized. He was a man who always thought in many directions at once.

When we were children, dad always seemed lost in thought and difficult to reach. As we grew into adolescence, Sean and I found the best way to engage with him was to ask about his work. Dad was a professor at the local university where he taught literature. His specialty was folklore, and he could go on for hours sharing Appalachian folktales and legends.

Because of our proximity to the French Broad River, one of his favorite tales to share with visitors was an old Cherokee legend about a siren (Tselica) found in the deepest pools of the river who waited for weary men seeking rest near the river’s edge. According to the legend, the siren sings an enchanting song to draw men close, then reveals herself in the deep pools of the river. Initially she appears as a beautiful woman with dark eyes and long dark hair swirling like moss in the waters around her. Her longing gaze and haunting song mingle with the sounds of the river enticing men to come closer and reach for her outstretched hands. Before pulling the men to their death under the swift moving waters of the river, she reveals her true nature. The siren’s beautiful face contorts into a sneering skull, the enchanting song now a fiendish laugh, and the soft alabaster skin turned into slimy fish scales.

I drop my duffle bag and walk over to the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines of my father’s favorite books. This is where it all began, with these local stories. I notice one of dad’s favorite books is missing from the shelves. He had a copy of “Myths & Legends of Our Own Land,” by Charles M. Skinner which is where Sean and I first read the story “The Siren of the French Broad.” It is ridiculous to believe the siren took Sean, so I need to find out what really happened to him and why I lost him to the river.

I jump slightly as Kate enters with linens and towels for me. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” she murmurs. “Just want to get you settled before I start dinner. Would you like to head into town and visit anyone before dinner? I believe you can find your old friend Cassidy working in the University library these days,” she flashes a sly grin at me.

“No, I don’t want to see anyone. I need to get my bearings. It’s been a long time, and so much has changed. Cassidy, Sean, and I were inseparable once, but that was another lifetime ago and we don’t know each other anymore.” I drop my eyes from Kate’s at this last bit to avoid seeing her judgement and disapproval.

I am surprised to hear her say, “Patrick, it’s okay to feel that way. You want to remember the happy times from the past without the taint of all that came after, and I understand that. My own curiosity sent me searching into the past for something once, but all I found was regret and disappointment. Sometimes the “what might have been” is the most precious gift we can give ourselves. Truth isn’t always easy or pretty, and only you can decide whether your memories are worth more than the truth. I won’t pretend to know what is best for you. I know you’re looking for answers about your brother, but you need to choose the right questions. Take your time and let me know if I can help you. I love you, and I will do whatever I can to help you heal.”

“Thank you. I didn’t expect anyone to understand.”

“Well, as you said before, you’ve been gone awhile and people change with time and distance. We don’t know each other anymore…” I hear accusation in her words, and start to respond, but Kate holds up her hand, “Let me finish. We don’t know each other anymore, but I would like to get to know you again. You are my nephew and I love you. You should know that I don’t blame you, and neither did your father. He and I talked often after Sean’s death, and though he missed you terribly, he knew that you were safer away from here. People in small towns talk, and they couldn’t stop talking back then. Gossip and rumors flew, and everyone had a theory. There was even speculation that the siren took you both that day.” A sad smile crept onto her face as she said, “There may even be a sliver of truth in that speculation. Now I don’t put stock in those old stories, I’ve been a nurse long enough to know the signs of mental illness, and Sean and your father both suffered a long time.”

I started to ask what she meant, but she cut me off and told me to clean myself up and we’d talk more at dinner. I turned back to the study to grab clean clothes and toiletries and made my way upstairs to the only bathroom in the house with a shower.

Approaching Sean’s bedroom, my stride slows. I pause before reaching the doorway and after what seems like an eternity, I step closer and grasp the doorknob. With a deep breath in, I whisper under my breath, “You can do this. It’s time to remember,” and I push open the door to step back in time.

I glance around and notice that my parents have left everything exactly as it was, right down to the glass of water on Sean’s nightstand. The water has evaporated, but his retainer is still sitting in the glass, and before I realize what I’m doing, I smile. He hated wearing that thing and he was always getting into trouble for leaving it in that glass in his room. I walk towards his twin bed by the window and set my clothes and toiletries on the nightstand next to the retainer. Sitting on the edge of Sean’s bed, I look around and tears begin to fall. I can almost see our younger selves sitting on the floor on a rainy afternoon playing Battleship or Monopoly. Sean was so competitive, and he was a ruthless game player. It wasn’t until we were fifteen that I realized he could see where I placed my Battleships because he strategically sat across from his mirror so that I would have my back to it making my gameboard clearly visible. The day I realized what he’d been doing, we ended up rolling around on that floor wrestling. We drove each other crazy, but we loved each other fiercely.

Smiling at the memories, I glance up at that same mirror and see an unfamiliar photo stuck to the top right corner. I cross the room to pull it down and take a closer look. It’s Sean with his arm around a beautiful dark-haired, dark-eyed girl that I don’t recognize. Flipping it over, I read the inscription, “Sean & Lorelei, July 2010.” That was just a month before he died, and I don’t remember Sean ever mentioning Lorelei. I put the photo in my pocket intending to ask Kate if she knew the girl. On Sean’s dresser is a small ceramic dish with change and a folded piece of paper. Unfolding the paper, I see Sean’s boxy print and my breath catches. These glimpses of him are jarring after such a long time, but I steady myself and continue to unfold the note. As I read, emotions suppressed for too long begin to well up from deep inside. The note is for the girl from the photo:

Lorelei,

I don’t understand why you won’t take my calls.

You said you love me, and that doesn’t just stop.

Meet me at our spot by the river on Saturday night. I need to see you.

Please, don’t walk away from me, Lore. Come to the river.

Love, Sean

How did I not know about this girl? Who was she? Sean and I were so close, and I thought we shared everything. Why didn’t he talk to me about her? What happened that summer? As I wipe tears from my eyes, I notice dad’s missing book on a shelf above the dresser. I see the corner of an envelope, yellowed with age, sticking out. I pull the book off the shelf and flip it open to take a closer look at the envelope. It is marking the first page of, “The Siren of the French Broad,” and the sender’s name on the corner of the envelope is Lorelei. I take a deep breath in, and pull out the letter to read:

Sean,

Thank you for the note you sent, I enclose it here with my letter because I don’t want anyone else to have it. I am writing to tell you that I do love you, but I won’t see you again in this life. I shouldn’t have let you get so close. My parents found out about you, and now they want me to go home to Texas. I wish I didn’t have to go. They don’t understand me or care about the things I care about. They just think I’m a messed-up kid who has too many feelings and they don’t know how to deal with me. They want me to take pills that make me feel like a zombie; and talk to a “professional” so that they don’t have to talk to me themselves. They don’t see me like you do. No one has ever seen me the way that you do. If I could find a way to stay here and be near you, I would.

I thought about the story you told me, about the river siren. You said when you first saw me, you thought I was her…the most beautiful woman in the world, with long dark hair and dark eyes, set free and walking on land. I’m jealous of her because she gets to live an eternity in the river that you love. I want to be that close to you always.

Maybe I’m supposed to be in that river. I could call you to come to me, and we could be together forever under the waves. If I were the siren and living in the river, would you join me there? I can’t meet you on the riverbank next Saturday night, but maybe you can meet me IN the river. I’ll be there before this letter ever makes it to your house. Please, don’t leave me alone in the water. Come to the river.

Love, Lorelei

I snap the book shut, my shower forgotten, and I run down the stairs heading straight for the kitchen. Holding the photo up to Aunt Kate I ask “Did you know about her? Is this why he did it?”

Aunt Kate looks at the photo, and I can see the sadness in her eyes. She looks at me then with compassion and reaches up to brush tears from my cheeks. “Patrick, you know your father and your brother both struggled for a long time with depression. I’m sure you knew how lonely your brother was in a room full of people who loved him. You two were always inseparable, but you must have felt the chasm open between you two sometimes? I experienced it with your dad. We were two peas in a pod growing up, but there were times when I just couldn’t reach him, and he seemed so sad and lost. Sean was so much like your dad in that way.

When your mom came along, it opened something in your dad and brought light into his dark places. Lorelei opened Sean’s heart, but instead of lifting each other up, they pulled each other down."

Shaking my head in disbelief, “I thought it was the siren all these years. I didn’t want to believe he would leave us like that. I called out to him! I tried to save him, but I couldn’t reach him! He didn’t reach out for me! Why wouldn’t he just reach for me?” I was yelling now, and the tears wouldn’t stop coming. This is why I stayed away. I’d known all along, but it was too painful to face, so I’d carried this guilt like an anchor. I knew coming home would mean reaching out for the truth like a life preserver or allowing the anchor of guilt and grief to pull me under.

Later that evening, I drove back to the spot by the river where my journey began. I chose life and the truth, and I won’t sink into the darkness of this river. I sit beside it now and offer up prayers for Sean, for Lorelei, for my dad and for all the lost souls struggling to find light in their dark places.