He had always lived there. At least that’s how it seemed to the community by the crossroads and to me. When I was nine years old I used to ride my bicycle near his old house. Although I never did see him do anything in the least bit threatening, I did peddle a little faster when I crossed the entry to his driveway.
His house was old and dilapidated, but still standing. When you went up his driveway the house was on the right. Across from it was a wooded area with a stream that provided the hermit with fish to eat and clean water. No one ever came to the hermit’s house.
My friends told me lots of stories about the old hermit. For a while, at least, I did believe them. Jimmy told me that once he and Toad (well, his name is Tommy but he did kind of look like a frog), were hiding by the entrance to the driveway. Jimmy had dared Toad to throw an egg at the old man, and he accepted that dare. They told me that they were watching closely for him when they heard steps coming up behind them. When they whirled around, it was old Frank with a carved-up cane about to whack them right on the tail! They both ran for their lives. I’ve heard them tell that story several times as we grew up together, and it gets better every time.
Frank didn’t bother anyone and he didn’t want to be bothered. I heard that his wife died only a few years after they married and that she was buried in the cemetery out by Pine Cone Baptist Church. As a child I went out there looking for her gravestone and wasn’t able to find it. I wondered if he ever was really married. My folks didn’t seem to know either. Really, no one knew anything about him.
My dad was the community doctor. The hermit had been to see him a time or two. Dad never told me what it was about, which I know now was the right thing to do. Even though Frank was a patient of dad’s, I don’t think dad knew too much about him either.
Now that I look back on those days I’m not sure how someone could remain so anonymous in such a small community. He ventured into the market every once in a while to get supplies, but he didn’t talk to anyone and I reckon everyone was scared to talk to him.
One Summer afternoon I rode over to Tommy’s house to play some football with the guys. We decided to go to the park nearby and Tommy brought Sketch with him - that was his dog. Sketch was kind of a community dog, we all loved to play with him. It was even more fun because Sketch didn’t like Toad and would growl at him if he came too close. Sketch was just a rust-colored mutt, some kind of shepherd mix. If we didn’t get to the football before him, he would bite into it and run off.
It was a hot day, as I remember it. We were sweaty and smelly and like all little boys, and didn’t care. I think it was Justin’s mom who brought us some cold drinks and we were gulping them down when Tommy noticed that Sketch wasn’t around. He hadn’t run off with the football because Toad was sitting on it, the vision of which still makes me laugh. We all started calling his name and looking around the park, but it was no use. He had run off. There were still a few hours before sunset, so we all got on our bikes and headed in different directions.
But it was no use. I know all of the guys were worried about Sketch as their tired eyes closed that night. I sure was. I asked God to bring him safely home, but I didn’t know if that was going to happen.
When the sun came up, we had our bicycle patrol covering the area once again. The only place we hadn’t looked was over at old hermit Frank’s place. Even our fear of him couldn’t keep us away, because of our love for that raggedy dog!
So there we were, five of us, bravely straddling our bikes, trying to raise enough courage to walk up that dirt driveway and knock on Frank’s door. Although we tried to urge Toad to do it, Tommy felt responsible. As he slowly walked up the drive toward the rickety steps, he saw movement off to his left.
What he saw scared him so much, all the blood drained from his face. But only for a moment. Frank was about ten feet from him, carrying that cane, and leading a reddish dog who looked very happy to see a friendly face.
All of us boys were so excited and happy to see Sketch that we cheered for old Frank! Maybe he wasn’t so mean after all! But even though we were enthusiastic and genuine in our happy praise, the hermit barely looked at us as he walked up the steps and went inside his home.
From then on, whenever we saw old Frank at the market or outside his home, we would sound out a loud hello with a cheerful wave. He never acted like he noticed.
I remember clearly my 11th birthday. It was a cool Autumn Saturday afternoon. It is a vivid memory for a couple of reasons. One, because Toad brought a girl with him to the party and none of us knew that he even knew what a girl was, much less had a girlfriend. As I look back on that with a smile, I know that the word ‘girlfriend’ didn’t mean much at that age, but Toad sure looked proud. From then on we called him Tommy out of respect.
But the other reason I remember my 11th birthday is that evening my dad got a call to come to the house of a patient. Mom was at the church helping get things ready for an event the next day. So I went with dad. We drove up to the old hermit Frank’s house.
It was dimly lit inside and the furniture reminded me of the outside of the home. Frank was lying on the sofa and didn’t look very well at all. My dad examined him and they had a quiet conversation I couldn’t quite hear.
“Come over here, son,” my dad said.
Close enough to Frank that I could hear his ragged breathing, he whispered something to me. I couldn’t hear so I leaned in close.
“Give that sketchy dog a hug for me. I’m not going to be here much longer.”
Unexpected tears came to my eyes and I said, “It’s not time for you to go. We can bring Sketch by and let you see him.”
Frank smiled a weak smile and in a few moments, his breathing stopped.
That experience is probably what urged me on in my dad’s footsteps. When all of us graduated high school and went our separate ways to college, we mostly lost touch. But when we come home for Christmas to see our folks, we sometimes go out to the cemetery by Pine Cone Church. It’s not hard to find Frank’s wife’s grave anymore. I don’t know why it ever was.
But he’s buried beside her right there. To keep from crying in front of each other, we laugh and kid about Tommy trying to throw an egg at old Frank. And we’re glad he didn’t.
Somebody from the church puts lights on a fir tree in the cemetery around Christmas time. I hope Frank and his wife are reunited and somehow can see that they’re not forgotten. That old hermit sure did have an influence on me. He was unknown to us in his lifetime, but he still mattered.
Thanks to
and for hosting a Flash Fiction Friday! Hope you enjoyed my story.
This was beautiful John! Thank you so much! I had no idea you were keeping stories hidden away from us, I hope you share more!
John! My goodness. Brilliant and beautiful. I hope you share more fiction with us soon.