Fall Arrives

It was 1995. Benny was eighteen and had just returned home for the Christmas holiday after spending the last few months in Indianapolis attending Herron Art School. Aaron Trotter was the little brother of an old friend from high school. On his second day home, Benny received a call from Aaron who was looking for a ride to a girl's house. Benny reluctantly agreed and soon the two of them were near the southwest edge of Triloville. Here the houses were a little further apart and in between them, one could find acres upon acres of farmland. Most of it, loaded with tall stalks of corn in late summer and early fall.

"Okay," Aaron said as they exited the car (which was an 86 Cavalier hatchback at the time), "I really like this girl so try not to make a fool of yourself."

Benny took a moment to reflect on the countless times he and Aaron's older brother, Robert had been forced by Ma and Pa Trotter to drag the baby brother around with them everywhere they went. And, how 99.9% of the time Aaron was the one who had made a fool of himself, usually through loud outbursts or clumsy falls. "I'll try to behave," he replied sarcastically.

At this time in his life, although the trend was going out of style, Benny was in full grunge attire. The ripped jeans, flannel jacket, and long, unkempt, dirty blond hair.

The house was an old ranch that was covered with fading red bricks and deteriorating gutters around the roof. For the rest of his life, for reasons unknown, he would often think of the Christmas lights that hung lazily from the gutters, spiraling down the single post of the covered porch where it came to an end, held on by a single, lonesome piece of scotch tape.

Aaron pulled the screen door open and knocked on the worn wood of the front door. They stood there waiting in the cold, but it appeared no one was home.

"Did she know we were coming?" Benny asked.

"Yeah, I called and told her."

"You called ahead and told her you were coming and she left before you got here? That's not a good sign, man."

Aaron suddenly looked very worried and then proceeded to knock harder. "She's here, I know she is."

Benny opened his mouth to toss another verbal jab at his friend but was cut off by the sound of the deadbolt. The door opened and what greeted them was a seventeen-year-old Autumn Sanders and Benny was instantly smitten. Her hair was long and fiery red and rested against her pale skin like a burning sunset in winter. She was wearing a Marilyn Manson shirt that looked to be two sizes too big but draped pleasingly over her ample bosom.

Benny's taste in music was beginning to change at that point, moving from old favorites like Pearl Jam and Soundgarden to some heavier bands he had heard lately like; Korn and Deftones, but he had yet to hear anything from Marilyn Manson. He'd always held to the notion that The Smashing Pumpkins were the greatest rock band ever and that would not change for the rest of his life.

The visit was short but it didn't take long for Benny to deduce that Autumn had no interest in getting romantically involved with Aaron. This was a great relief for Benny.

Triloville is an excellent town to visit in the fall, with its rolling tree-covered hills and adjacency to Hoosier National Park in southern Indiana. Any leaf gazers would be in heaven. The population sits at a little over 3000, but that number is projected to grow in the next few years due to several housing editions that had popped up, and the car assembly plant that was being built about ten miles away from the center of town.

This particular Saturday morning was overcast and cold, yet the colors of the leaves somehow seemed brighter to Benny than any he had ever seen. He wasn't sure exactly why he noticed this detail at the very moment his wife was lowered into the ground, but he couldn't help but think that she would have loved a day like this. To others, it would seem dreary or sad, but that's the way she liked things. It was the way they both liked things. Maybe the leaves weren't as bright as he perceived them to be. Perhaps the tears in his eyes were distorting his vision.

The coffin reached the bottom of the hole that was to be Autumn's final resting place, and one by one all of her friends and family picked a black rose (Autumn's favorite flower) from one of the many bouquets surrounding the grave and dropped them in after her. Benny stood from his chair after everyone else had offered their condolences and returned to their cars. He pulled a black rose from the last few that remained and held it over the coffin. There, he hesitated a moment. Then, instead of dropping it, he carefully broke the stem and placed the flower head in the lapel of his suit. He didn't know why he did it exactly, but he suspected if he dropped his rose, it might symbolize letting her go, and he could never let her go. After some time, he forced himself to turn away from the grave, then walk back to the limo his father had rented and climb inside.

Benny's father Frank, and his brother Jack, sat across from him in silence for the trip back to Frank's house, where an after-funeral memorial was being held. Of course, Frank's house was quite large and could comfortably hold the thirty or so people who had attended. Frank Writeman was the owner of the small chain of Writeman's Savings and Loans banks that were found throughout the mid-west, the very same bank Autumn had worked for. Although Frank rarely stayed at the oversized house anymore. These days, he often slept on a couch in his office. Of course, no one knew about this but Jack.

Frank looked at Benny as if he were searching for something comforting to say. Instead, he let out a deep sigh and slumped his broad shoulders. Benny noticed that his father's thinning hair and neatly trimmed beard were far whiter than the last time he'd seen him, but he was still in remarkable shape for his age. Benny knew his mother's passing had hit Frank hard. Theirs was the kind of relationship others strived for. A love Benny had now lost.

Jack Writeman was the owner of the Writeman Funeral Home, located right in the middle of Triloville, which by the way, had done a beautiful job with Autumn's funeral. A sharp contrast to Benny, Jack was shorter, broader, and kept his sandy blond hair short and neat. His handsome face was always clean-shaven, as his job required it. Even though Jack arranged funerals for a living, it was rare to see him in such low spirits. He's usually a joker and a great drinking buddy, and Benny could only remember one other time he had seen him so down. That was at their mother's funeral.

The limo pulled up to the Old Man's house (Benny and Jack had taken to calling Frank the Old Man even though he was only fifty-six) and the three men climbed out. Frank walked to the front door and stepped inside to make sure everything was prepared for the guests. Strangers were busy catering the memorial under the watchful eye of the Old Man's assistant, Bethany.

"Benny," Jack called as Benny started up the porch, "wait up a minute, I want to talk to you."

Benny walked quietly back toward the car.

"Uh…look, Benny," Jack started, "I…umm, sorry about…well you know, about Autumn," he let out a deep sigh, "Man, I am so bad at this shit."

"Really?" Benny asked sarcastically, "Maybe you should have picked a different line of work."

"C'mon, that's not what I mean. I can run a line of bullshit with complete strangers, even shed a tear or two if I try hard enough, but you're my brother and Autumn was one of my best friends. I just hope you were pleased with the service. I did my best to make sure everything went alright."

"It was great, Jack," Benny said with a grin. "Everything was beautiful. Thanks."

"Yeah, well, it was an honor," Jack returned through misting eyes. He cleared his throat and continued, "Listen, after the squares leave, you can meet me on the back porch. I rolled a special fatty just for you."

"I'll be there, man," Benny turned and walked back to the front door.

Inside, he was greeted by the usual assortment of aunts and uncles, who gave him their condolences and advice on how to put this tragic event behind him. Just when he thought he could handle no more, he was able to sneak away upstairs to his father's study for a chance to clear his head.

Forty-five minutes later, Frank Writeman opened the door and poked his head inside to find Benny sitting on the window seat, staring out at the trees on the lawn.

"There you are," Frank said. "Leaves are beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yeah, Dad, they look great," Benny answered quietly.

"Everyone is starting to leave. Would you like to come down and say goodbye?"

"Not really."

"That's all right, I'm sure they'll understand." With a sigh, Frank sat down next to Benny, "Son, I want you to know if you need to talk about this, I'm here for you. I know exactly what you're going trough and I-"

"How the fuck could you know what I'm going through," Benny shouted angrily, "Mom wasn't murdered."

"That's not what I meant," Frank yelled, matching Benny's anger. He took a deep breath to calm himself, "I'm just saying I lost the woman I loved the same as you. Whether by cancer or a killer's hand, they're both gone. So, if you need any help with this, just let me know."

Benny returned his gaze to the window without a word. Frank stood up and walked toward the door.

"Dad," Benny said. Frank turned back to his son from the doorway. "Does it ever stop hurting?"

Frank looked down at the floor, as if searching for the right answer, then looked up and said grimly; "No, it doesn't."

Turning back to the window, Benny rested his forehead on the glass and sighed.

Benny may have found no comfort in what his father said, but anything else he could say would be a lie. They both knew as much. Instead, Frank turned and walked out of the study, leaving Benny to wallow in his sadness.

Thirty minutes later, most of the guests had left and Benny walked out to the back porch to find Jack sitting in a rocking chair.

"Hey," Jack said when the door opened, "Dad was looking for you."

"Yeah, he found me," Benny returned, "and we had a little talk."

"Oh yeah, how did that go?"

"Well, you know the Old Man, always painfully honest."

Jack only nodded in response to this. He knew that their father was about as blunt as a lead pipe. Frank wasn't just his name it was his way of life.

Benny took a seat in the chair beside Jack's, and Jack produced a large joint from the breast pocket of his jacket.

"Jesus, that is a fatty," Benny stated.

"Yeah," Jack said with a proud smile. "Northern Lights with a little skunk thrown in for good measure."

"The good shit, huh?"

"Only the best for my baby brother," Jack brought out a lighter and lit the end of the joint, inhaled, then passed it to Benny.

"I know it's kind of soon to bring this up," Jack said through smoke-filled lungs, "but, have you considered what you're going to do now? I mean whenever you're ready to start dating again, I know a lot of girls."

"I don't know, Jack. I don't think I'll ever be ready."

"Well, I know you feel that way now, but eventually you're going to want some companionship. There are a lot of girls out there, Benny. A lot of other chances for you to find love."

"That will never happen again," Benny said with certainty.

"What, love?" Jack asked. Benny nodded his head, "Man, I can't even remember how many women I've loved, or at least told I loved so I could get in their panties."

"I remember exactly how many it's been for me."

"Okay, how many?"

Benny took another drag off the joint, "Just one."

"For real?"

"Those three words are words I take very seriously, you know? I've had a lot of girlfriends and I've had sex with a few others as well, but I never felt love for any of them, so I never told any of them I loved them. Not until Autumn. With her it was easy to say because I meant it, I could really feel it. We had so much in common and I felt so lonely until she came along. Even when I was in other relationships, I always had this sense of crushing loneliness. I'm sure that sounds a little dramatic to you, like some Lifetime Movie of the Week shit, but I don't know how else to describe it. No, I know for a fact I will never love another woman."

Jack looked sternly back at Benny and said, "So, does that mean you like guys now?"

"No, you fucking idiot," Benny answered, giggling through his marijuana-induced buzz.

"I'm sorry, man," Jack returned, "That's cool. I envy you really. I sure as hell never felt that way about a woman. I guess that's true love."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Benny and Jack finished smoking the joint in silence as they watched the sky turn purple with the sunset until Benny finally stood up and spoke, "I gotta go, Jack."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going back to the house to get some clothes and stuff."

"All right. Are you going to stay with me again tonight?"

"Of course."

"Cool, you want me to go with you?"

"No, I'll be okay. Meet you back at your place later, okay?"

"That's cool. Hurry back, we'll watch Empire or Jedi before we go to bed."

"Count me in."

Benny walked into the house and found his father sitting by the fireplace.

"Hey, Dad, I'm going. I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for yelling earlier."

"That's okay, son," Frank's voice was gruff. "I'll be at the office later, if you need anything don't hesitate to give me a call."

Frank stood and walked Benny to the door.

"Thanks for everything, Dad."

"Don't mention it," The Old Man hugged his son and Benny thought it must have been years since he'd felt those large arms around him. "You know, Benny, sometimes part of being in love is watching someone die. I can't claim to know what lies beyond this life, but hopefully, we'll see them again."

"And who will watch me die?" Benny said seriously. "For that matter, who's going to watch you die?"

Frank shrugged, "Well, we still got each other."

A sharp laugh escaped Benny's mouth, the effects of the weed still lingering. "Yeah, I suppose we do."

"Drive carefully, son."

Benny walked out into the cool night air and climbed behind the wheel of his little black truck. He turned the key and waited for the CD in the stereo to start. The band was Bright Eyes. They were much more mellow than he was used to, but he liked them all the same.

"Man, I'm getting old," he said to himself. He shifted the gear stick into drive and went home for the last time.

Benny pulled into the driveway of his house and saw the Halloween decorations on the lawn. The things that once brought him so much joy now only caused a pang of sorrow in his chest. Out of the truck, he scanned the area, somewhat frightened that he would find Autumn's killer had returned to the scene and, at the same time, hoping he would find the fiend and catch him off guard.

Up to the front door, the gruesome memories of that night flashed into his mind with every step he took. Her limp body on the floor. The large pool of blood that surrounded her. A pause at the door to gather one last bit of courage, he tore the crime scene tape away and walked inside.

A hard breeze blew the leaves around the yard and Benny heard the old familiar creaks and moans the house always made, like the long-dead branches on an ancient oak tree. He remembered how those creaks and moans had often made Autumn feel uneasy in the middle of the night, causing her to move up against him while they were lying in bed. He remembered the warmth of her body, and how good it felt to wrap his arms around her, giving her every assurance that she was safe with him. He knew at that moment, if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he would be able to feel the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathed.

Oh, how he missed her.

Benny walked upstairs and into their bedroom, where they had made love on countless occasions. The room where they slept together. The room where she was killed. The bloodstain on the floor had faded slightly. The chalk outline, however, had not.

He looked away and walked to the closet. The door was already open and the chain to the attic dangled in front of him. He pulled the chain, reached up to catch the ladder as it slid down, and climbed up to find the beat-up old shoebox that had sat untouched for the entire five years they'd lived in the house. If Autumn would have known about the shoe box and its contents, she'd have never approved. Though it may have saved her life that night.

A few minutes later, he was back downstairs sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the box. Off with the lid, he pulled some tissue paper aside and reached in to grasp the butt. The gun felt heavy in his hand, but it calmed him. This was the remedy for all his pain. He picked up one bullet and loaded it into the chamber. Next, he placed the barrel against his temple and closed his eyes.

At that moment he heard a sound come from the front door. The creak of a floorboard.

"Hello?" Benny called.

No answer. Benny stood and looked down the hallway. A shadowy figure silhouetted against the open front doorway. His stomach turned and his heart raced.

Thumbing back the hammer on the gun, he asked with a shaky voice; "Who are you?"

The figure started to walk down the hall. Benny began to back up. The gun was halfway up in his hand. Ready to fire.

When the dark figure emerged from the shadows into the light of the kitchen, the revolver fell from Benny's hand and hit the floor with a dull clunk. All he could do was gape at her in stunned silence.

Though it was difficult, he swallowed and found the strength to utter her name.

"Autumn?"