above of great wings taking flight, he cried out for the river to hear, his voice booming through the darkening night: “If it takes all I have and if it means I will never be found, then so be it! For my family, for my son, into this river I drown!”
michael’s sign
All over town, the flyers read:
THE ROSELAND CHAMBER OF COMMERCE PROUDLY PRESENTS
The52nd ANNUAL
JUMP INTO SUMMER FESTIVAL MAY19, 2012
MUSIC~FOOD~CRAFTS~GAMES LOCAL BAND THE WAYWARD BOYS AT 6PM! PREPARE TO JUMP INTO SUMMER!!!
The morning of the festival dawns cloudy and gray, with a promise of rain later in
the afternoon that could put a damper on the festivities. A buzz spreads through town, like it does every festival, but it’s muted compared to years past. What if it rains? some in the town are asking. What are we going to do if it rains? They try to think back to other festivals, if there was a time when a spring rainstorm had fallen on the day of. No one can seem to remember any rainouts. Mid-May is usually a drier time, full of sunshine and blossoming flowers and bees buzzing lazily.
Of course, weather contingencies have been in place for years, just in case. Mayor Walken goes on the local AM radio station morning show (Terry In The Mornings!) to reassure Roselandians that the show will go on regardless. Why, he spoke to Pastor Thomas Landeros of Our Mother of Sorrows just this morning, and the pastor assured him the church would be opened up and the pews cleared out of the way so people could set up their tables for the food and crafts. As planned, the festival will take place at the end of Poplar Street opposite the gas station, in front of said church, as it has for the past twenty years. It will be just like God is there with us, he says in that politician’s voice of his, earnest and soothing. And the Shriner’s Grange is only a short walk down a stone path from the church. Any overflow can be set up in there, and The Wayward Boys will be able to play their brand of bluegrass folksy twang inside as well. It’ll be fine, he says. We’ll pray that the rain stays away, at least until Sunday. If it doesn’t, the emergency plan has always been to gather at the church anyway, as it’s set up on a hill, higher than the rest of the town. Surely safe from any flood waters, should they come.
And should they come, he says, Roseland will be ready. Heavy bags filled with sand have already been pulled from the town’s storage in case they’re needed to block the river. He knows, he says with certainty in his voice, that everyone will be willing to lend a hand, should it come down to it. After all, Roseland is the greatest little town in the world, and its people always want to help out their neighbors. It’s times like these that we remember just how wonderful Roseland really is. With that, he signs off and Terry In The Morning switches over to sports and weren’t the Trail Blazers just so close to getting into the NBA Finals this year? Interim Coach Canales certainly rocked this season out!
Abe turns off the tiny radio I’d pulled out from the back office. “The greatest little town in the world?” he says. “Walken sure knows how to spin it, doesn’t he?”
I shrug as I look out the front of the store. The gray clouds are thick, looking as if they’re stacked on top of each other, growing darker as they rise in the sky. The wind is starting to pick up, and an errant festival flyer blows down the center of Poplar Street. Peals of thunder echo down the mountains, but the sound is faint and doesn’t seem to be getting any closer or louder. Not yet. We’ll be closing the store at noon (as is tradition—Big Eddie was a big fan of the festival and often sat on the planning committee) and then heading over to help my mom finish setting up her table and bring in all her pies and cakes. She and the Trio are still up at Big House, churning out last-minute cookies and cupcakes in a furious cloud of flour and panic.
It seems oddly domestic and normal, especially given what we now know about the way the world works. It’s been just under a week since Michael knocked on the door and