Renata Stokes glanced over her shoulder. Everything worth keeping was in the back of her old Saab station wagon. The car had never fit into the persona she cultivated of being a free spirit, but tonight it was exactly what she needed. The rear seats had been pushed down to make room for several duffle bags of clothes, two boxes of books, and a large cooler, all for her detour north to visit her mother before heading west.
When ‘check oil’ appeared on the instrument panel, she was between Albany and Saratoga Springs; it was a sign to stop. The lack of traffic on the Northway had given her the unwise confidence to press the speed limit. Renata pulled over; she’d been driving for eight hours. Once off the road, she pushed the hazard light on and closed her eyes.
A state trooper knocking on the hood woke her. Renata jumped. Still in a fog of deep sleep she tried to make sense of the large man in uniform peering into her car, making a hand gesture to open the window.
“I was tired.” She turned her eyes away from the flashlight in his left hand. She wanted to explain how tired she really was, how she just needed to sleep for a month far away from memories in a place where she didn’t have to take care of anyone. She wanted to tell him about the one last person she needed to say goodbye to.
“Safer to pull into a truck stop, miss.” He asked to see her license and registration. While she dug into the glove compartment, he directed his interrogation at her possessions. “Anything I need to be concerned about back here?” he asked.
There was a smirk on his face when she turned back to face him.
“Moving day,” she said.
“Where’re you going? Canada?” Taking the papers she passed to him, he closely examined her picture on the license. Shinning the beam on her face he said, “Sit tight.”
The pulsating glare from the flashing lights, spun around the interior of the Saab, illuminating the bags and boxes. The contents danced in the kaleidoscopic glow. Renata could barely make out the trooper’s dark form sitting in the cruiser. She watched him through the rear-view mirror, patiently waiting for his verdict.
“This all checks out.” He passed her papers through the open window. “You know your car will be searched at the border.”
“Thanks, officer.” She smiled. “I’m not going that far.”
“The truck stop is just five miles up.” He tapped the roof. “Be careful.”
The rest area had a gas station a short distance from two large parking areas, its glow intruding into the star-filled sky. The semis were lined up in double file on a darkened end of one lot. The eighteen wheel long-haulers nestled between a few flat beds carrying well wrapped cargo were at the other end. As she drove slowly past them, it was too dark to make out if the drivers were dozing in their seats or resting somewhere in the back of the cabs. Renata pulled her car under a single streetlamp near the entrance to a brick building with a rest room sign. It was three o’clock and too early for the sky to reveal anything more than the constellations. She made sure her doors were locked.
The next morning, the station had a line of trucks waiting for fuel. A scrawny mutt tied to a post was barking. She pulled the Saab next to the attendant’s booth and waited patiently. The young worker looked harried, as if he would start growling and bark, too, if anyone wanted more than gas. Renata left the car and went over to the dog; it seemed to calm down as she came closer, wagging his tail, and pressing down on his front paws ready to play. She bent over and patted his head. The leash was too short for the pup to follow her back to a bench where she intended to sit and wait for the kid’s attention.
“What’s your name?” she called over to the dog.
He stopped hopelessly thrusting himself toward her and sat down with what seemed like a sigh.
She got up and looked for a collar with a tag. “No name, huh?
After thirty minutes, the kid finally noticed h
“Hey, I wonder if you could look at my car. The oil light’s on, and I’ve got another stretch of road ahead of me. I don’t want to get stuck,” she said.
He ran his hand through his greasy hair and stared at her and then the dog “How’d you do that, lady?” He shook his head. That mutt hasn’t shut up since someone dumped him here last week.”
Renata shrugged; she’d always been good with animals. She reached for her wallet and offered a twenty. “I just need to get to Lake George, please.”
He kept starring at the dog. “Well, I might be inclined to take a look and change your oil for free.” He waived the money away. “Not exactly free…” He paused and glared at the dog. “Take him with you and we’ll call it even.”
Renata took a few seconds to consider the offer. She decided that she could use the company. “I’ll move my car.” When she stood to go, the mutt started to whine. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “Does he have a name?”
“Nah. They just unloaded him here without a note.”
The car needed an oil change, not another passenger in the tight space. But that’s the deal she agreed to and now they were sitting side by side heading north. Renata found herself driving a station wagon with a dog hanging out the window. He was breathing in the scents of the landscape, more than any human could possibly imagine.
“We’re a cliché.” She laughed and turned on the radio getting only static. “I guess I should give you a name.”
He moved his head from the window and looked at her.
“That rest-stop, the one where you found me; it was just outside of Troy. What do you think about Troy for a name?”
In response the dog nuzzled her, and Renata began a one-way conversation, feeling out the sound of his name in her mouth.
“Maybe you should know a little bit about me, Troy.”
Troy’s yap sounded like a yes.
“I decided to pack up all my belongings and head north after Alan died. He was my husband. He had been sick for over a year, and I took care of him until the end. I wasn’t sure what direction to go, but I knew I had to leave our apartment, my job, and the city.” She took one hand off the steering wheel and reached over to touch Troy. “Our first stop will be my mom’s place. I haven’t seen her in a long time. We had a falling out and I need to see her at least one last time. After that, who knows, Troy. Maybe we’ll head out west.”
They rode in silence for a few miles.
“We never got along. I was very young when I left home.”
Troy seemed to be keeping up with Renata’s story and put his paw on her lap when she started crying.
The Trailer Park in Lake George had a sign over the entrance that read: Lake iew states. The missing capital letters left shadows of a long-gone hope.
Renata stopped before driving through the gate and checked the number on the post card that her mother had sent her eight years earlier. The picture of Lake George was a bucolic vista, with distant mountains. White Adirondack chairs were clustered in front of well-spaced “manufactured homes” that looked newly moved onto well mowed lawns. The left leaning penmanship was familiar, the note gave the number of her home and the encouraging words: “Come for a visit. Anytime.” Signed: I LOVE YOU, MOM with hearts for the Os. When she looked through her bug splattered windshield and back down to the photo, Renata felt lost.
“My mother remarried when I was ten—nothing ever worked out for her. Not her second husband or her third, who had big problems. It wasn’t the life she expected to live. She was a dreamer, and I couldn’t handle her reality.”
Troy watched her closely.
“It’s complicated. But I guess you might know about some of those things, having been left at a gas station.”
The post card lake view was not evident at the entrance, nor were the well-spaced new estate homes. Instead, these were tired metal containers with possessions spilling out onto the bare ground surrounding each rectangular box.
As Renata drove in, she could see a few of the owner’s attempts at personalization: hanging plants, Astro turf, and a sign saying: “Home Sweet Home”. Others seemed to have turned inward and all that could be seen from the outside were plastic garbage pails, rusted out lawn chairs or overturned BBQ grills. The park seemed to be situated in the woods, not a generous green lawn rolling down toward the lake.
“I guess we should have called first,” Renata said. But she couldn’t have, she didn’t have her mother’s telephone number. And besides the card was very old. Possibly she didn’t even live here anymore. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake.”
Troy was on sensory overload; his head picked up at each new odor and sound as they slowed to looked for the address.
Number forty-five was at the end of the black top, it backed into the woods. It was well tended, compared to its neighbor’s trailer whose possessions seemed to infringe on the neatly swept dirt area near forty-five’s front steps.
“Stay here, Troy. Be a good dog.” She patted his matted head.
He made a small noise and tried to lick her face.
There were a few steps leading to a landing in front of a white door. On the left was the number forty-five, on the right a small basket holding red plastic geraniums. Renata could feel her heart pounding. She looked around; the neighbor’s house was grimly silent. Her knock seemed to echo, and she could hear someone moving inside. The door was unlatched, opened a crack with the chain in place. A small woman stood peering up at her.
“What is it? What do you want?”
“It’s me, Mom, Renata.”
The woman coughed and then seemed not to be able to stop until she was able to catch her breath. “Who?” the woman gulped. The door pushed slightly in and when the chain was released it opened a bit wider. “Renata?” she said.
Renata hadn’t seen her mother in over fifteen years; the last time was well before she had married Alan. They were dating and they dropped in while driving to Montreal for a long weekend. Her mother was still living in the house where Renata grew up. This woman looked smaller than Renata remembered, her gray hair was cut short and held back by a blue barrette. Her eyes were sunken in with dark circles. She didn’t look like any of the old photos Renata had. But there was something familiar about the way she held herself, chin up and shoulders back.
“I didn’t have your phone number.” Renata stammered. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“I don’t know anyone named Renata,” the woman said, looking her up and down.
A voice from the next trailer yelled, “Why are you bothering Vie?”
Renata turned to face a man with his arms crossed over a stained tee shirt. “I’m her daughter,” she said.
“She doesn’t have no livin’ kin. What are you trying to pull over here? Can’t you see she doesn’t know you.”
“But…I am her daughter. Renata Stokes.”
“You’re not going to fool that old lady or me. If you don’t get yourself and that barking mutt out of here, I’ll call the management and have you removed.” He started to walk toward the porch.
Vie was now outside on the landing, trying to hold her sweater around a nightgown. “The management,” she repeated. “Stokes.” She looked at Renata and nodded. “This is a high-class place, and we don’t allow solicitations. That’s what we pay for.” She started to cough again.
“Vie, you get inside and get back on your air machine, right now. I’ll take care of this.”
The neighbor who hadn’t identified himself was now standing on the first step looking up at Renata.
“My name is Renata Stokes and Violet Stokes is my mother,” she said.
“Violet Stokes,” the old lady repeated quietly. “Sounds familiar, but no.” She seemed flustered and confused and shook her head at the man.
“You got the wrong place, girlie. This here is the home of Vie Pettersen. Your mother isn’t here.” He stepped back. “Now git.”
Renata took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I’m traveling out west and wanted to let my mother know. I intended to say good-bye and tell her I wasn’t angry at her anymore.” Renata looked toward her car; Troy had stopped barking. She felt like showing the woman the post card, but realized it was pointless.
“Sorry to have bothered you,” she repeated, as she walked down the steps.
In the car, she slowly reversed directions and watched as the woman retreated inside.
“It was her. You know your mother when you see her. It wasn’t just the way she held herself, but that little beauty mark she was so proud of was right there on her cheek,” Renata explained to Troy.
At the Comfort Inn in Warrensburg, Renata led Troy to a room facing the back, and told him to be quiet, while she threw a small duffle bag that was slung across her shoulder onto the bed.
She went back to the car for the cooler and decided to open one of the boxes.
Troy needed a bath more than she did, so he went first, using up most of the tiny bottles of shampoo that were lined up on the Formica vanity. “Classy joint, gives you free shampoo.” She laughed as she used the last bottle of soap to lather Troy’s back. It took a while to rinse the mess off, but the result was a surprising change in color. “Hey, you look pretty good, a golden mutt, not dirty brown.”
In gratitude he unleashed a spray of water, as he shook off the excess and licked her face.
“You’re welcome.”
Later she gave him half of one of one of the ham sandwiches from the cooler. He hungrily ate it, while she opened a shoe box full of photos.
“I never put these in albums; I meant to but looking at them was too hard.” She dumped the photos onto the bed and fanned them in front of her.
Troy hopped on the bed, and he watched as Renata lifted one photo up at a time.
“This is the only picture I have of my mom and dad together.” She held up the picture to Troy. “Here’s me as a baby.” She continued the explanations. “My mom’s second husband: I kinda remember him.” She tossed that one back into the box. Lifting out one that was torn and another one that had a face scratched out. “These are from when I was older. Her third husband was scary. He drank and when he was drunk…” Renata stopped herself and put those photos in the box, slid the rest into a pile like a deck of cards waiting to be played.
Troy tilted his head.
“I don’t know why I carry these things with me. It’s like a tapeworm, right? You know about those, don’t you?”
The dog wagged his tail.
“Two days ago, my plan was to start over. Just wanted to make sure I was free.” She reached over with an open hand and waited for Troy to give his paw. “Not going to try and figure out why some people are the way they are. I can’t change them. I can only change me.”
She put her arm around Troy. “Ever been to the Grand Canyon?” She pulled up a picture on her phone. “It’s supposed to be one of those wonders of the world, everyone feels something different when they see it.”
Photo Credit: ignacio-amenabar-2dkgXTfPfTg-unsplash.jpg
Bonita LeFlore 