Sunset: Survivors

Stan Howard Las Vegas, NV October 4th, 1991

After Stan made it back to his room, he sat on his bed and stared at the wall for six straight hours. The shock of what he had seen overwhelmed him. Stan drifted in and out of a conscious state for those hours. Occasionally he was aware of where he was. When in a deeper state of shock or denial, Stan’s mind went to his home town of Clear Creek, Wisconsin in the south eastern part of the state.

Clear Creek was a town of about twenty two thousand people. Stan grew up there with his brother and parents in a middle class house in a middle class neighborhood. For the first thirteen years of his life, Stan had a pretty normal childhood. On one cold Saturday in January, normal became the last word Stan would use to describe his childhood.

In the winter months, Stan and his younger brother Charlie would go down to the reservoir to sled. It was the biggest hill around and all the kids would go there after a fresh snow had fallen.

On this particular Saturday morning, Stan’s brother came running into his room to wake him up. A fresh six inches of snow had fallen the night before and it was still coming down. Stan got up and made himself and Charlie a couple bowls of Captain Crunch and sat in front of the television watching cartoons while they ate. Their parents were still asleep and there was no need to wake them.

After breakfast, he and Charlie got dressed in their warmest clothes. They both wore a t-shirt and sweater, two pairs of socks and thermal underwear beneath their jeans. Then they went out to the garage to put on their winter coats, snow pants and snow boots. They topped themselves off with wool caps and mittens.

Now they were ready to brave the bitter Wisconsin temperatures. As they were grabbing their sleds and heading outside, their mother stuck her head in the garage from the kitchen door.

“Keep an eye on your brother, Stanley. And don’t stay out too long. You’ll get frost bite.” his mother warned.

“Okay mom.” Stan replied.

Stan and Charlie exited the garage and started the short walk to the reservoir. It was about three blocks away and only took about ten minutes to walk there. When they reached the hill, there were already a few kids breaking up the fresh powder. Once the snow was packed nice and firm, the hill would become ten times faster. Stan and Charlie rode the hill for the next hour. When their faces and toes could take no more cold, they decided to head home.

The last time they drug snow in the front door, their mom gave them the business. Ever since then, they knew to take off their boots and snow pants in the garage. They entered the garage by the same door they had exited earlier. Even though the garage was not heated, it was much warmer than the frigid temperatures outdoors. The boys welcomed the warmth and they could feel their cheeks and noses begin to thaw.

Charlie shut the garage door behind them and leaned his sled on the wall. There was a spot for their sleds next to the snow thrower and shovel their dad would be using later this morning. Charlie sat down on the floor and started to remove his frozen snow boots. He looked up and noticed Stan was not doing the same. Just then Stan went tearing off into the kitchen through the garage door. He was screaming for their dad. Charlie could not figure out what had gotten into Stan. Then he saw what had made his brother run so wildly into the house and he started to cry.

Stan’s father had been sitting on the couch drinking his coffee and reading the sports page. He was particularly interested in an article about his beloved Badgers football team and who would be their head coach next year. Stan raced into the living room screaming and crying. He could not form any intelligible words but kept looking back at the kitchen.

Stan’s father quickly walked into the kitchen and noticed the door that led to the garage was open. He could hear Charlie crying. He ran to the door and looked out. In the garage next to their nineteen sixty Chevrolet Impala hung his wife. Her feet were about a foot off of the floor. She had tied an extension cord to the rails that the garage door ran on. She then stood on a five gallon bucket and tied the other end around her neck. That was all she needed.

Stan sat on the bed in his hotel room and stared at the beige pattern-less wall paper. Although his eyes were open, he was not really seeing anything. His mind was two thousand miles away in Clear Creek. Why these thoughts came back now he had no idea. He honestly had not thought of his mother in a couple years. The sight of the woman gripping at his pant leg had jarred something. The helpless feeling Stan felt right now was eerily similar to the feeling he had back on that Saturday in January thirty years ago.

Stan stood up and walked into the closet closing the mirrored door behind him. He lay down on the colorful carpeted floor, curled up in a ball and cried himself to sleep.