“Margaret and Todd Sparberry, owners of ‘Sparky’s Bar and Grill’, passed away tragically on July 12th, 20...”
I continue reading the obituary, my eyes widening by the word. I take another sip of coffee, letting the sugary taste fill my mouth.
“...Both were hard workers and devout Christians. They founded and helped with the construction of the beloved Pigeonburg restaurant, ‘Sparky’s’. Their daughter, Tia, is set to continue running the restaurant, in her
parent’s honor.”
I look up in disbelief. Tia’s parents passed away 3 years ago, and I was never aware. All I can think of is Tia's parents going out of their way to visit me and my family when we'd stop by the restaurant. Even if it was a packed house, they always made a point to stop by.ow Tia must've felt.
“Blake, are you going to finish your food? I’m starting the dishes.”
I look up, interrupted by my train of thought to see Mom now facing me. She's already cleaned her plate and since replaced it with a suitcase.
“Sorry one second, I was reading Tia’s parent’s obituary. Thanks for saving it for me Mom, but why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Tia didn’t tell you?" Mom asks nonchalantly.
I lean back in the wooden kitchen chair. That’s the thing that perplexes me.
Tia never did.
This doesn't make sense.
Mom takes my empty plate away and begins rinsing it off.
"Your father and I are leaving for a business trip tomorrow."
"Where you guys going?" I ask, finally putting the obituary down. I grab my fork, taking a bite of leftovers from yesterday (vegetable soup).
"We've got a potential buyer for a few houses up north. One in Johnson City, and two in southern Kentucky."
Mom and Dad are nearly twenty years into the real estate game and have been thriving in it for as long as I can remember. I look over. Hung up on the fridge is the picture from Mom and Dad's first sale. A house down in Chattanooga, Tennessee. I was just a toddler wrapped up in blankets.
I finish another bite of soup, "Geez, how long you going to be gone?"
"Well, that's the kicker. Our business trip is bleeding right into a planned second honeymoon. Your father and I renewed our vows.
"Again?! How many times are you going to renew your vows??"
Mom rolls her eyes jokingly, "As many times as it takes to keep us happy Blake."
I groan, finishing my bowl of soup. Mom notices and grabs it as I lean back into the chair, rubbing my eyes. I’m much sorer from the fight yesterday, with bruises and batters spread across my body. My hands are a bright red and feel like an extremely intense sunburn. One of my eyes is now an ugly black and purple. The scar across my chest thankfully didn't bust open during the bout last night, but still feels like a streak of sharp pain across my chest. My hands are When I woke up, Mom gave me some medicine and patched up my face. She said it’ll heal soon, but God is gonna take his sweet time with it isn’t he? I stand up, stretching as much as I can. I’m having a hard time moving around, but I’ll manage.
“So, what are you up to tonight, Blake?” she asks, her back facing towards the sink.
“Tonight?” I look outside, seeing the faint sun bouncing off the faded autumn leaves. “Isn’t it morning?”
Mom tilts her head, giving me a stern look. “Blake, it's two in the afternoon. You slept for nearly fourteen hours.”
“Geez.” I groan, my bruised face falls into my hands. “I dunno. I’m gonna go to town today, see what’s new around town. Might hang out with Stevie for a bit.”
Mom stops what she’s doing and turns to face me.
“Just be home by eight or nine. I don't know when you're leaving for school again, but tonight's our only chance to eat as a family.
I feel my throat clamp up as Mom looks at me after saying that. Her eyes are full of an innocence to them. The innocence that her son is doing well in school. A glare that honestly, and truly believes her son is going back to school. That he's just 'stopping by for a weekend'.
"Ah-... Yeah."
I want to tell Mom, but I just can't bring myself to.
"You can take my car, but just please for the love of God do not wreck it.”
I don't move as Mom throws the keys towards me. They land on the table, sliding towards me.
“Thanks Mom.” I mutter, grabbing the keys with a guilty reach.
Mom had gotten herself a sleek blue sports car shortly after I graduated high school. Cranking it and hearing the loud engine purr fills me with a brief sense of satisfaction.
I pull out of the driveway, and head into good ole Pigeonburg, Tennessee.
* * *
Is it just me, or does Pigeonburg seem a bit smaller? I remember these buildings being spread out a lot more. To be fair though, Pigeonburg has always been a little valley town, surrounded by tall mountains. Pigeonburg was built right in a thumbprint inside the Great Smoky Mountains. It doesn’t matter what direction you look; you’ll see a mountain wall encasing the town. I haven’t been here in a long time, so maybe I just need to readjust. I park Mom’s car in the section where I spent the most time in my high school years-
Southeast Pigeonburg.
SE Pigeonburg was always my favorite place in town for the arcade, and the smaller nerd stores and such (action figures, comics etc.). It’s also where ‘Sparky’s Bar and Grill’ rests, right around the bottom right corner of town. I stare at the old wooden shack, and down the alleyway where the entrance lies. There’s a long thin pole attached to the side, with a junky looking satellite strung to the top.
Sparky’s has always been slightly tucked away in between the town courthouse, and a Peace Frog store. I’m kinda glad the place is closed right now though, because I don’t think I have the courage to walk in right now.
I glance up at the street light pumpkins. Below each pumpkin, is the classic Pigeonburg Halloween flag. A dark purple sky, and a black castle with a tacky looking “Happy Halloween” plastered in front of the background. Though, the flags aren’t quite as vibrant as I remember, and the pumpkins look a bit beaten up from bad weather. They both look about as dreary as the current fall-winter-overcast. My nostalgia still takes over though.
October in Pigeonburg has always been my favorite time and place of the year. With the leaves falling, and the thick hoodies. I loved going to high school football games, and watching whatever bad horror movie was coming out that year. The best parts though, have always been when the weather gets cold enough that me and my friends just start staying inside our homes, playing video games and watching anime. It’s a shame I never came back during my college years, but I’m glad to be back now.
It’s great to be home.
I begin my stroll down the sidewalk, hands in my pocket, and a youthful pep in my step. I’m excited to see the rest of town, but I’ve gotta run a quick errand.
My cheerful walk stops as soon as it begins, right in front of a flower shop. The entrance is a bit drab but walking inside I’m met with a barrage of color.
When I look at who’s behind the counter, I almost jump at the sight of her. She looks up at me, her bright eyes going wide. My eyes go wide too, as I didn’t expect to see my old English teacher here.
“Well Blake Autumn! It has been a minute, hasn’t it?”
I wave my hand at her, smiling at the friendly face.
“Hey Ms. Brianna, I left my homework at home again.” I say playfully, referring to an older joke between us.
Ms. Brianna chuckles, before shaking her head. Even though it’s been years since junior year English, she still has her youthful vigor, and that cool red leather jacket.
“Oh Blake, how many times do you think you used that excuse in my class? You silly goose.”
I laugh, rolling my eyes in return as I retort, “How many times did you call us silly gooses?”
“It’s geese.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I say ignoring her correction in a playful way.
“Any who, what can I get you today Mr. Autumn?”
* * *
The door to the bar slowly swings open, as I trample in. My feet drag across the wooden floor as I stumble into the bathroom. The sink turns on, and I begin washing my hands. The face in the mirror looks exhausted. Tired. The eyes are a strained red and cursed with bags just hanging below.
I look like garbage.
I throw some water on my pale face and get to work. The monotony begins again, as I throw my faded apron on. The warm lights above, as well as the neon signs behind the bar slowly flicker on as I begin prep work. I turn the TV on, where Channel 3 goes on about the fight last night. They’ve been talking about it all day.
I switch the channel before starting on my evening prep. Fruits get garnished, snack foods are layed out, glasses are cleaned, and so on. The repeating cycle continues for yet another day. Part of me is grateful, while the other is dreadful.
I just don’t know which to feel today.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
* * *
“Wait-...” I pause, looking around the myriads of colorful flowers. The colors are enough to cause a small seizure, with the number of vibrant flowers hanging around. But that’s exactly where my confusion lies.
“What are you doing working here?! Shouldn’t you be in school?!” I ask, crossing my arms.
Ms. Brianna looks up from the bouquet of flowers, giving me a paused and disheartened look before smiling gently.
“Well, the good thing is I still am teaching, just not as much.”
My brow furrows, as Ms. Brianna continues working.
“The school had a pretty big budget cut before the school year started, so I had to pick up an extra job.”
“Oh crap,” I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck.
“You don’t have to apologize, don’t worry.” she says, shaking her head.
"We're down to maybe a hundred fifty seniors? Ah, I can't recall."
My jaw drops to the floor, "A hundred and fi- What happened?!"
My graduating class immediately flashes in my head. If I remember correctly, it was just under three-fifty.
Mrs. Brianna sighs, smiling. “Sometimes life swings you for a loop y’know? But you soldier on. That's all you can do right?”
I rub my chin, more confused about it all than anything.
“There’s gotta be something you can do though, right? Doesn’t the school do a yearly fundraiser or something?”
“We did our annual bake sale back in August, but it only helped a little bit.” she says with a painful sincerity. As she finishes tying up the bouquet, Ms. Brianna smiles, observing her work.
“Despite everything that’s happened though, working here has given me a new hobby.” she points to a big unfinished banquet of flowers hanging up behind her. It’s massive, and a little less than halfway covered in a combination of red and green that just pops.
“I’m making this one for my little girl, Delilah. She always begs me to bring flowers home for her, so she’ll enjoy it, don't you think?”
I nod, smiling at the sight, “Yeah, she’ll love it.” I remember when Mrs. Brianna had to leave mid-lesson to give birth, and chuckle at the memory. Still, her words ring in the back of my mind in a sour way.
“What did you mean by ‘everything that’s happened’?” I ask, backtracking to what she said moments ago.
Ms. Brianna’s eyes trail off as she just sits there thinking. She doesn’t say a word, only giving me a strange look. Eventually she looks back at me, her hands going behind her back.
“Well, in addition to the school, a lot of Pigeonburg has gone into a bit of a financial slump. We haven’t seen a good number of tourists in a while, and because of that a lot of people here have suffered. Lotta folks ended up moving on, finding somewhere else to make a living.
Ms. Brianna zips up her red leather jacket and readjust the bow on her head.
“I think I’m gonna go and get me some lunch, so I’ll have to walk you out Blake. Those flowers of yours are on me by the way, forgot to mention that.” I don’t say anything as I follow her out.
“Take care Blake, and as a word of advice try not to get into any more fights alright?” Ms. Brianna says with a chuckle.
I nod again, and we go our separate ways. Turning back to the town in front of me, I feel my heart sting in disappointment.
* * *
I collapse onto the bar, falling onto my forearm. I’m already melting away, despite the long afternoon ahead of me. It doesn’t help that I don’t normally sleep much. Nevertheless, I exhale before preparing my own meal- A small cup of chicken noodle soup, and a warm french vanilla coffee to drink.
I started keeping kitchen supplies here for this kind of thing- a hot plate, a small microwave, that kind of thing. The weather outside has begun to grow colder and more bitter, so having something hot to eat helps to keep me warm.
While the soup water boils, I turn on the espresso machine behind the bar. It’s not a good one. It’s old, busted up, and barely functional, but the price on Ebay was too good to pass up. As the starch liquid of the pressed coffee pours into the mug, I’ve already started on mixing the dry ingredients- a bit of sugar, and vanilla extract.
Once the water is at a boil, I add the creamy noodle mix and serve it in a spare mug. The espresso is mixed with some microwaved milk, as well as the dry ingredients. It’s a slightly pitiful meal- two mugs filled with food. But, it gets the job done at warming me up.
I feel the smoke of the soup grazing my lips as I go to take a sip, but nearly choke as I glance out my window, seeing him. Panicked, I rush to throw the blinds down. I gently peak through the shades, careful not to make any sudden moves.
He's across the street looking around. I find my eyes trailing to his face. The bushy brown hair, the rounded cheeks, the scar on the upper lip, and the somewhat big nose.
It is no doubt, Blake Autumn.
Though the face is covered in bruises, and a black eye, it’s one I’ve known for most of my life. One that I’ve seen change from young naive boy to older, naiver young adult.
For a moment, I feel something. A worrying feeling for his well-being. It quickly grabs my heart, yanking it around like a chew toy.
A flurry of memories floods my mind. Warm, fuzzy thoughts of before he left for college. Much simpler times.
But bad memories soon follow. I’m reminded of the countless doctor’s visits, the sick days, and the burning anger of it all.
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away. My brain has spit the chew toy of emotions out, leaving it to rot in the cold. I turn away from the window, returning to the bar. I’ve gotta finish opening up.
Approaching the front doors, I unlock them before flipping on the switch for the outside sign. The aged ‘Sparky’s’ sign slowly flickers on. The bright, highlighter yellow fights with the dreary overcast of the day.
I return to the bar and turn on the small tabletop jukebox behind. The lights flick on in a swift motion. I smile. I’ve always enjoyed this part of opening up. I glance through the various playlists I have on my phone, until I eventually land on the one, I use most often- ‘Sparky’s Bar Playlist’.
The soothing sounds of a jazz song begin playing, and I find myself relieved.
Somehow, I’m ready to start the long night ahead.
* * *
Walking down the street, my eyes drift around, observing the buildings around me.
It seems like everywhere I look things are different. A lot of the buildings that once housed small businesses are now abandoned, left to crumble alone.
The colors have faded, and the walls are covered in moss and grime. The thing that really sours my mood though, is the arcade being closed down. That, and the comic book shop next to it were owned by the same guy, Mr. Jackson, and according to the note on the door he's moved away.
I hop back in Mom’s car, moving on uphill to Northeast Pigeonburg.
Once I'm up the hill, I stop in front of Pigeonburg Central High School. My former school still looks like the old, ragged place it was when I went there, but the only real difference is that someone vandalized the statuette of the school’s mascot.
I will never understand why the school went with a Box Turtle as the thing to represent our team spirit. I will also never understand why I loved it. Timmy the giant, now bright blue, turtle now stands over what’s left of Pigeonburg’s Entertainment district. Timmy seems devoid of emotion, as his lifeless eyes stare out into nothing.
Me too Timmy.
Continuing my drive, the radio station is still open, but the small press office has long been abandoned. ‘The Daily Highlander - Pigeonburg's Daily Paper’ is no longer in print. The dead space where the drive-in used to be is now a huge patch of dirt. I move onto the next spot. Mrs. Brianna’s words start to echo in my head again. The rose-tinted glasses I had on rolling into town have fallen off, shattering into a million pieces.
There’s gotta be more open right?
* * *
Nope.
Most of the fine dining restaurants of Northeast Pigeonburg
have been abandoned, and the buildings remain on par with the rest of the town. The Stargaze Mall has been stripped bear with most name brand places gone, leaving a small seedy bakery, the Chinese place I used to eat at, and a vape shop that smells funny when you walk near it. I found myself just looking at the river more than anything. It’s huge, running across the northeast side of the small town. Just across the bridge and up the hill is ‘Mercury’s Fireworks Surplus’, as well as the actual entrance into town.
I can see the back of the welcome sign from here in all its pitiful glory.
The only area that seems to be doing relatively well is SW Pigeonburg, but that’s only because that’s where the houses begin, before bleeding into the southern forests below where most of the people live. For sale signs seem to dot the occasional house.
Some other businesses around are still open though. ‘Mercury’s Fireworks Surplus’, the large store atop the northeast mountain face, is operating with limited stock. Me and my family always shopped there for the Fourth of July. Plus, the southeast Skylift, and small-scale Space Needle are open. Still, they look run-down. I didn’t go on either, but apparently the ride fees have dropped to mere single digits. The flower shop, the ‘Snack Falcon’, ‘Shimishake’s Shake Shack and Cafe’, and a few other small-end places are still open, but they too seem to be on the rough end of things, especially the family-owned businesses. The few that remain look rough. Even with these few places open, it’s not the same. It feels like every aspect of my childhood home has been dissected out, leaving the husk of a quaint tourist town.
The once crowded streets of tourists are now barren, full of no one. I somewhat expect a tumbleweed to roll across the roads of this ghost of the mountains. This place is not the Pigeonburg I remember. It’s not the Pigeonburg I grew up with.
This depressing attitude lingers over me as I make my way out of downtown, and to the southern outskirts, where the old cemetery is.
Grabbing the flowers, I begin my search for Tia's parents.
* * *
Todd and Margret Sparberry
Sept. 4th, 1960 - Jul. -th.., 20-…
Jan. 1..th, 1965- Jul. -...
There’s a collection of large dirt smudges, covering parts of the marble headstone. In fact, the grave as a whole is in pretty rough shape. I brush away the dead leaves, and wipe away the
smudges of dirt. I then take the bouquet of flowers and place them in front of the marble headstone.
I take a long moment of silence, paying my respects…
I turn around, looking down at the town below me. I just stand here, staring. The wind whistles around me as leaves blow by. It's eerie up here, being alone and surrounded graves.
My journey through this small mountain town has left me more disappointed than anything. This place has turned into a dry, disheveled apocalyptic wasteland It’s all just a mess of colors and abandoned buildings. The worst part though, is the emptiness. The streets were devoid of any life, any people, except some few locals. I’m starting to realize the more I stand here in this barren cemetery, but this lonely feeling is a lot more familiar than I initially realized. It’s crept on me all day, but right now all its reminding me of is one thing.
College.
After almost two years of struggling to keep my studies afloat. Of trying to make it work. It all fell apart in the end. All I could do is say maybe tomorrow will be better, but no. No no, it was just a constant loop. Turn in an assignment, get another one, then another one. More projects pile on my desk. Let me change my major. I wanna do this, I wanna do that. An abusive cycle I couldn't crawl out of.
It made me miss home, but this isn't home. This isn't Pigeonburg.
I reach in my pocket, grabbing my phone as I push the thought out of my head. I need something recognizable.
I need something from home, my home.
Something familiar.
“So, we’re finally gonna get to see drunk Blake again, aren’t we?!” Stevie asks excitedly.
“Probably not tonight, Stevie. I just want to relax.”
“Sounds good! Work was a pain today anyways. Meet ya there!”
The phone call abruptly ends. I turn around, giving the grave one last look.
The vibrant orange and yellow sunset fades away as I make my way back into the small mountain town, heading towards Sparky’s Bar and Grill.