BOUND

Maurice Haynes suffered heart failure in the Food Lion parking lot off of highway 82. It was an uncharacteristic 68 degrees in the heart of January in Virginia. Coincidentally, he had turned 86 that November, but he could easily pass for 70. Still, seated in his candy apple red pickup, his heart unexpectedly gave out on him.

He had set out from his modest home early that morning with plans to visit a friend in the neighboring county. His wife Ernestine said goodbye with her trademark wave that could easily be mistaken as shooing away a fly. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her polyester nightgown; she’d probably go right back to bed after he left.

He wore a Haynes Family Reunion t-shirt and his working pants, as he called them. His tennis shoes were a fancy new set that his son had shipped out from New York. So was the red pickup. He had no use for its multiple CD changer or any of the other features afforded by the array of knobs and buttons on the dashboard, but driving it was like broadcasting to everyone in town how proud he was of his son. And when he missed his boy the most, the picture clipped to the sun visor of the pair at his son’s college graduation warmed his heart. He took a minute to look at it every time he pitched himself up into the cab.

As he rumbled up the dirt road, puffs of dust kicked up from his tires, obscuring his home and the woman he’d loved for the last 52 years. He would have looked back in his rearview mirror a bit longer if he knew that would be the last time he’d see her.

He cruised through town at a comfortable 25 miles per hour, being sure to tip his New York Giants baseball cap at the townsfolk as he passed through. The women smiled back at him and the men tipped their hats in return. Most of those faces were the same ones he’d seen since he was a boy, they’d just sagged and wrinkled from years of hard work raising crops in the fields or raising children at home. Nestorville had always been home.

But once he merged onto the highway, the feeling struck him in his chest. You couldn’t really call it a pain; it was more like a shudder that started in his heart and rattled its way through his bones. He hunched forward but was sure to keep his eyes on the road. Then he straightened himself up again and expanded his chest. He’d shaken off worse than this, he told himself. If this had taken place back during the war, it wouldn’t have even registered. He’d have just pushed through and shoved the pain into the back of his mind. The shudder returned, stronger this time. And instead of subsiding, it kept washing over him like waves running up over the beach. And with each wave, he could feel his energy draining.

In that moment, he thought back to his father and the times he’d sit on his knee and talk with him before bed. His father would field every outrageous or non-sensical question Maurice could come up with until his head started to dip. One night, after a particularly rousing sermon at church, Maurice asked his father about death.

“Why do we have to die?” The symphony of insects outside chirped and called into the night air as if set to a metronome.

“Son, dyin’ makes life worth livin’. What’d be the point of it all if there wasn’t an end to it?” His voice was so raspy that a whisper was impossible.

“But if we didn’t die, we could do so much more. We wouldn’t have to worry about time runnin’ out.”

“But we need a finish line, son. Who wants to run a race without a finish line to cross at the end?”

“I wish I could. Just keep running into the distance. And that’s not the same anyway. In a race, we know where the end is. We don’t know when we are going to die.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Maurice loved being alone with his father because that was when he could see the gentle man he knew him to be. He spoke with a softer tone, and he was much more patient with him than any other person he came across. “You know, my father told me that just before we die, we know it’s comin’. And in that moment we’re not scared or sad that it’s endin’. We’re excited because we get to go be with God.”

“That’s not fair.” His father lifted his head and looked out the window. Whenever his father froze his head and neck like a bust, Maurice knew that he was deep in thought, and any interruptions would be followed with discipline. Experience had taught Maurice to be patient in these moments.

“Well, son. Life ain’t fair. It’s just not built up that way.” He lifted his son into his arms and held him close. Maurice had always loved resting his head on that strong stone shoulder. “I’ll tell you a secret. That moment just before we die is the longest moment we’ll ever have. Some say that moment lasts for hours. So when that time comes, you have to remember all of the best times in your life and enjoy them one more time. Then, when you’re all done doing that, pray. You’ll have nothing to be scared of.”

He took comfort in those words that night, and now he was taking comfort in them again. So he pulled off the highway and parked his truck in the Food Lion parking lot. He leaned his head back against the leather headrest, closed his eyes, and relived the moments that made his heart flutter: smelling a freshly cut field of grass; his first kiss; seeing his wife appear at the end of the aisle at his wedding; smelling his wife’s homemade cornbread baking in the oven; watching his son look back at him for the first time; holding his wife in bed just before they fell asleep; listening to his mother sing at his father’s funeral; seeing his son take off on his bike up the road; the back of his wife’s straw hat covered head in their garden; sitting with his family on the porch swing at night, counting fireflies and stars.

And he smiled. And a tear glided down his cheek. And he prayed to his Lord one last time, thanking Him for the opportunity.

Then he opened his eyes. He was still there in the Food Lion parking lot behind the wheel of his pickup. He pulled his hands from the steering wheel and stared at his open palms. The shudders had stopped. And the sense of calm that was now running through his veins soothed his once weary muscles. Was it a fluke? Did death pass over him? He didn’t know what it was, but he immediately decided to head back home to be with his wife. The fishing trip with Philip would have to wait.

He nimbly made his way through the circuit of dirt roads that led him home, anxious to tell his companion about his experience. He was careful not to drive too fast since the tree lined roads afforded little warning for oncoming traffic.

Pulling into his driveway, he eased out of the cab and marched into the house. “Ernestine? Ernestine? It’s me. I decided not to go fishing today. I had the most bizarre experience on the ride over there, and I just wanted to see you.”

There was no answer. And as he moved through the kitchen towards the bedroom, his heart longed even more for her.

“Ernestine? Are you asleep honey? I need to talk to you.”

The bedroom door was ajar, and it squeaked when Maurice pushed it open. There was Ernestine, lying on her right side as she always slept, facing the window. She was still in her nightgown, her hair up in rollers under a nightcap. Maurice suddenly felt like an intruder. He carefully chose his steps over to the other side of the bed, avoiding the creaky floorboards he knew so well, and came close to her face.

“Ernestine?”

He had never seen her look so content. Ernestine had always been a practical woman, never at either end of the emotional spectrum. Even kiltered, almost to a fault. But now, tranquility was cast across her face, unfettered by any notions of decency or conservatism. He kissed her on the forehead and left the room.

He sat in a chair at the old wood kitchen dinette set and picked up the telephone receiver. He dialed his son’s number, the whurr of the rotary dial taking it’s time after each turn.

“Bob Haynes speaking,” he answered.

“Bobby, this is your dad.”

“Hey Dad, how’s it going?”

“I just thought that I should give you a call. I was driving up the highway to go fishing with Philip Brownlee, and I had the strangest feeling. It took over my whole body, and I had to pull off of the road for a minute. For a minute there, I thought I was going to die.”

“Don’t talk like that, Dad. You’re scaring me. You’ve got a lot of life left to live.”

“I’m not so sure about that, son.”

“Dad, you’re the healthiest old person I know,” he chuckled. “I still haven’t managed to best you in arm wrestling.”

“This is serious, Bobby. Let me finish my story.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“When I sat there and I thought about all that I have cared about in my life, all I could think about was you, your mother, and my father. All I could think about was family. And I realized that there was a very important thing I never had the chance to tell you.”

“You’ve got my attention.”

“When I was little, I asked my father about death. I asked him why we had to die. He told me that dying makes life worth living. That life is a race and death is just the finish line. And I want you to always remember that. Live your life like you are trying to win the race, and then you’ll be happy when you finish.”

“I’ll remember. I promise.”

“I love you so much. And I’m so proud of you. You’ve achieved so much more than I could have ever dreamed for you. And I want to make sure that you know that. In my eyes, you’ve already been running a great race. Just keep up the pace and don’t stop running.”

“You’ve always made it clear how proud you are of me. And I love you guys too. Listen, why don’t I come down and visit you guys in a few weeks. We can all talk about this face-to-face. I have to run into a meeting right now, but tell Mom I’ll call her later.”

“Ok. I’ll tell her when I see her.”

Maurice hung up the phone and went back into the bedroom. He took his shoes off and placed them underneath the bed frame where Ernestine had always instructed him to put his shoes, and climbed onto the bed. He matched the shape of his body to her form and rested his left hand on her chest. Her heart was still. He took a deep breath, and he exhaled.