Time and Space
Published on September 25, 2023 at 12:45pm CDT
Minnewaska Musings
By Paul Gremmels
Having spent most of my life in a small town next to a lake, I cannot walk or drive any distance around it without recalling a memory. It seems that on every corner and down every street is a past experience that spans my entire lifetime. The small town, and surrounding area, in my biased opinion, are indeed idyllic. But you can’t have paradise without something to compare it to.
On the encouragement of my wife, when I drive long distances and if I’m not pressed for time, I tend to stay off the Interstates. Taking instead, the old two-lane State and County highways. These routes do not bypass the small towns, but usually take you right down Main Street. I suppose the average time it takes to travel through a small town is about two minutes. Two minutes, to travel, without so much as a second thought, through a space that someone may have spent most of their life. A special place to them, with deep ties to family, friends and community. Two minutes, and I’m re-setting my cruise control and the small town is shrinking in my rearview mirror.
I don’t drive much at night anymore, but the other night, work had taken me away from my community and I didn’t get back until very late. It was a still, warm September evening with a quarter moon on the rise. As I began the descent down the hill into my hometown, I had the windows open to take in the night air. The Main Street has been completely redone with new light poles that have bright, white light fixtures in the shapes of boats and anchors, playing on the nearby lake theme. I needed gas, so I put my arm out the window and cruised slowly towards the gas station at the western end of Main Street, taking in the peaceful quiet of this place I call home.
As I pulled up to the pumps, I noted a pickup truck on the other side of the island, facing East, with Montana plates. The engine and lights were off, and a lone man sat in the driver seat, facing straight ahead. Slipping my card into the slot, I thought I heard something. Then, I heard it again. The sound of a woman, weeping. The man was on speaker-phone with his wife. As I pumped the gas, I was the unwilling, auditory witness to the final end of a long relationship between Brad and Britt. I couldn’t get away from it in time.
Britt was just finishing laying out the life they had lived together and Brad continued to stare straight ahead, clenching his jaw muscles. She spoke of a lost child and of a parent dying of cancer.
“Britt, please don’t,” said Brad as Britt began to cry again.
“I guess this is it then.” She sobbed.
“Yeah.” Brad responded. “I guess it is.”
The call ended.
Brad started his truck, threw it into gear and drove up Main Street, to the east, out of town and farther away from Britt and Montana. He had a hole in his muffler so I could hear the roar when he hit the city limits at the top of the hill.
I looked at my watch. It had been two minutes since their conversation had ended and the Main Street of my hometown lay quiet and still.