Sunday, October 26, 2008
Has everyone been busy with other classes?
I've been busy taking Writeriffic the last several weeks. It's been a supportive class much like Beginning Writing. Has everyone else been enjoying the class they took? If so, what class did you take and what have you liked about it?
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Saving Alyson
Rough draft- The initial scene was from a dream I had. I think there was a man in the room with me, but I couldn't clarify who he would be. I am still fleshing this one out. I do have an idea for the rest of the story.
The rain softly tapped on the window, streaming down the slick surface, beads of water gathering and separating almost like they were dancing on the glass. Alyson’s forehead pressed against the glass, her fingers tracing the water beads; barely 3 ft tall, she stands looking down 15 stories to the street below. Barely visible she strains to see the people scurrying around below.
Her captor or rather her savior gently places her hand on her shoulders, guiding her away from the window.
I too strain my eyes looking down 15 stories, hoping she is no longer standing on the sidewalk below.
“Would you like something to eat?” I softly ask Alyson.
She’s so small, so frail. I look at her small frame and think to myself how tiny she is for being six. Her long strands of hair are matted together, the shimmer long gone from years of neglect. The dirty smudges on her face are resemblances of the smudges that I know are on her soul and heart. So frail; yet so strong. I am always amazed at what the human spirit can survive. Her dark eyes are lifeless. I don’t think I will ever get used to looking into eyes whose light has been extinguished by the cruelty of man.
A knock on the door makes both of us jump. I scurry her off to the back bedroom and remind her that she needs to be very quiet. I apologize to her one more time as I slip her into the closet and close the door behind me. My heart hurts that she is left alone in the dark one more time but it can’t be helped. If they find her here she will undoubtedly be taken back to her home and I carted off to jail. This is not my brightest moment by far. I must have lost my mind just long enough to turn my world upside down.
“Who is it?” I ask.
My heart is trying to pound its way out of my chest. I’m shaking, inhale, exhale, come on breathe Angela. God please, steady me Lord.
“Angela it’s me again.”
“Susan? I thought we were done.”
“Open up Angela, this isn’t CPS Susan, this is friend Susan. You’ve got to hear me out.”
“Yea, of course, come in. Please have a seat.”
“No need to be so formal. What are doing Angela?”
“What do mean?”“You will lose your job and you will go to jail.”
“That’s assuming I’ve done something worthy of losing my job and going to jail. I’ve already told you, I know nothing about Alyson. I am worried sick about her, but part of me can’t help but wonder if she isn’t better off lost somewhere than in her own home.”
“Now you see, you do know something, because the Angela I know wouldn’t be okay with her lost somewhere. Angela damn it, let me help you. It’s not too late to fix it, I can fix this still, but tomorrow, when my boss and the news gets a hold of this, there will be no turning back. Right now her father only cares about having her back. He is so damn guilty he isn’t making waves. As a matter of fact he wants all of this to just go away, her back and all this forgotten."
“And you don’t find that strange? Look I already told you, I don’t know anything. I’m sorry but you’re going to have to leave. I have a lot to do this afternoon. Goodbye Susan.”I walk over to the door and gesture for her to leave.
Giving my arm a reassuring squeeze Susan declares, “You really have a friend here Angela. I thought you knew that.”
I close the door behind her and run into my bedroom closet where I find Alyson curled up on the floor sound asleep. I read in a book once that when children experience fear to great for them to handle they go to sleep. I scooped her up in my arms and laid her on my bed, surrounding her with stuffed animals and billowy pillows. I lay a pallet on the floor next to her. I wanted to stay close in case she woke up in the middle of the night. I knew I had to take her somewhere tomorrow. I couldn’t keep stowing her away in my closet every time someone knocked on the door.
Alyson? It was dark. What time is it? I wondered. I groped the covers of the bed hoping to feel her body snuggled underneath but I couldn’t feel her. I had to get her out of my apartment tonight. I didn’t know why, but something was urging me to leave. I got up, turned on the light, only to find an empty bed. My heart sank, where could she have gone?
“Alyson, honey where are you?” I whispered.
I opened the closet and there she was curled up just as I had found her earlier. Bless her heart, she must feel safe there. I wondered how many nights she slept in her own closet instead of in her own bed in hopes of finding solace.I gently close the door leaving her there while I pack a bag for me and gather her few belongings. At least I had the presence of mind to make a cash withdrawal before I did this, this gosh how stupid. What was I thinking? Mom. I’ll take her to mom. If I drive all night I can get her there and get back ready for work as if none of this ever happened.
The rain softly tapped on the window, streaming down the slick surface, beads of water gathering and separating almost like they were dancing on the glass. Alyson’s forehead pressed against the glass, her fingers tracing the water beads; barely 3 ft tall, she stands looking down 15 stories to the street below. Barely visible she strains to see the people scurrying around below.
Her captor or rather her savior gently places her hand on her shoulders, guiding her away from the window.
I too strain my eyes looking down 15 stories, hoping she is no longer standing on the sidewalk below.
“Would you like something to eat?” I softly ask Alyson.
She’s so small, so frail. I look at her small frame and think to myself how tiny she is for being six. Her long strands of hair are matted together, the shimmer long gone from years of neglect. The dirty smudges on her face are resemblances of the smudges that I know are on her soul and heart. So frail; yet so strong. I am always amazed at what the human spirit can survive. Her dark eyes are lifeless. I don’t think I will ever get used to looking into eyes whose light has been extinguished by the cruelty of man.
A knock on the door makes both of us jump. I scurry her off to the back bedroom and remind her that she needs to be very quiet. I apologize to her one more time as I slip her into the closet and close the door behind me. My heart hurts that she is left alone in the dark one more time but it can’t be helped. If they find her here she will undoubtedly be taken back to her home and I carted off to jail. This is not my brightest moment by far. I must have lost my mind just long enough to turn my world upside down.
“Who is it?” I ask.
My heart is trying to pound its way out of my chest. I’m shaking, inhale, exhale, come on breathe Angela. God please, steady me Lord.
“Angela it’s me again.”
“Susan? I thought we were done.”
“Open up Angela, this isn’t CPS Susan, this is friend Susan. You’ve got to hear me out.”
“Yea, of course, come in. Please have a seat.”
“No need to be so formal. What are doing Angela?”
“What do mean?”“You will lose your job and you will go to jail.”
“That’s assuming I’ve done something worthy of losing my job and going to jail. I’ve already told you, I know nothing about Alyson. I am worried sick about her, but part of me can’t help but wonder if she isn’t better off lost somewhere than in her own home.”
“Now you see, you do know something, because the Angela I know wouldn’t be okay with her lost somewhere. Angela damn it, let me help you. It’s not too late to fix it, I can fix this still, but tomorrow, when my boss and the news gets a hold of this, there will be no turning back. Right now her father only cares about having her back. He is so damn guilty he isn’t making waves. As a matter of fact he wants all of this to just go away, her back and all this forgotten."
“And you don’t find that strange? Look I already told you, I don’t know anything. I’m sorry but you’re going to have to leave. I have a lot to do this afternoon. Goodbye Susan.”I walk over to the door and gesture for her to leave.
Giving my arm a reassuring squeeze Susan declares, “You really have a friend here Angela. I thought you knew that.”
I close the door behind her and run into my bedroom closet where I find Alyson curled up on the floor sound asleep. I read in a book once that when children experience fear to great for them to handle they go to sleep. I scooped her up in my arms and laid her on my bed, surrounding her with stuffed animals and billowy pillows. I lay a pallet on the floor next to her. I wanted to stay close in case she woke up in the middle of the night. I knew I had to take her somewhere tomorrow. I couldn’t keep stowing her away in my closet every time someone knocked on the door.
Alyson? It was dark. What time is it? I wondered. I groped the covers of the bed hoping to feel her body snuggled underneath but I couldn’t feel her. I had to get her out of my apartment tonight. I didn’t know why, but something was urging me to leave. I got up, turned on the light, only to find an empty bed. My heart sank, where could she have gone?
“Alyson, honey where are you?” I whispered.
I opened the closet and there she was curled up just as I had found her earlier. Bless her heart, she must feel safe there. I wondered how many nights she slept in her own closet instead of in her own bed in hopes of finding solace.I gently close the door leaving her there while I pack a bag for me and gather her few belongings. At least I had the presence of mind to make a cash withdrawal before I did this, this gosh how stupid. What was I thinking? Mom. I’ll take her to mom. If I drive all night I can get her there and get back ready for work as if none of this ever happened.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
The Dad I Really Never Knew
Edward Ila Permenter was born, one in a set of twin boys, on a hot July day in 1932. He and his brother John joined elder brother Kenny. Growing up on a farm didn’t leave him much time for family or friends. He rode ponies as a kid, and went off to serve in the air force as a young man of twenty.
He met Jacki Stoneburg in San Antonio, Texas when she visited her sister, serving in the Women’s Air Force Band. She was the opposite of him, her dark tresses and brown eyes contrasting with his blond hair and blue eyes, she was from the north, he from the south. Nevertheless it was total, mesmerized love at a moment’s glance. They dated and then he spent hours on the phone talking to her after she went home. Before he could think, the words “Will you marry me?” slipped out and he was on a plane bound for Seattle.
Married in 1955, he tried to make a go of his sales career, and was hardly home. He and Jacki became new parents and he felt like a juggler , traveling, being a husband, and a new dad. Because of struggling times, he moved his young family to Montana, hoping to find new pastures for his business. One day, coming home from a long, discouraging pharmaceutical sales trip, he met his in-laws and bride of five years at the front door. Jacki was departing, taking their young daughter with her and leaving Ila holding loose pieces to a complicated puzzle.
Wandering between his job, visitations with his daughter, and trying to put his life together again, Ila gave up and went back home to the south. He heard whispers of Jacki marrying again and let her new man adopt his child, hoping to give her a life with a Dad close to home. Then he met Bess, a sweet southern girl, and was wed again, determined not to let his past mistakes haunt him. They were happy, joyfully raising two children of their own, another girl, who often reminded him of his first born, and a son whom he was proud of.
After the death of an adopted father, the eldest child wondered if the rumors she heard were true. Was her birth father an angry man full of rage? Did he truly beat her when she was only two? The words flew around her, swirling into ever morphing accusations,, until no one knew for sure what was truth and what was fantasy. She had to find out. His name and area of the country he lived in were never kept secret from her. She knew he belonged to the south. With a determination, the decision to locate her biological father was made. Looking through old pictures of a bygone wedding, a page appeared, the guest list for the big announcement so many years ago. Finding names that were related to the father, phone numbers were attained through a city phone book. With apprehension and speculation, the digits finally located.
Questions assailed her, making decisions complicated and confusing. Did he remember her? Did he want to hear from her? Was he married? Did he ever tell his present wife about his first marriage and a daughter he only knew by name? Agonizing, heart pounding, she dialed a number and waited.
A voice, young like her own answered, saying he wasn’t home and could she take a message? “No.” the now adult child replied. She bided her time. Dialing again, a second female, the intonations soft and quietly spoken, telling her to wait. A man’s voice, full of wonder at the passage of time. A father and daughter, separated by decades and distance, broken and now united.
Wings of a plane send the daughter flying across the country to faces strange, yet familiar. A sister rejects her, a brother opens his arms and his heart to her, a father, a woman, a family.
More choices made, lives changed forever, shattered dreams unfulfilled. Vows broken and a father who chose to ignore. A daughter who grieved for broken promises and had to choose a different way. A love distant and rejected, a life full of mourning.
October 10, 2008, a father dies, a brother calls. Two people thrown together by blood of long ago. Feeling their way, unsure of a direction, a silent phone call away.
In memory of Edward Ila Permenter 1932 - 2008
He met Jacki Stoneburg in San Antonio, Texas when she visited her sister, serving in the Women’s Air Force Band. She was the opposite of him, her dark tresses and brown eyes contrasting with his blond hair and blue eyes, she was from the north, he from the south. Nevertheless it was total, mesmerized love at a moment’s glance. They dated and then he spent hours on the phone talking to her after she went home. Before he could think, the words “Will you marry me?” slipped out and he was on a plane bound for Seattle.
Married in 1955, he tried to make a go of his sales career, and was hardly home. He and Jacki became new parents and he felt like a juggler , traveling, being a husband, and a new dad. Because of struggling times, he moved his young family to Montana, hoping to find new pastures for his business. One day, coming home from a long, discouraging pharmaceutical sales trip, he met his in-laws and bride of five years at the front door. Jacki was departing, taking their young daughter with her and leaving Ila holding loose pieces to a complicated puzzle.
Wandering between his job, visitations with his daughter, and trying to put his life together again, Ila gave up and went back home to the south. He heard whispers of Jacki marrying again and let her new man adopt his child, hoping to give her a life with a Dad close to home. Then he met Bess, a sweet southern girl, and was wed again, determined not to let his past mistakes haunt him. They were happy, joyfully raising two children of their own, another girl, who often reminded him of his first born, and a son whom he was proud of.
After the death of an adopted father, the eldest child wondered if the rumors she heard were true. Was her birth father an angry man full of rage? Did he truly beat her when she was only two? The words flew around her, swirling into ever morphing accusations,, until no one knew for sure what was truth and what was fantasy. She had to find out. His name and area of the country he lived in were never kept secret from her. She knew he belonged to the south. With a determination, the decision to locate her biological father was made. Looking through old pictures of a bygone wedding, a page appeared, the guest list for the big announcement so many years ago. Finding names that were related to the father, phone numbers were attained through a city phone book. With apprehension and speculation, the digits finally located.
Questions assailed her, making decisions complicated and confusing. Did he remember her? Did he want to hear from her? Was he married? Did he ever tell his present wife about his first marriage and a daughter he only knew by name? Agonizing, heart pounding, she dialed a number and waited.
A voice, young like her own answered, saying he wasn’t home and could she take a message? “No.” the now adult child replied. She bided her time. Dialing again, a second female, the intonations soft and quietly spoken, telling her to wait. A man’s voice, full of wonder at the passage of time. A father and daughter, separated by decades and distance, broken and now united.
Wings of a plane send the daughter flying across the country to faces strange, yet familiar. A sister rejects her, a brother opens his arms and his heart to her, a father, a woman, a family.
More choices made, lives changed forever, shattered dreams unfulfilled. Vows broken and a father who chose to ignore. A daughter who grieved for broken promises and had to choose a different way. A love distant and rejected, a life full of mourning.
October 10, 2008, a father dies, a brother calls. Two people thrown together by blood of long ago. Feeling their way, unsure of a direction, a silent phone call away.
In memory of Edward Ila Permenter 1932 - 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
New Classes
I'm missing hearing from everyone. Several are taking new classes, others may be vacationing or having other things going on. Drop us a note to let you know how you are doing. Is your chair glue still holding, are you in need of more catalyst for the mixture, are there threads from your socks wrapped around and choking your second-to-the-smallest toe?
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Back and Welcoming Another Author
Hi all! First, thank you for the thoughts and prayers. In the midst of everything, two of my family members in poor health had some major health issues arise in the wake of my Grandma's death. So, I'm afraid I had to be away a bit longer that I thought I would be. I FINALLY got caught up in the new writing class and am now trying to get caught up here. And GU, I LOVED the challenge...I have an idea in its barest written form right now (although I'm not sure it really has the "mystery solved" element strong enough) and have plans to add it to the comments in the next couple of days.
Okay, we have a new author to welcome. Dibbs should be getting an email invite and joining us here soon. Welcome, Dibbs! And, Lulu=Katie...sorry, Katie, I should have asked you what name you wanted to use here.
Also, from a comment in another post: many of us seem to be creating other blogs to give us an outlet for other creative expression that we're not able to post here. Someone asked if it would be okay to let the people here know about our other blogs and I don't see that being a problem. So, if you have another blog you want to let us know about, feel free to post it in the comments. Thanks!
Okay, we have a new author to welcome. Dibbs should be getting an email invite and joining us here soon. Welcome, Dibbs! And, Lulu=Katie...sorry, Katie, I should have asked you what name you wanted to use here.
Also, from a comment in another post: many of us seem to be creating other blogs to give us an outlet for other creative expression that we're not able to post here. Someone asked if it would be okay to let the people here know about our other blogs and I don't see that being a problem. So, if you have another blog you want to let us know about, feel free to post it in the comments. Thanks!
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Frustrated and in Tears
I planned to take GU’s torch challenge. But I ended up with a challenge of my own. As you more or less know I was going to a Women’s Retreat last weekend. Let me tell you what happened and the week I have endured. Sorry if this gets a little long and its unedited for the most part.
I work as a caregiver and absolutely love it. I have worked for the same company for 23 years this November. I have one handicapped client and her family at present. I love working for them. It keeps me very busy. She is in a wheelchair, her partner is mobile except he needs crutches sometimes and has back and balance problems. They have his two sons and a little girl between them that makes up their family. I have worked 2 ½ years for her and the family is like part of my own.
Ten minutes before I’m to leave on retreat, I stood sorting through my mail. A letter from my employer was in there as well as a letter from my union. I opened one letter and stared in shocked silence at the words, “It is with regret that the executive board has decided to close the homecare division of our agency due to budget cutbacks. The department will close December 31, st ” I tried to make sense of the words, but my world all of a sudden tilted at a funny angle on its axis. Then I whisked away on our church van to spend the weekend thinking, wondering, and trying to cope. Alternately I cried and thought and got angry at the whole stupid thing.
On Monday I talked with my supervisor to learn that the company wanted to do one of two things. One would send us to different agencies where we loose our seniority and our pay. The other choice is to remain with the company and take a $1.50 - $2.00/ hr. pay cut to save the program. Not only does this jeopardize my family but it makes me feel my skills aren’t worth much.
Then there is the issue of our clients. The hope upper management wants us to believe is that all of us would transfer to a different agency and continue working with our same clients. But my shop steward does not seem to be so sure that other agencies want an influx of new employees when they have their own staff.
As far as my direct client, here is where it hurts the most. She has a team that oversees her care. The team does not want to wait until December before they have a plan. They don’t seem to want to wait a few weeks while this all gets worked out. On Thursday I was asked to leave early so they could all have a teleconference. Then today her team leader wanted to talk, but wanted my client to call back after I left. Personally this aggravates me and I feel unimportant and used. No one will talk to me and let me know what they’re thinking. My client just keeps saying they are looking out for her best interest and she does what they tell her to.
I wonder when I will be important to someone and someone will be concerned about what happens to me. My family is in full support of whatever happens and what I decide, but I guess its my employees and the clients I work with that cause the most suffering. I pour my life blood into my work. I always get close to them and their families. I know I shouldn’t, but It is who I am. I can not do any less than to cut my own throat. My husband tells me this caring is what makes me me, and makes me such a great caregiver.
I’ve had a week to think about all of this. I oscillate like a fan, between hope and despair. I toss around ideas and throw them away again. I cry and get angry and grieve and have hope. I feel like I am on a giant roller coaster of emotion and its only by a strong determination that I do not fall off. I feel so sick at heart and wonder where its all going to end. I try to keep busy and not think about it, but that’s hard when I don’t know any answers. This is why I asked GU to pray. I sure could use it. Thanks for listening, or reading in your case.
I work as a caregiver and absolutely love it. I have worked for the same company for 23 years this November. I have one handicapped client and her family at present. I love working for them. It keeps me very busy. She is in a wheelchair, her partner is mobile except he needs crutches sometimes and has back and balance problems. They have his two sons and a little girl between them that makes up their family. I have worked 2 ½ years for her and the family is like part of my own.
Ten minutes before I’m to leave on retreat, I stood sorting through my mail. A letter from my employer was in there as well as a letter from my union. I opened one letter and stared in shocked silence at the words, “It is with regret that the executive board has decided to close the homecare division of our agency due to budget cutbacks. The department will close December 31, st ” I tried to make sense of the words, but my world all of a sudden tilted at a funny angle on its axis. Then I whisked away on our church van to spend the weekend thinking, wondering, and trying to cope. Alternately I cried and thought and got angry at the whole stupid thing.
On Monday I talked with my supervisor to learn that the company wanted to do one of two things. One would send us to different agencies where we loose our seniority and our pay. The other choice is to remain with the company and take a $1.50 - $2.00/ hr. pay cut to save the program. Not only does this jeopardize my family but it makes me feel my skills aren’t worth much.
Then there is the issue of our clients. The hope upper management wants us to believe is that all of us would transfer to a different agency and continue working with our same clients. But my shop steward does not seem to be so sure that other agencies want an influx of new employees when they have their own staff.
As far as my direct client, here is where it hurts the most. She has a team that oversees her care. The team does not want to wait until December before they have a plan. They don’t seem to want to wait a few weeks while this all gets worked out. On Thursday I was asked to leave early so they could all have a teleconference. Then today her team leader wanted to talk, but wanted my client to call back after I left. Personally this aggravates me and I feel unimportant and used. No one will talk to me and let me know what they’re thinking. My client just keeps saying they are looking out for her best interest and she does what they tell her to.
I wonder when I will be important to someone and someone will be concerned about what happens to me. My family is in full support of whatever happens and what I decide, but I guess its my employees and the clients I work with that cause the most suffering. I pour my life blood into my work. I always get close to them and their families. I know I shouldn’t, but It is who I am. I can not do any less than to cut my own throat. My husband tells me this caring is what makes me me, and makes me such a great caregiver.
I’ve had a week to think about all of this. I oscillate like a fan, between hope and despair. I toss around ideas and throw them away again. I cry and get angry and grieve and have hope. I feel like I am on a giant roller coaster of emotion and its only by a strong determination that I do not fall off. I feel so sick at heart and wonder where its all going to end. I try to keep busy and not think about it, but that’s hard when I don’t know any answers. This is why I asked GU to pray. I sure could use it. Thanks for listening, or reading in your case.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Counting Bricks
Folks, I was disappointed that no one had responded to my challenge, and so to get some discussion going, I thought I'd offer a piece hinted to during the class. Not so long ago, I imagined what a meeting with my birth father, who left when I was 4.5 years old, would be like. This is how it turned out...
Flight 88 landed as smoothly as it had taken off an hour ago. Mike parked the rental car and made his way into Spring Haven Hospital to finally confront his birth father.
Having just learned of Al’s hearing and sight deficiencies, Mike felt invisible as he stared at what he’d waited his whole adult life to see. In the full-length mirror on the front of the closet door, he could see his wheelchair-bound dad’s eyes fixed in a gaze out the window. The on-duty nurse had explained Al’s terminal prognosis.
Al was nearing the end, his liver liquor-pickled and his lungs ravaged by a lifetime of nearly everything able to be smoked. His reflection revealed eyes wilted to a squint by the sun, and a face creased by years spent contemplating the events that contributed to his present condition. Through his father’s raspy-sounding breathing, he couldn’t help noticing those eyes. Deep brown with whites hidden by an alcoholic’s roadmap of bloodlines, it was impossible to ignore the fixed stare.
Mike couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the old man. However, a lifetime of anger and planning these moments gave way to an internal conflict he couldn’t contain. Still, how should he approach him? Should he live out his recurring dream of planting a laser-guided fist to the nose of the son-of-a-bitch and say ‘hello, Daddy’? Maybe he should just grab the folding chair from the corner of the room and sit waiting for him to notice him and see what he said. Or maybe he should just leave and forget the whole thing. No…he’d waited too long, and he wouldn’t have another chance.
“Hello, Asshole!” he said, walking toward the folding chair. Relieved that, judging from an unchanged expression, his dad hadn’t heard him, he switched on the fly to a different approach. Mike unfolded the chair and sat beside Al. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and mimicked his father gaze.
After what seemed like hours of silence, he realized there was nothing to look at. A small eight-stall parking lot, a dumpster and the brick of another wing without windows. Quiet was broken by the rustling of the occupant of the chair next to him.
“3,946.” Mike said.
“What the sam-hell are you talking about?” Al asked, irritated at this space invading stranger.
“Bricks. 3,946 bricks, isn’t that what you were doing? Counting bricks? Nothing else worth looking at.” The number was random, just a feeble ice-breaker. All he had detected was his father’s Bostonian taint, and ignorance of Mike’s identity.
Al turned as fast as an 84-year-old could and wheeled away from the window. “I don’t know why you quacks don’t just leave me alone. Every day it seems some self-proclaimed genius is invading my space thinking he’s going to get inside my head. Can’t I just be left alone?” He reconvened his staring into the hall, since his window had been violated.
“I’m not a shrink.” Mike said.
“Whatever, I’m just as tired of doctors. Will you please leave…now??”
“I’m not a doctor either, Dad” Mike replied, wondering if his father was paying attention.
With no reduction in anger, he continued his tirade. “Look, if you aren’t a doctor you have no reason to be here. So, take your sorry ass out of…” he stopped mid-sentence and turned his chair around 180 degrees. Mike saw the same gaze he saw in the mirror, only this time it was fixed on him. “What did you say?”
“I said I wasn’t a doctor.”
“No you didn’t. You said you weren’t a doctor, DAD! What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Al slowly rolled closer to Mike, never once breaking the stare into his eyes. While the two faces moved closer together, they both began noticing the similarities in features. Mike could tell his father was putting it all together.
“My…good…God!” Al was not only out of breath from the most contracted verbal exchange he’d had in years, but stunned by what was in front of him. “Reuben Michael? Ruby? Is that you?”
“Mike…my name is Mike now. I changed it when I was adopted. But yes, it’s me.” The years of frustration were suddenly replaced by an overwhelming feeling of connection between a boy and his father. “Al…Dad, I can’t believe I’m talking to you. I’ve waited so long.”
“My…good…God,” Al repeated, “every single hour of every passing day since I ended up in this place I’ve contemplated how I could find you, face you and tell you how sorry I was for everything. And now, looking at you, seeing some of me in your eyes, I feel like you know.”
“I do know, Dad, and I’m sorry, too. Sorry I waited so long, sorry I’ve held these feelings of anger, sorry for…” his words were broken by his father’s interruption.
“Ruby, enough of that. Know that I love you, and I would have given anything to have undone everything I did that caused all this pain. But it’s over now, Ruby, its over.”
Before Mike could say any more he saw his father inhale deeply, and exhale a long, final breath. Words were unreachable as he watched his father’s eyes close for one last time. As they closed, a single tear emerged and traveled down Al’s cheek, eventually converging with a perceptible upward wrinkle in the corners of his dad’s mouth. He was gone. Even so, he passed with a settled spirit.
On the flight back Mike felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted. Gone was the anger, the resentment, the rage that had brought him. In its place was the satisfaction of reuniting with his father and knowing that despite everything, he loved his father – and his father loved him.
Back in his home town, Mike stopped at the courthouse and asked the clerk for the forms he needed to officially change his name. In the required box for the name being requested, he proudly spelled out…Reuben Michael...and then his last name.
Flight 88 landed as smoothly as it had taken off an hour ago. Mike parked the rental car and made his way into Spring Haven Hospital to finally confront his birth father.
Having just learned of Al’s hearing and sight deficiencies, Mike felt invisible as he stared at what he’d waited his whole adult life to see. In the full-length mirror on the front of the closet door, he could see his wheelchair-bound dad’s eyes fixed in a gaze out the window. The on-duty nurse had explained Al’s terminal prognosis.
Al was nearing the end, his liver liquor-pickled and his lungs ravaged by a lifetime of nearly everything able to be smoked. His reflection revealed eyes wilted to a squint by the sun, and a face creased by years spent contemplating the events that contributed to his present condition. Through his father’s raspy-sounding breathing, he couldn’t help noticing those eyes. Deep brown with whites hidden by an alcoholic’s roadmap of bloodlines, it was impossible to ignore the fixed stare.
Mike couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the old man. However, a lifetime of anger and planning these moments gave way to an internal conflict he couldn’t contain. Still, how should he approach him? Should he live out his recurring dream of planting a laser-guided fist to the nose of the son-of-a-bitch and say ‘hello, Daddy’? Maybe he should just grab the folding chair from the corner of the room and sit waiting for him to notice him and see what he said. Or maybe he should just leave and forget the whole thing. No…he’d waited too long, and he wouldn’t have another chance.
“Hello, Asshole!” he said, walking toward the folding chair. Relieved that, judging from an unchanged expression, his dad hadn’t heard him, he switched on the fly to a different approach. Mike unfolded the chair and sat beside Al. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and mimicked his father gaze.
After what seemed like hours of silence, he realized there was nothing to look at. A small eight-stall parking lot, a dumpster and the brick of another wing without windows. Quiet was broken by the rustling of the occupant of the chair next to him.
“3,946.” Mike said.
“What the sam-hell are you talking about?” Al asked, irritated at this space invading stranger.
“Bricks. 3,946 bricks, isn’t that what you were doing? Counting bricks? Nothing else worth looking at.” The number was random, just a feeble ice-breaker. All he had detected was his father’s Bostonian taint, and ignorance of Mike’s identity.
Al turned as fast as an 84-year-old could and wheeled away from the window. “I don’t know why you quacks don’t just leave me alone. Every day it seems some self-proclaimed genius is invading my space thinking he’s going to get inside my head. Can’t I just be left alone?” He reconvened his staring into the hall, since his window had been violated.
“I’m not a shrink.” Mike said.
“Whatever, I’m just as tired of doctors. Will you please leave…now??”
“I’m not a doctor either, Dad” Mike replied, wondering if his father was paying attention.
With no reduction in anger, he continued his tirade. “Look, if you aren’t a doctor you have no reason to be here. So, take your sorry ass out of…” he stopped mid-sentence and turned his chair around 180 degrees. Mike saw the same gaze he saw in the mirror, only this time it was fixed on him. “What did you say?”
“I said I wasn’t a doctor.”
“No you didn’t. You said you weren’t a doctor, DAD! What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Al slowly rolled closer to Mike, never once breaking the stare into his eyes. While the two faces moved closer together, they both began noticing the similarities in features. Mike could tell his father was putting it all together.
“My…good…God!” Al was not only out of breath from the most contracted verbal exchange he’d had in years, but stunned by what was in front of him. “Reuben Michael? Ruby? Is that you?”
“Mike…my name is Mike now. I changed it when I was adopted. But yes, it’s me.” The years of frustration were suddenly replaced by an overwhelming feeling of connection between a boy and his father. “Al…Dad, I can’t believe I’m talking to you. I’ve waited so long.”
“My…good…God,” Al repeated, “every single hour of every passing day since I ended up in this place I’ve contemplated how I could find you, face you and tell you how sorry I was for everything. And now, looking at you, seeing some of me in your eyes, I feel like you know.”
“I do know, Dad, and I’m sorry, too. Sorry I waited so long, sorry I’ve held these feelings of anger, sorry for…” his words were broken by his father’s interruption.
“Ruby, enough of that. Know that I love you, and I would have given anything to have undone everything I did that caused all this pain. But it’s over now, Ruby, its over.”
Before Mike could say any more he saw his father inhale deeply, and exhale a long, final breath. Words were unreachable as he watched his father’s eyes close for one last time. As they closed, a single tear emerged and traveled down Al’s cheek, eventually converging with a perceptible upward wrinkle in the corners of his dad’s mouth. He was gone. Even so, he passed with a settled spirit.
On the flight back Mike felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted. Gone was the anger, the resentment, the rage that had brought him. In its place was the satisfaction of reuniting with his father and knowing that despite everything, he loved his father – and his father loved him.
Back in his home town, Mike stopped at the courthouse and asked the clerk for the forms he needed to officially change his name. In the required box for the name being requested, he proudly spelled out…Reuben Michael...and then his last name.
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