Most of the houses in Otter Lake were situated along a single street, Burnett Street. It was about a quarter mile long and separated into chunks of darkness by two dim shaded street lights. The houses were of a basic, unadorned design, averaging a thousand square feet of floor space and only a few had more than one story. Time had given these once proud hand-crafted structures a slightly tattered look. Nothing seemed newer than the 1950s but, decades of vinyl siding and other affordable “modern improvements” hid their real age. Almost every house was white with white trim. Each building was the story of a time and a person, and like the artifacts at an auction, important only if someone cared.
As Travis walked slowly down the street the cold seeped off the broken sidewalk through the soles of his shoes. Light showed in a few scattered windows. He wondered if there was someone in there or did the light guard empty space. Otter Lake at 5:30 AM was deathly quiet.
Nestled in a dark stretch of Burnett Street, dwarfed by the winter skeletons of large oak trees, was a rectangular stone church. Although of modest proportions, it still looked large enough to hold the entire town. Unlike the casual house exteriors, this church was lovingly maintained and had a subtle eloquence. A planter box shown through the vestibule window to the left of the fan shaped front steps. The shadow of a small light made the flowers appear black. The church entrance was a dark wood double door with a pointed Gothic arch, black iron fittings and carved detail. He stopped and walked up the steps. The latch moved easily and without really thinking he stepped inside.
It was warm. There were dimly lit scones along the walls. It was almost like he was expected. The interior was a pale cream color with a pleasant dark wood trim. Traditional arched stained glass windows filled the outside walls. The cathedral ceiling was just tall enough to be impressive, but low enough to maintain an intimate space. The ceiling came down to form a plaster dome recess over the altar.
Travis instantly loved this place. Mesmerized, he sat on the brown cloth cushion of a rear pew. An irrational joy flooded over him. For an instant he thought maybe it was the grace of God, then it didn't matter. His thinking became incredibly clear. His ears were filled with the roar of quiet. The edges of his vision closed in with a white haze. Suddenly he had a focus and purpose. He was home. He knew it. Ten minutes he sat there in an ever growing ecstasy, and then it was over.
Travis stood up and walked to the front entrance as if directed. As he stepped outside a Sheriffs car slowly cruised by. He froze. But the car just kept moving past. He thought he could make out the deputy nodding at him.
Travis stood at the Cafe’s door without any memory of getting there. He already doubted what had just happened and would have been willing to dismiss it altogether except for the lingering glow.
The old couple was gone now and a dozen other people had replaced them. He sat in the corner and looked out the front window. Candy poured a cup of coffee. It smelled good. He was happy.
As Travis walked slowly down the street the cold seeped off the broken sidewalk through the soles of his shoes. Light showed in a few scattered windows. He wondered if there was someone in there or did the light guard empty space. Otter Lake at 5:30 AM was deathly quiet.
Nestled in a dark stretch of Burnett Street, dwarfed by the winter skeletons of large oak trees, was a rectangular stone church. Although of modest proportions, it still looked large enough to hold the entire town. Unlike the casual house exteriors, this church was lovingly maintained and had a subtle eloquence. A planter box shown through the vestibule window to the left of the fan shaped front steps. The shadow of a small light made the flowers appear black. The church entrance was a dark wood double door with a pointed Gothic arch, black iron fittings and carved detail. He stopped and walked up the steps. The latch moved easily and without really thinking he stepped inside.
It was warm. There were dimly lit scones along the walls. It was almost like he was expected. The interior was a pale cream color with a pleasant dark wood trim. Traditional arched stained glass windows filled the outside walls. The cathedral ceiling was just tall enough to be impressive, but low enough to maintain an intimate space. The ceiling came down to form a plaster dome recess over the altar.
Travis instantly loved this place. Mesmerized, he sat on the brown cloth cushion of a rear pew. An irrational joy flooded over him. For an instant he thought maybe it was the grace of God, then it didn't matter. His thinking became incredibly clear. His ears were filled with the roar of quiet. The edges of his vision closed in with a white haze. Suddenly he had a focus and purpose. He was home. He knew it. Ten minutes he sat there in an ever growing ecstasy, and then it was over.
Travis stood up and walked to the front entrance as if directed. As he stepped outside a Sheriffs car slowly cruised by. He froze. But the car just kept moving past. He thought he could make out the deputy nodding at him.
Travis stood at the Cafe’s door without any memory of getting there. He already doubted what had just happened and would have been willing to dismiss it altogether except for the lingering glow.
The old couple was gone now and a dozen other people had replaced them. He sat in the corner and looked out the front window. Candy poured a cup of coffee. It smelled good. He was happy.
No comments:
Post a Comment