Saturday, December 31, 2005
Chapter 1 ~ Ernie
Invisible Touch
Chapter 1 ~ Ernie
Ernie Maxwell lay awake in his bed. He hadn't been sleeping again, and it was the third time this week. He was having another one of his dreams, and trying to make sense of it. One of his dreams -- if you could call them that. Each one started out as foggy waves of color. He could usually see the image of a face through the mist. In some of the dreams, the face would become clearer, like an image through a camera lens coming into focus.
He had been having the dreams his whole life, or at least as far back as he could remember. Ernie had old journals -- as a child he had kept them hidden under a floorboard in his closet -- and the oldest ones recorded dreams even beyond his own memory. He had always had trouble sleeping, they told him. There had always been colors, but he hadn't always known what the colors meant. And there had always been two kinds of dreams -- the foggy waves of color and hazy images alone, and the color washed images which became clear and detailed as he watched them.
This was one of his hazy dreams, and he could barely see the face of a stranger. Man or woman, he couldn't see. Old or young, he couldn't tell. And it was dark -- everything was dark. Most of the dreams Ernie had were full of color, but in this one a gray haze surrounded everything. There was nothing but blackness in every detail. Ernie had had this kind of dream before, and he knew just what the grayness meant. This stranger was going to die.
It was a helpless feeling, not knowing who the victim was. Ernie wondered whether there anything he could have done. He felt a sense of duty to the people in his dreams, and then, often, a sense of betrayal. Why was this person going to die, Ernie thought. He couldn't see any details, had no way of knowing, and this made Ernie feel even more powerless. But it would be over soon, Ernie knew. He hoped it would be quick, painless. He mumbled a few words. Ernie didn't really believe in praying, but he did want to say goodbye.
"Go to your rest," he said. "Poor bastard."
The clock beside Ernie's bed read 2:15 A.M., he noticed. He tried hard to relax, but the trying defeated any feeling of relaxation. It was nearly an hour before his eyes finally closed and he was able to manage a few hours of sleep.
The same clock was beeping now. Ernie sometimes heard the alarm as he lay there drowsing, never having slept more than a couple of hours. This time it woke him up. He had been sleeping, he realized, and sleep was good. At least the night hadn't been a total loss, he thought. Ernie dragged himself into the kitchen. A fresh pot of coffee was only a push of a button away.
The garden style condominium was small but plenty big for one, and it was just him. The galley kitchen was just a few steps from a small eating area, which was little more than a corner of the living room. He had a table and two chairs, but he rarely used them. Ernie preferred to sit in one of the soft chairs by the fireplace. An end table held the remains of yesterday's coffee. He returned it to the sink. He would wash it later.
In the far corner were doorways to a full bathroom and Ernie's bedroom. Ernie took a shower and got dressed. It was Monday, his foggy brain told him, and he had classes to attend.
Ernie poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into a clean cup and took it into the living room. It was light out and he could see the bustle of the city through a sliding glass door. Freedom, Ernie thought. Cars full of people, going wherever they wanted. That was freedom, indeed.
These nightmarish dreams and visions were Ernie's private prison. He could go out there into the city, but all it took was to be around people and the foggy colored visions would come. Day or night, he couldn't control them, and they would physically overcome him. Driving a car was out of the question. He had learned that some time ago.
Ernie took another sip of coffee and set the large mug down in the same spot where yesterday's had been. An eerie feeling came over him, as if he had just completed some mystical circle of his life. And circular it seemed -- around and around, but there was no way out of the walls he had to hide himself behind.
His journal was lying on the floor under the table. Ernie picked it up and uncapped a pen.
"A few hours of sleep at least, but the dreams are still keeping me up at night," he wrote. "It was a black dream. I wonder who is going to die. Is it someone in the building? Is one of my neighbors going to spend their last day today, oblivious to their fate? Is it a voice from the radio? Could I have called in and warned them to... what would I have told them? And it was just a foggy dream. On the one hand I am getting more used to these. On the other hand I can't see what's happening. But that's really a good thing, isn't it?"
Ernie set down the journal and thought some more about the dream. It was a foggy vision of... somebody, could be anybody, anywhere. He knew that it was through direct physical contact with someone that he would receive a clear and detailed vision of their future. But the foggy visions -- they came from merely seeing or hearing someone, even over the radio. It was strange, and Ernie didn't understand it.
He felt very uncomfortable about these visions of other people's futures and he avoided them. Ernie avoided the physical contact especially. It was like catching a glimpse into the window of someone's private life, and he wished he could turn away, but it was everywhere he looked. His whole life had been filled with school buses, classrooms, museums, baseball fields, city streets -- they brought people together. And they were difficult to avoid.
Ernie remembered he wanted to call his grandparents today, but he would do that between classes. They had always been very close, but they didn't know anything about Ernie's affliction, as he considered it. It had been hard keeping such a secret from his family, and he didn't like doing it. It was just too strange and embarrassing and -- to Ernie, it just seemed impossible, but it was real.
There were friends all through his life, and he certainly couldn't tell any of them what was happening to him. His dreams made him different, and in childhood, anything different was simply unthinkable. Even now, he was about to turn twenty, but he still felt an overwhelming need to keep this problem of his hidden.
The school yard was now a college campus. He was just a few blocks from most of his classes, and he felt fortunate for that. But everywhere he turned, there were crowds of people. Anonymous, private -- but Ernie knew things about them that they didn't even know themselves. It was a terrible burden to Ernie and he did not enjoy it at all.
© Copyright 2005
Chapter 1 ~ Ernie
Ernie Maxwell lay awake in his bed. He hadn't been sleeping again, and it was the third time this week. He was having another one of his dreams, and trying to make sense of it. One of his dreams -- if you could call them that. Each one started out as foggy waves of color. He could usually see the image of a face through the mist. In some of the dreams, the face would become clearer, like an image through a camera lens coming into focus.
He had been having the dreams his whole life, or at least as far back as he could remember. Ernie had old journals -- as a child he had kept them hidden under a floorboard in his closet -- and the oldest ones recorded dreams even beyond his own memory. He had always had trouble sleeping, they told him. There had always been colors, but he hadn't always known what the colors meant. And there had always been two kinds of dreams -- the foggy waves of color and hazy images alone, and the color washed images which became clear and detailed as he watched them.
This was one of his hazy dreams, and he could barely see the face of a stranger. Man or woman, he couldn't see. Old or young, he couldn't tell. And it was dark -- everything was dark. Most of the dreams Ernie had were full of color, but in this one a gray haze surrounded everything. There was nothing but blackness in every detail. Ernie had had this kind of dream before, and he knew just what the grayness meant. This stranger was going to die.
It was a helpless feeling, not knowing who the victim was. Ernie wondered whether there anything he could have done. He felt a sense of duty to the people in his dreams, and then, often, a sense of betrayal. Why was this person going to die, Ernie thought. He couldn't see any details, had no way of knowing, and this made Ernie feel even more powerless. But it would be over soon, Ernie knew. He hoped it would be quick, painless. He mumbled a few words. Ernie didn't really believe in praying, but he did want to say goodbye.
"Go to your rest," he said. "Poor bastard."
The clock beside Ernie's bed read 2:15 A.M., he noticed. He tried hard to relax, but the trying defeated any feeling of relaxation. It was nearly an hour before his eyes finally closed and he was able to manage a few hours of sleep.
The same clock was beeping now. Ernie sometimes heard the alarm as he lay there drowsing, never having slept more than a couple of hours. This time it woke him up. He had been sleeping, he realized, and sleep was good. At least the night hadn't been a total loss, he thought. Ernie dragged himself into the kitchen. A fresh pot of coffee was only a push of a button away.
The garden style condominium was small but plenty big for one, and it was just him. The galley kitchen was just a few steps from a small eating area, which was little more than a corner of the living room. He had a table and two chairs, but he rarely used them. Ernie preferred to sit in one of the soft chairs by the fireplace. An end table held the remains of yesterday's coffee. He returned it to the sink. He would wash it later.
In the far corner were doorways to a full bathroom and Ernie's bedroom. Ernie took a shower and got dressed. It was Monday, his foggy brain told him, and he had classes to attend.
Ernie poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into a clean cup and took it into the living room. It was light out and he could see the bustle of the city through a sliding glass door. Freedom, Ernie thought. Cars full of people, going wherever they wanted. That was freedom, indeed.
These nightmarish dreams and visions were Ernie's private prison. He could go out there into the city, but all it took was to be around people and the foggy colored visions would come. Day or night, he couldn't control them, and they would physically overcome him. Driving a car was out of the question. He had learned that some time ago.
Ernie took another sip of coffee and set the large mug down in the same spot where yesterday's had been. An eerie feeling came over him, as if he had just completed some mystical circle of his life. And circular it seemed -- around and around, but there was no way out of the walls he had to hide himself behind.
His journal was lying on the floor under the table. Ernie picked it up and uncapped a pen.
"A few hours of sleep at least, but the dreams are still keeping me up at night," he wrote. "It was a black dream. I wonder who is going to die. Is it someone in the building? Is one of my neighbors going to spend their last day today, oblivious to their fate? Is it a voice from the radio? Could I have called in and warned them to... what would I have told them? And it was just a foggy dream. On the one hand I am getting more used to these. On the other hand I can't see what's happening. But that's really a good thing, isn't it?"
Ernie set down the journal and thought some more about the dream. It was a foggy vision of... somebody, could be anybody, anywhere. He knew that it was through direct physical contact with someone that he would receive a clear and detailed vision of their future. But the foggy visions -- they came from merely seeing or hearing someone, even over the radio. It was strange, and Ernie didn't understand it.
He felt very uncomfortable about these visions of other people's futures and he avoided them. Ernie avoided the physical contact especially. It was like catching a glimpse into the window of someone's private life, and he wished he could turn away, but it was everywhere he looked. His whole life had been filled with school buses, classrooms, museums, baseball fields, city streets -- they brought people together. And they were difficult to avoid.
Ernie remembered he wanted to call his grandparents today, but he would do that between classes. They had always been very close, but they didn't know anything about Ernie's affliction, as he considered it. It had been hard keeping such a secret from his family, and he didn't like doing it. It was just too strange and embarrassing and -- to Ernie, it just seemed impossible, but it was real.
There were friends all through his life, and he certainly couldn't tell any of them what was happening to him. His dreams made him different, and in childhood, anything different was simply unthinkable. Even now, he was about to turn twenty, but he still felt an overwhelming need to keep this problem of his hidden.
The school yard was now a college campus. He was just a few blocks from most of his classes, and he felt fortunate for that. But everywhere he turned, there were crowds of people. Anonymous, private -- but Ernie knew things about them that they didn't even know themselves. It was a terrible burden to Ernie and he did not enjoy it at all.
© Copyright 2005
# posted by Uisce : 12:00 AM
Friday, December 30, 2005
Chapter 2 ~ Maggie
Invisible Touch
Chapter 2 ~ Maggie
Ernie's childhood was far from anything one might consider "normal." His life was decidedly different from the beginning, and that started with his mother.
Margaret Maxwell had everything figured out. She wanted a child. She needed a child. But she had no use for a husband. She had nothing against men as a group. She simply didn't want one for herself.
John and Betty Maxwell had raised her well, by any measure. Their only child, she received all of the attention they might have lavished on a dozen kids. They might even have had that many, but Betty had had trouble conceiving even one child and was never able to do so again. So they counted what blessings they did have and filled their life with Maggie.
Education was the key, they always told her. It was a message that would be constantly reinforced, both in words and in actions. Mom and Dad were always helping with school work of any kind. How could they know so much, she wondered. And school became the center of Maggie's life. She even wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. Her life was filled with Honor Rolls and Dean's Lists and academic awards of all kinds.
And she did grow up to be a teacher. After completing her college degree, she continued working to achieve her lifelong ambition. With her teaching certificate in hand, she went to work teaching in the same elementary school she had once attended.
Maggie had never left home. John and Betty never felt the need to push her out of the nest. Now with a teaching salary, they felt she ought to save what she did earn without the cost and burden of a separate household. And they loved having her around. They loved hearing about the subjects she was teaching. They loved hearing the stories she would tell of the children in her classroom. They were still so proud of her and all she had accomplished.
When she came to them one day and told them that she was thinking it was time she started a family, they were more than a little bit surprised. She hadn't been dating anyone that they knew of. She certainly wasn't involved in a serious enough relationship that a proposal of marriage was on the horizon, was she? They were actually relieved when she told them she wanted to do it on her own. Relief did not equate with approval, however, and they had a lot of reservations. It had taken every ounce of the two of them, they told her, to raise such a fine daughter. They welcomed, delighted at the idea of a grandchild, but a child needed a father, they told her.
But they didn't say no. Maggie was a grown woman and it wasn't their place to approve or disapprove. Yes, she lived under their roof. But it was her home and always would be, if she wanted it to be. They wanted to be supportive of this bright girl they had raised to be an intelligent woman. She had always shown excellent judgment as a child, even as a teenager. Maggie always had everything figured out. And she did even now, they felt. She was her daughter, their only daughter, and she would always be welcome in their home, her home, no matter what.
Family is family, whatever its shape or size, but a father is at the very least a biological necessity. That was the way Maggie looked at the situation. She took a very unemotional approach to what she considered the "process" of having a child. As her parents had suspected, there was no one in Maggie's life of any romantic involvement. But this made things easier, she felt, not harder.
Maggie had many friends, though. All through her childhood, she had never been a very popular girl, but the friends she had, she never lost contact with. Through her college years, and now in her professional years, she was surrounded by people she could really consider true friends. It would not take long, though -- it would not even take a minute to go through her address book and find the one person she felt she needed in this situation. She knew he was unattached and she knew he would be discreet. She just hoped he would be willing.
She knew what his weekdays were like, so she waited until the weekend to call and pop the question. They had known each other since first grade. They saw each other at least every week. There was no need for much small talk.
"I have a favor to ask," she told him.
"I am at your service, Maggie. What's mine is yours. You know that," he said.
"I'm going to have a baby," she revealed.
He could barely contain his laughter. "That's a good one," he finally said. "When did Angel Gabriel contact you?" And his tone turned more earnest. "I'm sorry, that's not fair. I'm just thinking Virgin Maggie and Baby... Jesus is already taken." And the laughter returned.
"Cut it out," she returned, but couldn't contain her own laughter. "I'm serious about this."
"OK, OK." And he decided he'd had enough fun with her. "Who's the lucky guy?" he finally asked.
There was a silence on the line and he wondered if they'd been disconnected.
"You are," she finally said. "And no more laughing at me. I'm serious about this."
Bewilderment overtook him. "OK, Maggie. What's this all about?"
"I've decided it's time," she told him. "You know we're not getting any younger. My biological clock keeps ticking louder and louder. It's deafening!"
"Ahhh, I see." He finally understood that she was asking and not telling. "'Going to have a baby.' Future tense. I gotcha." And he thought for a minute. "We're friends, Maggie. Best buds, of course, Maggie. But you know, I don't... I'm not.... You know, I'm..."
"I know, I know," she cut him off. "But that doesn't mean you couldn't do it with a woman. Physically, I mean. And I'm not asking for any kind of commitment. I'm not asking you to marry me or anything like that. You won't ever, ever be responsible for the child. Nobody will ever, ever know about your role in this." And she really stressed each "ever."
"Oh Maggie, this is a lot you're asking. And I don't want to ruin our friendship. Are you really sure about this?"
"Absolutely. You're smart, you're good looking." And she could hear him agreeing on the other end. "And I can count on you not to get all weird and clingy and attached."
"Holy cow. Wow. I'd be a daddy. That's something I never thought I'd have to think about."
"Well, our agreement would have to go both ways." She replied. "You'd need to promise, swear to God, absolutely promise to never, ever, EVER reveal that you're the father. For your own protection, you know."
This was serious, and he thought about it.
"Like I said, Maggie. What's Mine is yours," he said again. When are you thinking about..."
"What are you doing tonight?" she asked him.
"Umm, don't you remember? It's bowling night. I guess it's not bowling night, tonight." He tried to sound disappointed. He enjoyed the weekly bowling night, but it was more about being with this group of friends.
"Afterwards," she said. "It won't take long. I mean... I don't mean... I didn't mean..."
"I know what you mean," he said with a laugh. "No, I guess it won't take long at all."
And it was settled. Their night of bowling was fun. And it wasn't awkward at all. If it was, she was going to call it off. She loved him. They were such great friends, and she couldn't bear to lose that. They went back to her place afterwards; she had sent her parents to the movies. He had been to Maggie's house before, but never to that particular room.
"Thank you," she said, before they started. He just hugged her in reply. The rest of the "process" was kind of fun, they both agreed. And they hugged again after they got dressed.
"Feel funny about this?" she asked him "'Cause please don't."
"Nope," he said. And he meant it. They would always be friends, he knew. And they would.
© Copyright 2005
Chapter 2 ~ Maggie
Ernie's childhood was far from anything one might consider "normal." His life was decidedly different from the beginning, and that started with his mother.
Margaret Maxwell had everything figured out. She wanted a child. She needed a child. But she had no use for a husband. She had nothing against men as a group. She simply didn't want one for herself.
John and Betty Maxwell had raised her well, by any measure. Their only child, she received all of the attention they might have lavished on a dozen kids. They might even have had that many, but Betty had had trouble conceiving even one child and was never able to do so again. So they counted what blessings they did have and filled their life with Maggie.
Education was the key, they always told her. It was a message that would be constantly reinforced, both in words and in actions. Mom and Dad were always helping with school work of any kind. How could they know so much, she wondered. And school became the center of Maggie's life. She even wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. Her life was filled with Honor Rolls and Dean's Lists and academic awards of all kinds.
And she did grow up to be a teacher. After completing her college degree, she continued working to achieve her lifelong ambition. With her teaching certificate in hand, she went to work teaching in the same elementary school she had once attended.
Maggie had never left home. John and Betty never felt the need to push her out of the nest. Now with a teaching salary, they felt she ought to save what she did earn without the cost and burden of a separate household. And they loved having her around. They loved hearing about the subjects she was teaching. They loved hearing the stories she would tell of the children in her classroom. They were still so proud of her and all she had accomplished.
When she came to them one day and told them that she was thinking it was time she started a family, they were more than a little bit surprised. She hadn't been dating anyone that they knew of. She certainly wasn't involved in a serious enough relationship that a proposal of marriage was on the horizon, was she? They were actually relieved when she told them she wanted to do it on her own. Relief did not equate with approval, however, and they had a lot of reservations. It had taken every ounce of the two of them, they told her, to raise such a fine daughter. They welcomed, delighted at the idea of a grandchild, but a child needed a father, they told her.
But they didn't say no. Maggie was a grown woman and it wasn't their place to approve or disapprove. Yes, she lived under their roof. But it was her home and always would be, if she wanted it to be. They wanted to be supportive of this bright girl they had raised to be an intelligent woman. She had always shown excellent judgment as a child, even as a teenager. Maggie always had everything figured out. And she did even now, they felt. She was her daughter, their only daughter, and she would always be welcome in their home, her home, no matter what.
Family is family, whatever its shape or size, but a father is at the very least a biological necessity. That was the way Maggie looked at the situation. She took a very unemotional approach to what she considered the "process" of having a child. As her parents had suspected, there was no one in Maggie's life of any romantic involvement. But this made things easier, she felt, not harder.
Maggie had many friends, though. All through her childhood, she had never been a very popular girl, but the friends she had, she never lost contact with. Through her college years, and now in her professional years, she was surrounded by people she could really consider true friends. It would not take long, though -- it would not even take a minute to go through her address book and find the one person she felt she needed in this situation. She knew he was unattached and she knew he would be discreet. She just hoped he would be willing.
She knew what his weekdays were like, so she waited until the weekend to call and pop the question. They had known each other since first grade. They saw each other at least every week. There was no need for much small talk.
"I have a favor to ask," she told him.
"I am at your service, Maggie. What's mine is yours. You know that," he said.
"I'm going to have a baby," she revealed.
He could barely contain his laughter. "That's a good one," he finally said. "When did Angel Gabriel contact you?" And his tone turned more earnest. "I'm sorry, that's not fair. I'm just thinking Virgin Maggie and Baby... Jesus is already taken." And the laughter returned.
"Cut it out," she returned, but couldn't contain her own laughter. "I'm serious about this."
"OK, OK." And he decided he'd had enough fun with her. "Who's the lucky guy?" he finally asked.
There was a silence on the line and he wondered if they'd been disconnected.
"You are," she finally said. "And no more laughing at me. I'm serious about this."
Bewilderment overtook him. "OK, Maggie. What's this all about?"
"I've decided it's time," she told him. "You know we're not getting any younger. My biological clock keeps ticking louder and louder. It's deafening!"
"Ahhh, I see." He finally understood that she was asking and not telling. "'Going to have a baby.' Future tense. I gotcha." And he thought for a minute. "We're friends, Maggie. Best buds, of course, Maggie. But you know, I don't... I'm not.... You know, I'm..."
"I know, I know," she cut him off. "But that doesn't mean you couldn't do it with a woman. Physically, I mean. And I'm not asking for any kind of commitment. I'm not asking you to marry me or anything like that. You won't ever, ever be responsible for the child. Nobody will ever, ever know about your role in this." And she really stressed each "ever."
"Oh Maggie, this is a lot you're asking. And I don't want to ruin our friendship. Are you really sure about this?"
"Absolutely. You're smart, you're good looking." And she could hear him agreeing on the other end. "And I can count on you not to get all weird and clingy and attached."
"Holy cow. Wow. I'd be a daddy. That's something I never thought I'd have to think about."
"Well, our agreement would have to go both ways." She replied. "You'd need to promise, swear to God, absolutely promise to never, ever, EVER reveal that you're the father. For your own protection, you know."
This was serious, and he thought about it.
"Like I said, Maggie. What's Mine is yours," he said again. When are you thinking about..."
"What are you doing tonight?" she asked him.
"Umm, don't you remember? It's bowling night. I guess it's not bowling night, tonight." He tried to sound disappointed. He enjoyed the weekly bowling night, but it was more about being with this group of friends.
"Afterwards," she said. "It won't take long. I mean... I don't mean... I didn't mean..."
"I know what you mean," he said with a laugh. "No, I guess it won't take long at all."
And it was settled. Their night of bowling was fun. And it wasn't awkward at all. If it was, she was going to call it off. She loved him. They were such great friends, and she couldn't bear to lose that. They went back to her place afterwards; she had sent her parents to the movies. He had been to Maggie's house before, but never to that particular room.
"Thank you," she said, before they started. He just hugged her in reply. The rest of the "process" was kind of fun, they both agreed. And they hugged again after they got dressed.
"Feel funny about this?" she asked him "'Cause please don't."
"Nope," he said. And he meant it. They would always be friends, he knew. And they would.
© Copyright 2005
# posted by Uisce : 12:00 AM
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Chapter 3 ~ Birth
Invisible Touch
Chapter 3 ~ Birth
Margaret Maxwell delivered a baby boy on a cold, rainy day in October. The weather hardly mattered. There was nothing but blue sky, as far as she was concerned. Eight pounds and three ounces of sunshine had streamed down from heaven and would light up the rest of her days.
Maggie's parents were with there. Betty had been with her all through the labor and delivery. John had been in the waiting room and in the coffee shop and in the gift shop and back to the waiting room. He'd made this circuit so many times people were beginning to wonder if he were training for a marathon, or if he was just trying to wear out the hospital's shiny floor. He was a bundle of nerves all day and jumped like a cat when a nurse told him it was time, that his daughter had just given birth, and that he could see them now.
He hugged his wife and gave Maggie a pat on the arm, the one that wasn't cradling the new baby. He was practically in tears. They all were. Nothing could have prepared them for the joy they all felt. The excitement had been building for so long, but the birth of this little angel was more wonderful than any of them could have imagined.
"And what are you going to name this precious little bundle?" asked the new grandmother.
"Name?" Said Maggie with a giggle. "Hmm, a name." She held him up and pretended to study the baby, as if it had never occurred to her that a person was supposed to be given a name. She looked at her mother. She beamed at her father. "Ernest John Maxwell," she said with a smile.
"But... But that's my name," he replied in mock disapproval.
"The Second," she added. "And I'm going to call him Ernie."
"I never cared for my own first name," her father confessed. "But I'll be darned if that little guy doesn't look like an Ernie! Maggie, I am so touched and honored."
"I'm just glad he was a boy," said her mother. "Ernie would have been a terrible name for a girl!"
"Oh, mother!" giggled Maggie. And there was more laughter. They so enjoyed this moment. They delighted in this new life. Outside, the rain had actually stopped and the sky looked as if it might clear someday. Ernie had done this. They were sure of it!
Maggie held Ernie and just looked at him. Looked into those little eyes. They held so much promise, she knew. What her parents had given her, she would give to him. The love and nurturing and support that she received as a child, was still receiving this very day, she would share those with her son.
Her son. She thought about it. She marveled at the thought. "My little boy," she cooed as she held and gently rocked him. "Are you going to be a smart boy? Yes you are! Are you going to grow up and study and learn? Are you going to be a teacher someday just like your... just like your mommy?" She said, pausing, feeling just a twinge of anxiety with their circumstances.
They interacted like this for hours. Her parents looked on with wonder. How much he reminded them of her. How much reminded them of themselves. Life was a circle. A big, beautiful round circle that spun round and round.
John looked at those small hands, those tiny fingers. What a miracle this was! They would some day hold a rattle, a crayon, a ball, a diploma. How far would this child go in life, he wondered. He was Maggie's creation, of course, her wee ball of clay to shape and form into the best kind of human sculpture she had learned how to make. He and his wife would help, of course. That was part of the equation, being grandparents. They had shaped the mother and now they would help to shape the grandson, and spoil him, too, along the way.
Maggie was getting tired from all the excitement. Gramma and Grampa took turns holding Ernie for a while. They looked at each other and each knew what the other was thinking. This day brought back memories of their own little baby, of their own little girl, who was now so grown up and who had brought all this happiness.
Ernie was asleep now and Gramma Betty laid him down in his cradle. A nurse wheeled him down the hall, a watchful Grampa John making sure he got there safely. New mom looked as peaceful as she looked worn out, and was sleeping now.
"It's OK if you want to stay," a nurse told them. "We have special rules for the grandparents here."
They realized how late it was getting, that visiting hours were over.
"No, we should be on our way home for the night," Betty told her. "If she wakes up, tell her we'll be here bright and early tomorrow."
"Of course I will," said the nurse.
It was hard to turn and leave, but Maggie needed to rest. It was going to be a busy day tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. For all of them. But they looked forward to every minute of it.
Betty and John returned the next morning at 7 AM with a balloon and a box of doughnuts. They were greeted abruptly as they neared the nursing station.
"Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell," a frantic nurse said, recognizing them. "Please come with me."
She led them to the room they had been in the day before, but it didn't look at all familiar. It was filled with rolling carts and tall metal stands with bottles hanging down and there were lots of tubes and Maggie was connected to one of them. She had a pale gray color to her.
"What's happened? Is she going to be OK? Where's the baby?" Betty asked frantically. John helped her to sit down in one of the chairs.
"Are these the parents?" a doctor asked the nurse who had brought them in."
"We're the grandparents," John said. "We're her parents," he corrected himself, understanding what the doctor was really asking. Maggie was a patient now.
"Your grandson is doing just fine," the doctor reassured them. "He's being cared for in the nursery. Your daughter has lost a lot of blood and gone into hemorrhagic shock. We're giving her oxygen and fluids. We have stabilized her, but we have some concerns."
All of the joy that had once filled this room was now sucked out like a vacuum. John and Betty looked each other blankly.
"Concerns," repeated John.
"Yes. I don't have a full medical history in front of me. Can you tell me if Maggie has any history of heart problems?" the doctor asked.
"No," said Betty. "She's been a perfectly healthy girl. Her whole life. Perfectly healthy."
"She seems to have some damage to her heart tissue," he told them. We've done some blood work and she has a condition called 'von Willebrand Disease' which can cause abnormal bleeding. But the heart itself seems to be damaged. These factors may or may not be related. We're managing both, of course."
"Thank you, Doctor," John said. He was in such shock, he didn't know what to think. His mind raced through possibilities that just weren't... they just couldn't be possible. What had gone wrong, and... Things like this happen all the time, he thought. This is the finest hospital in Milwaukee. There is a reason people come here from all across the state, from all across the Midwest -- to this hospital, to these doctors... But they're only human. John Maxwell was not a religious man, but he knew there was some... something that kept this whole ship afloat. He bowed his head and began to pray. "Please... please, God, don't take my baby."
He felt an arm around his shoulder. It was a nurse. As old as he was, he sensed she was. "Everything's going to be OK," she said. A younger nurse was crouched next to the chair in which his wife sat. These people really cared. And he was so grateful. "Thank you," he said to the nurse beside him. He looked at the other nurse and at the doctor, who was now, with another nurse and another doctor, tending to Maggie. "Thank you all," he finished.
"Mr. Maxwell," the older nurse said. "Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, your daughter is in excellent hands. But Ernie..."
"Is something the matter with the baby?" Betty interjected in a panic.
"He's hungry," the nurse replied. "He has asked me to come and fetch his Gramma and Grampa. She said, forcing a smile. "And some steak and eggs, I mean a bottle of formula," she added.
John smiled, and was surprised with himself, and a little bit ashamed. This was no time for jokes, but he knew the nurse was just trying to help. He held out his hand to his wife and they went to the nursery. Maggie was in good hands -- they had to believe that. There was nothing they could do to help her right now. Ernie's breakfast, on the other hand, was something they could handle.
The nursery was busy with activity. Nearly two dozen newborns were being cared for here, and each cradle had a handmade card announcing its occupant. So many lucky families, Betty thought. Even ours. But why, she wondered silently.
Ernie looked up at them and smiled. "He must recognize us," John said. "He's got your eyes, you know," he said to his wife.
"He's got Maggie's eyes, and do you really think they look like mine?" Betty said. She couldn't even picture her own face. Maybe he's right, she thought. But it didn't matter.
"Gramma, I'm hungry," John said in a high voice. He took his cue from that nurse and tried to relieve a bit of the burdensome sorrow that hung over the situation. He loved it when she smiled, especially when it was because of something he did. It worked this time, and he was glad at what he'd accomplished.
They weren't even aware that the nurse who had accompanied them into the nursery was still standing there, but she handed Betty a bottle. John took the bottle from her and motioned for his wife to take Ernie from his cradle. There was a circle of glider rocking chairs at one end of the nursery and Betty sat down with her hungry companion. John handed the bottle back to her and she guided it slowly into his waiting mouth.
"Have some yummy steak and eggs, little man," she said to him with a smile. He was slow to realize the treat he had before him, but finally began to drink. The rest of the world finally melted away as she fed him.
This was just what she needed, John thought. And just what he needed, to see her occupied like this, her mind away from the situation which was... please, please, please... being resolved just down the hall.
The nurse watched Betty for a minute and then turned to the window that looked out onto the hallway. The younger nurse was outside looking in. Tears were streaming down her face.
His breakfast finished, Ernie was placed back in his cradle. John and Betty went with their nurse back to Maggie's room. The mood there was very somber. Maggie was dying, the doctor explained. She had a heart condition nobody had known about, and her heart had been damaged further by the blood loss and shock she had suffered.
"Is there anybody we should call?" asked the Doctor. "Clergy? Anybody?"
"No, it's just us," John replied.
A nurse was sent to fetch a minister from the waiting room who had come to visit with one of his parishioners. He came quickly, and spoke to John and Betty, "I'm so sorry to meet you under such circumstances." He asked permission to offer a prayer for Maggie. Her parents both nodded. The minister bowed his head and prayed quietly.
A nurse brought Ernie into the room and placed his head under Maggie's hand. There was not a sound in the room.
Her eyes were closed. She felt the warmth of Ernie's body. "Ba --" came from her mouth. "Baby," she managed to say. The nurse lifted Ernie to her lips, and Maggie kissed his head. Her body went limp and one of the machines at her bedside began to sound in alarm.
A crowd of doctors and nurses rushed into the room and Ernie was lifted out of their way. Medicines were injected, shocks were given, CPR was administered, but none of it was going to bring Maggie back from the journey she was now taking. From this world, she had departed.
A crowd had gathered in the lobby of the hospital. Maggie's friends had come to visit her and the new baby, but they were being held at bay by a hospital administrator.
"I know, visiting hours have begun, but you must please bear with us for a little bit," the administrator told the group.
Excitement had turned to frustration, but was turning to concern at the situation that was developing.
John Maxwell entered the lobby. He had been told that Maggie's friends were had come for a visit, and he felt he ought to see them. Many of them he already knew, most recently from the happy occasion of Maggie's baby shower, and her surprise thirtieth birthday party before that. Familiar faces looked back at him. The sorrow in his eyes quickly turned to sorrow in theirs, even before he had a chance to speak.
"Friends," he began simply, "I am afraid I must be the bearer of terrible news. Our beloved Maggie has passed away. She had a heart condition we did not know about and complications from acute blood loss after the birth of her son, Ernie. The baby is doing just fine, for which we are grateful. But dear Maggie is gone."
There was weeping from some, as he knew there would be, and stunned silence from others. He addressed one of Maggie's best friends, a fellow teacher. "Mark, I have your number and I will be in touch about the arrangements, if you would be good enough to pass the information along."
"Of course," he said. "Of course. And whatever else I can do, just ask. I am at your service. Please don't hesitate to call."
The funeral was a difficult time for everyone. Because Maggie was so very young, it was impossible to celebrate her life without asking why she had been taken away from friends and from family and from a new son.
Baby Ernie would have two parents after all. For a very brief time, he knew his own mother. But now, as fate would have it, Gramma and Grampa would be his only family.
© Copyright 2005
Chapter 3 ~ Birth
Margaret Maxwell delivered a baby boy on a cold, rainy day in October. The weather hardly mattered. There was nothing but blue sky, as far as she was concerned. Eight pounds and three ounces of sunshine had streamed down from heaven and would light up the rest of her days.
Maggie's parents were with there. Betty had been with her all through the labor and delivery. John had been in the waiting room and in the coffee shop and in the gift shop and back to the waiting room. He'd made this circuit so many times people were beginning to wonder if he were training for a marathon, or if he was just trying to wear out the hospital's shiny floor. He was a bundle of nerves all day and jumped like a cat when a nurse told him it was time, that his daughter had just given birth, and that he could see them now.
He hugged his wife and gave Maggie a pat on the arm, the one that wasn't cradling the new baby. He was practically in tears. They all were. Nothing could have prepared them for the joy they all felt. The excitement had been building for so long, but the birth of this little angel was more wonderful than any of them could have imagined.
"And what are you going to name this precious little bundle?" asked the new grandmother.
"Name?" Said Maggie with a giggle. "Hmm, a name." She held him up and pretended to study the baby, as if it had never occurred to her that a person was supposed to be given a name. She looked at her mother. She beamed at her father. "Ernest John Maxwell," she said with a smile.
"But... But that's my name," he replied in mock disapproval.
"The Second," she added. "And I'm going to call him Ernie."
"I never cared for my own first name," her father confessed. "But I'll be darned if that little guy doesn't look like an Ernie! Maggie, I am so touched and honored."
"I'm just glad he was a boy," said her mother. "Ernie would have been a terrible name for a girl!"
"Oh, mother!" giggled Maggie. And there was more laughter. They so enjoyed this moment. They delighted in this new life. Outside, the rain had actually stopped and the sky looked as if it might clear someday. Ernie had done this. They were sure of it!
Maggie held Ernie and just looked at him. Looked into those little eyes. They held so much promise, she knew. What her parents had given her, she would give to him. The love and nurturing and support that she received as a child, was still receiving this very day, she would share those with her son.
Her son. She thought about it. She marveled at the thought. "My little boy," she cooed as she held and gently rocked him. "Are you going to be a smart boy? Yes you are! Are you going to grow up and study and learn? Are you going to be a teacher someday just like your... just like your mommy?" She said, pausing, feeling just a twinge of anxiety with their circumstances.
They interacted like this for hours. Her parents looked on with wonder. How much he reminded them of her. How much reminded them of themselves. Life was a circle. A big, beautiful round circle that spun round and round.
John looked at those small hands, those tiny fingers. What a miracle this was! They would some day hold a rattle, a crayon, a ball, a diploma. How far would this child go in life, he wondered. He was Maggie's creation, of course, her wee ball of clay to shape and form into the best kind of human sculpture she had learned how to make. He and his wife would help, of course. That was part of the equation, being grandparents. They had shaped the mother and now they would help to shape the grandson, and spoil him, too, along the way.
Maggie was getting tired from all the excitement. Gramma and Grampa took turns holding Ernie for a while. They looked at each other and each knew what the other was thinking. This day brought back memories of their own little baby, of their own little girl, who was now so grown up and who had brought all this happiness.
Ernie was asleep now and Gramma Betty laid him down in his cradle. A nurse wheeled him down the hall, a watchful Grampa John making sure he got there safely. New mom looked as peaceful as she looked worn out, and was sleeping now.
"It's OK if you want to stay," a nurse told them. "We have special rules for the grandparents here."
They realized how late it was getting, that visiting hours were over.
"No, we should be on our way home for the night," Betty told her. "If she wakes up, tell her we'll be here bright and early tomorrow."
"Of course I will," said the nurse.
It was hard to turn and leave, but Maggie needed to rest. It was going to be a busy day tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. For all of them. But they looked forward to every minute of it.
Betty and John returned the next morning at 7 AM with a balloon and a box of doughnuts. They were greeted abruptly as they neared the nursing station.
"Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell," a frantic nurse said, recognizing them. "Please come with me."
She led them to the room they had been in the day before, but it didn't look at all familiar. It was filled with rolling carts and tall metal stands with bottles hanging down and there were lots of tubes and Maggie was connected to one of them. She had a pale gray color to her.
"What's happened? Is she going to be OK? Where's the baby?" Betty asked frantically. John helped her to sit down in one of the chairs.
"Are these the parents?" a doctor asked the nurse who had brought them in."
"We're the grandparents," John said. "We're her parents," he corrected himself, understanding what the doctor was really asking. Maggie was a patient now.
"Your grandson is doing just fine," the doctor reassured them. "He's being cared for in the nursery. Your daughter has lost a lot of blood and gone into hemorrhagic shock. We're giving her oxygen and fluids. We have stabilized her, but we have some concerns."
All of the joy that had once filled this room was now sucked out like a vacuum. John and Betty looked each other blankly.
"Concerns," repeated John.
"Yes. I don't have a full medical history in front of me. Can you tell me if Maggie has any history of heart problems?" the doctor asked.
"No," said Betty. "She's been a perfectly healthy girl. Her whole life. Perfectly healthy."
"She seems to have some damage to her heart tissue," he told them. We've done some blood work and she has a condition called 'von Willebrand Disease' which can cause abnormal bleeding. But the heart itself seems to be damaged. These factors may or may not be related. We're managing both, of course."
"Thank you, Doctor," John said. He was in such shock, he didn't know what to think. His mind raced through possibilities that just weren't... they just couldn't be possible. What had gone wrong, and... Things like this happen all the time, he thought. This is the finest hospital in Milwaukee. There is a reason people come here from all across the state, from all across the Midwest -- to this hospital, to these doctors... But they're only human. John Maxwell was not a religious man, but he knew there was some... something that kept this whole ship afloat. He bowed his head and began to pray. "Please... please, God, don't take my baby."
He felt an arm around his shoulder. It was a nurse. As old as he was, he sensed she was. "Everything's going to be OK," she said. A younger nurse was crouched next to the chair in which his wife sat. These people really cared. And he was so grateful. "Thank you," he said to the nurse beside him. He looked at the other nurse and at the doctor, who was now, with another nurse and another doctor, tending to Maggie. "Thank you all," he finished.
"Mr. Maxwell," the older nurse said. "Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, your daughter is in excellent hands. But Ernie..."
"Is something the matter with the baby?" Betty interjected in a panic.
"He's hungry," the nurse replied. "He has asked me to come and fetch his Gramma and Grampa. She said, forcing a smile. "And some steak and eggs, I mean a bottle of formula," she added.
John smiled, and was surprised with himself, and a little bit ashamed. This was no time for jokes, but he knew the nurse was just trying to help. He held out his hand to his wife and they went to the nursery. Maggie was in good hands -- they had to believe that. There was nothing they could do to help her right now. Ernie's breakfast, on the other hand, was something they could handle.
The nursery was busy with activity. Nearly two dozen newborns were being cared for here, and each cradle had a handmade card announcing its occupant. So many lucky families, Betty thought. Even ours. But why, she wondered silently.
Ernie looked up at them and smiled. "He must recognize us," John said. "He's got your eyes, you know," he said to his wife.
"He's got Maggie's eyes, and do you really think they look like mine?" Betty said. She couldn't even picture her own face. Maybe he's right, she thought. But it didn't matter.
"Gramma, I'm hungry," John said in a high voice. He took his cue from that nurse and tried to relieve a bit of the burdensome sorrow that hung over the situation. He loved it when she smiled, especially when it was because of something he did. It worked this time, and he was glad at what he'd accomplished.
They weren't even aware that the nurse who had accompanied them into the nursery was still standing there, but she handed Betty a bottle. John took the bottle from her and motioned for his wife to take Ernie from his cradle. There was a circle of glider rocking chairs at one end of the nursery and Betty sat down with her hungry companion. John handed the bottle back to her and she guided it slowly into his waiting mouth.
"Have some yummy steak and eggs, little man," she said to him with a smile. He was slow to realize the treat he had before him, but finally began to drink. The rest of the world finally melted away as she fed him.
This was just what she needed, John thought. And just what he needed, to see her occupied like this, her mind away from the situation which was... please, please, please... being resolved just down the hall.
The nurse watched Betty for a minute and then turned to the window that looked out onto the hallway. The younger nurse was outside looking in. Tears were streaming down her face.
His breakfast finished, Ernie was placed back in his cradle. John and Betty went with their nurse back to Maggie's room. The mood there was very somber. Maggie was dying, the doctor explained. She had a heart condition nobody had known about, and her heart had been damaged further by the blood loss and shock she had suffered.
"Is there anybody we should call?" asked the Doctor. "Clergy? Anybody?"
"No, it's just us," John replied.
A nurse was sent to fetch a minister from the waiting room who had come to visit with one of his parishioners. He came quickly, and spoke to John and Betty, "I'm so sorry to meet you under such circumstances." He asked permission to offer a prayer for Maggie. Her parents both nodded. The minister bowed his head and prayed quietly.
A nurse brought Ernie into the room and placed his head under Maggie's hand. There was not a sound in the room.
Her eyes were closed. She felt the warmth of Ernie's body. "Ba --" came from her mouth. "Baby," she managed to say. The nurse lifted Ernie to her lips, and Maggie kissed his head. Her body went limp and one of the machines at her bedside began to sound in alarm.
A crowd of doctors and nurses rushed into the room and Ernie was lifted out of their way. Medicines were injected, shocks were given, CPR was administered, but none of it was going to bring Maggie back from the journey she was now taking. From this world, she had departed.
A crowd had gathered in the lobby of the hospital. Maggie's friends had come to visit her and the new baby, but they were being held at bay by a hospital administrator.
"I know, visiting hours have begun, but you must please bear with us for a little bit," the administrator told the group.
Excitement had turned to frustration, but was turning to concern at the situation that was developing.
John Maxwell entered the lobby. He had been told that Maggie's friends were had come for a visit, and he felt he ought to see them. Many of them he already knew, most recently from the happy occasion of Maggie's baby shower, and her surprise thirtieth birthday party before that. Familiar faces looked back at him. The sorrow in his eyes quickly turned to sorrow in theirs, even before he had a chance to speak.
"Friends," he began simply, "I am afraid I must be the bearer of terrible news. Our beloved Maggie has passed away. She had a heart condition we did not know about and complications from acute blood loss after the birth of her son, Ernie. The baby is doing just fine, for which we are grateful. But dear Maggie is gone."
There was weeping from some, as he knew there would be, and stunned silence from others. He addressed one of Maggie's best friends, a fellow teacher. "Mark, I have your number and I will be in touch about the arrangements, if you would be good enough to pass the information along."
"Of course," he said. "Of course. And whatever else I can do, just ask. I am at your service. Please don't hesitate to call."
The funeral was a difficult time for everyone. Because Maggie was so very young, it was impossible to celebrate her life without asking why she had been taken away from friends and from family and from a new son.
Baby Ernie would have two parents after all. For a very brief time, he knew his own mother. But now, as fate would have it, Gramma and Grampa would be his only family.
© Copyright 2005
# posted by Uisce : 12:00 AM
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Chapter 4 ~ The Dreams
Invisible Touch
Chapter 4 ~ The Dreams
Ernie Maxwell was always a writer. Sure, he engaged in the usual boy-traditional activities of ball playing and digging in the mud and pirate ship with sticks for swords. But when it was time to write in his journal, he wasn't ashamed to put pen to paper. While other boys turned out fairly meaningless content, just to fill the page, Ernie wrote about things that really mattered to him.
Today's writing prompt was "write about your earliest memory." It was the second day of school, and the first journal writing assignment, but second grade teacher Miss Sanders preferred this theme to the more traditional "what did you do during your summer vacation." It told her more about the children and it wasn't something they might have been prepared for. Unless an older sibling was one of her former pupils, that is.
She looked around the room as soon as she instructed the class to begin work. She noted which students began writing right away and which ones looked around the room for inspiration. Ernie was in that first group.
"When I was litel, I went to the park and ate ice crem. My Gramma and Grampa tok me. Mom died when I was born but she luvd me the same as a hundrid yerz. There were squillz in the park and they ran up and down the trez. I get hedaks and the doktr thinks I have a lergeez. My dreems are wird and I dont slep gud."
Miss Sanders read from each student's journal. This one was very interesting. It had the typical early childhood spelling mistakes, but that didn't matter at all. It was very expressive for a seven year old. This boy was off to a good start in his writing.
Much of what he'd written, she already knew from the file the school district kept on each student as continuity from year to year. His mother had died from complications during childbirth. It was rare in this day and age, but still happened, and gave her a chill as she was reminded of it. Ernie's maternal grandparents were raising him, she also knew. She didn't know anything about his father, whether there was a death or divorce. It wasn't any of her business, she supposed, even if it did make her a little bit curious. "A hundred years," he had written -- how sweet. He was surely being raised by loving par -- grandparents, she corrected herself. The headaches and... ahh, allergies, he had written. This was something she did not know, something she would have to keep an eye on, in case it might affect his school work. Weird dreams and sleeplessness. This gave her pause, and she made some remarks in a notebook of her own.
The dreams had started when Ernie was five year old. And "weird" was certainly one way to describe them. They fell into two categories. In some of the dreams he could see detailed pictures of a person, awash in a colorful hazy fog -- pink, yellow, green, almost like a halo. In other dreams he could barely make out the details of the picture, but more prominent were foggy waves of color -- sometimes all he would see were the colors. The dreams didn't frighten him at all, but they absorbed his consciousness and he found it difficult to sleep when he was having one.
Ernie didn't understand the dreams. He had noticed that there were different colors, though, and most of his dreams were colored in pink. And it was very strange, but if he had a "pink dream" about somebody, they were always happy the next day. A few times he had a dream in yellow, but the next day he didn't always see that person. Some of the time the "yellow people" were absent from school the next day with a cold, and some of the time the person would be at school with a runny nose or coughing. How did the yellow dream make that person sick, he wondered. And one time he had a green dream about a girl in his class. The next day they were playing ball at recess and she found a dollar on the playground. This intrigued him. He wished he could have a green dream about himself.
He never did have a dream about himself, though -- always about somebody else. And what he never did notice was that if he merely saw someone or spoke to them, the dream would be just a foggy haze of colors. It was people he touched physically in some way that made the dream clear and detailed.
When he had one of his colorful dreams, he would wonder what it might mean. But when he could see details, he would watch it like a television show. He would become mesmerized by whatever action was taking place. Children playing, that was what he mostly saw. Some of the children would appear fuzzy. But only one of them would ever have the colored halo. Sometimes he could tell who the other children were, but not all the time.
These dreams usually kept him awake at night. His eyes could be open or closed, and he would still see it. Sleep was sporadic, and at best, by the end of the night, might amount to just a couple of hours.
He would read a lot, and this distracted him somewhat, but the dream he was having would blur the words on the page. He could see both at the same time, but found it hard to concentrate on what he was reading.
One night he tried listening to the radio. Music never worked -- this would make him want to dance, not sleep. But news or talk programs were different. They were so boring to him that they made him drowsy, and in the morning he would feel that he had slept a little bit more. And more sleep was better. But when he listened to people talking on the radio, something else happened. All of a sudden, he would have dreams about strangers. They were always dreams of foggy colors, but the faces he saw were completely unfamiliar to him.
He didn't like the dreams about strangers, but it was helping him sleep. He knew he felt better in the morning, and that was what mattered the most.
Through the years, the dreams continued, and so did the consequences that went along with them. He had to work extremely hard in school to make up for the distractions they often caused. The dreams occurred mostly at night, but more and more often would surprise him during the day, obscuring the lesson he was reading in a book or on the blackboard.
But now in the fifth grade, he continued to impress his teachers with his love of school and learning. His grandparents were instilling in him the same work ethic and attitude they had given his mother. Even in their sixties, they were still excellent parents.
As he grew older, Ernie became increasingly aware that his dreams made him different, and he felt embarrassed by this. He was always conscious of wanting to keep his situation to himself. Ernie's school journal might contain stories or poems about things in his life, but it was only in his personal diary that he would reveal, and only to himself, what was really going on inside.
"Mary Randolph punched me in the arm yesterday. I took her pencil, but that's no reason. She's always doing stuff like that, over-reacting. She always has to be dramatic! But last night I had a yellow dream about her. And today she's out sick. I don't get this. It's like every time I have a yellow dream, somebody is sick from school the next day. It's like I'm Carnac or something. It's freaking me out pretty much totally."
As much as Ernie tried to be a model student, his dreams were a problem was not his to control. One day in math class his teacher, asked him a question. Ernie was being bombarded with visions and didn't respond.
"Mr. Maxwell, I'm waiting for an answer to my question," said Mr. Pavin.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat it?" asked Ernie.
"I've already asked you three times, and perhaps you'd rather give your answer to the Principal," threatened the teacher.
"I, uhh, I'm..." He was being bombarded with images of this same teacher, a green fog hanging like mist about him. A noise like static filled Ernie ears, as if he was tuned between stations on a very loud radio.
It began to subside just as Mr. Pavin approached. "Let's go, mister," he said to Ernie, who rose to his feet and headed for the door.
Ernie had never been sent to the Principal's office before, and he hardly knew what would happen there. Mr. Pavin had called ahead and the Principal was waiting outside the office door for him. His poker face gave Ernie no idea what to expect.
"Have a seat, Mr. Maxwell," he told Ernie.
"Yes, Mr. O'Brien," he replied, and did as he was told.
Mark O'Brien was new to all this. Last year he was teaching third graders, who hadn't really needed much discipline at all. Now he was the Principal at Central Lake Middle school. Now he was supposed to be the enforcer. He had been apprised already of Ernie's offense.
"Mr. Pavin tells me you weren't paying attention in class," he said. "I'd like to hear your side of the story."
"Well, he's right, Mr. O'Brien," Ernie confessed. "I was paying attention, I was following the lesson, and then..."
"Go on, Ernie."
"I couldn't hear what he was saying because... I couldn't see and I couldn't hear..." Ernie didn't want to tell the truth, but knew that no made-up story was going to get him out of trouble. "Mr. O'Brien, I have this thing that happens sometimes and I get distracted. It's like a dream, but I get them during the day. Please don't tell my grandparents, Mr. O'Brien. I don't want them to worry about this."
"I see," said the Principal.
"I can't control it, and I'm really sorry. I'll tell Mr. Pavin I'm sorry," Ernie promised.
"Ernie, you're a good boy and a good student. I can tell you you've just confided something you wanted to keep to yourself and I appreciate your honesty. Do you know what happens to honest people, young man?"
"What?" Ernie asked.
"Only good things, Mr. Maxwell. Only good things. It's time for your next class, but I expect you to keep your word and apologize to Mr. Pavin first thing tomorrow."
"I will, I swear," Ernie said, and he meant it.
"Before you go, I'd like to say something else, Ernie," Mr. O'Brien said. "If you ever need help, not just with these distractions, but with anything else, I want you to feel free to come and see me. You have the power to change the future, and I am at your service."
"Thank you sir," Ernie said. And he went to his next class.
Such a great kid, Mr. O'Brien thought. His mother would have been so proud. If only she could see him now... and who knows, maybe she could.
The next day, Ernie went to Mr. Pavin's classroom before homeroom. There was a substitute teacher there in his place. Oh no, Ernie thought. Another dream, another illness.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pavin's not here today," the substitute began. "In fact, I'm sorry to have to tell you this terrible news, but Mr. Pavin called this morning and quit his job."
Ernie froze in horror. What had he done?
"It seems that he picked the six numbers in yesterday's lotto drawing and all of a sudden he's not so interested in coming back to work for some reason."
And the substitute teacher began to laugh.
Ernie thought for a minute. Yes, there had been a dream about Mr. Pavin. But that had been a green dream, hadn't it?
© Copyright 2005
Chapter 4 ~ The Dreams
Ernie Maxwell was always a writer. Sure, he engaged in the usual boy-traditional activities of ball playing and digging in the mud and pirate ship with sticks for swords. But when it was time to write in his journal, he wasn't ashamed to put pen to paper. While other boys turned out fairly meaningless content, just to fill the page, Ernie wrote about things that really mattered to him.
Today's writing prompt was "write about your earliest memory." It was the second day of school, and the first journal writing assignment, but second grade teacher Miss Sanders preferred this theme to the more traditional "what did you do during your summer vacation." It told her more about the children and it wasn't something they might have been prepared for. Unless an older sibling was one of her former pupils, that is.
She looked around the room as soon as she instructed the class to begin work. She noted which students began writing right away and which ones looked around the room for inspiration. Ernie was in that first group.
"When I was litel, I went to the park and ate ice crem. My Gramma and Grampa tok me. Mom died when I was born but she luvd me the same as a hundrid yerz. There were squillz in the park and they ran up and down the trez. I get hedaks and the doktr thinks I have a lergeez. My dreems are wird and I dont slep gud."
Miss Sanders read from each student's journal. This one was very interesting. It had the typical early childhood spelling mistakes, but that didn't matter at all. It was very expressive for a seven year old. This boy was off to a good start in his writing.
Much of what he'd written, she already knew from the file the school district kept on each student as continuity from year to year. His mother had died from complications during childbirth. It was rare in this day and age, but still happened, and gave her a chill as she was reminded of it. Ernie's maternal grandparents were raising him, she also knew. She didn't know anything about his father, whether there was a death or divorce. It wasn't any of her business, she supposed, even if it did make her a little bit curious. "A hundred years," he had written -- how sweet. He was surely being raised by loving par -- grandparents, she corrected herself. The headaches and... ahh, allergies, he had written. This was something she did not know, something she would have to keep an eye on, in case it might affect his school work. Weird dreams and sleeplessness. This gave her pause, and she made some remarks in a notebook of her own.
The dreams had started when Ernie was five year old. And "weird" was certainly one way to describe them. They fell into two categories. In some of the dreams he could see detailed pictures of a person, awash in a colorful hazy fog -- pink, yellow, green, almost like a halo. In other dreams he could barely make out the details of the picture, but more prominent were foggy waves of color -- sometimes all he would see were the colors. The dreams didn't frighten him at all, but they absorbed his consciousness and he found it difficult to sleep when he was having one.
Ernie didn't understand the dreams. He had noticed that there were different colors, though, and most of his dreams were colored in pink. And it was very strange, but if he had a "pink dream" about somebody, they were always happy the next day. A few times he had a dream in yellow, but the next day he didn't always see that person. Some of the time the "yellow people" were absent from school the next day with a cold, and some of the time the person would be at school with a runny nose or coughing. How did the yellow dream make that person sick, he wondered. And one time he had a green dream about a girl in his class. The next day they were playing ball at recess and she found a dollar on the playground. This intrigued him. He wished he could have a green dream about himself.
He never did have a dream about himself, though -- always about somebody else. And what he never did notice was that if he merely saw someone or spoke to them, the dream would be just a foggy haze of colors. It was people he touched physically in some way that made the dream clear and detailed.
When he had one of his colorful dreams, he would wonder what it might mean. But when he could see details, he would watch it like a television show. He would become mesmerized by whatever action was taking place. Children playing, that was what he mostly saw. Some of the children would appear fuzzy. But only one of them would ever have the colored halo. Sometimes he could tell who the other children were, but not all the time.
These dreams usually kept him awake at night. His eyes could be open or closed, and he would still see it. Sleep was sporadic, and at best, by the end of the night, might amount to just a couple of hours.
He would read a lot, and this distracted him somewhat, but the dream he was having would blur the words on the page. He could see both at the same time, but found it hard to concentrate on what he was reading.
One night he tried listening to the radio. Music never worked -- this would make him want to dance, not sleep. But news or talk programs were different. They were so boring to him that they made him drowsy, and in the morning he would feel that he had slept a little bit more. And more sleep was better. But when he listened to people talking on the radio, something else happened. All of a sudden, he would have dreams about strangers. They were always dreams of foggy colors, but the faces he saw were completely unfamiliar to him.
He didn't like the dreams about strangers, but it was helping him sleep. He knew he felt better in the morning, and that was what mattered the most.
Through the years, the dreams continued, and so did the consequences that went along with them. He had to work extremely hard in school to make up for the distractions they often caused. The dreams occurred mostly at night, but more and more often would surprise him during the day, obscuring the lesson he was reading in a book or on the blackboard.
But now in the fifth grade, he continued to impress his teachers with his love of school and learning. His grandparents were instilling in him the same work ethic and attitude they had given his mother. Even in their sixties, they were still excellent parents.
As he grew older, Ernie became increasingly aware that his dreams made him different, and he felt embarrassed by this. He was always conscious of wanting to keep his situation to himself. Ernie's school journal might contain stories or poems about things in his life, but it was only in his personal diary that he would reveal, and only to himself, what was really going on inside.
"Mary Randolph punched me in the arm yesterday. I took her pencil, but that's no reason. She's always doing stuff like that, over-reacting. She always has to be dramatic! But last night I had a yellow dream about her. And today she's out sick. I don't get this. It's like every time I have a yellow dream, somebody is sick from school the next day. It's like I'm Carnac or something. It's freaking me out pretty much totally."
As much as Ernie tried to be a model student, his dreams were a problem was not his to control. One day in math class his teacher, asked him a question. Ernie was being bombarded with visions and didn't respond.
"Mr. Maxwell, I'm waiting for an answer to my question," said Mr. Pavin.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat it?" asked Ernie.
"I've already asked you three times, and perhaps you'd rather give your answer to the Principal," threatened the teacher.
"I, uhh, I'm..." He was being bombarded with images of this same teacher, a green fog hanging like mist about him. A noise like static filled Ernie ears, as if he was tuned between stations on a very loud radio.
It began to subside just as Mr. Pavin approached. "Let's go, mister," he said to Ernie, who rose to his feet and headed for the door.
Ernie had never been sent to the Principal's office before, and he hardly knew what would happen there. Mr. Pavin had called ahead and the Principal was waiting outside the office door for him. His poker face gave Ernie no idea what to expect.
"Have a seat, Mr. Maxwell," he told Ernie.
"Yes, Mr. O'Brien," he replied, and did as he was told.
Mark O'Brien was new to all this. Last year he was teaching third graders, who hadn't really needed much discipline at all. Now he was the Principal at Central Lake Middle school. Now he was supposed to be the enforcer. He had been apprised already of Ernie's offense.
"Mr. Pavin tells me you weren't paying attention in class," he said. "I'd like to hear your side of the story."
"Well, he's right, Mr. O'Brien," Ernie confessed. "I was paying attention, I was following the lesson, and then..."
"Go on, Ernie."
"I couldn't hear what he was saying because... I couldn't see and I couldn't hear..." Ernie didn't want to tell the truth, but knew that no made-up story was going to get him out of trouble. "Mr. O'Brien, I have this thing that happens sometimes and I get distracted. It's like a dream, but I get them during the day. Please don't tell my grandparents, Mr. O'Brien. I don't want them to worry about this."
"I see," said the Principal.
"I can't control it, and I'm really sorry. I'll tell Mr. Pavin I'm sorry," Ernie promised.
"Ernie, you're a good boy and a good student. I can tell you you've just confided something you wanted to keep to yourself and I appreciate your honesty. Do you know what happens to honest people, young man?"
"What?" Ernie asked.
"Only good things, Mr. Maxwell. Only good things. It's time for your next class, but I expect you to keep your word and apologize to Mr. Pavin first thing tomorrow."
"I will, I swear," Ernie said, and he meant it.
"Before you go, I'd like to say something else, Ernie," Mr. O'Brien said. "If you ever need help, not just with these distractions, but with anything else, I want you to feel free to come and see me. You have the power to change the future, and I am at your service."
"Thank you sir," Ernie said. And he went to his next class.
Such a great kid, Mr. O'Brien thought. His mother would have been so proud. If only she could see him now... and who knows, maybe she could.
The next day, Ernie went to Mr. Pavin's classroom before homeroom. There was a substitute teacher there in his place. Oh no, Ernie thought. Another dream, another illness.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pavin's not here today," the substitute began. "In fact, I'm sorry to have to tell you this terrible news, but Mr. Pavin called this morning and quit his job."
Ernie froze in horror. What had he done?
"It seems that he picked the six numbers in yesterday's lotto drawing and all of a sudden he's not so interested in coming back to work for some reason."
And the substitute teacher began to laugh.
Ernie thought for a minute. Yes, there had been a dream about Mr. Pavin. But that had been a green dream, hadn't it?
© Copyright 2005
# posted by Uisce : 12:00 AM
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Chapter 5 ~ The Big Game
Invisible Touch
Chapter 5 ~ The Big Game
Ernie was a boy with a dilemma. On the one hand, he was having these dreams, which became more and more disruptive as he grew older. On the other hand, these dreams were some kind of window into the future of the people who appeared in them.
He was actually capable of seeing the future. There was no denying this, he knew. He could see when someone was going to become ill. He could see when someone was going to find money. He had even seen the outcome of a football game before it was played.
Ernie wasn't much of a fan, but this was a big deal. The city's Central High School football team had won their regional division in regular season play. They had then swept through a tournament of division winners in the southern half of the state. This meant that they would next play the northern champion, Indigo Falls, to determine the state champion.
Many of the boys in Ernie's eighth grade class had hopes of someday being members of the Central team. Next year, as freshmen, they could try out for the team, but the competition was fierce. The following year they might have a better chance. But the dream was alive already in some of Ernie's friends.
Ernie was walking home from school with his friend Doug, who lived just a block away from him. Doug was one of the football wanna-bes. The boys' route took them right by Central High's practice field. The big game was a week and a half away and there was a practice taking place.
"Hey, let's stop and watch," suggested Doug.
"OK, just for a little while," replied Ernie. "I haven't finished my social studies paper yet, and it's due tomorrow in 2nd period."
"Finished?" Doug said. "I haven't even started mine."
They stood by a fence where there was already a sizable group of spectators. Many of the kids who were watching wore green and yellow shirts with the white "G" that revealed their own even bigger gridiron dreams.
"Hey, Bobby," shouted one of the littlest kids, standing next to Ernie. "Good luck in the big game!"
Bobby Newman was the first string quarter of the team and an all around good guy. A real student athlete, he was hoping football would be his ticket to a college football scholarship. And not to a Big Ten school, to the dismay of his coach, a former quarterback for the Wisconsin Badgers and a Heisman Trophy runner-up. No, Bobby hoped for a ticket to the Ivy League, where he would fulfill his athletic commitments but make the best of a top-flight educational institution at the same time.
And Bobby was a nice kid. He had just taken a water break and was signing a few autographs. To the youngest kids in this crowd, that was a big treat.
"Make sure you get your homework done," he'd tell them. It was his version of the common yet trite "stay in school" line.
He approached the little boy next to Ernie. "What's your name," he asked.
You would have thought the boy was standing next to Brett Favre. He went and hid behind his father's legs.
"It's OK," his dad told him.
"My name's Bobby," he said, peeking out from behind his dad.
"Hey, that's my name, too," the older Bobby replied. "Do you like to read?" he asked the younger boy.
"Ah huh," he nodded.
"So do I," agreed the quarterback. "Reading and school work and when that's done, I like football, too," he said. "Do you like football?"
"Ah huh," the little boy said with a smile.
The boy's father lifted him up and the Bobbys shook hands. Doug reached over for a high five. Bobby returned the gesture and offered Ernie a high five as well. As their hands touched, Ernie had a sudden rush of warmth, like a static electric shock. This was something strange, he thought -- it had never happened before.
"Good luck, guys," Ernie felt like saying, as Bobby Newman returned to his team.
Ernie looked at Doug. "You heard what he said. 'Make sure you get your homework done,'" he jeered. "I really have to get home. And you should, too."
"OK, Mom," Doug said to Ernie, and then felt terrible at what had just come out of his mouth. "Oh my gosh, Ernie. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"Douggy, don't worry about it," Ernie reassured him. "That was a long time ago. People don't have to spend their whole life avoiding the word 'mom' or 'mother' when they're around me."
Doug was relieved he hadn't hurt Ernie's feelings. He really valued their friendship. The feeling was mutual.
They started the short walk for home.
"See you tomorrow," Doug said in parting.
"See you," Ernie replied. "And Doug..." Ernie paused. "Make sure you get your homework done," Ernie said with a smile.
"Yes, teacher," came the reply, and they both laughed as they went their separate ways home.
Ernie had a quick snack before he sat down to do his home work. He craved bananas. He must be part monkey, he thought. Sweets didn't interest him, and even some fruits were just too much. But bananas, he couldn't get enough of them. He slid another into his pocket as he headed for his room.
"Not with that banana, you don't," came a voice from the living room. How did she know? "And not without a hug for your Gramma," she added.
"And me, too," came the voice of his grandfather.
He smiled as he entered the living room and then gave each of them a big hug as they sat in their favorite chairs.
"You just make sure that banana peel gets back in the kitchen garbage," Gramma warned. "Or you'll end up with fruit flies in your room."
"Oh, that's all we need," mused Grampa.
These were the sweetest people on earth, Ernie felt. They had raised him from the day he was born. They had raised him as if he was their very own child. He felt so lucky that they would give up their years of retirement and leisure to be his surrogate parents. From the stories they told him about his mom, he knew they were raising him in the very same way they had raised her. That made him proud somehow. He felt this great honor to be following in her footsteps, that he should try and be everything she was trying to be. And it made him want to achieve in school the way they told him his mother always had.
He gave them each another hug and started toward his room.
"Oh, Ernie," his grandfather called to him. "Doug called just before you got home. He left a message; he said, 'Make...'"
"Make sure you get your homework done," Ernie said with a giggle as he left the room.
"He's a regular Kreskin," John chuckled.
Betty just laughed.
Before he sat down to work, Ernie made an entry in his private journal.
"The strangest thing happened today. Doug and I stopped to watch the high school football practice on the way home from school. The quarterback of the team came over our way to talk to a little boy and I high fived him. I don't know what I was thinking. I've been trying so hard to avoid touching anybody, and that does seem to reduce the amount of vivid dreaming I have. I can handle the foggy color kind of dreams, and they don't seem to cloud my vision as much.
"I don't want to have to avoid people, but the closer they are to me, the stronger the vision is. I just have to be careful not to touch people, and I should have been more careful today. I can predict that in the future, tomorrow, I'm going to have a dream in class because of this and I'm going to end up in trouble. I have to be more careful.
"And one more thing. Why don't I ever have dreams about Gramma and Grampa? Is it because they're family? Is that why I don't have any dreams about my own future? I really wish I understood this. I wonder if Mom had these dreams. Or my father."
Ernie's worried prediction was wrong, and he was glad at that. He turned in his social studies project right on time and the rest of the day went by without incident.
His Thursday night ritual included a quick study of his vocabulary words for the weekly Friday quiz. Tonight was no exception. He went through the list backwards and forwards. He hadn't missed a single word yet in the nearly three months of spelling and vocabulary quizzes. He was putting more pressure on himself than he needed to, but a perfect record was hard not to try and achieve.
One more time and he'd call it a night, he thought. He covered the words and looked at the column of definitions, so he could test himself on spelling. As he did this, he felt a wave of anxiety. This is how his dreams usually started during the day. He knew his vision would soon blur, so he put down his work and just sat there, waiting for it.
As the room around him began to blur, a somewhat face began coming into focus. It was Bobby Newman, he recognized -- the high school football quarterback. He had wondered when this dream would come. The high five at practice made it inevitable. But these thoughts weren't in his mind right now. He was unconsciously absorbed by the vision. Static filled his ears, but it wasn't just noise. He could hear cheering. People were all around him and there was smiling and laughter. This was a "pink dream" after all, and that was always a happy dream. And Bobby was surrounded by the pink hazy halo. The other people he saw were merely supporting actors in this movie he watched. One of them was the football coach, who lifted up a trophy. Somebody else placed a white baseball cap on Bobby's head. And there was a banner hanging behind all of them which read "Congratulations" and "State Champions" on it. The dream was over in a few minutes and Ernie's vision cleared.
It had finally happened, he thought. He had seen plenty of visions of the future before, but this was something that was going to matter to people. It made him anxious and apprehensive, as if he knew something he wasn't supposed to know. He didn't like this feeling at all.
There were plenty of things going on in the city this time of year. And ordinarily, there would be any number of things on anybody's list ahead of high school football. But this was the state championship and it was big news. No city team had ever won the title and the last time one came close was thirty-seven years ago when East High's team lost that final game in overtime. As for Central, this was the first year they'd ever won a post-season game, let alone played in the big game.
The high school teachers understood this. The middle school teachers even understood this. During lessons, of course, attention was absolutely required. But at other times, the kids spent a lot of time talking about the game when, maybe they should have been working on assignment. There was just a little bit of latitude given in this area.
"Do you think our guys can win?" said one eighth grader.
"You'd better believe it," answered another. "My big brother plays second string, and he says the team has never played better."
"Central's gonna get crushed," said a third. "It's just a fluke they're even in this game. No way they're going to beat Indigo Falls."
"Wanna make it interesting?"
"You mean a bet? You're on."
Ernie was standing nearby. "You want in?" he was asked.
"Oh no, not me," he answered.
"What, don't you think Central can win on Saturday?"
"I don't know about that," he lied. If anybody knew for sure, it was him. "Maybe they will, and maybe they won't. I just don't want to bet."
"Aww, come on. Just put in a buck. If Central wins, it'll come back to you with a friend."
Ernie didn't know what to do. What was so wrong with supporting the team against somebody who didn't? And he didn't want to look like a "goody two shoes." But he knew it was wrong to give in to peer pressure. More importantly, if his dream was for real, he knew it was doubly wrong to bet on the team he knew was going to win.
It was 9 AM on Saturday morning when Doug's parents drove up to pick up Ernie for the game. The game wouldn't start until one o'clock in the afternoon, but they left plenty of extra time. It would take just over an hour and a half to get there, and then they had to get tickets and find their seats. And who knows how long it might take to get around the state college campus.
As luck would have it, the drive didn't even take as long as they expected, and they found themselves right behind the Central High team school bus, decorated in blue, green and white. They followed the bus through campus, right to the field house. They parked the car and watched as the team bus unloaded. Ernie recognized Bobby Newman from the practice field a couple Wednesdays before. He wore a green cap with a bright blue "C" for Central -- the same cap the Central High baseball team wore.
"Good luck, guys," Doug shouted in their direction. Some of the players waved in thanks as others were busy helping with equipment.
Tickets were purchased, seats were located, and the game started promptly at one.
Ernie didn't know much about football, but he enjoyed the game. Indigo Falls scored first, a field goal. There was plenty of action, mostly defensive, and the scored remained 3-0 for the rest of the first quarter. The teams traded touchdowns in the second quarter, but Central missed their extra point attempt. At the end of the half, the score was Indigo Falls 10, Central 6.
All this action made Ernie hungry. He ate two hot dogs at half time and bought a Pepsi, which he was still drinking when the second half of the game began.
Indigo Falls dominated the third quarter, but a missed field goal prevented them from increasing their lead. After a punt by Central, Indigo Falls had the ball again. At the end of the quarter, they were marching down the field. A few minutes into the fourth quarter, the I.F. quarterback threw a pass that was intercepted by one of Central's linebackers. He ran half way down the field before one of Indigo's running backs managed to grab his jersey and pull him down. It was Central's turn to try and even things up. Five running plays in a row were bring them closer to the goal line, but the clock was running. On the next play, quarterback Bobby Newman threw a touchdown pass and the extra point made the score 13-10 in Central's favor.
Now Central's fans were wishing the clock would run even faster than it had been. But it seemed to last forever as Indigo Falls made pass after pass after pass. With a minute left, it seemed as if they would be able to tie it up with a field goal. Two more running plays brought them close enough to try it, and just seconds remained on the clock. The kick was up, and it was good. Tie game.
Overtime would be an entire ten minute period, and Central's players didn't look like they had much gas left in them.
But there were still ten seconds left on the clock and the ball was on the Central 40 yard line after a bad kickoff. Bobby Newman looked over at his bench and thought his best chance was to try something big. There is no such thing as a poker face on a high school athlete, and the whole Indigo Falls team knew what was coming. They blitzed from all sides as he dropped back to pass. But instead he pitched the ball to the running back on his right. Bobby managed to avoid being crushed and watched as his teammate threw the ball downfield to a waiting receiver. He caught the ball and ran for all he was worth into the end zone. Time had already run out during the play and the final score was Central 16, Indigo Falls 13.
Central's fans went wild with the exciting play and the realization that they'd won the state championship. The jubilant celebration continued as fans made their way to the parking lot.
The hoots and hollers were increased as Central's victorious team emerged from the field house to board their yellow bus, which had been re-decorated with soapy letters spelling "State Champs."
And those were the same words that decorated the brand new white baseball caps that each member of the team was wearing as he boarded the bus for home.
© Copyright 2005
Chapter 5 ~ The Big Game
Ernie was a boy with a dilemma. On the one hand, he was having these dreams, which became more and more disruptive as he grew older. On the other hand, these dreams were some kind of window into the future of the people who appeared in them.
He was actually capable of seeing the future. There was no denying this, he knew. He could see when someone was going to become ill. He could see when someone was going to find money. He had even seen the outcome of a football game before it was played.
Ernie wasn't much of a fan, but this was a big deal. The city's Central High School football team had won their regional division in regular season play. They had then swept through a tournament of division winners in the southern half of the state. This meant that they would next play the northern champion, Indigo Falls, to determine the state champion.
Many of the boys in Ernie's eighth grade class had hopes of someday being members of the Central team. Next year, as freshmen, they could try out for the team, but the competition was fierce. The following year they might have a better chance. But the dream was alive already in some of Ernie's friends.
Ernie was walking home from school with his friend Doug, who lived just a block away from him. Doug was one of the football wanna-bes. The boys' route took them right by Central High's practice field. The big game was a week and a half away and there was a practice taking place.
"Hey, let's stop and watch," suggested Doug.
"OK, just for a little while," replied Ernie. "I haven't finished my social studies paper yet, and it's due tomorrow in 2nd period."
"Finished?" Doug said. "I haven't even started mine."
They stood by a fence where there was already a sizable group of spectators. Many of the kids who were watching wore green and yellow shirts with the white "G" that revealed their own even bigger gridiron dreams.
"Hey, Bobby," shouted one of the littlest kids, standing next to Ernie. "Good luck in the big game!"
Bobby Newman was the first string quarter of the team and an all around good guy. A real student athlete, he was hoping football would be his ticket to a college football scholarship. And not to a Big Ten school, to the dismay of his coach, a former quarterback for the Wisconsin Badgers and a Heisman Trophy runner-up. No, Bobby hoped for a ticket to the Ivy League, where he would fulfill his athletic commitments but make the best of a top-flight educational institution at the same time.
And Bobby was a nice kid. He had just taken a water break and was signing a few autographs. To the youngest kids in this crowd, that was a big treat.
"Make sure you get your homework done," he'd tell them. It was his version of the common yet trite "stay in school" line.
He approached the little boy next to Ernie. "What's your name," he asked.
You would have thought the boy was standing next to Brett Favre. He went and hid behind his father's legs.
"It's OK," his dad told him.
"My name's Bobby," he said, peeking out from behind his dad.
"Hey, that's my name, too," the older Bobby replied. "Do you like to read?" he asked the younger boy.
"Ah huh," he nodded.
"So do I," agreed the quarterback. "Reading and school work and when that's done, I like football, too," he said. "Do you like football?"
"Ah huh," the little boy said with a smile.
The boy's father lifted him up and the Bobbys shook hands. Doug reached over for a high five. Bobby returned the gesture and offered Ernie a high five as well. As their hands touched, Ernie had a sudden rush of warmth, like a static electric shock. This was something strange, he thought -- it had never happened before.
"Good luck, guys," Ernie felt like saying, as Bobby Newman returned to his team.
Ernie looked at Doug. "You heard what he said. 'Make sure you get your homework done,'" he jeered. "I really have to get home. And you should, too."
"OK, Mom," Doug said to Ernie, and then felt terrible at what had just come out of his mouth. "Oh my gosh, Ernie. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"Douggy, don't worry about it," Ernie reassured him. "That was a long time ago. People don't have to spend their whole life avoiding the word 'mom' or 'mother' when they're around me."
Doug was relieved he hadn't hurt Ernie's feelings. He really valued their friendship. The feeling was mutual.
They started the short walk for home.
"See you tomorrow," Doug said in parting.
"See you," Ernie replied. "And Doug..." Ernie paused. "Make sure you get your homework done," Ernie said with a smile.
"Yes, teacher," came the reply, and they both laughed as they went their separate ways home.
Ernie had a quick snack before he sat down to do his home work. He craved bananas. He must be part monkey, he thought. Sweets didn't interest him, and even some fruits were just too much. But bananas, he couldn't get enough of them. He slid another into his pocket as he headed for his room.
"Not with that banana, you don't," came a voice from the living room. How did she know? "And not without a hug for your Gramma," she added.
"And me, too," came the voice of his grandfather.
He smiled as he entered the living room and then gave each of them a big hug as they sat in their favorite chairs.
"You just make sure that banana peel gets back in the kitchen garbage," Gramma warned. "Or you'll end up with fruit flies in your room."
"Oh, that's all we need," mused Grampa.
These were the sweetest people on earth, Ernie felt. They had raised him from the day he was born. They had raised him as if he was their very own child. He felt so lucky that they would give up their years of retirement and leisure to be his surrogate parents. From the stories they told him about his mom, he knew they were raising him in the very same way they had raised her. That made him proud somehow. He felt this great honor to be following in her footsteps, that he should try and be everything she was trying to be. And it made him want to achieve in school the way they told him his mother always had.
He gave them each another hug and started toward his room.
"Oh, Ernie," his grandfather called to him. "Doug called just before you got home. He left a message; he said, 'Make...'"
"Make sure you get your homework done," Ernie said with a giggle as he left the room.
"He's a regular Kreskin," John chuckled.
Betty just laughed.
Before he sat down to work, Ernie made an entry in his private journal.
"The strangest thing happened today. Doug and I stopped to watch the high school football practice on the way home from school. The quarterback of the team came over our way to talk to a little boy and I high fived him. I don't know what I was thinking. I've been trying so hard to avoid touching anybody, and that does seem to reduce the amount of vivid dreaming I have. I can handle the foggy color kind of dreams, and they don't seem to cloud my vision as much.
"I don't want to have to avoid people, but the closer they are to me, the stronger the vision is. I just have to be careful not to touch people, and I should have been more careful today. I can predict that in the future, tomorrow, I'm going to have a dream in class because of this and I'm going to end up in trouble. I have to be more careful.
"And one more thing. Why don't I ever have dreams about Gramma and Grampa? Is it because they're family? Is that why I don't have any dreams about my own future? I really wish I understood this. I wonder if Mom had these dreams. Or my father."
Ernie's worried prediction was wrong, and he was glad at that. He turned in his social studies project right on time and the rest of the day went by without incident.
His Thursday night ritual included a quick study of his vocabulary words for the weekly Friday quiz. Tonight was no exception. He went through the list backwards and forwards. He hadn't missed a single word yet in the nearly three months of spelling and vocabulary quizzes. He was putting more pressure on himself than he needed to, but a perfect record was hard not to try and achieve.
One more time and he'd call it a night, he thought. He covered the words and looked at the column of definitions, so he could test himself on spelling. As he did this, he felt a wave of anxiety. This is how his dreams usually started during the day. He knew his vision would soon blur, so he put down his work and just sat there, waiting for it.
As the room around him began to blur, a somewhat face began coming into focus. It was Bobby Newman, he recognized -- the high school football quarterback. He had wondered when this dream would come. The high five at practice made it inevitable. But these thoughts weren't in his mind right now. He was unconsciously absorbed by the vision. Static filled his ears, but it wasn't just noise. He could hear cheering. People were all around him and there was smiling and laughter. This was a "pink dream" after all, and that was always a happy dream. And Bobby was surrounded by the pink hazy halo. The other people he saw were merely supporting actors in this movie he watched. One of them was the football coach, who lifted up a trophy. Somebody else placed a white baseball cap on Bobby's head. And there was a banner hanging behind all of them which read "Congratulations" and "State Champions" on it. The dream was over in a few minutes and Ernie's vision cleared.
It had finally happened, he thought. He had seen plenty of visions of the future before, but this was something that was going to matter to people. It made him anxious and apprehensive, as if he knew something he wasn't supposed to know. He didn't like this feeling at all.
There were plenty of things going on in the city this time of year. And ordinarily, there would be any number of things on anybody's list ahead of high school football. But this was the state championship and it was big news. No city team had ever won the title and the last time one came close was thirty-seven years ago when East High's team lost that final game in overtime. As for Central, this was the first year they'd ever won a post-season game, let alone played in the big game.
The high school teachers understood this. The middle school teachers even understood this. During lessons, of course, attention was absolutely required. But at other times, the kids spent a lot of time talking about the game when, maybe they should have been working on assignment. There was just a little bit of latitude given in this area.
"Do you think our guys can win?" said one eighth grader.
"You'd better believe it," answered another. "My big brother plays second string, and he says the team has never played better."
"Central's gonna get crushed," said a third. "It's just a fluke they're even in this game. No way they're going to beat Indigo Falls."
"Wanna make it interesting?"
"You mean a bet? You're on."
Ernie was standing nearby. "You want in?" he was asked.
"Oh no, not me," he answered.
"What, don't you think Central can win on Saturday?"
"I don't know about that," he lied. If anybody knew for sure, it was him. "Maybe they will, and maybe they won't. I just don't want to bet."
"Aww, come on. Just put in a buck. If Central wins, it'll come back to you with a friend."
Ernie didn't know what to do. What was so wrong with supporting the team against somebody who didn't? And he didn't want to look like a "goody two shoes." But he knew it was wrong to give in to peer pressure. More importantly, if his dream was for real, he knew it was doubly wrong to bet on the team he knew was going to win.
It was 9 AM on Saturday morning when Doug's parents drove up to pick up Ernie for the game. The game wouldn't start until one o'clock in the afternoon, but they left plenty of extra time. It would take just over an hour and a half to get there, and then they had to get tickets and find their seats. And who knows how long it might take to get around the state college campus.
As luck would have it, the drive didn't even take as long as they expected, and they found themselves right behind the Central High team school bus, decorated in blue, green and white. They followed the bus through campus, right to the field house. They parked the car and watched as the team bus unloaded. Ernie recognized Bobby Newman from the practice field a couple Wednesdays before. He wore a green cap with a bright blue "C" for Central -- the same cap the Central High baseball team wore.
"Good luck, guys," Doug shouted in their direction. Some of the players waved in thanks as others were busy helping with equipment.
Tickets were purchased, seats were located, and the game started promptly at one.
Ernie didn't know much about football, but he enjoyed the game. Indigo Falls scored first, a field goal. There was plenty of action, mostly defensive, and the scored remained 3-0 for the rest of the first quarter. The teams traded touchdowns in the second quarter, but Central missed their extra point attempt. At the end of the half, the score was Indigo Falls 10, Central 6.
All this action made Ernie hungry. He ate two hot dogs at half time and bought a Pepsi, which he was still drinking when the second half of the game began.
Indigo Falls dominated the third quarter, but a missed field goal prevented them from increasing their lead. After a punt by Central, Indigo Falls had the ball again. At the end of the quarter, they were marching down the field. A few minutes into the fourth quarter, the I.F. quarterback threw a pass that was intercepted by one of Central's linebackers. He ran half way down the field before one of Indigo's running backs managed to grab his jersey and pull him down. It was Central's turn to try and even things up. Five running plays in a row were bring them closer to the goal line, but the clock was running. On the next play, quarterback Bobby Newman threw a touchdown pass and the extra point made the score 13-10 in Central's favor.
Now Central's fans were wishing the clock would run even faster than it had been. But it seemed to last forever as Indigo Falls made pass after pass after pass. With a minute left, it seemed as if they would be able to tie it up with a field goal. Two more running plays brought them close enough to try it, and just seconds remained on the clock. The kick was up, and it was good. Tie game.
Overtime would be an entire ten minute period, and Central's players didn't look like they had much gas left in them.
But there were still ten seconds left on the clock and the ball was on the Central 40 yard line after a bad kickoff. Bobby Newman looked over at his bench and thought his best chance was to try something big. There is no such thing as a poker face on a high school athlete, and the whole Indigo Falls team knew what was coming. They blitzed from all sides as he dropped back to pass. But instead he pitched the ball to the running back on his right. Bobby managed to avoid being crushed and watched as his teammate threw the ball downfield to a waiting receiver. He caught the ball and ran for all he was worth into the end zone. Time had already run out during the play and the final score was Central 16, Indigo Falls 13.
Central's fans went wild with the exciting play and the realization that they'd won the state championship. The jubilant celebration continued as fans made their way to the parking lot.
The hoots and hollers were increased as Central's victorious team emerged from the field house to board their yellow bus, which had been re-decorated with soapy letters spelling "State Champs."
And those were the same words that decorated the brand new white baseball caps that each member of the team was wearing as he boarded the bus for home.
© Copyright 2005
# posted by Uisce : 12:00 AM
Monday, December 26, 2005
Chapter 6 ~ The Neighbor
Invisible Touch
Chapter 6 ~ The Neighbor
Helen Appleton had been widowed almost five months when a new family moved in next door. The street had been so quiet, a vacant lot to the right and an older couple on the left.
The Rinaldis had been great neighbors, but were moving back to their native Italy where a daughter was going to care for them in their retirement. The second retirement it was, in fact, for Mr. Rinaldi. He had actually been a monk before coming to the American southwest. That was where he met his future bride, who lived just north of Chicago, and that is how they ended up in the Midwest. She had been born in Italy as well and they knew someday they would wish to return.
They had been quiet neighbors, and now there would be youth and life, and there was nothing wrong with either. The new family had a young daughter. Helen might enjoy that, she thought. She had always enjoyed visiting with her sister and her children, but the Appletons had never had children of her own.
Widowed at only 42, she was alone now. Her husband, William, ten years her senior, had died just days before his 53rd birthday. He had quit school at 15 to work in a local factory and help put food on his family's table. He always had ideas -- ideas about how to make the parts better, ideas about how to make the plant run better. The owner was not one to let good ideas go to waste, but he was not the kind of boss to steal ideas from his employees without compensation. William was rewarded for each of his ideas. He kept receiving stock certificates, which he tucked away, not really understanding what value they had. So brilliant were his ideas, he was eventually made a partner in the firm. He took over running the whole business when his boss became ill and died. When William died, the company was sold, and William's share became a trust which would take care of Helen for the rest of her life.
He had always been so vigorous and healthy, she thought. His death, from a stroke, had come as such a shock. It was only now, with her old neighbors leaving, that she was starting to come to grips with it.
As busy as life and work were, William always found time to care for their modest yard. It was full of beautiful, lush, green grass and vibrant, color flowers during that short summer season. It was his pride and joy after his wife and his factory. William had died during the winter, and when spring came, Helen looked out the window, and realized something must be done about the lawn. She considered it a labor of love, that she would now continue what he had started. It would always be a connection to him, she felt, and she hoped she would enjoy it as much as he had.
One thing William did not care for was cats. When Helen once asked if they might get a cat, she learned just much he hated them, and the subject was never brought up again. Which was too bad, she had always felt. They were so nice to have around. They never bothered you, didn't take much care, never really wanted any attention. The Rinaldis had two cats, Bella and Monk. When they began making plans for their return to Italy, they learned how difficult it was going to be to bring the animals with them.
"You could always leave them here," Helen suggested to Mrs. Rinaldi over coffee one afternoon.
"Leave them where?" she asked.
"With me," Helen offered. "I could keep them... If that would suit you and Mr. Rinaldi, of course."
"My dear, what a wonderful idea," her neighbor replied. "We love the little darlings so much, but this trip, it would be so much for them. And the arrangements, besides. That would be such a relief for us, if you would do this!"
And so it was decided. And now Helen had her husband's yard and her neighbor's cats. She might be alone, but she would never be lonely.
And why would she be lonely, with the nicest couple now living next door and their little girl throw into the bargain. John and Betty and daughter Maggie were very nice, indeed.
Almost thirteen years different in age, Betty seemed to Helen so much younger than she herself was. Perhaps it was the loss of her husband and being alone, contrasted with Betty's energetic parenting. It didn't matter, of course. Neither woman worked, and they spent lots of time together. Coffee in the afternoon was their most common activity, and it was alternated between each others' houses.
Maggie was a delight, Helen thought. Betty was wonderful with her precious gem of a daughter. She treated Maggie like a little person, not like some kind of human pet. She spoke to her daughter like a grownup, and Maggie developed a certain maturity as she grew.
And she grew and she grew. When she was old enough, about 10 years of age, Helen asked Maggie to take care of her cats while she was visiting her sister. You would have thought she was being hired to care for the crown jewels while the queen was away.
"You want me to take care of Bella and Monk?" Maggie confirmed.
"Yes, dear. You'll need to make sure they have food and water every day," Mrs. Appleton told her.
"I can do that," Maggie replied.
"You'll need to check the litter box after about a week, too."
"OK, that doesn't sound like a big deal," Maggie told her.
"I'll be counting on you to do a good job. I think you're ready for a responsibility like this."
"Oh yes, I think I am," Maggie said, beaming.
And her mom agreed. This would be a great learning experience for a young girl. If there was any problem, she and her husband would be right there to help.
John and Betty saw a side of their daughter they had never seen before, as she raced home from school that whole week to go and do her "job" next door. It really was a great learning experience for the whole family.
When Helen returned from her trip, she was extremely pleased at the excellent care her pets had received. When she offered to pay Maggie for her work, she graciously declined.
"No thank you, Mrs. Appleton," said Maggie. I wasn't expecting any money. I'm just happy to be your good neighbor and friend.
Helen was stunned. This from a ten year old child. Whatever John and Betty Maxwell were doing to raise this child was certainly working, and if only there were more parents out there like them!
Maggie was growing into a fine adult, and her friendship with Helen Appleton remained strong all along. Now both mother and daughter were sharing coffee with their neighbor, instead of the hot cocoa Maggie sometimes had when invited to join them.
When Miss Maxwell began teaching third grade, Mrs. Appleton, now in her mid sixties, enjoyed volunteering in her classroom.
"You and those children, you just make feel so young again, my dear," Helen would tell her.
The children loved having her around. And so did Maggie. They would have lunch together and talk about all kinds of things from popular culture of today to the way life was like when Helen was a child. Helen hadn't really shared this kind of friendship with another person -- not since her husband had passed away. Though their ages were nearly forty years apart, their friendship was as strong as if they had born on the very same day.
Helen was nearing her 70th birthday when Maggie said something one day that shocked her.
"I'm thinking about having a baby," she told her friend.
"But you... you're not..." Helen began.
"By myself, I mean," Maggie said.
"Oh dear, I see," was all Helen could say for a moment. "You know, I have seen a lot of reckless behavior between men and women in my, well, almost 70 years. I might have said once upon a time, 'there is a reason it takes two people to create a child,'" She paused. Helen became choked up. Tears filled her eyes. "But I have never known anybody so full of love and ability as you are, my dear. I know how proud of you your mother and daddy are; they tell me all the time. If there is anybody in this whole world who should raise a child under any circumstances, it is you, Margaret."
Maggie gave Helen a big hug. "That is the sweetest thing anybody ever said," Maggie said.
Helen was about to leave her house to visit Maggie in the hospital when she heard the tragic news. John had made sure she was sitting down before he told her, and it was a good thing he did. She dropped the phone and began sobbing.
Women just didn't die in childbirth anymore. It was common 100 years ago, even 80 years ago. Not now. How could this have happened? Like Maggie's parents and friends, Helen struggled to answer a question for which there was no answer -- none whatsoever.
It was like a light had gone out. How would any of them go on?
And then she met Ernie. John and Betty would go on, because they had to raise Ernie. A sixty year old man taking up fatherhood after so many years enjoying an adult relationship with his only child. A 58 year old woman playing mommy again after all these years. Here were strong people, but she had already known that about them.
Helen was angry, but not with God or with Ernie. Life had seemed so magical. Maggie had made it that way. And now she was gone and the magic was gone.
But life had to go on. And it did. And she saw it. It was right there in those little bitty eyes and those little bitty hands and little bitty feet. She held that baby and wept at the thought of the mother he could have had. At least he had John and Betty, who had raised Maggie so well. There was that silver lining. And he had her, she told herself. Helen had shared so much of herself with that little girl, and she hoped there was enough left for her son.
It wasn't supposed to be this way, Helen thought. The mother was supposed to get a break and drop the baby off with his grandparents. Instead the grandparents were getting a break while their neighbor looked after baby.
She didn't mind, of course. And she admired them for their commitment to him. But what could they do? Maggie had never told anyone who Ernie's father was, and nobody had come forward to assume that title. Helen didn't give this corner of the puzzle any more thought. Maggie had intended to do this alone and could never have foreseen such a tragic wrinkle in the fabric of her life.
Helen knew how to play with a baby, of course. Her sister now had three young great grand children of her own, and Helen had enjoyed playing with them when they came to visit this past summer. She had a crib and a playpen, too. It had been easier for her niece to purchase them locally and leave them behind for a future trip, than to tote them back and forth to her home near Phoenix.
Ernie had just finished his nap. Was it a nap when a five month old baby slept during the day? She gave him a bottle and he was much happier now than when he had first woken up. He looked up at her and smiled. She would come to treasure that smile and all the happiness that went along with it. She carried him to the play yard which John had set up right next to her favorite chair. She offered him a blue toy and he shook it about. He offered it back and she thanked him for it. There was a hard plastic rattle next to him and he picked that up and shook it. "What a strong baby!" she said to him.
The ring of the doorbell told Ernie it was time to go home. "Ma," he said as Betty reached for him.
"Ernie, Ernie, Ernie, my little Ernie," she said to him.
"An angel, as usual," Helen told Gramma.
Betty thanked her friend and took the baby back home.
The neighbors were still enjoying their frequent visits, after all these years. Ernie always came along too. It was juice for him, or milk -- chocolate milk if he was lucky, and hot chocolate if it was cold out. It was the three of them year after year. Sometimes John would come over, too. Tea was his drink, and Helen made sure she had whatever anybody might want.
The house was in excellent shape for its age, but John would take care of anything that needed fixing. Plumbing, electrical jobs, he was very handy and could take care of anything. Ernie was his master helper. At six he knew the names of all of the tools. At eight, he could usually guess what his Grampa would need next and be ready to hand it to him before he asked for it. Now eleven years old, Ernie was able to tackle some jobs on his own.
One of Helen's kitchen cabinet doors had come apart, and she had called and asked John to come have a look. Ernie was at the door seconds later wearing a tool belt and carrying a toolbox.
"At your service, ma'am," he said to her when she answered the door.
She stifled a giggle. "Do you think you can save her?" she asked him.
"No sweat, Mrs. Appleton," he told her. "I'm going to have to take this back to the shop, but I should have it back in no time.
He was unscrewing the hinges from the cabinet itself and placed the screws in a plastic box. He jotted a note on a piece of masking tape he then affixed to the box. Very efficient, she thought as she watched him. He carefully tucked the door, now in three pieces, under his arm.
"I'll be back tomorrow," Ernie said. "Just a little glue is all it needs, but the glue will need to dry before I can put the door back."
"Well thank you, Ernie. I'm so pleased you'll be able to fix it."
She watched him trot back home, to the garage, where the workshop was located.
The next day there was a ring at the doorbell. As she opened the door, Helen saw a smile as big as that cabinet door. Ernie held the cabinet door in his hands -- as good as knew, she could see.
"All by myself, I fixed it," he said proudly.
He took the door over to the cabinet and installed it with the screws he'd saved from the day before.
"That ought to take care of it, Mrs. Appleton."
"Ernie, you've done a magnificent job. Tell me, what do I owe you?" she asked him.
He did a little bit of counting on his fingers. "Two hugs," he told her. One for the parts and another for the labor."
She paid him with tears in her eyes.
Ernie was a good boy, she delighted. And so helpful! Helen wasn't getting any younger, and Ernie helped out whenever he could. Taking out trash, carrying groceries, shoveling snow -- whatever needed to be done, Ernie was on the job. He had also taken over lawn maintenance duties. If only William could see, she thought. Ernie was a model boy, there was no way around that. And he never let her pay him -- not with money, anyway. He had eaten more than his share of oatmeal cookies, but there was no harm in that, was there?
And with the cookies, there was always milk and a chat. This was what he really loved, he thought. They would sit for an hour and talk about the city and how it had changed over the years. He loved hearing about the neighborhood and what it was like when she and her husband had moved into their brand new house... nearly sixty years ago!
And she would talk about his mother. Helen had asked Betty if she minded. That was fine with her, she had said. Helen had watched that fine lady grow up from just a little girl. Through the years Ernie heard hundreds of stories about his mother, and almost felt he knew her, and he was most grateful to Mrs. Appleton for this.
"I remember when she was your age, just about sixteen," went one of the stories. "Your grampa had just bought a new car and was letting Mag... your mother drive it home from the dealer. Your grampa was a very nervous passenger that day, I think. Very carefully she came down the street. It was trash day and the barrels were out. I heard a crash and looked out the window. The wind had blown a barrel over and it was rolling toward the car! She stopped the car right where she was, threw it into park, and jumped out of the car. She stopped that barrel just in time before it might have scratched the paint. I stood here and laughed at what I saw. She was a real delightful girl, your mother. And you have followed right along in her footsteps."
Ernie blushed as Mrs. Appleton gave him a hug.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I am feeling a bit tired, and I'm going to lie down for a bit."
Ernie said goodbye and went home.
Ernie looked at the picture of his mother on the wall after he was ready for bed. He thanked her for being his mom, even if he couldn't be with her anymore. He kissed his fingers and touched the picture and said goodnight to her.
As Ernie lay down to sleep, his eyes filled with mist. A fog. He was having one of his dreams again. They had become more frequent, more vivid as he grew older. He just hoped it would be over soon so he could sleep tonight.
This dream was gray -- dark gray. How strange, he thought, as he was accustomed to different colors, the pinks and yellows and greens and blues. This one didn't have much color but it had plenty of detail. He saw Mrs. Appleton lying on the floor next to her bed, her arm outstretched and reaching for something. A very upsetting vision, he thought. He could do nothing but watch. There was no stopping this vision until is ended on its own. When it finally did he was able to fall asleep.
He slept for an hour before another dream woke him -- just colors and the face of a stranger, this time. He managed to sleep for a few minutes before another dream of a stranger woke him up in the morning. Another typical night of sleeplessness for Ernie.
But now it was Monday morning and Ernie needed to get to school. He was upset from the previous night's dream, though. And he needed to check on Mrs. Appleton. He ran to the door and saw her through the window, sitting at the kitchen table. This brought a smile to his weary young face. She saw him through the window, and came to the door to let him in.
"What is this, some kind of holiday?" she joked.
"No, I, uhh... just wanted to thank you for the story yesterday about my Mother. I love those stories."
"I know you do, and... now there's your bus, don't be late! Come see me after school and I will tell you another one."
He was so relieved as he ran off. He didn't know what to make of that dream, but at least dear Mrs. Appleton was OK.
The distractions on Ernie's mind at school today were not the usual ones. He was frequently fighting off images of friends and strangers while he tried to stay focused on the lesson or task at hand. Today was different, it was personal, and he couldn't help but worry about what he'd seen. It was a mistake, he thought. Just a... could it be he had a regular dream, the kind normal people had? He wondered, and cringed at the thought that he had just thought himself somehow abnormal. It was true enough, wasn't it?
At lunch, the main topic of conversation was football. Ernie's short-lived fandom had worn off before he reached ninth grade. He knew all of the players and was excited for their sake that they were in a tie for first place in the division, halfway through this season. But it wouldn't have mattered all that much to him on a good day, and today wasn't really a good day.
"Is everything OK?" asked his friend, Doug, who was now a star defensive player on the Central squad.
"Yeah, thanks... well, no, I, uh..." he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. "I'm just worried about my neighbor, Mrs. Appleton... you know, she turned 87 last month."
"Oh, is she sick?" Doug asked.
"Well, no. Actually, she's not, but..." he realized there was nothing he could say, not even to his friend -- his best friend, really. It would sound crazy if he did, and he absolutely couldn't. "No, she's just getting old... I guess that's why I'm worried."
"Well stop it, or you'll make yourself old," his friend said. "Hey, what is that, a wrinkle?"
Ernie smiled but backed quickly away before Doug could touch is face. He didn't want any football dreams. Every dream he had made him feel like he was seeing something he shouldn't be seeing, like he was spying on somebody.
Ernie just laughed at what Doug said and held up his hand, pretending it was a mirror. "Gee, I think you're right!" he said.
The ride home from school was torturously long. Ernie sat alone in his seat behind the driver. The other kids didn't know why Ernie had to sit by himself, but they gave him his space. When the bus stopped on his street he rocketed off the bus and to Mrs. Appleton's door.
Ding-dong.
There was no answer. He looked in the garage to see her car. She hardly drove it anymore, but it was there.
Ding-dong.
He thought he'd heard the chime, but maybe it was just his imagination. He knocked. Nothing. He knocked louder.
He was frantic now. He had a key to her house -- it was easier that way when he was taking care of things there. He used his key to open her door.
"Mrs. Appleton?" he called. No answer.
He crept through the house. He didn't want to disturb her if she were just sleeping, he thought. But she wasn't one to take naps.
He called hopefully to her again. Nothing.
He reached her bedroom and turned instantly pale. There she lay, just as he had seen her, right next to the bed. Her hand was reaching for a bottle of pills.
Ernie picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. They would send someone right away, they said. But when he felt for a pulse and didn't find one, he knew that there was nothing they or anybody could do.
© Copyright 2005
Chapter 6 ~ The Neighbor
Helen Appleton had been widowed almost five months when a new family moved in next door. The street had been so quiet, a vacant lot to the right and an older couple on the left.
The Rinaldis had been great neighbors, but were moving back to their native Italy where a daughter was going to care for them in their retirement. The second retirement it was, in fact, for Mr. Rinaldi. He had actually been a monk before coming to the American southwest. That was where he met his future bride, who lived just north of Chicago, and that is how they ended up in the Midwest. She had been born in Italy as well and they knew someday they would wish to return.
They had been quiet neighbors, and now there would be youth and life, and there was nothing wrong with either. The new family had a young daughter. Helen might enjoy that, she thought. She had always enjoyed visiting with her sister and her children, but the Appletons had never had children of her own.
Widowed at only 42, she was alone now. Her husband, William, ten years her senior, had died just days before his 53rd birthday. He had quit school at 15 to work in a local factory and help put food on his family's table. He always had ideas -- ideas about how to make the parts better, ideas about how to make the plant run better. The owner was not one to let good ideas go to waste, but he was not the kind of boss to steal ideas from his employees without compensation. William was rewarded for each of his ideas. He kept receiving stock certificates, which he tucked away, not really understanding what value they had. So brilliant were his ideas, he was eventually made a partner in the firm. He took over running the whole business when his boss became ill and died. When William died, the company was sold, and William's share became a trust which would take care of Helen for the rest of her life.
He had always been so vigorous and healthy, she thought. His death, from a stroke, had come as such a shock. It was only now, with her old neighbors leaving, that she was starting to come to grips with it.
As busy as life and work were, William always found time to care for their modest yard. It was full of beautiful, lush, green grass and vibrant, color flowers during that short summer season. It was his pride and joy after his wife and his factory. William had died during the winter, and when spring came, Helen looked out the window, and realized something must be done about the lawn. She considered it a labor of love, that she would now continue what he had started. It would always be a connection to him, she felt, and she hoped she would enjoy it as much as he had.
One thing William did not care for was cats. When Helen once asked if they might get a cat, she learned just much he hated them, and the subject was never brought up again. Which was too bad, she had always felt. They were so nice to have around. They never bothered you, didn't take much care, never really wanted any attention. The Rinaldis had two cats, Bella and Monk. When they began making plans for their return to Italy, they learned how difficult it was going to be to bring the animals with them.
"You could always leave them here," Helen suggested to Mrs. Rinaldi over coffee one afternoon.
"Leave them where?" she asked.
"With me," Helen offered. "I could keep them... If that would suit you and Mr. Rinaldi, of course."
"My dear, what a wonderful idea," her neighbor replied. "We love the little darlings so much, but this trip, it would be so much for them. And the arrangements, besides. That would be such a relief for us, if you would do this!"
And so it was decided. And now Helen had her husband's yard and her neighbor's cats. She might be alone, but she would never be lonely.
And why would she be lonely, with the nicest couple now living next door and their little girl throw into the bargain. John and Betty and daughter Maggie were very nice, indeed.
Almost thirteen years different in age, Betty seemed to Helen so much younger than she herself was. Perhaps it was the loss of her husband and being alone, contrasted with Betty's energetic parenting. It didn't matter, of course. Neither woman worked, and they spent lots of time together. Coffee in the afternoon was their most common activity, and it was alternated between each others' houses.
Maggie was a delight, Helen thought. Betty was wonderful with her precious gem of a daughter. She treated Maggie like a little person, not like some kind of human pet. She spoke to her daughter like a grownup, and Maggie developed a certain maturity as she grew.
And she grew and she grew. When she was old enough, about 10 years of age, Helen asked Maggie to take care of her cats while she was visiting her sister. You would have thought she was being hired to care for the crown jewels while the queen was away.
"You want me to take care of Bella and Monk?" Maggie confirmed.
"Yes, dear. You'll need to make sure they have food and water every day," Mrs. Appleton told her.
"I can do that," Maggie replied.
"You'll need to check the litter box after about a week, too."
"OK, that doesn't sound like a big deal," Maggie told her.
"I'll be counting on you to do a good job. I think you're ready for a responsibility like this."
"Oh yes, I think I am," Maggie said, beaming.
And her mom agreed. This would be a great learning experience for a young girl. If there was any problem, she and her husband would be right there to help.
John and Betty saw a side of their daughter they had never seen before, as she raced home from school that whole week to go and do her "job" next door. It really was a great learning experience for the whole family.
When Helen returned from her trip, she was extremely pleased at the excellent care her pets had received. When she offered to pay Maggie for her work, she graciously declined.
"No thank you, Mrs. Appleton," said Maggie. I wasn't expecting any money. I'm just happy to be your good neighbor and friend.
Helen was stunned. This from a ten year old child. Whatever John and Betty Maxwell were doing to raise this child was certainly working, and if only there were more parents out there like them!
Maggie was growing into a fine adult, and her friendship with Helen Appleton remained strong all along. Now both mother and daughter were sharing coffee with their neighbor, instead of the hot cocoa Maggie sometimes had when invited to join them.
When Miss Maxwell began teaching third grade, Mrs. Appleton, now in her mid sixties, enjoyed volunteering in her classroom.
"You and those children, you just make feel so young again, my dear," Helen would tell her.
The children loved having her around. And so did Maggie. They would have lunch together and talk about all kinds of things from popular culture of today to the way life was like when Helen was a child. Helen hadn't really shared this kind of friendship with another person -- not since her husband had passed away. Though their ages were nearly forty years apart, their friendship was as strong as if they had born on the very same day.
Helen was nearing her 70th birthday when Maggie said something one day that shocked her.
"I'm thinking about having a baby," she told her friend.
"But you... you're not..." Helen began.
"By myself, I mean," Maggie said.
"Oh dear, I see," was all Helen could say for a moment. "You know, I have seen a lot of reckless behavior between men and women in my, well, almost 70 years. I might have said once upon a time, 'there is a reason it takes two people to create a child,'" She paused. Helen became choked up. Tears filled her eyes. "But I have never known anybody so full of love and ability as you are, my dear. I know how proud of you your mother and daddy are; they tell me all the time. If there is anybody in this whole world who should raise a child under any circumstances, it is you, Margaret."
Maggie gave Helen a big hug. "That is the sweetest thing anybody ever said," Maggie said.
Helen was about to leave her house to visit Maggie in the hospital when she heard the tragic news. John had made sure she was sitting down before he told her, and it was a good thing he did. She dropped the phone and began sobbing.
Women just didn't die in childbirth anymore. It was common 100 years ago, even 80 years ago. Not now. How could this have happened? Like Maggie's parents and friends, Helen struggled to answer a question for which there was no answer -- none whatsoever.
It was like a light had gone out. How would any of them go on?
And then she met Ernie. John and Betty would go on, because they had to raise Ernie. A sixty year old man taking up fatherhood after so many years enjoying an adult relationship with his only child. A 58 year old woman playing mommy again after all these years. Here were strong people, but she had already known that about them.
Helen was angry, but not with God or with Ernie. Life had seemed so magical. Maggie had made it that way. And now she was gone and the magic was gone.
But life had to go on. And it did. And she saw it. It was right there in those little bitty eyes and those little bitty hands and little bitty feet. She held that baby and wept at the thought of the mother he could have had. At least he had John and Betty, who had raised Maggie so well. There was that silver lining. And he had her, she told herself. Helen had shared so much of herself with that little girl, and she hoped there was enough left for her son.
It wasn't supposed to be this way, Helen thought. The mother was supposed to get a break and drop the baby off with his grandparents. Instead the grandparents were getting a break while their neighbor looked after baby.
She didn't mind, of course. And she admired them for their commitment to him. But what could they do? Maggie had never told anyone who Ernie's father was, and nobody had come forward to assume that title. Helen didn't give this corner of the puzzle any more thought. Maggie had intended to do this alone and could never have foreseen such a tragic wrinkle in the fabric of her life.
Helen knew how to play with a baby, of course. Her sister now had three young great grand children of her own, and Helen had enjoyed playing with them when they came to visit this past summer. She had a crib and a playpen, too. It had been easier for her niece to purchase them locally and leave them behind for a future trip, than to tote them back and forth to her home near Phoenix.
Ernie had just finished his nap. Was it a nap when a five month old baby slept during the day? She gave him a bottle and he was much happier now than when he had first woken up. He looked up at her and smiled. She would come to treasure that smile and all the happiness that went along with it. She carried him to the play yard which John had set up right next to her favorite chair. She offered him a blue toy and he shook it about. He offered it back and she thanked him for it. There was a hard plastic rattle next to him and he picked that up and shook it. "What a strong baby!" she said to him.
The ring of the doorbell told Ernie it was time to go home. "Ma," he said as Betty reached for him.
"Ernie, Ernie, Ernie, my little Ernie," she said to him.
"An angel, as usual," Helen told Gramma.
Betty thanked her friend and took the baby back home.
The neighbors were still enjoying their frequent visits, after all these years. Ernie always came along too. It was juice for him, or milk -- chocolate milk if he was lucky, and hot chocolate if it was cold out. It was the three of them year after year. Sometimes John would come over, too. Tea was his drink, and Helen made sure she had whatever anybody might want.
The house was in excellent shape for its age, but John would take care of anything that needed fixing. Plumbing, electrical jobs, he was very handy and could take care of anything. Ernie was his master helper. At six he knew the names of all of the tools. At eight, he could usually guess what his Grampa would need next and be ready to hand it to him before he asked for it. Now eleven years old, Ernie was able to tackle some jobs on his own.
One of Helen's kitchen cabinet doors had come apart, and she had called and asked John to come have a look. Ernie was at the door seconds later wearing a tool belt and carrying a toolbox.
"At your service, ma'am," he said to her when she answered the door.
She stifled a giggle. "Do you think you can save her?" she asked him.
"No sweat, Mrs. Appleton," he told her. "I'm going to have to take this back to the shop, but I should have it back in no time.
He was unscrewing the hinges from the cabinet itself and placed the screws in a plastic box. He jotted a note on a piece of masking tape he then affixed to the box. Very efficient, she thought as she watched him. He carefully tucked the door, now in three pieces, under his arm.
"I'll be back tomorrow," Ernie said. "Just a little glue is all it needs, but the glue will need to dry before I can put the door back."
"Well thank you, Ernie. I'm so pleased you'll be able to fix it."
She watched him trot back home, to the garage, where the workshop was located.
The next day there was a ring at the doorbell. As she opened the door, Helen saw a smile as big as that cabinet door. Ernie held the cabinet door in his hands -- as good as knew, she could see.
"All by myself, I fixed it," he said proudly.
He took the door over to the cabinet and installed it with the screws he'd saved from the day before.
"That ought to take care of it, Mrs. Appleton."
"Ernie, you've done a magnificent job. Tell me, what do I owe you?" she asked him.
He did a little bit of counting on his fingers. "Two hugs," he told her. One for the parts and another for the labor."
She paid him with tears in her eyes.
Ernie was a good boy, she delighted. And so helpful! Helen wasn't getting any younger, and Ernie helped out whenever he could. Taking out trash, carrying groceries, shoveling snow -- whatever needed to be done, Ernie was on the job. He had also taken over lawn maintenance duties. If only William could see, she thought. Ernie was a model boy, there was no way around that. And he never let her pay him -- not with money, anyway. He had eaten more than his share of oatmeal cookies, but there was no harm in that, was there?
And with the cookies, there was always milk and a chat. This was what he really loved, he thought. They would sit for an hour and talk about the city and how it had changed over the years. He loved hearing about the neighborhood and what it was like when she and her husband had moved into their brand new house... nearly sixty years ago!
And she would talk about his mother. Helen had asked Betty if she minded. That was fine with her, she had said. Helen had watched that fine lady grow up from just a little girl. Through the years Ernie heard hundreds of stories about his mother, and almost felt he knew her, and he was most grateful to Mrs. Appleton for this.
"I remember when she was your age, just about sixteen," went one of the stories. "Your grampa had just bought a new car and was letting Mag... your mother drive it home from the dealer. Your grampa was a very nervous passenger that day, I think. Very carefully she came down the street. It was trash day and the barrels were out. I heard a crash and looked out the window. The wind had blown a barrel over and it was rolling toward the car! She stopped the car right where she was, threw it into park, and jumped out of the car. She stopped that barrel just in time before it might have scratched the paint. I stood here and laughed at what I saw. She was a real delightful girl, your mother. And you have followed right along in her footsteps."
Ernie blushed as Mrs. Appleton gave him a hug.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I am feeling a bit tired, and I'm going to lie down for a bit."
Ernie said goodbye and went home.
Ernie looked at the picture of his mother on the wall after he was ready for bed. He thanked her for being his mom, even if he couldn't be with her anymore. He kissed his fingers and touched the picture and said goodnight to her.
As Ernie lay down to sleep, his eyes filled with mist. A fog. He was having one of his dreams again. They had become more frequent, more vivid as he grew older. He just hoped it would be over soon so he could sleep tonight.
This dream was gray -- dark gray. How strange, he thought, as he was accustomed to different colors, the pinks and yellows and greens and blues. This one didn't have much color but it had plenty of detail. He saw Mrs. Appleton lying on the floor next to her bed, her arm outstretched and reaching for something. A very upsetting vision, he thought. He could do nothing but watch. There was no stopping this vision until is ended on its own. When it finally did he was able to fall asleep.
He slept for an hour before another dream woke him -- just colors and the face of a stranger, this time. He managed to sleep for a few minutes before another dream of a stranger woke him up in the morning. Another typical night of sleeplessness for Ernie.
But now it was Monday morning and Ernie needed to get to school. He was upset from the previous night's dream, though. And he needed to check on Mrs. Appleton. He ran to the door and saw her through the window, sitting at the kitchen table. This brought a smile to his weary young face. She saw him through the window, and came to the door to let him in.
"What is this, some kind of holiday?" she joked.
"No, I, uhh... just wanted to thank you for the story yesterday about my Mother. I love those stories."
"I know you do, and... now there's your bus, don't be late! Come see me after school and I will tell you another one."
He was so relieved as he ran off. He didn't know what to make of that dream, but at least dear Mrs. Appleton was OK.
The distractions on Ernie's mind at school today were not the usual ones. He was frequently fighting off images of friends and strangers while he tried to stay focused on the lesson or task at hand. Today was different, it was personal, and he couldn't help but worry about what he'd seen. It was a mistake, he thought. Just a... could it be he had a regular dream, the kind normal people had? He wondered, and cringed at the thought that he had just thought himself somehow abnormal. It was true enough, wasn't it?
At lunch, the main topic of conversation was football. Ernie's short-lived fandom had worn off before he reached ninth grade. He knew all of the players and was excited for their sake that they were in a tie for first place in the division, halfway through this season. But it wouldn't have mattered all that much to him on a good day, and today wasn't really a good day.
"Is everything OK?" asked his friend, Doug, who was now a star defensive player on the Central squad.
"Yeah, thanks... well, no, I, uh..." he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. "I'm just worried about my neighbor, Mrs. Appleton... you know, she turned 87 last month."
"Oh, is she sick?" Doug asked.
"Well, no. Actually, she's not, but..." he realized there was nothing he could say, not even to his friend -- his best friend, really. It would sound crazy if he did, and he absolutely couldn't. "No, she's just getting old... I guess that's why I'm worried."
"Well stop it, or you'll make yourself old," his friend said. "Hey, what is that, a wrinkle?"
Ernie smiled but backed quickly away before Doug could touch is face. He didn't want any football dreams. Every dream he had made him feel like he was seeing something he shouldn't be seeing, like he was spying on somebody.
Ernie just laughed at what Doug said and held up his hand, pretending it was a mirror. "Gee, I think you're right!" he said.
The ride home from school was torturously long. Ernie sat alone in his seat behind the driver. The other kids didn't know why Ernie had to sit by himself, but they gave him his space. When the bus stopped on his street he rocketed off the bus and to Mrs. Appleton's door.
Ding-dong.
There was no answer. He looked in the garage to see her car. She hardly drove it anymore, but it was there.
Ding-dong.
He thought he'd heard the chime, but maybe it was just his imagination. He knocked. Nothing. He knocked louder.
He was frantic now. He had a key to her house -- it was easier that way when he was taking care of things there. He used his key to open her door.
"Mrs. Appleton?" he called. No answer.
He crept through the house. He didn't want to disturb her if she were just sleeping, he thought. But she wasn't one to take naps.
He called hopefully to her again. Nothing.
He reached her bedroom and turned instantly pale. There she lay, just as he had seen her, right next to the bed. Her hand was reaching for a bottle of pills.
Ernie picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. They would send someone right away, they said. But when he felt for a pulse and didn't find one, he knew that there was nothing they or anybody could do.
© Copyright 2005
# posted by Uisce : 12:00 AM
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Chapter 7 ~ Remembrance
Invisible Touch
Chapter 7 ~ Remembrance
Helen had had lots of family, all living in the Phoenix area, all from her sister's side of the family. The Maxwells had heard a great deal from Helen about this mysterious family she visited so often. They would finally meet the matriarchs of this family; Helen's sister and niece had come for the funeral.
It was like meeting two peas in a pod when John and Betty picked them up at the airport. One pea was older than the other, but the daughter looked so much like her mother, it was uncanny. At 84, Helen's sister, Anna, hardly looked anywhere near her age. Daughter Mary, just 60, shared so many of her mother's features, a stranger might really think they were twins, or at least sisters.
The ride home from the airport was a great time to break the ice. It was a crisper October day, and these ladies of the Southwest were chilled. When Betty suggested stopping to retrieve the stadium blanket from the trunk, John knew she was just teasing, but they eagerly accepted her offer. They pulled into a coffee shop parking lot and John did the honors, pulling this green and yellow blanket -- very warm -- across the laps of these two women. It was quite a sight, he thought.
"It's all your fault," Anna said to the Maxwells as the ride home continued. "For years and years, I tried to get Helen to move south, to our part of the world. 'No,' she would always say. Her home was her neighborhood, with such wonderful friends. I hope you don't mind my telling you she just adored you both, and your daughter, poor thing, and your grandson. Just adored you all. We would have loved having her closer year round, but we could see it in her eyes when she was leaving to come back here, that this was really her home."
Mary wiped tears from her eyes as she made the turn onto their street, finally pulling into Helen's driveway.
"Here we are," she said. "Our hours is right there, and this one is Helen's." Was, she silently corrected herself.
The shock of Helen's death finally gave way to remembrance of her life. It had been a long life full of rich friendships and beautiful memories. The funeral was beautiful. She hadn't wanted anything fancy, her instructions told everyone, but there were bright flowers and that just reinforced the beauty within this dear woman who had passed away.
Anna and Mary were staying a few days, long enough for Helen's will to be read. It would be a while for everything to be settled, but they needed to hear, officially at least, what Helen's wishes had been.
As executor of the estate, John Maxwell presided over the meeting. Anna sat next to him, at the head of the table. Those had been Helen's instructions. Helen's attorney sat on John's other side.
There was a lot of money involved, it turned out. William had left Helen a small fortune when he died. His partnership in the factory and the shares he held in it yielded quite a sum when that business had been sold. Wise investments and frugal living over the succeeding forty-some years had compounded itself into just over thirty million dollars.
Mary looked at her mother in stunned disbelief. A smile crept into her eyes.
"To my sister, Anna Burns, I leave $274,000," the attorney began reading. This was an odd amount, but it completed the payments on Anna's unit in the very nice assisted living community she lived in. Helen had purchased the unit for her sister and begun paying for it. And this was all Anna had wanted from her sister's fortune. Helen had not lived lavishly, and why should she, she reasoned.
"To my niece, Mary Bickford and to her children and to their children, I leave three million dollars, broken down as follows," and the attorney read the figures, which brought tears to Mary's eyes. Her children had mortgages and her grandchildren had dreams of college. Helen had just written a check to pay for them all at once.
"To my dear friend, Ernie Maxwell, I leave six million dollars, to be..." and there was language the attorney continued read concerning trusts and legal details. This was enough, she had hoped, that he would be set for life financially. "In addition, I leave Ernie my apartment on Prospect Avenue," he finished reading. This was a rental unit, recently vacated, in fact, in a beautiful downtown condominium building.
"And to my dear friends, John and Betty Maxwell, I leave $800,000 and my residence, the contents of which are to be distributed separately as listed in the attached document."
The attorney continued reading. "The attached articles of organization are hereby declared and the remaining balance of my estate shall be given to the William and Helen Appleton Charitable Trust, an organization whose mission will be the promotion of intergenerational activity and understanding, and for other charitable purposes as the Board of Trustees shall see fit. The Board shall meet within one month..." and there were more details, instructing them of her wishes.
When the attorney finished reading, everyone stood, and at John's suggestion, observed a moment of silence in memory of Helen Appleton. He shook the attorney's hand and the meeting was adjourned.
The Board of Trustees met the next day in Helen's living room. It seemed as good a place as any. Helen's niece, Mary, had been named a member of the Board, and so they chose to meet soon, and not delay her return to Arizona. Other Board members included John and Betty Maxwell and two old friends of Maggie's: Mark O'Brien, Principal at Central Lake Middle School, and Beth Milhouse, now a ninth grade teacher.
There were only two items on the agenda. First, they were to select somebody to be the Executive Director of the organization. Second, they were to set the date of the next board meeting.
One of the documents in Helen's will had made a suggestion as to a Director. It was not binding, but reflected what she really wanted for this organization. The Chairman of the Board made a nomination.
"I make a motion that this board unanimously select Ernest John Maxwell II as first Executive Director of the William and Helen Appleton Charitable Foundation, at a salary be one dollar per year." John said very officially.
There were nods of agreement, and since everyone knew that this was what Helen wanted, there didn't need to be any discussion. The virtual lack of salary would ensure that the trust's endowment could be put to its best, fullest use. Besides, Helen had already seen to it that Ernie would have plenty of money to live on. It all made perfect sense.
"I second the motion," Mary Bickford stated.
"All in favor, please say 'aye.'"
A chorus of "aye" was heard.
"Any opposed, please say 'no.'"
There was silence.
"I will go and contact the new Director," Mark suggested, as he was sitting nearest the door. He jogged next door and quickly retrieved his former student.
Ernie was dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. He had been studying for a chemistry exam when his former Principal had asked him to join the meeting.
"You called for me?" he said.
He was given the news of his selection. His grandfather opened up his wallet and laughed as he gave Ernie his year's salary in advance.
"Look at me, I'm gainfully employed," Ernie mused at dinner a week later. "I don't even need to go to college now."
"Oh no, George Bailey. You are going to college," John told him. He reached for a folder of legal papers that lay at the other end of the table. He thumbed through the documents and pretended to read one in particular. "Says so right here," he said as he waved the folder around.
Ernie leaned over as if to try and see. "Hey, let me see that," he said as his grandfather pulled the folder back. "I know, I know," Ernie finally said.
"Yes, you know," his grandmother said. "It's what Helen wanted. The timing ended up a bit awkward, I realize. She had planned on seeing you graduate from college , even celebrating her 90th birthday the year after that. But her time came and that's that."
Ernie nodded in agreement.
"And your mother," his grandfather said. "You absolutely know what she would have wanted for you, right?"
"You're right, of course." He got up from the table and retrieved his knapsack from another room. He unzipped it and pulled out catalogs from three colleges.
"You're a bad boy," Betty said with a grin, "teasing us like that."
Ernie laughed. "I'm sorry. You didn't think I was serious, did you?"
"Got you right back, I did!" his grandmother shot back.
They flipped through the catalogs together.
"Your mother has her degrees from here," John said, pointing to one of the local colleges. "Great school!"
"This school has a really good reputation," Betty said about another. "And you've got the grades to get in," she added confidently.
She picked up the third one. "Another excellent school," she said about the state university. "But so far away."
"Only an hour and a half," John said. "We'd see him plenty." And to Ernie he said, "wouldn't we?"
"This is my top choice, actually, but not the main campus. I'd like to stay here at home, and the largest city campus is located right here in town."
An excellent idea, everybody agreed.
"You've got a choice, you know," his grandfather reminded him, "of where to live."
"That's right," his grandmother agreed. "You know you're welcome to live here -- I hope you know that. But that condo of yours is just a block away from campus."
"What, wouldn't you be so lonely without me?" Ernie joked.
"Devastated."
"Despondent."
They all laughed again. It was decided, then. A little independence was good for a young man.
And his college application was enthusiastically accepted.
© Copyright 2005
Chapter 7 ~ Remembrance
Helen had had lots of family, all living in the Phoenix area, all from her sister's side of the family. The Maxwells had heard a great deal from Helen about this mysterious family she visited so often. They would finally meet the matriarchs of this family; Helen's sister and niece had come for the funeral.
It was like meeting two peas in a pod when John and Betty picked them up at the airport. One pea was older than the other, but the daughter looked so much like her mother, it was uncanny. At 84, Helen's sister, Anna, hardly looked anywhere near her age. Daughter Mary, just 60, shared so many of her mother's features, a stranger might really think they were twins, or at least sisters.
The ride home from the airport was a great time to break the ice. It was a crisper October day, and these ladies of the Southwest were chilled. When Betty suggested stopping to retrieve the stadium blanket from the trunk, John knew she was just teasing, but they eagerly accepted her offer. They pulled into a coffee shop parking lot and John did the honors, pulling this green and yellow blanket -- very warm -- across the laps of these two women. It was quite a sight, he thought.
"It's all your fault," Anna said to the Maxwells as the ride home continued. "For years and years, I tried to get Helen to move south, to our part of the world. 'No,' she would always say. Her home was her neighborhood, with such wonderful friends. I hope you don't mind my telling you she just adored you both, and your daughter, poor thing, and your grandson. Just adored you all. We would have loved having her closer year round, but we could see it in her eyes when she was leaving to come back here, that this was really her home."
Mary wiped tears from her eyes as she made the turn onto their street, finally pulling into Helen's driveway.
"Here we are," she said. "Our hours is right there, and this one is Helen's." Was, she silently corrected herself.
The shock of Helen's death finally gave way to remembrance of her life. It had been a long life full of rich friendships and beautiful memories. The funeral was beautiful. She hadn't wanted anything fancy, her instructions told everyone, but there were bright flowers and that just reinforced the beauty within this dear woman who had passed away.
Anna and Mary were staying a few days, long enough for Helen's will to be read. It would be a while for everything to be settled, but they needed to hear, officially at least, what Helen's wishes had been.
As executor of the estate, John Maxwell presided over the meeting. Anna sat next to him, at the head of the table. Those had been Helen's instructions. Helen's attorney sat on John's other side.
There was a lot of money involved, it turned out. William had left Helen a small fortune when he died. His partnership in the factory and the shares he held in it yielded quite a sum when that business had been sold. Wise investments and frugal living over the succeeding forty-some years had compounded itself into just over thirty million dollars.
Mary looked at her mother in stunned disbelief. A smile crept into her eyes.
"To my sister, Anna Burns, I leave $274,000," the attorney began reading. This was an odd amount, but it completed the payments on Anna's unit in the very nice assisted living community she lived in. Helen had purchased the unit for her sister and begun paying for it. And this was all Anna had wanted from her sister's fortune. Helen had not lived lavishly, and why should she, she reasoned.
"To my niece, Mary Bickford and to her children and to their children, I leave three million dollars, broken down as follows," and the attorney read the figures, which brought tears to Mary's eyes. Her children had mortgages and her grandchildren had dreams of college. Helen had just written a check to pay for them all at once.
"To my dear friend, Ernie Maxwell, I leave six million dollars, to be..." and there was language the attorney continued read concerning trusts and legal details. This was enough, she had hoped, that he would be set for life financially. "In addition, I leave Ernie my apartment on Prospect Avenue," he finished reading. This was a rental unit, recently vacated, in fact, in a beautiful downtown condominium building.
"And to my dear friends, John and Betty Maxwell, I leave $800,000 and my residence, the contents of which are to be distributed separately as listed in the attached document."
The attorney continued reading. "The attached articles of organization are hereby declared and the remaining balance of my estate shall be given to the William and Helen Appleton Charitable Trust, an organization whose mission will be the promotion of intergenerational activity and understanding, and for other charitable purposes as the Board of Trustees shall see fit. The Board shall meet within one month..." and there were more details, instructing them of her wishes.
When the attorney finished reading, everyone stood, and at John's suggestion, observed a moment of silence in memory of Helen Appleton. He shook the attorney's hand and the meeting was adjourned.
The Board of Trustees met the next day in Helen's living room. It seemed as good a place as any. Helen's niece, Mary, had been named a member of the Board, and so they chose to meet soon, and not delay her return to Arizona. Other Board members included John and Betty Maxwell and two old friends of Maggie's: Mark O'Brien, Principal at Central Lake Middle School, and Beth Milhouse, now a ninth grade teacher.
There were only two items on the agenda. First, they were to select somebody to be the Executive Director of the organization. Second, they were to set the date of the next board meeting.
One of the documents in Helen's will had made a suggestion as to a Director. It was not binding, but reflected what she really wanted for this organization. The Chairman of the Board made a nomination.
"I make a motion that this board unanimously select Ernest John Maxwell II as first Executive Director of the William and Helen Appleton Charitable Foundation, at a salary be one dollar per year." John said very officially.
There were nods of agreement, and since everyone knew that this was what Helen wanted, there didn't need to be any discussion. The virtual lack of salary would ensure that the trust's endowment could be put to its best, fullest use. Besides, Helen had already seen to it that Ernie would have plenty of money to live on. It all made perfect sense.
"I second the motion," Mary Bickford stated.
"All in favor, please say 'aye.'"
A chorus of "aye" was heard.
"Any opposed, please say 'no.'"
There was silence.
"I will go and contact the new Director," Mark suggested, as he was sitting nearest the door. He jogged next door and quickly retrieved his former student.
Ernie was dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. He had been studying for a chemistry exam when his former Principal had asked him to join the meeting.
"You called for me?" he said.
He was given the news of his selection. His grandfather opened up his wallet and laughed as he gave Ernie his year's salary in advance.
"Look at me, I'm gainfully employed," Ernie mused at dinner a week later. "I don't even need to go to college now."
"Oh no, George Bailey. You are going to college," John told him. He reached for a folder of legal papers that lay at the other end of the table. He thumbed through the documents and pretended to read one in particular. "Says so right here," he said as he waved the folder around.
Ernie leaned over as if to try and see. "Hey, let me see that," he said as his grandfather pulled the folder back. "I know, I know," Ernie finally said.
"Yes, you know," his grandmother said. "It's what Helen wanted. The timing ended up a bit awkward, I realize. She had planned on seeing you graduate from college , even celebrating her 90th birthday the year after that. But her time came and that's that."
Ernie nodded in agreement.
"And your mother," his grandfather said. "You absolutely know what she would have wanted for you, right?"
"You're right, of course." He got up from the table and retrieved his knapsack from another room. He unzipped it and pulled out catalogs from three colleges.
"You're a bad boy," Betty said with a grin, "teasing us like that."
Ernie laughed. "I'm sorry. You didn't think I was serious, did you?"
"Got you right back, I did!" his grandmother shot back.
They flipped through the catalogs together.
"Your mother has her degrees from here," John said, pointing to one of the local colleges. "Great school!"
"This school has a really good reputation," Betty said about another. "And you've got the grades to get in," she added confidently.
She picked up the third one. "Another excellent school," she said about the state university. "But so far away."
"Only an hour and a half," John said. "We'd see him plenty." And to Ernie he said, "wouldn't we?"
"This is my top choice, actually, but not the main campus. I'd like to stay here at home, and the largest city campus is located right here in town."
An excellent idea, everybody agreed.
"You've got a choice, you know," his grandfather reminded him, "of where to live."
"That's right," his grandmother agreed. "You know you're welcome to live here -- I hope you know that. But that condo of yours is just a block away from campus."
"What, wouldn't you be so lonely without me?" Ernie joked.
"Devastated."
"Despondent."
They all laughed again. It was decided, then. A little independence was good for a young man.
And his college application was enthusiastically accepted.
© Copyright 2005
# posted by Uisce : 12:00 AM
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Chapter 8 ~ Kim
Invisible Touch
Chapter 8 ~ Kim
High school graduation was bitter sweet. Time marches on and life marches forward. And children become adults. It was nice to be on the verge of entering college, but up until now, Ernie had always enjoyed plenty of space. There was a bigger world out there. He was probably going to feel like a fish out of water, but he was going to have to learn how to swim.
His dreams were becoming more of a problem and interfering much more in his daily life. Whenever Ernie would touch someone he felt a kind of spark sensation.
"It's similar to what you get when you touch something metal on a winter day after you've been scuffing your feet on the carpet," he wrote in his journal. "Only the spark feels hot and more intense. It sometimes comes with a wave of warmth throughout my entire body, but not always. I sometimes get a bad headache, too, but that happens less of the time."
And he wrote down what was happening because he really felt like there was nobody he could talk to about this. And who could he tell?
"Yes, Doctor," he could imagine the conversation he might have. "I touch somebody and I get a spark. Then later on, maybe at night, but maybe during the day I'll have a dream about this person and, well, it turns on that this dream is actually the person's future."
Right. Nobody would believe him. It was a very lonely feeling. Lonelier still was the problem of physical contact. He was going to be in charge of a charity organization that would need to interact with the community. He could only keep himself behind a desk so much. How was he going to shake hands with people? He pondered this for a while. It was a basic courtesy, but he was going to have to find a way around it somehow, he thought.
Ernie tried to keep track of the dreams in his journal, and while he was keenly aware that they were becoming more intense and vivid as he grew older, they were also happening more quickly.
"It used to be, if I touched somebody," he wrote, "I didn't have to worry about having a dream about that person until night time. I'll never forget that time I had just gotten off of my bike and one of my dreams started. If I had still been riding when my vision blurred, who knows what might happened -- I'd probably be toast. Well now they're happening even sooner than that. An hour, two hours after I touch somebody. How am I going to have any kind of life?"
High school graduation also brought a scattering of Ernie's friends around the state and across the country. He was glad that Doug was sticking around. It was always nice to be around somebody that you could trust, even if you had a big secret you had to keep from them.
And it was bad enough, Ernie felt, that he had been keeping this one secret his whole life. Now he had another. He didn't want the whole world to know that he had inherited a six million dollar trust fund. What kind of people might that attract? He wasn't being paranoid, he told himself. He was just being cautious.
Another of his friends was going to be attending the same college as Ernie. But this was how he had met Kim Wilson -- at one of the information sessions. They shared a number of interests, including writing. Kim wanted to be a novelist some day. Ernie just loved putting words on paper and couldn't even imagine having enough of them in the right order for them to end up in book form.
Kim had recently lost her grandfather, with whom she had been very close, and this was something Ernie felt they had in common. Mrs. Appleton had been like another grandmother to him, particularly where his own grandparents had taken over the role of parent.
And he had lost his mother, of course. But he didn't even think of her that way, he sometimes felt ashamed to admit to himself. He never knew her directly, only through the stories his grandparents and Mrs. Appleton would tell him. He never felt a sense of loss of his mother, and in a way this was a good thing. But it made him sad somehow, for her sake.
Ernie and Kim become very good friends that year and the summer after graduation. He knew that they could never be more than just friends. It was hard enough that he couldn't ever give her a hug, he thought. It wasn't that he didn't want to. He just knew what it would lead to -- a dream of her and a vision of her future. And that would violate her privacy, he felt. It was an intrusion he felt just wasn't right.
"I'm sorry I can't hug you," he imagined himself saying to her. "It's just that I don't want to sneak a peek behind the curtains of your life and spy into your future."
Right.
On her birthday, in the middle of July, Ernie gave her a gift. It was nothing big or special, just the new CD by Tricky Dick and the Cover-ups. That was so sweet, she thought -- she was a big fan. She went to give Ernie a hug and he quickly backed away. How strange, she thought. It wasn't as if she had been trying to kiss him or anything. Oh well, she thought -- everybody was different.
Ernie sensed her understanding and very much appreciated it.
College was great, Ernie decided. He was all moved into his own apartment, and he loved his new freedom. Academically, it was a whole new world, and he enjoyed each and every challenge he faced. His introductory business class could be mind-numbingly boring, but it was different from anything he had studied in high school.
And Kim was in his class. She seemed to understand him in a way he couldn't figure out. She gave him the space he seemed to need, and they just enjoyed their time together. They would study together -- business and English, another class they both attended. They would go the movies or watch videos. They would go bowling -- something she had introduced him to. Whatever they were doing, they had a really good time.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" he asked her once.
"Oh gawd, am I supposed to know that already?" she replied. "I'm just keeping my options open so far, and maybe I'll go to law school. Why, do you have your future figured out yet?"
"Yup," he answered. "I had this friend, an older lady next door,"
"Ooh, sounds tawdry," she teased.
He laughed. "Well she was really, really rich. Funny thing was, she didn't live that kind of lifestyle. I sure didn't know she had all that money squirreled away. And when she died, in her will, she created this charity organization because she wanted me to run it."
"She should have just given you all the money," Kim suggested. Ernie hadn't mentioned the part about his own inheritance.
"Yeah, that would have been nice," he said. It was only a little white lie, he thought. "Intergenerational relations, that's the organization's main mission."
"Sounds interesting," Kim said.
"Yeah. She was a nice lady, and I never really thought about... Well, I knew, obviously, she was much older than me. I guess I didn't really think about how out of the ordinary it was that we were such good friends."
"I know what you mean. My grampa and me," she started to say, and tears filled her eyes. "He was the greatest."
"Tell me about him," Ernie asked.
Kim thought of one of her favorite story about her grandfather and that brought a smile to her face.
"Grampa had this really old, ratty bowling bag," she recalled, "and he used to say it was his lucky bag. The zipper didn't work anymore. There was a hole in it. In fact, we were leaving the bowling alley one day and I saw a dollar bill fall out of his bag. 'Grampa, you dropped this,' I told him. 'Oh no, honey, that's not mine,' he replied. 'I saw it fall right out of the hole in your bowling bag,' I said. He smiled and said, 'there is no hole in my lucky bowling bag. You see, honey, this bag is so lucky, it's even magical -- it turns gum wrappers into dollars!'"
She was laughing now. And she was wiping more tears from her eyes, but these were happy tears.
"How about you," she asked. "You've told me you were raised by your grandmother and grandfather. What was that like?"
"Well," he began. "I guess I don't have anything else to compare it to. In a way, I didn't have any 'grandparents' at all. They were my gramma and grampa and that's what I called them. But really, they were they only parents I ever knew. On the other hand, Mrs. Appleton -- my next door neighbor -- we were close, like... well, like you and your grandfather, I guess."
Ernie paused. He had never really analyzed his own family situation.
"That's funny," he chuckled. "I never really thought about it like that. She was the one who spoiled me, if you could call it that. I always felt bad that my grandparents couldn't play that role in my life. They sacrificed that, and a whole lot more, just to raise me. I hope they know how much I've always appreciated that."
"Well, do you tell them?" Kim asked.
"Probably not as often as I should," he confessed, and made a mental note to call them tonight, and not wait for their weekly chat.
"Do you talk to them much? Your grandparents, I mean." Kim asked.
"Every Sunday evening," he said. And then said with a chuckle, "they've installed a second phone in the living room so they can sit together but both talk to me at the same time. Sometimes we'll be talking about -- I don't know, just anything -- and they will be speaking directly to each other. I can just picture it, the two of them in the same room, having a conversation over the phone."
"Have you always been a..." she searched for the right word. "...a talky family?"
"Oh yeah, we've always done things together, talked about stuff, interests, but mostly school, and the future, like future plans and all. It's funny how those plans have changed," he said.
"How so?" Kim asked.
"Well, we never knew that Mrs. Appleton was so rich, and then she created this charity, and then that became my new future. Don't get me wrong, I love the idea, and I can't wait to get started with it. But it's funny you mentioned law school before, because when I was a kid, and growing up, I used to picture myself going to law school. But you know what, I could never actually picture myself being a lawyer. I just have this -- I guess you'd call it an academic fascination with the law."
"What else did your family talk about?" Kim asked.
"We'd talk about art and science a lot. We'd go to Chicago sometimes, to the museums. That was always a lot of fun. They wanted to expose me to lots of... stuff."
"Stuff," she chuckled. "You are so eloquent!"
He smiled. "Yup, stuff. Smart stuff. Stuff to fill my brain, I guess. And there's nothing wrong with that, is there They had a mission to make me smart."
"Sure, nothing wrong with that. Lots of parents do that. Mine did, too. And I wonder if we ever bumped into each other at the Art Institute or the Museum of Science and Industry. We used to go there a lot, too."
"Huh, wouldn't that be funny if you and I met as little kids and we never even knew it."
And his tone shifted slightly.
"I know from Mrs. Appleton that's how they raised my mother, too. Education was their big thing with her, too."
"Did your grandparents talk much about your mom?" Kim asked. She didn't want to pry, and she suddenly wondered if maybe she shouldn't have asked that. "You don't have to..."
"It's OK. No, they didn't, and I always wished they'd tell me more. It wasn't as if they didn't want me to know anything about her. Mrs. Appleton would tell me story after story about my mother. I guess that's one of the reasons she and I became so close -- was through the memory my mother. No, I think they just didn't like talking about her. They were so devastated by her death, and their reticence was pretty much the only way they ever showed it, at least by the time I was old enough to notice."
"That's kind of sad," Kim said. "I can't even imagine. It's bad enough losing someone you love, and I've been there, and it was awful, but parents should never have to bury their children. It's just not right."
"What about your father?" Kim started. "Do your grandparents ever talk about him?"
"They never knew him," Ernie said. "Never even knew who my father was, at least as far as I know. And neither do I."
She was curious. Did he ever wonder about that? Somehow she sensed he didn't really want to talk about the subject.
© Copyright 2005
Chapter 8 ~ Kim
High school graduation was bitter sweet. Time marches on and life marches forward. And children become adults. It was nice to be on the verge of entering college, but up until now, Ernie had always enjoyed plenty of space. There was a bigger world out there. He was probably going to feel like a fish out of water, but he was going to have to learn how to swim.
His dreams were becoming more of a problem and interfering much more in his daily life. Whenever Ernie would touch someone he felt a kind of spark sensation.
"It's similar to what you get when you touch something metal on a winter day after you've been scuffing your feet on the carpet," he wrote in his journal. "Only the spark feels hot and more intense. It sometimes comes with a wave of warmth throughout my entire body, but not always. I sometimes get a bad headache, too, but that happens less of the time."
And he wrote down what was happening because he really felt like there was nobody he could talk to about this. And who could he tell?
"Yes, Doctor," he could imagine the conversation he might have. "I touch somebody and I get a spark. Then later on, maybe at night, but maybe during the day I'll have a dream about this person and, well, it turns on that this dream is actually the person's future."
Right. Nobody would believe him. It was a very lonely feeling. Lonelier still was the problem of physical contact. He was going to be in charge of a charity organization that would need to interact with the community. He could only keep himself behind a desk so much. How was he going to shake hands with people? He pondered this for a while. It was a basic courtesy, but he was going to have to find a way around it somehow, he thought.
Ernie tried to keep track of the dreams in his journal, and while he was keenly aware that they were becoming more intense and vivid as he grew older, they were also happening more quickly.
"It used to be, if I touched somebody," he wrote, "I didn't have to worry about having a dream about that person until night time. I'll never forget that time I had just gotten off of my bike and one of my dreams started. If I had still been riding when my vision blurred, who knows what might happened -- I'd probably be toast. Well now they're happening even sooner than that. An hour, two hours after I touch somebody. How am I going to have any kind of life?"
High school graduation also brought a scattering of Ernie's friends around the state and across the country. He was glad that Doug was sticking around. It was always nice to be around somebody that you could trust, even if you had a big secret you had to keep from them.
And it was bad enough, Ernie felt, that he had been keeping this one secret his whole life. Now he had another. He didn't want the whole world to know that he had inherited a six million dollar trust fund. What kind of people might that attract? He wasn't being paranoid, he told himself. He was just being cautious.
Another of his friends was going to be attending the same college as Ernie. But this was how he had met Kim Wilson -- at one of the information sessions. They shared a number of interests, including writing. Kim wanted to be a novelist some day. Ernie just loved putting words on paper and couldn't even imagine having enough of them in the right order for them to end up in book form.
Kim had recently lost her grandfather, with whom she had been very close, and this was something Ernie felt they had in common. Mrs. Appleton had been like another grandmother to him, particularly where his own grandparents had taken over the role of parent.
And he had lost his mother, of course. But he didn't even think of her that way, he sometimes felt ashamed to admit to himself. He never knew her directly, only through the stories his grandparents and Mrs. Appleton would tell him. He never felt a sense of loss of his mother, and in a way this was a good thing. But it made him sad somehow, for her sake.
Ernie and Kim become very good friends that year and the summer after graduation. He knew that they could never be more than just friends. It was hard enough that he couldn't ever give her a hug, he thought. It wasn't that he didn't want to. He just knew what it would lead to -- a dream of her and a vision of her future. And that would violate her privacy, he felt. It was an intrusion he felt just wasn't right.
"I'm sorry I can't hug you," he imagined himself saying to her. "It's just that I don't want to sneak a peek behind the curtains of your life and spy into your future."
Right.
On her birthday, in the middle of July, Ernie gave her a gift. It was nothing big or special, just the new CD by Tricky Dick and the Cover-ups. That was so sweet, she thought -- she was a big fan. She went to give Ernie a hug and he quickly backed away. How strange, she thought. It wasn't as if she had been trying to kiss him or anything. Oh well, she thought -- everybody was different.
Ernie sensed her understanding and very much appreciated it.
College was great, Ernie decided. He was all moved into his own apartment, and he loved his new freedom. Academically, it was a whole new world, and he enjoyed each and every challenge he faced. His introductory business class could be mind-numbingly boring, but it was different from anything he had studied in high school.
And Kim was in his class. She seemed to understand him in a way he couldn't figure out. She gave him the space he seemed to need, and they just enjoyed their time together. They would study together -- business and English, another class they both attended. They would go the movies or watch videos. They would go bowling -- something she had introduced him to. Whatever they were doing, they had a really good time.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" he asked her once.
"Oh gawd, am I supposed to know that already?" she replied. "I'm just keeping my options open so far, and maybe I'll go to law school. Why, do you have your future figured out yet?"
"Yup," he answered. "I had this friend, an older lady next door,"
"Ooh, sounds tawdry," she teased.
He laughed. "Well she was really, really rich. Funny thing was, she didn't live that kind of lifestyle. I sure didn't know she had all that money squirreled away. And when she died, in her will, she created this charity organization because she wanted me to run it."
"She should have just given you all the money," Kim suggested. Ernie hadn't mentioned the part about his own inheritance.
"Yeah, that would have been nice," he said. It was only a little white lie, he thought. "Intergenerational relations, that's the organization's main mission."
"Sounds interesting," Kim said.
"Yeah. She was a nice lady, and I never really thought about... Well, I knew, obviously, she was much older than me. I guess I didn't really think about how out of the ordinary it was that we were such good friends."
"I know what you mean. My grampa and me," she started to say, and tears filled her eyes. "He was the greatest."
"Tell me about him," Ernie asked.
Kim thought of one of her favorite story about her grandfather and that brought a smile to her face.
"Grampa had this really old, ratty bowling bag," she recalled, "and he used to say it was his lucky bag. The zipper didn't work anymore. There was a hole in it. In fact, we were leaving the bowling alley one day and I saw a dollar bill fall out of his bag. 'Grampa, you dropped this,' I told him. 'Oh no, honey, that's not mine,' he replied. 'I saw it fall right out of the hole in your bowling bag,' I said. He smiled and said, 'there is no hole in my lucky bowling bag. You see, honey, this bag is so lucky, it's even magical -- it turns gum wrappers into dollars!'"
She was laughing now. And she was wiping more tears from her eyes, but these were happy tears.
"How about you," she asked. "You've told me you were raised by your grandmother and grandfather. What was that like?"
"Well," he began. "I guess I don't have anything else to compare it to. In a way, I didn't have any 'grandparents' at all. They were my gramma and grampa and that's what I called them. But really, they were they only parents I ever knew. On the other hand, Mrs. Appleton -- my next door neighbor -- we were close, like... well, like you and your grandfather, I guess."
Ernie paused. He had never really analyzed his own family situation.
"That's funny," he chuckled. "I never really thought about it like that. She was the one who spoiled me, if you could call it that. I always felt bad that my grandparents couldn't play that role in my life. They sacrificed that, and a whole lot more, just to raise me. I hope they know how much I've always appreciated that."
"Well, do you tell them?" Kim asked.
"Probably not as often as I should," he confessed, and made a mental note to call them tonight, and not wait for their weekly chat.
"Do you talk to them much? Your grandparents, I mean." Kim asked.
"Every Sunday evening," he said. And then said with a chuckle, "they've installed a second phone in the living room so they can sit together but both talk to me at the same time. Sometimes we'll be talking about -- I don't know, just anything -- and they will be speaking directly to each other. I can just picture it, the two of them in the same room, having a conversation over the phone."
"Have you always been a..." she searched for the right word. "...a talky family?"
"Oh yeah, we've always done things together, talked about stuff, interests, but mostly school, and the future, like future plans and all. It's funny how those plans have changed," he said.
"How so?" Kim asked.
"Well, we never knew that Mrs. Appleton was so rich, and then she created this charity, and then that became my new future. Don't get me wrong, I love the idea, and I can't wait to get started with it. But it's funny you mentioned law school before, because when I was a kid, and growing up, I used to picture myself going to law school. But you know what, I could never actually picture myself being a lawyer. I just have this -- I guess you'd call it an academic fascination with the law."
"What else did your family talk about?" Kim asked.
"We'd talk about art and science a lot. We'd go to Chicago sometimes, to the museums. That was always a lot of fun. They wanted to expose me to lots of... stuff."
"Stuff," she chuckled. "You are so eloquent!"
He smiled. "Yup, stuff. Smart stuff. Stuff to fill my brain, I guess. And there's nothing wrong with that, is there They had a mission to make me smart."
"Sure, nothing wrong with that. Lots of parents do that. Mine did, too. And I wonder if we ever bumped into each other at the Art Institute or the Museum of Science and Industry. We used to go there a lot, too."
"Huh, wouldn't that be funny if you and I met as little kids and we never even knew it."
And his tone shifted slightly.
"I know from Mrs. Appleton that's how they raised my mother, too. Education was their big thing with her, too."
"Did your grandparents talk much about your mom?" Kim asked. She didn't want to pry, and she suddenly wondered if maybe she shouldn't have asked that. "You don't have to..."
"It's OK. No, they didn't, and I always wished they'd tell me more. It wasn't as if they didn't want me to know anything about her. Mrs. Appleton would tell me story after story about my mother. I guess that's one of the reasons she and I became so close -- was through the memory my mother. No, I think they just didn't like talking about her. They were so devastated by her death, and their reticence was pretty much the only way they ever showed it, at least by the time I was old enough to notice."
"That's kind of sad," Kim said. "I can't even imagine. It's bad enough losing someone you love, and I've been there, and it was awful, but parents should never have to bury their children. It's just not right."
"What about your father?" Kim started. "Do your grandparents ever talk about him?"
"They never knew him," Ernie said. "Never even knew who my father was, at least as far as I know. And neither do I."
She was curious. Did he ever wonder about that? Somehow she sensed he didn't really want to talk about the subject.
© Copyright 2005
# posted by Uisce : 12:00 AM
