People Watching

As the remnants of breakfast lingered on the table, Mr. Raven cleared the clutter with practiced ease, his movements unhurried. Once heaped with pancakes now smeared with the ghost of maple syrup, the plates were gathered up alongside the silverware. He stacked them with a gentle clink, the sound a familiar tune in the symphony of their morning routine.

With the table now cleared, Mr. Raven turned his attention to the sink, where the pan, its surface still holding the faint aroma of cooked batter, awaited his care. He ran the tap, the water cascading with a soothing rush, steam rising as it met the warm surface of the pan. He moved with a certain reverence for the task at hand, his hands working the sponge in small, deliberate circles, each motion stripping away the remnants of their shared meal. The plates followed, each bathed in soapy water, scrubbed clean, and then rinsed with meticulous attention that spoke of a deeper, almost meditative engagement with the simple cleaning.

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, the towel absorbing the droplets of water that clung stubbornly to the porcelain surfaces.

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. Each plate, each glass, and each utensil had its designated spot. Wade tried his best to memorize their kitchen's layout and spatial logic. 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." His words lightly teased.

Mr. Raven, for his part, washed and handed off each dish with a kind of quiet gratitude, appreciating the help but more so the company, the presence of his son by his side. The kitchen, filled with the mundane sounds of running water, clinking dishes, and the soft thud of cabinet doors, became a stage for this new chapter in their lives. In this chapter, the simple act of cleaning up after breakfast could hold the weight of newfound connections and unspoken understandings.

Caught off guard by the comment, Wade managed a strained chuckle, the sound more a reflex than genuine amusement. He brushed off the remark with a nonchalant shrug, diving back into the task with renewed, albeit feigned, vigor, determined not to let the playful jab unsettle him further.

Once the cleanup was complete, Mr. Raven moved strode towards the entrance. The chill of the outside world had begun to seep through the cracks. Reaching the wall-mounted coat rack to the right of the door, his hand found its way to a sturdy brown wool coat. With a practiced motion, he slid one arm into the sleeve, then the other, the coat settling on his shoulders.

As he adjusted the collar, his fingers brushed against the coat's inner pocket in search of something. Pulling it out, he revealed a winter hat, its knit fabric worn from seasons of use. He placed the hat on his head, tucking away stray locks of brown hair.

Swiveling back to face Wade, Mr. Raven's hand found its way to a more petite wool jacket on the rack that was adjacent to his own. He extended the jacket towards Wade. "You ready?" he asked, his tone weaving warmth with a subtle nudge toward the brisk world awaiting them outside.

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 his keys, "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 caught the jacket, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, appreciating the man's voice's blend of concern and humor. Glancing down at his sock-clad feet. "Yeah, just having a bit of an off day, I guess," he admitted, the words carrying a light-hearted concession to the morning's earlier disarray and his current oversight. 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?" It was a look that hovered between affection and the exasperated fondness reserved for someone momentarily lost in the clouds. The corners of Mr. Raven's eyes crinkled with a silent laugh, clearly finding Wade's scatterbrained moment more endearing than concerning. Wade scratched his cheek in embarrassment.

As Wade slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, a torrent of thoughts whirled through his mind, each one a sharp prick of anxiety. 'How am I going to keep this up?' he pondered, the weight of his secret pressing down on him like a physical burden. 'My sudden forgetfulness, these clumsy stumbles through what should be familiar routines... it's only a matter of time before someone starts questioning me.'

The look from Mr. Raven struck a chord within him. It reminded him of how far he was from truly blending into this new life, this new identity as Chris. 'He must think I'm an airhead,' Wade mused, a rueful smile touching his lips despite the churn of his thoughts. But it's more than just forgetfulness. It's like walking through someone else's life with a blindfold on.'

The fear that his façade would crumble with each passing day grew more pronounced. The constant vigilance, the effort to remember and act the part, was exhausting. 'I'm screwed,' he admitted to himself, the resignation sinking in. 'Sooner or later, someone's going to notice. They'll see the cracks, the seams where I don't quite fit.'

Yet, beneath the fear and the resignation, there was a determination, a stubborn flame that refused to be snuffed out. '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.' The resolve hardened within him, a silent vow to navigate this precarious existence with as much grace as he could muster.

Wade pushed aside the swirling tide of thoughts with a deep, steadying breath. Moving toward the door, where his boots stood among a neat row of other shoes, he guided his feet into the sturdy boots and tied the laces. Without another word, they turned in unison towards the door. Mr. Raven reached out, his hand grasping the cool metal of the brass doorknob, and with a gentle push, the door swung open. Intricate carvings of flowers adorned its surface, their delicate petals and swirling stems etched with care into the wood, lending an artistic grace to its sturdy frame. Together, they stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind them. 

Towering trees, their branches, encircled the property. Wade couldn't pinpoint the exact type, but the distinct, sharp scent that filled the air was unmistakably that of cedar. As Wade inhaled the sharp, earthy scent of the cedar trees, 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 a familiar tune of age and use. The door swung open, revealing the truck's interior, where 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. As Wade maneuvered himself into the passenger seat, a strange washed over him. From this vantage point, the world felt disproportionately large. He was acutely aware that the space around him seemed to dwarf his new, younger frame, making him feel tiny. The act of climbing into the truck, a task once performed with little thought, now carried a weight of awkwardness, his movements unsure and exaggerated in this unfamiliar body. The dashboard loomed higher, and the windows stretched further away. He noticed something peculiar that made him 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, a faint frown marking his features. The scent was acrid and invasive. Wade 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 hills, brick buildings, cozy little homes, and the occasional glimpse 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. The name 'Valley' suggested a flat expanse. '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.

A bewildering thought crossed his mind. '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 who had made their pilgrimage to this unlikely spot. The spectacle of it all, the transformation of Cedar Valley from a quiet, unassuming town into the epicenter of eclipse fever, struck him as both fascinating and slightly absurd. The convergence of so many, drawn by the promise of a celestial event, in a place that seemed as far removed from the world's hubbub as one could get, was a curious phenomenon that Wade couldn't quite wrap his head around. There has to be more to it.

The mom-and-pop shops lining Main Street caught Wade's eye. Each one cleverly capitalized on the solar eclipse. The local businesses had transformed their storefronts with thematic flair.

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, noting perhaps a hint of recognition on his face. "There must be a dead skunk around here somewhere." He pretended to look around, obviously trying to divert attention from the actual source of the pungent aroma. 

"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 n 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 strategic location offered an unobstructed panorama of the sky, making it an ideal spot for celestial observations and events like the solar eclipse that had drawn so many to the area.

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.

With a casual glance at his wristwatch, Mr. Raven quipped, "Ah, just a tad over an hour, not too bad," the words carrying a light-hearted tone that offset the minor inconvenience of their journey's duration. 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, which had filled the truck's cabin for the better part of their journey, made him internally exclaim, 'I'd rather die....again.