A Place in the Dark

By Shawn A. Lawson

In the fall of 1966, in the mountain town of Boone, North Carolina, three teens wrestle with what life will hold after graduation. Each with baggage out casting them from the rest of the town, the three rely on each other for support. Amber, the orphaned daughter of a tarnished woman, Curtis, a mentally handicapped teen with severe social disorders and Sonny, the son of the town alcoholic. Amber and Sonny are in love and both protect Curtis to a fault. The trio form an unbreakable bond inside their own little bubble. Sonny is the strength that binds them together, but when events happen that force him to enlist in the Army, he is pulled from the group and sent to fight the war in Vietnam.
Returning to Boone years later, Sonny, now mentally and physically broken from his experiences in the war finds that things have changed. Having lost touch with everyone, Sonny finds that Amber has moved on to an abusive relationship, Curtis’ mental health have spiraled out of control, and that his own father is struggling with health issues.
Sonny is determined to get his life back in order and help the ones that he left behind years ago. Working through his own demons, Sonny is once again immersed into a toxic small town where everyone is a little bit broken. He finds that his need to help Curtis has not waned, nor his love for Amber. Wanting nothing more than to fulfill a promise made years before, Sonny struggles with life after the war, while still dealing with the war at home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665520263

Shawn A. Lawson

Shawn A. Lawson is the author of The Christmas Canteen, Knight of the Black Flag, and Uncle Otis. He and his wife live in Gloucester, Virginia.

Book preview

BOONE

SEPTEMBER 1966

1

Sonny listened as the wind swept gently across the fields, rustling the heavy tobacco leaves in a cascading wisp before finding the window screen of his bedroom. The hair on his arm, stood with chilled electricity as the breeze contacted his bare skin. A cold front had settled in from the north – resting against the mountain like water trapped against a dam, the air much too chilled for this early in the year. Soon, fall would blanket the countryside, ushering in the coming winter’s frost and leaving the previous summer behind for the ages. Sonny stood, observing his reflection in the worn, foggy mirror. Outside, a lose shutter softly clapped against the wood siding in a steady, haunting rhythm. The old house, desperately in need of repairs, creaked and moaned as if it too dreaded the coming winter. Sonny could hear his mother’s wind chime – the one he’d hung for her just before she’d passed – attached to a beam near the front porch. Hanging over wooden stair treads that were rotting to the point of collapse. Just waiting on the right sized visitor came calling before they completely collapsed under foot – one of those overweight encyclopedia salesmen perhaps is all it would take. Sonny stood there at his mirror - listening and could hear the broken pane in the kitchen window as it whistled in the breeze through the cardboard and tape that his father had put up to keep the weather out. He could hear it all the way up in his bedroom. He glanced at the ceiling – stained by a many summers rainstorm and wondered how many more showers it could hold back. He’d already moved his mattress from one wall to another to avoid the drip that had surfaced during a particularly heavy downpour a couple of weeks ago. His clothes, the few that he owned, were neatly folded and safely stored along the far wall and out of danger of getting wet, at least for now. His straw cowboy hat – the only other thing that he really cared to save – was hung on a nail beside his mirror. It was the last thing that his mother had bought for him and Sonny wore it everywhere, only taking it off when the teachers down at the high school required him to do so. He pulled it free of the nail and put it on his head. It went well with his cleanest white t-shirt and flannel – his small-town Friday night attire. Sonny pulled a coffee can from under his bed and counted out all the silver – two dollars and fifteen cents. Lastly, he tucked in his t-shirt and then threaded his belt into his pants loops. It was worn brown leather with an oversized silver buckle, the buckle that Old Man Duke had given him when Sonny helped with the harvest two summers ago. Sonny cherished the buckle and imagined that it may be the most expensive thing that he owned. The fact that it read Black Mesa Bronc Riding Champion 1951, mattered little to Sonny. In truth, he didn’t even really know what that meant, and nobody had ever stopped him to read it anyhow. It had apparently belonged to one of Mr. Duke’s nephews, whom the old farmer had raised, and the young man had left it behind when he went off to fight in Korea. Sonny wondered what had ever happened to the nephew and was kind of expecting that one day, a stranger would approach him and lay claim to the buckle – though he had no intention of ever giving it back. Sonny had earned it fair and square and did not plan to part with it easily. On his way out, he turned off the table lamp. When he opened the bedroom door, he could hear the TV playing downstairs. It sounded like Star Trek. Captain Kirk and Spock were on another grand adventure to some distant planet. Sonny wished that he could join them – anything to get free of Boone, North Carolina. He didn’t necessarily need another solar system. Hell, he’d settle for Raleigh, or High Point - anywhere but here. He had to get out from under the weight of this town. It was taking everything in him not to jump a train - like he and Curtis had planned once - ride it to the end of the line and start over. The thought of it made him smile. They’d planned it all out – even packed their bags, but in the end – it hadn’t materialized. That was two years ago, maybe they’d been too young then. Besides, the law would have surely found them and brought them home before they even got started. But now it was a different story, Sonny was seventeen, and in two months he’d be eighteen. A few months later, he’d graduate – then he and Amber would go – as far as they could. He’d promised her that. He’d promised himself that too – with, or without Curtis.

In the living room, his father was asleep in the easy chair, an empty can of Hamm’s Beer in his lap, the rest of the empty cans lay haphazardly on the floor beside the chair – like the spent cartridges from some great battle. The living room, much like the rest of the house, was barren with exception to the chair, the TV console, an end table, and a couch - worn to the point that stuffing was poking out of the side of one cushion. When she’d been alive, Sonny’s mother had kept the place up making it feel like a home, even though they’d been no better off financially back then. She had never missed an opportunity to sweep, pick up after the men, and mend a torn cushion, but she’d been gone three years now, and the place had been neglected ever since. Most of the furnishings were sold off between then and now to make rent. Sonny’s dad had taken the loss of his wife hard – real hard. Otto Stone replaced going to work, with a whiskey bottle or a can of beer, and in no time at all, his janitorial job at the college was lost. Sonny had worried for a time that his father might never recover from his grief, and in a sense never had, but at least he was working again - here and there, when he could find it. Taking odd jobs to earn a buck and keep up with the balance owed to the landlord – barely. They were always a little behind with the payment. A situation that Mr. Mobley had warned them to avoid in the future. He claimed that he didn’t aim to evict them, but he certainly would if he had to keep begging for his monthly payment. Sonny knew that Mr. Mobley was full of shit. He was not going to evict them! He wouldn’t do it because Mobley knew that the little bit of money, he was collecting was more than the tightwad would get if he kicked Sonny and Otto out on the street. Nobody else would rent this dilapidated piece of shit house without Mr. Mobley first putting a large amount of money into it to make it suitable for habitation.

The theme music from Star Trek was blaring from the crackling TV speaker, and the ending credits were rolling up the black and white screen. As soon as it finished, Walter Cronkite appeared with the evening news and as always, a report on what was happening in Vietnam. Sonny walked over and switched the TV off and when he did, his father stirred, Sonny? When Otto shifted in the easy chair, an unseen beer can fell from the chair, clanking on the wood floor – spilling a few drops, as it rolled under the end table. Where are you off to? Otto rubbed his eyes with his palms, then looked at his son with what could only be admiration.

I’m going to head over to the soda fountain with Curtis and Amber.

Alright, Otto looked at his wrist for the time, but he was not wearing a watch. Sonny couldn’t remember the last time that he had. What time is it? He asked.

Right about seven-thirty.

Otto laid his aching head back on the chair and closed his eyes again, Are you gonna’ take the truck?

If that’s alright?

Otto nodded, just have it back in the morning. I’m going over to the Owsley’s first thing to help Walter with his barn. He’s paying twenty dollars for the day, and we need it for the rent this month.

Will do, Pop.

And bring it back with some gas in the tank, too, Otto added.

Got it, Sonny patted his father’s shoulder as he headed to the kitchen where the keys hung on a hook. I’ll see you in a bit.

Alright then. See you in a bit.

Alright.

Out the back door, where the truck was parked, Sonny paused to admire the sunset. It was fading behind the pines atop the mountain in the distance, casting an orange hue over the tobacco fields. Sonny watched as it faded, mesmerized at how it alone, for a few seconds, could transform the dusty drive, littered with the rusted hulks of long forgotten farm machinery and lawnmower parts, into something so vivid and beautiful. A couple of chickens clucked as Sonny walked past them. They scurried out of the way and then continued pecking bugs from the little patches of grass along the drive.

The door to the worn-out truck creaked when Sonny opened it – the hinges long overdue for some grease. He hoped that the engine would start when he turned the key – that was never a sure thing these days. Sonny and his dad spent more time working on the 55’ Dodge, than actually driving it. It was 12 years old now, and in Sonny’s opinion had not been built very well to begin with. Otto would make light of the effort to keep their only transportation functioning by saying things like, The old Power Wagon lost its power a long time ago, but she still runs!

Yeah right, Sonny thought, still running was not what he would call it. It was more like, she still clicks and rattles along sometimes, and if you are lucky you will get where you are going, but that was about all that could be said about the truck.

This time, with little more than a couple of loud pops from under the hood, and a plume of white smoke, the old truck turned over with no further struggle. A slight grind of the gears, and Sonny was out on the main road, throwing up a plume of dust behind, as he went.

2

Curtis Dryden was a strange boy. Amber knew that - she’d known it all her life. Right now, he was throwing stones at low flying birds, and yelling GO ON…GET! Never actually coming close to hitting one, but aggravating the wildlife, and Amber alike with each toss.

If you don’t stop, Amber insisted, I’m not going to walk with you anymore. She knew that this threat would make him stop. Curtis always did exactly what she asked. He had had a crush on her since grade school – a fact that she’d exploited on more than one occasion. She had a way of getting him to do her bidding, like when she needed her soda refilled at the Tasty Thrill, or when she needed a homework paper written on short notice – or like she was doing right now as she tried to get him to quit being aggravating. The two of them were walking down the dirt road leading out to Highway 321. Her house – the one that she shared with her older brother, Eric - was a couple of miles behind them - the town of Boone, a couple of miles further up the Highway.

Amber didn’t like walking alone, so she’d arranged for Curtis to ride the bus home with her. He lived in town, so he only had to walk one way. If she was lucky, Sonny would get his dad’s truck, and she would only have a one way walk herself. Maybe, later her and Sonny could head up to the parking spot and watch the stars for a little while. Sonny was supposed to meet them at the Tasty Thrill. That was if he couldn’t get out in time to pick them up in the truck along the way. She was not supposed to ride in cars with boys – her brother’s rule, so Sonny couldn’t pick her up at home. It was one of the many rules that she rarely abided. She wasn’t supposed to have a boyfriend either, but her motto was that rules were made to be broken, so she’d ignored that one also. Her opinion was that her brother was an overbearing asshole, and his rules were rarely thought through. He could make a thousand of them and she would never obey, let alone allow one of them come between her and Sonny. They had been friends most of their life and had been going steady for about a year now. She had every intention of leaving this place with him one day – hell, she’d leave with him tonight if he wanted, but that wasn’t Sonny’s style. It had been Sonny that argued they should finish High School first - he was always so responsible. Amber hated school, she hated Eric, but she loved Sonny – so she could wait. As she and Curtis walked, she began to wonder if she would see sonny at all tonight. If he could not borrow his dad’s truck he may not even come. He didn’t like to walk, and Sonny didn’t really like to be around the other teenagers very much either. He certainly wasn’t going to walk from his house, all the way to town, just to get a soda and a hotdog from the Tasty Thrill. It surprised her that he had agreed to come to the teenage hang out spot to begin with. Sonny was the kind that would rather be alone than in a crowd - it was just his way. Thinking about Sonny made Amber temporarily forget about Curtis throwing rocks at the birds – which he was still doing behind her back, but without the commentary. She was too wrapped up in her daydream to notice. She was excited at the thought of seeing Sonny. All week in school they didn’t get to spend very much time together – and they never had time to talk about good stuff. Although, when they were alone, Sonny really didn’t have much to say anyway. He was not the type that said a lot, but at times he would, and she relished those rare moments. Sonny was more of a watcher than a communicator. Sometimes, when he did not know that she was observing him, she would catch him checking out other people. Not in any weird sort of way, but he was a thinker - not a talker. When he did speak, usually when they were alone, his thoughts were deep – full of awareness, and insight. It was then that Amber would realize just how intelligent Sonny was, and it turned her on immensely. She was sure that Sonny would graduate in May with no problem. Things just came easy for him – but for her, not so much. She had struggled through every grade so far in high school. She was ashamed to admit it, but she was so behind in some subjects that she even shared a couple of periods with Curtis – and all his were remedial classes. Her issue was not lack of smarts, but lack of effort, or maybe lack of interest - or both. Poor Curtis on the other hand, was doing all that he could just to keep a passing grade in the low classes. Amber and Curtis would be lucky to walk the graduation stage come May. Though Amber had really buckled down lately, this being her senior year and all. Not to mention she really wanted to graduate with Sonny. She did not want anything to get in the way when they left town together. She didn’t want him to have to carry all the weight of providing a living, at least not until they were married. Not that he had proposed – or even hinted at it before, but still - a girl could dream.

Sonny Stone, Amber Blackwood and Curtis Dryden had been close friends since the day that they’d met in middle school. She’d been somewhat popular back then – before high school – before the other kids began judging each other by what their parents had, and not by their character. Her family, like Sonny’s, was very poor. The Blackwood’s and the Stone family alike both lived on the outskirts of Boone, in the crop fields, among the field workers and the jobless. Amber wondered sometimes if she had had more than two dresses to wear to school, would she be one of the in crowd, or would they still call her names. Then again, it didn’t really matter. She would not have wanted to be friends with those superficial assholes anyway. She was happy with her small group the way it was. In school the other kids thought of her gang as the poor kids, but Curtis’s family wasn’t poor at all. As a matter of fact, his father was a professor at Appalachian State University, and his mother was the quintessential homemaker – unfortunately for the Dryden’s, they had a child that was a little left of center when it came to brain power. The Dryden home was in the heart of town. It was not one of the old colonial style mansions that everyone in town admired, but it wasn’t too many streets removed from those either. All in all, Curtis came from a good family. He had it all, steady food, a doting mother, a nice place to live and decent clothes to wear. Yet, Curtis was broken - just like Amber and Sonny were, but in a different way. Amber dreamed that one day, her and Sonny would be married and have a nice home and good jobs – their troubles would be nothing more than distant memories when that happened. Curtis, however, would always be – slow. That was how she liked to think of him – slow. That said, Amber was fond of Curtis’s family life. Even though he was different, his mother and father both seemed to love him. That was something that Amber had never really known. Her father had spilt for good, right after she’d been born. Her mother, a dancer, and not the respectable kind, struggled to raise Amber and Eric once their father had run off. Eric Blackwood had been born during happier times in the Blackwood marriage. Deloris and Malcom Blackwood stayed together for seven years after Eric arrived, all the way up until she was pregnant Amber. Deloris, being the superb example of motherhood that she was, had once told Amber that she was the reason their father had left. That things had been fine until Deloris had gotten pregnant for the second time. Amber argued that she had no part in being born, and at times wished that Deloris would have just found a clothes hanger and taken care of things once and for all, instead of bringing her into this shitty world. This question drew the obvious five finger swat across the face that Deloris was accustomed to sharing with her children on an all too regular basis. That particular time had been a few years back, on one of those all too frequent evenings, when Deloris had found her way home from the gentleman’s club, higher than Sputnik on PCP, and spitting venom at her children like a copperhead. Amber thought that the attacks usually came for no reason other than Deloris was miserable with her own life and she blamed Amber for everything that went wrong. Eric was old enough by then to not have to endure the nightly browbeating, he would simply leave the one room shack that the three of them shared and take a walk until Deloris had passed out on the couch in her skimpy, sequined, dance ensemble. Amber, too young to escape her mothers’ wrath, had the pleasure of enduring every miserable second of it. When Deloris was in a particularly jovial mood, she would merely curse the little girl for being alive. At her worst, she would beat Amber’s lips and nose bloody for spite. The routine went on until Amber was eleven years old, then it suddenly stopped altogether. That was on a chilly December evening, when Deloris failed to stagger home after work. For a couple of nights, Eric and Amber assumed that their mother had met someone, as she did on occasion, and had shacked up at the local motel for a drug induced rendezvous – which was not an uncommon thing for Deloris to do. On the third evening, the Watauga County Sheriff showed up at the door and asked Eric to step outside, so that they were not within earshot of the little girl. Amber remembered the evening vividly, even though she’d been so young at the time. While she waited, she’d lain on the cold floor of their converted tobacco shack so she could still barely hear the conversation out on the front stoop through the thin walls. As she listened, not able to make out all the words, but not really needing to, she toyed with an ornament, just a burnt-out light bulb from the table lamp that Eric had painted red and tied a string to. It was hanging low on the meager Christmas tree that he’d brought home a week before. The tree didn’t have any lit bulbs strung on it, which was just something that the Blackwood’s couldn’t afford, so they had scrounged around for supplies and made some ornaments by hand. She had known what the Sheriff was there for even before Eric came back inside and closed the door, Amber remembered laying under the tree, but she wasn’t upset. Actually, she didn’t remember feeling anything at all, she was just mesmerized at the flashing lights of the police car, as they flashed blue and red on the Christmas tree through the front window. It was the first time that a tree in her house had any lights at all, and Amber considered it a miracle. She lay there admiring the beauty until Eric came back inside, and the flashing lights of the patrol car were turned off. At first, Eric didn’t say anything. He just stood at the window, looking out at the as the sheriff pulled out of the driveway. Once he was gone, Eric turned to his little sister and mercilessly broke the news. Eric didn’t shed any tears for his mother that night. If he ever did afterward, Amber didn’t have any idea. He was raised without emotion – he was cold. He was a lot like Deloris in that regard. He’d found that it was the only way to survive in that household. Amber hadn’t reached that point yet – she grieved. Well, Eric said cold and flat, she’s gone and killed herself, and then he added, looks like it’s just me and you from now on.

The sheriff had informed Eric that Deloris Blackwood had hung herself from a shower curtain rod, down at the motel where she conducted her side business. For a while, there was talk among some of the town folk that she’d been killed by one of her customers, but no investigation was ever conducted. As far as the town was concerned, Deloris Blackwood being gone was no big loss. She had just been a stain on the community; one that would sooner be forgotten. To Eric and Amber, their mother had been dead for years already. It was only now official.

Unfortunately, Eric picked up where Deloris had left off with Amber. He continued to raise her, and at times acted like her father, rather than her brother. She was ok with that for a while. They were struggling to make ends meet and keep the rent paid, but things were better since no one was waking them in the middle of the night, with ill intent. The older that Amber got, the more physical Eric had become with her. Perhaps it was the stress of being the responsible parent now, or maybe Eric was just inherently mean, lord knows he was raised to be. Either way, the more mature Amber grew, the more opinionated she became, and Eric hated to be questioned when he’d made a decision. He expected that she obey every word that he said –