The City of Rossford

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

This is sort of a dark book, and an explanation is owed. The time of its writing was during what seemed a time of darkness both for me and for the world. I was going through a great depression, but it seemed the country was too. We had elected a President we thought was going to change the world, and no head of state can ever do that. I had put my faith in democracy and liberalism and it had fallen flat. I was waiting for the new world, and the new world did not come, not to mention my living situation was awful.

Violence was up, here in South Bend. The University of Notre Dame was home to several rapes and several suicides, young people disappearing and losing all hope. This story is dedicated to two of those people. In Illinois and on the other side of the country the strange phenomenon of copycat suicides had begun, young people showing up to places where other young people had killed themselves, and repeating the trauma.

It seemed like things could be no worse. This was before a Trump presidency or a two year pandemic. We had not discovered how powerful or how resilient we are, and I had to deal with it someway, to speak to what was happening in some manner, and so I wrote The City of Rossford which is dark and often sad, but where our heroes find their way to the light at the end, even if it requires they make it themselves. May you do the same.

In memory of Lizzy Seeberg, Sean Valero and other young people who were compelled to take a long journey from which they cannot return.

They were all yawning as Meredith’s car rolled up in front of the two storey with the large front porch. One dim light was on in the living room and could be seen through the porch swing.

“Well, here you go,” she said.

From the backseat, Sheridan leaned over and told Mathan and Meredith, “I love you guys. You all know that, right?”

“Oh, God,” Meredith groaned.

“No, don’t do that, Mare,” Sheridan said. “I just love you guys so much, and we’ve gotta stick together, you know?”

“Good night, Sheridan.”

On impulse Sheridan reached around the seats and awkwardly hugged Mathan and Meredith.

“We love you too,” Mathan said, at last, and Sheridan let him out of his grip.

At the house, the front door opened, and the outline of a woman in a housecoat could be seen.

“See, your mom’ll wonder what the hell we’ve done with you if we don’t let you out,” Meredith said.

“You guys going to school tomorrow?” Sheridan asked, touching the door handle.

“I’m going to the hospital,” Meredith said. “And then there’s Thanksgiving.”

“Right… Well,” Sheridan said. “I guess the wedding. We’ll see each other at the wedding for sure?”

Mathan thought that Meredith, who couldn’t help herself, was being obtuse and couldn’t understand Sheridan’s need for them right now.

“You’ll see us before the wedding,” Mathan said. “You know that. Come to the house on Thursday. Plus… there may not be a wedding if your brother has anything to say about it.”

“I’ve talked to him, and he promises to be good,” Sheridan said.

“Your poor mom, Sher,” Chay said, gesturing to the woman who had gone inside, but could be seen on the other side of the door.

“Alright,” Sheridan said.

Sheridan wrapped his arm around Chay and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Little Brother,” and then he climbed out of the car and rounded it, going up the walk.

“And now for you, Chay,” Meredith said, driving down the street. Sheridan lived in the neighborhood of large old houses south of Dorr and west of downtown, what Meredith’s family referred to as Saint Agatha’s country.When they crossed South Main they were in Saint Barbara’s Country and Meredith felt like it was home. They went past Grandma’s house and now they were on Regency Street with its long porched bungalows, some of them with the dormer lights still on, and they pulled up in front of a bungalow Meredith had known for years, yellow in daylight with a brick porch and a little light on that spoke of comfort and happiness and made her want to get to her own home as soon as possible.

“Here you go, Chay. You have a good night.”

Mathan reached back and clapped him on the shoulder. Chay climbed out.

“Chay,” Meredith called.

He came to the driver’s side and stuck his head in the window.

Meredith kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said.

She shrugged.

“Someone’s got to be.”

Chay grinned and headed up the little walk. He was surprised, but shouldn’t have been, that the deeply polished old oak door his father had restored—with a new brass knocker—was unlocked. It was so normal and so unafraid after such a fearful night.

“Well, I guess that means I can go to bed,” a man who seemed both too young and too black to be Chay’s father said, folding his paper and tapping his brass rimmed spectacles.

“I’m glad to be home,” Chay said, putting down his bag.

“Your father is upstairs on pins and needles worried about you.”

Chay chuckled as he headed up the staircase.

“What?”

“My father telling me how worried my father is about me!”

“Don’t you love being the adopted child of a gay couple?”

His father was already getting up to turn off the lights while Chay, coming upstairs, called, “Dad?”

Out of his room, taking off the black rimmed spectacles that aged him by about ten years, came someone who looked more like Chay’s older brother than his father.

“Chay Riley Lewis! You could have called.”

“I did call!”

“Hours ago. I worry,” his father embraced him.

“James, comes to bed,” he shouted.

“Chay, ever since I heard the news…” Chay’s father held him back and shook his head.

James had come upstairs and was shaking his head, “Noah Riley,” he told the other man who was chiding Chay, “You’re dangerously close to becoming a smothering parent.”

Meredith lay with the sun red in her eyelids, contemplating getting out of bed, and then she knew she had to pee too, so it was all over no matter how badly she wanted to pretend she was still asleep. After that came the long purgatory with one foot in and the other out of the Land of Nod where she thought, I am getting up now… I’m getting up now. I’m going. I’m going…. Right now.

Why did it have to be like this? Couldn’t there be a better way? Couldn’t she wear a diaper? And if she could wear a diaper, then couldn’t she learn to have the nerve to just use it, just use it and go back to sleep? And after all, didn’t they have that dry weave stuff she’d seen on the commercials? Or was that maxi pads? Or did they both have it? A life where you couldn’t feel piss or menstrual blood. Sleep. Stinging. The giraffe… Stinging… A pink giraffe, with a maxi pad for a neck… How… oh, dear.

“Get up!” Meredith said, and pushed herself up. Worse than waking up having to pee, was falling back into sleep and dreaming half dreams with a full bladder. She blinked when she realized that she was, in fact, not in bed. She was on a let out sofa, a remarkably comfortable let out, and she looked all around the living room.

“Well, well the dead has arisen!”

Meredith blinked.

“Julian?”

“You look like you don’t remember where you are.”

“I remember now. What’s that smell? It smells so good. God, I have to pee.”

“Well, you know where the bathroom is,” Julian Lawden said as Meredith headed out of the living room with its large front windows, that looked onto the street below.

As Meredith was coming down the hall, Claire was coming in the other direction, her red hair in a ponytail.

“You’re up,” she said to Meredith. “Well, you can go right back to bed. I was just waking up to cook breakfast for later. I wanted to get this recipe right.”

“I’m kind of hungry,” Meredith admitted, her head sticking out of the bathroom door.

“Well, when you finish up what you’re doing you can try it, and then maybe a cup of coffee if you want. I know you didn’t plan on going to school today.”

The toilet flushed, the faucet was running. Meredith opened the door, her blond hair hanging in her face.

“No, and I may never go back again.”

She shut off the water and dried her hands.

“I forgot I slept here last night.”

“It was almost two when you dropped Mathan off,” Julian said, joining Claire at the door. Meredith looked at their matching wedding bands, one on the long brown hand, the other on a white hand like hers. The Lawdens. Would that be she and Mathan Alexander one day?

“We couldn’t let you head out that door and try to drive back to your dad’s.”

“He volunteered to come to the hospital last night,” Meredith said.

“I can’t believe it,” Claire leaned back against the wall across from the bathrrom, then she headed up the hall, back to the kitchen, followed by her husband and by Meredith. “I mean, I should believe, but I can’t.”

“Last night we just kept watching the news while people said ‘This never happens in Rossford, it never happens in Rossford.’”

“Well, it happens in East Carmel,” Claire Lawden said, pouring a cup of coffee and placing it before Meredith before crossing the kitchen again and placing on the table what looked to be an apple cobbler. “So I know it happens here.”

“Oh, my God, this smells so good!”

“And there is sausage too, and no I am not a kitchen goddess because that was pre-cooked and boxed when I got it at Martin’s.”

“How can Mathan sleep through this?” Meredith wondered as she dug out some of the steaming cobbler.

“My cousin is part log,” Julian said with a shrug.

“Did you ever find Sheridan?” Claire asked.

“Oh, God, yes. I didn’t tell you?” Meredith said. “Well, his phone was off cause he was banging this wench who looks, I might add, much too old for him. He’s gonna get an STD one day, I know. This bitch was totally, totally snanky.”

“Does the snanky bitch have a name?” Claire said.

Julian looked at his wife.

“I need a name,” Claire explained.

“I don’t know, and I was about to say I’ll ask Sheridan, but I think I’d pluck my eyes out before I did that,” Meredith said, then added, as she took a bite of the plate Claire handed her, “oooh, good cobbler.”

“It’s Jiffy mix and apples from a can,” Claire said. “Merilee used to make it when we were growing up. I wonder if she still makes it for Matty?”

“Is Sheridan’s brother home yet?” Julian asked.

“No,” Meredith munched thoughtfully, then took a swig of coffee. “I think he gets in today.”

“I think it was a horrible idea to plan the wedding during Thanksgiving,” Julian said. “She should have done it when he wouldn’t be around.”

Claire said, “You really think a scientist who can’t remember to cut his own hair and spends half his time talking about atoms and quarks is going to be a danger to the wedding?”

“In the case of this particular scientist,” Julian asserted, “Yes.”

When Sheridan had rolled out of bed, he’d said, “Are you my surrogate older brother or what? I need a ride to campus.”

“Why do you need a ride to…? Nevermind. I bet I don’t want to know.”

“No,” Sheridan agreed. “You probably don’t.”

A vaguely non descript car had dropped him off and Sheridan, keys swinging from his fingers, hopped out of the car and then shouted playfully, “Now hurry, hurry, or you’ll be late for class.”

“Don’t joke,” shouted the voice from the car, and then it made a U turn and headed out of Loretto. Sheridan jammed his hands in his pockets after blowing on them, and then headed toward the parking lot of Saint Anne’s Hall.

The closer he got to the parking lot between Saint Anne and Wilson Hall, the more he thought it would be a good idea to see her. His car was beneath her window on the third floor and he no sooner spotted it than he decided to round the back, go up and see her.

“Oh, my gosh! Sheridan, I was going to find a way to get your car to you.”

“A friend of mine dropped me off on his way to classes.”

“Classes?”

“He’s a law student.”

Shelley grinned and said, “Is he cute?”

“I guess.But he’s gay.”

“Um,” Shelley sighed. “Well, he’s for my uncles.”

“You have a gay uncle?”

“I have two uncles,” Shelley said ushering him in. “And an uncle who’s a priest, which I guess makes him a hermaphrodite.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sheridan said, grinning and shutting the door behind him.

“I went to Saint Agatha’s after I dropped you off at the hospital. The church was open all night. I ended up sleeping in the rectory. I just got back, really.”

“Well,” Sheridan said. “I guess you got class?”

“I do have class,” Shelley acknowledged. “But I’m seriously contemplating not going. In fact, I’m not going.”

Then she said, “You wanna grab breakfast?”

Sheridan yawned hugely, but said, “Yeah.”

“Great. I didn’t want to go to class anyway. I hate it. It’s some music theory shit. I’ll go grab my shoes.”

Shelley departed, heading for the little bathroom, and when she came back, she said, “Sheridan, are you really hungry?”

“I could eat,” he said. “But I’m not starving or anything.” Each fragment seemed to end in a question mark. “Why?”

“I was just thinking… you’re probably going to see your friend, later. And that’s sad. I don’t mean to say it isn’t. But it kind of killed what he started last night.”

Sheridan put a hand over his mouth and took his hand through his hair, chuckling.

“You serious?”

Shelley dropped her shoes and begun unbuttoning her blouse.

“I’ve been known to make a joke or two,” she admitted. “But never about sex.”