Jiggity Jig

You step away from the train, onto the other side of the platform. You feel weird being here as you are. You know this place in your bones. The warm orange glow of the street lights. The big wrought iron arch over main street, lit up at night with “WELCOME TO MIDWAY!”, with a couple of burnt out bulbs for local character. It’s all so familiar, so much so that even after all the years of being away you somehow inexorably know where everything is. Uncomfortably familiar is the phrase that comes to mind. You gaze out over the parking lot adjacent to the train station looking for a familiar car. You don’t see any. You set down one of your bags and check your phone: 18:35 it beams back.

“Oh wow.” You state, your breath curling in front of the screen. You’re on time, somehow. You stare out at the cars. You really hope that you aren’t going to have to walk the just shy of a mile or so to your parent’s house. You stand there a long moment, weighing your options, fondling the change in your pocket. Definitely not enough to pay for a cab. You sigh and figure you might as well start walking.

Then a pickup truck pulls into the parking lot that you don’t recognize, and whoever is driving it taps the horn twice, a friendly little “honk honk.” You watch as they pull around in front of the station and then stop.

“Dad?” You ask.

“John!” He chuckles, waving you over. You immediately notice that he’s wearing glasses, that’s new. You step over to the truck and sling your suitcases over the side and into the truck bed. Your father motions you over to the passenger side and unlocks the door for you. You climb into the truck and sit down. There’s something country playing quietly over the radio and there’s invoices stacked all along the dashboard.

“Hope that I didn’t leave you waiting there too long.” Your dad chuckles and puts the car into drive.

“Nice truck, Dad.” You say as you buckle in and relax, sitting shotgun on the bench seat as he pulls out of the parking lot and back onto the streets of Midway.

“Make sure to tell that to your mother, she’s really proud of the deal she got on it.” He states, sighing. You blink.

“This is mom’s truck?” You ask.

“Yeah?” Your dad replies. “She got it a year ago.”

“What happened to her old car?” You ask, confused.

“Oh, the old company truck?” You dad asks. “Your sister got it so she could drive herself to school.”

“And what about your truck?” You ask, increasingly perplexed.

“My truck?” Your dad recoils back. “John, what are you talking about?” He looks at you and you look at him. Is he gaslighting me, you think. No no, it definitely was your dad who drove a truck back before you left. Something is not right here. The light he was waiting for turns, illuminating his concerned face with green light.

“Light’s green, dad.”

“Oh.” He acknowledges, and drives on.

There’s a moment of dead air and you turn to staring out the window at the town around you; you drive by a gas station dressed up in neon, a corner drugstore, a sign advertising the local muffler shop, and a big billboard featuring a young man reclined with his shirt unbuttoned, a bottle of whisky over his crotch, and the words “The West Gets Wild!” in big bold letters.

“How long has that been there?” You gawk.

“What?” Asks your dad. “Oh, the sign?”

“Yeah,” you say, staring at it as it recedes in the rear view mirror.

“I think that one went up maybe, oh, six months ago.” He says, scratching his prickly chin. “Even if it's just an ad for whisky it’s way too risque in my opinion.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You scoff. Your dad nods.

“This is a good, God fearing town,” he signs, “no place for billboards that sexualize our sons.”

“Wait, there’s more of them?” You ask, shocked.

“Oh yeah.” Your dad says. “There’s another one up here on the other side of the road that went up around the same time. There.” Sure enough, looking back the other way, you see another billboard. It’s a ripped man in an action movie getup with face paint and a bandana glaring hard at you and wielding a submachine gun. He is wearing a shocking small, ripped up crop-top and tight short shorts that have a noticeable bulge in them. In big letters it reads “Demand Me,” and then in a significantly smaller font, “The Best Action Movies, on Demand!” below that.

“Wow.” You say, shocked. “Not a fan of that.”

“Don’t tell your mother,” your dad warns, “she’s a huge fan of the series and that billboard in particular.”

“Really?” You ask, doing a double take.

“Oh yeah.” He chuckles. “She got the girls into them too. Who would have thought that action movies would make a comeback?”

“Yeah.” You add, still processing the shockingly horny billboards that you just saw. The rest of the ride to your parent’s house in the suburbs is short and direct. The truck pulls into the driveway of your parent’s house, a stately two story affair with an attached one car garage. You grab your suitcases and follow your dad to the front door, a front door that you certainly hoped that you would never see again. And yet here you are.

You step inside and are hit with the smell of cooking food and a familiar old house, the sound of the television in another room, and the warmth of the inside air. You drop your suitcase and take off your shoes inside the door. The hall is the same as you remember it, family portrait hanging there, umbrella stand here, and the shoe rack near.

“We’re home!” Your dad calls as he takes his shoes off.

“Welcome home!” Calls a feminine voice from another room.

“When’s dinner gonna be ready?” Says another voice. Your dad sighs. You cock an eyebrow at him.

“My work is never finished.” He chuckles. “I’ll have dinner ready in five, plenty of time for you to take your bags up to your room.” Well that’s weird, dad never used to cook, you think.

“Ok.” You sigh and pick up your suitcases again.

“Oh, and John?” He states. You regard him.

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to have you home.” He says with a smile and then disappears down to the end of the hall. You grab your bags and start up the stairs that lead out of the foyer. You walk down to your old room and enter. It’s bare, which doesn’t surprise you, you took most of your belongings with you when you left town. You set your suitcases against the wall and lay back on the bed. You're painfully aware of every named crack in your ceiling again. You rest your eyes for but a moment, sighing.