Kickapoo Juice

The stars in the night’s sky have never shone as bright as since that night they tap danced across the pond's blackened ice. Sparkling and spinning mirror balls casting light in the dim night, the constellations dazzled but she closed her eyes. She recalled his scent securing its imprint in her bank of memory. He wore cologne that suggested mystery and debonair but revealed the back woods, nature loving country boy for whom he was reared. He was all of the above plus. The patriarch of the family was admired by all and hundreds arrived from near and far to pay their respects. She was a proud granddaughter and a grieving granddaughter. The air was crisp and nipped at her nose urging for her to return to the warmth in the home. Shivering in the cold, she took one last look at the frozen mass that once was a vibrant pond that grew into a lake and made the decision to go inside and engage.

The pine scent hung heavy and pungent in the air swallowing her whole as she stood there. She played with the sticky sap that was caught between her fingers much like her memories caught up in their lingering. The house could wait. It was modest but made with quality. Much of it was hand built by her grandfather. He, positioned in the middle, brought along his brother, residing to the east, and age old friends, bookended on the west. It was the perfect get away home. She decided she could spend all night out there, alone with her thoughts. He was a great granddad and didn’t deserve that harsh ending. Agent Orange, they said. WTF, she thought. War always returned to haunt the already haunted. He never spoke of the war. Most didn’t, she figured. It was hard not to romanticize those times when she gazed at the black and white photos of her Papa. Handsome and arm in arm with his fellow air force brothers, they grinned broadly while posing with their airplanes. But there was nothing romantic about their cancer, the last of their baggage that showed up much later.

Her grandmother would go on to live another 30 years on her own. She would never remarry or even date another. He was her first and only. He was the breadwinner and the center of the universe in the eyes of all their children to boot. She was the guts, however. She provided and processed everything. Without her, nothing would function. She was quiet and kind and underappreciated. He had her on a strict allowance her whole life. He was successful but so very thrifty and when the dust settled, those pinched pennies had turned into millions. Afterwards, her checkbook became the central figure in their lives. Obsessed with money yet having none of their own, they paid her frequent visits that were fueled by alterior intentions. She knew it but kept quiet. She was happy to give. After years on the side lines, it was finally her time to shine.

Back before innocence left on the last train, there were summers filled with laughter and cousins cavorting on their lake. Telling tall tales of children chompin’ gators became a favorite past time and soft ball games between neighbors fostered traditions to keep alive. The ages coincided and worked out perfectly, as the cousins were close like siblings. They were generations of lake dwellers with country roots in city dwellings. Some made it big out there in the world while others just turned green. Papa set the bar high. He was a perfect mix of gentleman, country boy, prankster and businessman. He packed a pipe and played the piano just as good as he picked a guitar. He knew the blues and loved country and taught us all to drive a car. Riding in his truck on the way to the dump was as coveted a trip as a flight to a far away land. He flew all kinds of planes and went hunting with his collection of guns. But her grandmother confessed to her much later, that he secretly hated killing animals but went anyway so his friends would never know. He owned several businesses and golfed as well. He was a constant source of laughter but was strict with his belt. It was evident that day at the funeral how much loved he was by all. And that frost bitten night, they would gather at the lake. They would laugh and cry and honor his memory with not so secret swigs from his jug of "kickapoo juice" moonshine.

That night the stars were alive and were as wondrous of a welcome for which he could have wished. He would take Heaven for a ride and be assigned his Angel wings. He would stay busy as an Angel especially with her wild life. Yet she would be none the wiser of the gifts he had in store. A whole life ahead of her with her own personal protector. He would save her life several times and each time she would know. She would thank him on tops of mountains with promises of personal growth. He lived an outstanding life but she would fall shy. Her tears froze on the lake that night and those stars danced on dazzling, until her teardrops dried.

She would give him one gift back, however, it would be the best she could do. When his wife no longer walked and all the others tried to pass the buck, she was happy to take her in and spend hours listening to her life. There were stories of their courtship, her childhood on Georgia hills, her travels, bowling leagues and favorite consignment shops, as well as her ills. She would clean her tenderly and place her newborn on her withered chest. She would put on old Merle Haggard and play along when her mind left. They would become the best of friends and she would be there in the end. The woman who made it all happen would be doted on and loved and pampered.

One last look at their lake, she had no idea they would sell it. There was time for one last awesome gaze at that star-laced glass. Beneath that thick layer of ice, lifetimes of memories were cast, locked away and frozen, safe and sound, at last. She made her way towards the warm glow of the home to remember a legend and pay homage to a life's past.