The Smell of Night
By Hadley Fuller
As the meadows roll by my window, the cows stroll lazily by the lake that reflects the glistening moon and the luminescent stars. We drive on, my darling and I, in our deep blue beetle bug. I look ahead, and the canopy of trees darkens the road, shadowing every twist and turn that I know it must be hiding. As it envelopes us, I smell a skunk. My darling comments about how horrendous it is, and I quietly smile to myself. I’m lost in a memory from years ago.
My dad has always adored the smell of a skunk. I’ve always thought he was the strangest man, and my family has had many wonderful times mocking him. We’ve always smelled a skunk on the way to my grandpa’s ranch in Texas. His house is huge, with a white back porch and various antique cars. It’s far from the city and city lights, so the night sky shines. For the Fourth of July, my family and I help illuminate the sky by shooting bright fireworks into the dark night. One July, we took a break from sprinkling our sparkles across the dark blue canvas, but I decided to stay outside. My dad apparently had the same idea, so we stood on the back porch together. Slowly, the scent of a skunk floated into our noses. My dad beamed and, as always, said how much he loves the scent of a good ole’ skunk. Maybe I gave him a funny look, because he had the urge to elaborate.
He took me back to his twenties. In the army, he was stationed in Germany. He’s told us about the ride there and what the stay was like. Now, he told me about the way home. He lived in Rigolette, Louisiana. Living in Rigolette, you’re surrounded by the woods, with animals to keep you company.
The army bus took him home, as is customary. He went past my great-grandmother’s house and his old schools. The bus took him down the “tickle-tummy” road, a precious family memory. Looking at me, my dad explained that it didn’t feel like he was home yet. The roads all melded with other roads, the hills with other hills. He’d seen it all.
The bus turned onto his street, and he can see the house he grew up in. Then, he said, he could smell the scent of a skunk quietly invading the air, making it crumble with putrid anxiety. He knew he was home.
I smiled up at my dad. Maybe he wasn’t so strange after all. At second glance, he was quite the superior father.
The road winds through the night, and I look at my darling in the seat next to me. I contemplate telling him my story, but it’s not my story to tell. We drive on, and the canopy disperses into a scattering of trees. The dark blue backdrop that is the sky twinkles with the white sparkles that are the stars.
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Comments
What a wonderful and evocative story from an obviously talented writer.
- Steve C.
Mount Juliet, TN
Beautiful!!!
- Meghan W.
Alexandria, LA