Life With A Werewolf

Down Memory Lane Part 1

          We had been into the trip for about a day when the fight started. The fight had come out of no where, and felt like it was a big one. A dam of emotion that was holding back so much wreckage had finally broken free, and we couldn't help but be swept away by it.
          The first day was filled with friendly banter between us three. Jokes and jabs filled the old Cadillac as much as song lyrics. Elouise taught us some newer country songs and old rap tunes neither of us had known. Crash and I taught her a few rock songs he hadn't heard before. Before long, we all three where rocking and swaying along with the beat in the car, belting out lyrics till we were nearly hoarse, each one of us feeling fifteen years younger.
          Somewhere in Tennessee, where the mountains broke into their picturesque vistas painted with the setting suns delicate brush, an argument had begun about who was the stronger mythical: gator or wolf. This contest of course had to be settled. So, we were off on our first detour, chasing down frozen watermelons. Cause, according to both, they were the cheapest and best proximity to the density of a human human head one can find without having human heads.
          "Why don't we have a contest we can all participate in," I grumbled as the detour entered its second hour.
          "Why sugah, you can always volunteer as the test subject," Elouise smirked.
          "Just brush your teeth first," I shrugged. "Gator breath will kill me before the bite will." That earned me a punch in the arm. But she did laugh.
          We ended up around one in the morning in a town near the Tennessee border, a town I've been told to not reveal the name of. This town made Crash gasp. "We're staying here for a day," he said. Then it was off to find a hotel or motel for the night.
          Motels are always iffy and never on my first or second or even third choice of accommodations. For me, a motel ranks right above sleeping on the street and below sleeping in your car. At that motel we had chosen last night, the rats and roaches took the room charges for us, carried our luggage and demanded a tip. Dust and neglect needed to be evicted from the room before we could settle down. Though, at least the mold had been kept to a single corner in the shower.
          To be fair, I had stayed in worse places. At least that Motel had a complete roof. Some places I'd stayed in I could literally sleep under the stars if the bed was in the right spot. It had a bed that didn't squeak too much, a shower that at least had hot water, and clean sheets. There was a breakfast buffet too, but none of us wanted to brave it.
          Elouise summed up our feelings best when she said "Whatever the hell they made in there will probably come bursting out of our chests like in that damn alien movie."
          We wove through town, searching for breakfast, and still hunting for frozen watermelons. Or just a place we could rent with a freezer to freeze them. The large Cadillac rolled slow, as it rolled back in time for Crash.
          He didn't see a small town with it's people, pleasures and problems. He saw a life once lived. Large trees and old houses held the shadows of memories running across their lawns. Friendly faces who had long ago grown up, moved away, or just died out came alive. "I lived here three years," he exclaimed. "Then we had to move again."
          He told us tales, many of which I agreed to keep out of the blog. Tales of friends, of meeting neighbors. When we came to the town square, he pulled the Cadillac to a stop near an old building that looked as if it had been bought by a couple of old hippies and turned into an herbal shop. Large plants hung over the windows, and a vine of some kind was allowed to grow wild over the wall of the old gas station. The two rusty old pumps sat out front, but in the globes where gasoline had once been there was now an atrium of some kind built. The small grass and flowers grew up while the top was covered in moisture, pulling the drops down into it.
          "This used to be an old cafe," Crash said. "Me and Damien, we'd come here after school." The memory grew dark for him for some reason. I didn't ask him why. I put a hand on his shoulder, while Elouise pulled him into a soft hug.
          "Damien, he had this way. I didn't know how he did it, but every day he'd come here, and he'd get us free sodas. Sometimes he'd talk the owner into a slice of pie too, though, that wasn't often."
          He smiled into the memory a bit, and you could see his eyes chasing shadows of himself and Damien across the old cafe. "Come on," Crash said, after a moment breaking from the memory. "I got someone I want y'all to meet."
          The road wound through the mountain, passing by old businesses and new. The prefab pop up construction of corrugated steel and the old wood and brick. As we wound by a Wal-Mart, we crested a hill and dove down, towards a large old church, with an older cemetery.
          Crash walked us both up the hill, towards a very old Grave. I promised not to reveal where the grave is or what is written on it, but I can reveal what was printed on it. On the tombstone of the couple in eternal slumber, one had a wolf sitting over her, as if it was in mourning under a moonlit night. The other had an old engraving of a cross. Between them was the words "Vengeance does not live here."
          "This," Crash said. "Is my grandmother, and grandfather. They founded this town. It was founded on a simple promise. The wars of Europe does not come to this place."
          We stared at the grave stone a while, letting the somberness settle upon us like a warm hug. The breeze blew gentle through the tree in the distance shading the cemetery. Eventually, Elouise asked, "Why the slogan? Vengeance does not live here?"
          "Because," Crash said. "My family suffered the most during the civil wars in Europe. When she came back here, refugees from both sides settled in. The fighting, well, it could have easily sparked right back up. And instead of the peace everyone was searching for, we'd have the same old wars, just on new shores."
          "Very poetic, dude," I said.
          Crash gave me a look, then continued. "They fought with that singular promise. That this community could be a place of peace no matter where you came from, what your lineage was, or your species. That everyone could find a home."
          The words written in stone held a promise of some kind and a wisdom. The cryptic message hiding a greater truth from our very souls. As we left the cemetery, the thought of lunch came up. Crash had known this diner on the edge of town, where him and Damien had apparently had plenty of meals as kids. We were in good spirits when we approached, the laughter suspended in air with our teasing.
          "You gonna ask for a pound of meat this time," I nudged crash.
          "Heck, I'm gonna ask for two," Elouise smirked.
          I couldn't help it, I had to say it. "You gonna do a couple laps in the pool first, and have them toss it at you?"
          She punched me in the arm then. That girl can hit. The fist seemed to find the bone in the right spot to make me cry out in pain. Crash laughed at my joke, and the punch.
          "If you do, I'll get my meal in a doggie bowl."
          The smile and bravado on him stopped the moment he opened the door to the diner. Sitting in the back in a corner booth with his wife and two kids was some unassuming guy. No one I'd ever seen before. He looked to be the polo shirts and driving range type of person. In the military they'd be 'the soft spoken church on Sunday and NCO club or Officer's club on Friday night' type of person. A growl built up in Crash's throat at his sight.
          Elouise's hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of the diner. "I don't know what the hell you're lookin at, but if'n you wolf out here, we're all cooked." For a moment, Crash looked as if he was going to shuck her hand and fight the guy anyway. But eventually, he pulled back, storming off to the edge of the parking lot and glared at the front door of the diner.
          I stood in front of him. "Talk."
          Crash looked between the two of us. "That guy is responsible for the death of my best friend. A werewolf. He's nobility. And he doesn't belong here."
          Elouise crossed her arms, and stood on her back foot. A look I've come to know as meaning you're in trouble. "Oh really now? What the hell happened to 'vengeance don't live here' and all that bullshit?"
          "It'd be a mistake," I told Crash.
          "Killing him would be retribution," Crash snarled. "You weren't there. That asshole tore his head off, clear off his shoulders, in front of all of us. None of us attacked. None of us was going to attack. He died because of who his parents were."
          Elouise spat back "Yeah? That sure as hell sounds like vengeance to me. But what do I know?"
          He snapped back, his fingernails looking more like claws. "Nothing! Cause you're not a wolf!"
          The glare between the two of them could have frozen the sun. She finally snarled "You're right. I'm not." Storming off, she grabbed her bag from the back of his Cadillac, and then got on the phone to call an Uber.
          I turned to Crash. "You know I'll back your play. But, maybe this is a bad idea. We came down here to get away from this shit for a few days. What say we blow the nostalgia tour and head to the beach?"
          "No," Crash snarled. "He's dying before I leave here. Either your helping, or your walking."
          He stormed away, leaving me stunned. I'd never seen Crash this upset at one person before. Something terrible had happened, a terrible thing he'd harbored a secret grudge for all these years. Me, nor Elouise knew how to stop him. And I wasn't even sure if she wanted to try.