As the remnants of breakfast lingered on the table, Mr. Raven cleared the clutter with practiced ease. The plates, once heaped with pancakes and now smeared with the ghost of maple syrup, were gathered up alongside the silverware. He stacked them with a gentle clink.
With the table cleared, Mr. Raven turned to the sink. He ran the tap and worked a sponge over the pan in small, deliberate circles. The plates followed, each bathed in soapy water, scrubbed clean, and then rinsed.
Wade, meanwhile, found himself in unfamiliar territory, a towel draped over his shoulder as he took each rinsed item from his father's hands. He dried them with careful pats.
Putting them away and finding their rightful places in the cabinets was a guessing game. His father gave him an odd look when Wade opened and closed cabinets and drawers, trying to find where each dish went. Wade tried his best to memorize the kitchen's layout. Observing Wade's struggle, Mr. Raven couldn't help but comment, a playful edge in his voice, "Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, huh? Can't seem to find where anything belongs."
Caught off guard by the comment, Wade managed a strained chuckle. He brushed off the remark with a nonchalant shrug, diving back into the task with renewed, albeit feigned, vigor.
Once the cleanup was complete, Mr. Raven strode towards the entrance. The chill of the outside world had begun to seep through the cracks. He took a sturdy brown wool coat from the wall-mounted rack to the right of the door and slipped it on.
He pulled a winter hat from the coat's inner pocket, its knit fabric worn from seasons of use, and placed it on his head, tucking away stray locks of brown hair.
Mr. Raven turned back to Wade and extended a smaller wool jacket from the rack. "You ready?" he asked warmly. Wade took the jacket.
Mr. Raven grabbed a set of keys from a yellowed ceramic ashtray on a small wooden entryway table to the left of the front door. He jingled them. "Alright, let's head out."
His gaze then dropped to Wade's feet, clad only in socks against the cool wooden floor. With a gentle shake of his head and a hint of amusement in his eyes, Mr. Raven added, "Your boots. They're right by the door."
Wade glanced down at his sock-clad feet, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He appreciated the blend of concern and humor in the man's voice. "Yeah, just having a bit of an off day, I guess," he admitted. With a resigned chuckle, he moved towards the door to retrieve his boots.
Mr. Raven cast him a look that was half-amused, half-incredulous, the kind that wordlessly said, "Really?" The corners of his eyes crinkled with a silent laugh. Wade scratched his cheek in embarrassment.
As Wade slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, anxiety prickled at him. 'How am I going to keep this up?' he pondered. 'My sudden forgetfulness, these clumsy stumbles through what should be familiar routines... it's only a matter of time before someone starts questioning me.'
'He must think I'm an airhead,' Wade mused, a rueful smile touching his lips. 'But it's more than just forgetfulness. It's like walking through someone else's life with a blindfold on.'
'I'm screwed,' he admitted to himself.
'I'll just have to be more careful and pay more attention,' Wade resolved. 'I can't let my guard down, not even for a moment.'
Wade guided his feet into the sturdy boots and tied the laces. Mr. Raven grasped the brass doorknob and pushed the door open. Intricate carvings of flowers adorned its surface, their delicate petals and swirling stems etched into the wood. Together, they stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind them.
Towering trees encircled the property. Wade didn't recognize them by sight, but the distinct, sharp scent that filled the air was unmistakably that of cedar. A sense of familiarity washed over him.
His brother, though an amateur carpenter, worked on his projects every evening in their small garage-turned-makeshift workshop, which was often filled with the rich aroma of freshly cut cedar, among other types of wood. Each breath of cedar-scented air now seemed to carry echoes of those days, a subtle reminder of what was lost to him.
The ground was blanketed with snow, just enough to cover the earth in a pristine white layer without hindering movement, the individual flakes sparkling like a sea of tiny stars under the morning light. Crows perched high above cawed their raucous songs. Among the more abrasive calls, a different melody emerged, a bird hidden from view singing a whistled, flutelike tune that wove through the air like a ribbon of sound. It was unfamiliar to Wade.
In the gravel driveway rested an old 1960s Chevy truck, its once bold red paint faded to a softer, time-worn patina. Rusty patches ran across its body, particularly around the wheel wells and the edges of the hood. Mr. Raven pulled open the driver's side door, its hinges creaking. Inside, the upholstered seats showed signs of wear and tear.
Wade followed suit, opening the passenger side with a gentle tug, the cold metal handle biting slightly into his palm. He climbed into the seat, the springs groaning softly under his weight. From this vantage point, the world felt disproportionately large, dwarfing his new, younger frame. The dashboard loomed higher, and the windows stretched further away. Something made him do a double take. Instead of the expected seat belt, there was rope.
'This is ridiculous,' Wade thought, frustration and disbelief simmering as he settled awkwardly into the oversized seat.
The key was inserted into the ignition. The engine, hesitant at first, coughed into life, a grumble that grew into a steady rumble.
As the truck warmed up, the windows began to clear, the snow melting away to reveal the world outside. They settled into the rhythm of the journey. Mr. Raven rolled down the window and lit a Marlboro cigarette, the ember glowing brightly against the backdrop of the passing scenery. Wade watched the smoke swirl and dissipate into the cold air. The scent was acrid and invasive. He tried his best to maintain a poker face, not wanting to let his discomfort show.
The truck rumbled on, the county road stretching before them lined with the repetitive scenery of snow-dusted cedar trees, punctuated occasionally by the solitary silhouette of a house.
A rusty metal bridge that spanned a large river came into view. A little brown sign next to it said Colorado River. On the other side of the bridge, an old, weathered sign greeted them, its faded letters spelling out "Welcome to Cedar Valley."
The town's undulating topography made for winding streets that curved and dipped with the hills, past brick buildings and cozy little homes. Wade caught occasional glimpses of the Colorado River. As Wade observed the town's layout, a question bubbled up in his mind. 'Cedar Valley? More like Cedar Hills,' he mused. He'd expected a flat expanse from the name. 'I guess every place has its quirks.'
Traffic crawled to a near standstill. Cars were parked haphazardly along the sides of the road, each spot claimed by eager visitors drawn by the rare spectacle of the solar eclipse. The array of license plates read like a roll call of states, with a noticeable abundance from Washington. The narrow street was a makeshift parking lot.
'Why here, of all places? Did everyone and their second cousin really need to descend on this little town just to catch a glimpse of the eclipse?' Wade questioned silently, his gaze drifting over the sea of vehicles and the throngs of people. The spectacle of it all struck him as both fascinating and slightly absurd. 'There has to be more to it.'
The mom-and-pop shops lining Main Street caught Wade's eye. The local businesses had transformed their storefronts for the solar eclipse.
Pam's Bakery displayed a window full of "Eclipse Delights," featuring cookies and pastries iced to resemble the eclipse phases, with dark chocolate and vibrant orange icings artistically swirled together. A small curio shop boasted an array of "Celestial Souvenirs," including jewelry and T-shirts.
The Bookstore, cleverly named, had a chalkboard sign out front inviting passersby to "Dive into the Dark Side" with a selection of astronomy books and eclipse-themed novels. The titles were artfully arranged in the window alongside vintage telescopes and star charts.
A group of long-haired older teens huddled, partially obscured by a haze of smoke. Mr. Raven caught a whiff of the unmistakable scent. He glanced at Wade. "There must be a dead skunk around here somewhere." He pretended to look around.
"Right," Wade diplomatically replied.
As the scent lingered, Mr. Raven shook his head judgementally and mumbled something that Wade couldn't make out. 'Oh, the irony,' Wade thought as he glanced at the cigarette butts in the cupholder. He went back to people-watching.
Next door was a beauty salon. Outside the local supermarket, a homeless man had made a temporary rest stop, his belongings neatly tucked beside him on a piece of cardboard. The familiar sign of a Mobil gas station stood out.
The streets came alive with an array of colorful cars, their designs and hues popping vibrantly against the snow-dusted backdrop of Cedar Valley. To Wade, it felt like stepping into one of the classic car shows his grandfather used to take him to, each vehicle a burst of color and nostalgia on wheels. There wasn't a shred of doubt in his mind; he had been whisked away to a different era. 'If only it were by DeLorean,' he mused, the thought bringing a wistful smile as he imagined a cinematic leap through time.
The truck's radio, oblivious to the traffic's crawl, cycled through a playlist of hits. From "My Sharona" by The Knack to "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor, the melodies filled the cabin, Mr. Raven unabashedly singing along, his voice competing with the artists'. He took intermittent drags from his cigarette between verses, the ash flicking into the wind outside.
They slowly passed an old wooden church, its once-vibrant white paint faded and worn. It was ugly to Wade, its aged, grotesque simplicity clashing with the town's more picturesque surroundings. The crucifix atop the bell tower loomed over the graveyard. As he observed the scene, Wade mused, 'I was dead. And here I am.' A touch of morbid humor colored his thoughts: 'All these tombstones...will my body be cremated or buried?'
Finally, after what seemed like forever and then some, the observatory came into view, perched atop one of the higher hills that cradled the town. Its location offered an unobstructed panorama of the sky.
The main building was dome-shaped. Adjacent to it was a smaller, rectangular annex that housed the visitor center and administrative offices. Its large windows reflected the surrounding landscape.
Despite its scientific purpose, the observatory exuded a welcoming atmosphere. Informative plaques and interactive displays dotting the landscape invited visitors to explore the wonders of the universe. People of all ages milled about, and their faces often turned upwards in expectation of the celestial spectacle that awaited soon.
Mr. Raven glanced at his wristwatch. "Ah, just a tad over an hour, not too bad." Wade couldn't help but silently grumble, 'Not a minute too soon.' The thought of enduring another minute of Mr. Raven's tone-deaf singing made him internally exclaim, 'I'd rather die...again.'