His engine revved up, and the friendly ferry workers gave him his cue: Aiden was free to drive off the boat.
“So it begins,” he thought.
2. FIRST IMPRESSIONS, AGAIN
First impressions stick.
When he first came to Cielo for his 13th birthday, Aiden was disappointed by the scenery. Growing up in the city, island life was perceived as tropical and exotic. Palm trees, white sand, clear water.
Ceilo was merely rural. Nothing exotic.
Vast greenery bordered the paved road he was now driving down. Evergreen trees, firs, cedars and ferns. Every now and then some wildlife popped up. Rabbits, mainly, and the occasional deer.
He looked to the left for a street sign indicating the name of the road. After a quarter mile, he saw one that read “Canoe Drive.” Cute.
Aiden’s second visit to Cielo – he had referred to it as a “God-forsaken rock” – started off with the same level of excitement. The road winded through the greenery, then opened up to the countryside. Vast fields, scattered with cows and lambs, and occasional horses. The livestock don’t run on a schedule and they have nowhere to be. They simply graze, sleep and meander. They exist in community.
Simple, Aiden thought. Too simple.
A large farm house stood on the right side of the road. Two stories, wooden frame, painted grey. It had a covered porch with no furniture other than a small clay flower pot; the begonias looked like they were starting to wilt.
Most homes in the country are on farm property. Some farms have livestock ranging from cattle and horses to pigs and lambs; others are strictly agricultural, a place where nurtured soil can produce a harvest of vegetables.
He got his focus back and kept his eyes peeled for the landmark that he and Dad searched for 17 years ago: Scarlet Lane.
After driving a few more miles, he spotted the street sign and turned left onto the small dirt road that went up a modest hill clouted with cedar trees. At the top of this hill was Dad’s log cabin.
Strange how it almost seemed like yesterday that he first pulled into this driveway. The cabin itself was relatively small, a simple two-story structure, roughly 500 square feet with a small covered deck. At age 13, it felt like a castle. Maybe more of a fortress. Castles evoked feelings of wonder and adventure; fortresses felt like prisons, and Aiden was held captive. Not by force, just discontentment. He didn’t like drastic change. Staring at the cabin through the windshield, he felt the same sentiment.
Aiden got out of the car, looked around and noticed that the half-acre property was equally modest. The surrounding cedar trees sheltered the cabin from storms, but also from the sun. A lone maple tree just to the left of the porch showed that September was indeed coming to an end, as a few brown leaves graced the driveway.
“Showing its age more and more,” Aiden said under his breath as he surveyed the property.
He pulled his hands out of his jean pockets, walked to the Civic, pulled out his duffle bag and made his way to the front door. The one detail he distinctly recalled was that the key was hidden under a loose floor board beneath the hand rail. Kicked up the board, pulled out the key and opened the door.
The small area room had a couch and a chair next to the wood stove in the far left corner. The adjacent wall had a step ladder that led up to the sleeping area. A small kitchenette was set in the opposite corner of the ground level. Surprisingly, the cabin didn’t smell too musty.
Aiden didn’t have to open the cabinet to know there was no food. Hungry as he was, he had no interest in looking around the cabin and reminiscing, so he dropped his bag, grabbed his keys and started up the car. Time to go grocery shopping.
He got back in the car, drove down the dirt road and turned onto Canoe Drive. The road continued through farm land and eventually curved south along the ocean, bordering the shoreline for several miles. The sun was beginning to set in front, casting an orange hue across the water that reflected back to the clouds.
Aiden rolled down the window. For some reason he felt drawn to the salty scent he rediscovered on the ferry ride.
There it was again.
Refreshing.
Just over the crest of the hill, he saw the town – the commercial hub of the island. Not much more was needed for a population of 3,000. To Aiden it all felt so foreign.
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, all things considered.
Canoe Drive continued on past the town so Aiden hung a left onto Borough Boulevard.
That was it – the town is known to locals as the Borough, Dad had said.
It was coming back to him.
Slowly.
The main drag through town was bordered with small trees. Condos, homes, small businesses, studios and restaurants. Then he spotted the grocery store. All he really needed at this point.
Aiden parked the car in the small lot, got out and locked the doors.
“You’re not from around here, are you,” came a deep voice from behind him.
Aiden turned around and saw a tall man getting in a grey pickup truck.
“Beg your pardon?”
“You locked your car,” the stranger said. “Nobody locks their cars here.”
“I just got here today,” Aiden responded, “still getting used to ‘the island way.’”
The stranger rolled his eyes to the side. “Fearful mainlanders always lock their cars and look over their shoulders. They’ve got a stressed-out mentality when they come here.”
Aiden was taken back by this guy’s brashness – his first encounter with an islander in over 17 years.
He couldn’t think of a response before the stranger shut the driver-side door and drove away.
So much for island hospitality, Aiden thought.
Even in a safe island community like Cielo, he lacked the trust to leave his car unlocked.
Not out of prejudice or anything personal against the island culture itself; he had just developed street smarts over the years.
Aiden would rather lack direction than walk through life blindly, as it seemed the locals did so carelessly.
At times, it struck Aiden how trust was lacking in most areas of life. Be it personal security, romantic relationships and even platonic friendships.
Even when it came to a beat-up Civic with nothing valuable inside apart from McDonalds coupons and a few CDs.
He couldn’t bring himself to care, so he walked through the store’s automatic double-door entrance, picked up a shopping basket and made the rounds. At this point all Aiden really cared about was dinner so he started at the meat and produce sections. He picked up a sirloin steak, a handful of mushrooms, a couple bell peppers and potatoes. There were some fresh herbs on sale, and he picked up thyme and basil.
Rounded the corner and found the spirits aisle. Scanned the wine selection and noticed a local section, with “Cielo Vineyards” gracing the matte label. He chose a bottle of merlot.
Aiden may have lost his sense of trust and wonder but he picked up a sense of taste.
Cooking gourmet meals was his creative outlet. Thanks to Dad’s inheritance, Aiden pursued that hobby more through an increased grocery budget, meaning more alcohol for cooking. Wine has a way of drawing flavor out of anything it comes in contact with.
Following Dad’s death, though, alcohol was a side-effect of Aiden’s deepening apathy and depression. He didn’t care to fight the cravings.