Saving Lives

   "Can you open the deep end for swimming, Ned?"

   I knew who it was before I looked down from my chair.  There stood Joey Keller, wet hair plastered against his scalp, a shiver spreading across his skinny frame and a bubble of snot emerging from his left nostril.

   "Sorry, Joe.  Too crowded today and too many divers."

   As if to make my point, one of the teen-aged boys cannon-balled toward my guard chair, drenching Joey and me.

   "Ok," said Joey, wiping his nose with his forearm and then running off across the wet pavement.

   "No running," I yelled but he ignored me.

   Scanning the crowd on the lawn across the pool, I saw Sandy Billings, lying back on her lounge chair and apparently reading a novel.  How I missed her arrival in a stunning red two-piece was beyond me but I was determined to say hello when we rotated our guard positions.

   Just as that opportunity arrived, I was greeted by Jim Thomas, our manager, who handed me a garbage bag and a strainer.

   "You've got butt duty this afternoon, Ned."

   "Terrific," I said, reaching for the equipment to sift cigarette butts from cement ashtrays spaced around the pool.  Fortunately, one of these receptacles was near Sandy and I took my time at that location.

   "I see they give you the important jobs," she said, smiling behind her large, round sunglasses.

   "I am highly qualified for all my life-saving duties," I said. "That reminds me.  You still plan on nursing school this fall?"

   "You bet," she said.  "We'll both be saving lives."

   "Then take notes," I suggested.  "I'll be out here all afternoon."

   Once I completed my rounds, I rejoined the guard rotation, enforcing adult swims and disrupting aggressive horseplay while enduring the good-natured taunts from inebriated club members.

   Heading to the office for a break, I was stopped by Jim once again.

   "We've got a problem," he said, "Poop in the baby pool.  I'll clear out the moms and kids and you go get the scooper and chlorine granules."

   A few minutes later, I was standing at the edge of the circular kiddies pool, doing my best to snare the source of an all-too-common emergency.  Looking up at the expanding onlookers, I saw Sandy, pretending to take notes on her palm.

   "Rescue of the day," she said, turning to head home.  

True Stories

   An admirer of her work for many years, I finally met Sylvia Marshall at a local bookstore.  She was signing her latest collection of short stories and I couldn't wait to devour them.

   Waiting in line, I was surprised by her appearance.  Short and thin with a mop of curly hair and wire-rimmed glasses, she looked up to thank each customer with nothing more than a smile.  As one who seemed to know me so well, she was alarmingly passive.

   How could this tiny person in a pale yellow dress know about my absent father and my domineering mother?  How could she write about my failed relationships, my struggles with alcohol and my thoughts of suicide?  Who kept her informed about my loss of faith in God and humanity?  Somehow, she bared my soul in each story.

   When I finally reached her desk, she signed a book, gazed up through her thick lenses and said something that I could not understand.  Though I wanted clarification, I was forced ahead by the lady behind me and moved on to the cashier.  What had she said?  It sounded like "Thanks for the inspiration."  Could that be? Have I been right all along?

   I rushed home to read the stories and to see what else she knew.  

Night Ride

  Swaying gently with the train, I opened my eyes to watch the city lights.  As I began to drift off again, an elderly man settled into the seat next to mine and asked if I wanted a drink.  Startled by both the question and his voice, I looked over to confirm that it was, indeed, my father, who had died several years ago.

  "Where are you headed?" he asked.

  "Down to Lexington for a pickleball tournament."

  "At your age?  You should have stayed in medical school."  He shook his head.  

  I was about to argue the point when a commotion in the aisle drew our attention.  Some guy in a clown suite was running from an old lady who kept beating him with her cane and telling him to keep his fucking hands to himself.

  "Wasn't that Clara Johnson?  The old lady that used to live down the street from us?" I asked.

  Unfazed by the incident, my father asked what I wanted from the bar.

  "Just a Diet Coke."

  "I'll get you a beer."

  While he was off to the lounge car, a young woman grabbed his seat.  I initially tried to ignore her but jumped when she spoke.

  "Hi, Mack" she said.

  Unbelievably, it was my college girlfriend and she had not changed a bit.  She was even wearing the same perfume.

  "Hey, Margo.  How have you been?"

  She just leaned over and kissed me on the mouth.

  "Want to come over to my place?" she asked.

  Though I've been married for twenty years and have two teenaged kids, I did not hesitate.

  "Sure.  When?"

  "Now," she said. "It's at the next stop.  Don't you remember?"

  It was then that I noticed the train was actually a bus and that I was dressed only in a T-shirt and a pair of boxers.  As the bus creaked to a halt, we stood at the door and, when it opened, jumped from the steps into a large, calm pool.

  The water was warm and a bowl of stars gleamed overhead.  It was otherwise pitch dark and I could not see Margo.  Though I repeatedly called her name, she did not answer.

  I suddenly awoke in my bed, tears on my face.   

Music Man

Cal lived alone.  His ex, Penny, and their two kids lived three hours away, near the coast.  Now that he had lost his job, Cal spent most of his time at home, watching TV, or down at the local pub.

Long a fan of classic rock, he kept his bedside radio tuned to that station and awoke to it each morning.  Recently, Cal noticed that the first song of the morning set the mood for his day.  Indeed, it seemed to suggest what Cal needed to address or warned of potential problems.  The other night, after a few beers, he told his drinking buddies about this discovery.  They said he was nuts.

Even so, Cal looked forward to that first song and seriously considered what message it offered.  This morning, he awoke to Riders on the Storm, by the Doors.  Since that song was popular when he was dating Penny, he decided that he was being encouraged to visit his family, something he had not done in two years.

So, after having some cereal and a beer, Cal filled an overnight bag with his cleanest clothes and climbed into his rust-splotched pickup.  Just outside of town, he saw a hitchhiker standing in the rain and pulled over to give him a lift. 

Marriage

   "Do you still love her?"

   She had set down her book between us on the couch, took a few sips from her wine and was staring at the wallpaper across the room.

   "What made you ask that?" I said, looking up from my laptop. "Something in your novel?"

   "No.  Just wondering." She still didn't look my way.

   "We've discussed this in the past.  A few times at least."

   "You never gave me an honest answer."  This time she did look over, no hint of kidding on her face.

   "Like I've said before.  Yes, I did love her and still do.  In my opinion, if you truly love someone, you always will."

   "Have you been calling her?  Have you been seeing her?"  Her voice was a bit shaky now.

   "Of course not.  What makes you ask such a thing?"

   "You've changed lately."

   "What do you mean....changed?"

   "I don't know.  Withdrawn.  Self-absorbed.  Like you're hiding something."

   "I'm not sure what you're talking about.  Work has been stressful lately.  Maybe that's what you've noticed."

   She took another sip of wine and I could tell that my explanation was not sufficient.

   "Look, you get these suspicions because you knew her.  I don't think about you and what's his name..."

   "Kevin."

   "Right.  I don't think about you and Kevin because I never knew him.  No image comes to mind."

   "Well, that hardly matters.  I was never in love with him."

   "Okay.  Well, I have no control over that issue.  I wasn't there.  I didn't drag you away from Kevin."

   "Is that what you did?  Dragged me away?  Like some sort of caveman?"

   "Of course not.  An inappropriate expression.  You know how our relationship developed."

   That led to a period of silence while I, and I assume she, reminisced about our early days together.

   "How come it's always the man who ends up balancing two relationships?" she said.

   "Sometimes, not always."

   "Well, women rarely get themselves in such predicaments." With that statement, she folded her arms across her chest.

   "I suppose human males are not naturally monogamous." I wanted to take back those words as soon as they left my lips.

   "There you go again.  Covering for bad male behavior."

   "You're right.  That was a silly thing to say."  

   Of course, I knew it was actually true.

   Suddenly, her head was on my shoulder and I gave her a hug.

   "Do you want to go down to Carlo's and share a pizza?"

   "Sure," she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

   "Love you," I said. "Always will."

 

Questions for a Friend

Yes, I'm back and I have more questions.  I'm sure some may be repetitious but you haven't provided any answers.  Let me get comfortable on the grass before I begin.  Oh, and Kate says hello.

First of all, why did you go?  Whatever happened to our plan?  You said you would go with me.  Then you changed your mind.  Why?  Was it guilt?  Was it old fashioned pride?  Surely you didn't buy the argument.  We had talked this out.  We were a team, you and me.  I thought we were on the same page.  We supported one another.  To hell with what others might have thought.  Was it your parents?  Your sibs?  Did they change your mind?  Did they even know?  Did they know I was involved?  If that's the case, they seemed to like me.  What could I have said to change your mind?  Believe me, I would have done anything to have you join me.  I wish you could go home with me right now.

You may think I'm ashamed of what I did.  Would you feel that way?  Well, I really don't.  My convictions held true.  Sure, I missed everyone but now we're together again.  Some hard feelings, yes.  But I was invested in my future.  I still am.  I'll just shut up for now and enjoy the sunshine. I wish you could do the same.  By the way, Kate asked me to leave these flowers.

Eagle River

Sam first saw the river on a map in his grandfather's desk.  Since the old man had recently died, he took possession of the frayed and stained document, often wondering about its significance.  To his knowledge, Pappy had never visited the Pacific Coast.  

Rising from a glacier, set amidst towering peaks, the river tumbles westward through rock-walled canyons and a rich, subalpine forest.  At the base of the mountain, Eagle River, named for the bald eagles that feed on its salmon, snakes across the coastal plain before entering the sea.

Throughout his long, troubled life, Sam planned to visit that river one day and now, three years after Karen's death, it seemed that the time had come.  After packing his truck and locking up the house, Sam cut across rolling farmlands to the Interstate.  There he began his trek toward the northwest, crossing grasslands, desert and several high ranges along the way.  Avoiding the major cities, he spent his nights in campgrounds and cooked his meals over an open fire.  Though he wished Gus was still alive to keep him company, Sam relished the solitude and had to admit that his old hound would have complicated the journey.

Four days after leaving home, Sam coaxed his aging pickup across a final pass and began a long, winding descent into the Eagle River Valley.  Herds of elk grazed on the open meadows and stands of golden aspen shimmered in the bright autumn sun.  Eventually leaving the mountain forest, the route entered a ponderosa parkland where views extended back toward the higher peaks.  Far to the northeast was a magnificent waterfall, one of several on the tributaries of the Eagle.

It would be another half hour before the road paralleled the river and Sam stopped at several overlooks to observe the rapids and, yes, to watch eagles as they hunted along the turbulent stream.  Still many miles from the ocean, he came upon a beautiful clearing, studded with pines and glowing in the late afternoon sun.  This site, which looked both inviting and familiar, would be his campground for the night and he pulled off the road to unload his truck.  Lucky enough to snare a trout from the river, Sam enjoyed his evening meal as the sun set behind a low ridge.  Later, beneath a bowl of stars, he sauntered down to the river, wanting to see the Eagle in the light of the Hunter's Moon.

Several days later, a sheriff's deputy came upon his camp site.  There were no signs of foul play and information from the truck revealed that the owner had travelled a long distance to visit this idyllic valley.  Sam was never found.  Some suspected a bear attack but most believed he fell into the powerful river, swept toward the sea and to his death. 

Murder in the Neighborhood

The first one arrived just before dusk.  Dressed in black and strutting along my neighbor's curb, he was clearly full of himself.  Others soon appeared and arguments commenced.  It was toward this unruly mob that Edith walked, dragging her garbage down the driveway.  She said something to the noisy group but they seemed to ignore her.

Always concerned about her safety, I watched as Edith, nearing eighty, shuffled back to the house, protected from the winter chill by a tattered robe and a fluffy pair of slippers.  Since Arnie died, almost twenty years ago, I frequently offered to help her with chores but she was an independent woman and always declined my assistance.  Nevertheless, I watched until she was safely indoors before I retreated to the kitchen to prepare dinner.  Since my wife is an attorney and usually works late, I have gradually honed my culinary skills.

Having stored her portion in the fridge, I was cleaning the dishes and sipping on my second glass of wine when sirens screamed toward our neighborhood.  To my dismay, an ambulance and police car stopped in front of Edith's house, their blue and red lights flashing across the barren trees.  My heart was pounding as the medics rushed inside and, five minutes later, emerged with Edith on a gurney and whisked her off to the hospital.

Once again, I felt that I should have intervened earlier in the evening, even though she valued her privacy.  By the next morning, we learned that Edith was dead, apparently of a heart attack.  I now wonder if that murder of crows was an omen.

First Kiss

    I remember it well.  It was the Summer of Love, 1967.  Jack and I had invited ourselves to a party and decided that a few beers would ease our social mixing.  Unfortunately, we were too young to buy alcohol but he had a finely-crafted, fake draft card and, better yet, his kindly uncle owned a pony keg.
   Emerging from the store with a six-pack, Jack jumped behind the wheel and drove toward the wealthy section of town where horse pastures line long driveways that lead to the mansions.  Turning up the radio, we sipped our beers and listened to Grace Slick belt out Somebody to Love.  Jack reminded me that a friend of his sister was hosting the party and that her parents were currently in Europe.
   Once we reached our destination, the crowded scene forced us to park at the bottom of the driveway.  Though we could hear the music and see the glow from the outdoor lights, we were too far away to see the house or the party.  We thus decided to finish our beers and then emptied our bladders in the gate-side rose beds before trudging up the hill.
   Scanning the crowd, we located a couple of our high school classmates and tried to act like we were invitees.  Our nervousness was soon dashed when we realized that most of the celebrants were too drunk to care.  Striking up a conversation with our friends, we grabbed another beer from an ice-filled horse trough.
   Sometime later, just as the urge to urinate was occupying my attention, a girl grabbed me from behind, spinning me to the left.  Before I could ask her name, she placed a sloppy kiss over my mouth and probed about with her booze-flavored tongue.  I did my best to respond but she slid to the ground, staring up with a glassy-eyed smile before she passed out.  Luckily, a few of her friends arrived within seconds and helped her into a lounge chair.
   Once they were convinced she was just inebriated, her friends dispersed into the boisterous crowd.  I felt obliged to keep an eye on her and eventually joined her on the chair, trying to ask questions and holding her hand.  Much to my surprise, it was an emotional experience and my eyes soon filled with tears.  When Jack came over and said it was time to go, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and ambled off, looking back several times.  Though I watched for her at sock hops and parties over the next year, I never met her again and never learned her name.  But I will always remember that first kiss.

Last Day of School

   Rose was happier than she had ever been.  It was her last day of high school and the senior prom was scheduled for tomorrow night.  Tony had asked her to be his date and Rose and her mom had bought her first formal dress just last evening.  Though money had been tight since her dad’s death, five years ago, her mom insisted on buying the dress, telling Rose that she deserved it after performing so well in high school.

   In fact, Rose was elected to be the class Valedictorian and had been accepted to Stanford’s College of Architecture.  Since her childhood days, she was fascinated with modern buildings whenever her family would visit the city.  Having been raised in a small, farming town, the size and beauty of those structures never failed to inspire her.

   Last fall, when she and her mother visited the campus, the possibility of her acceptance seemed far-fetched and Rose had second thoughts about her goal.  Leaving her mom and younger sister would be difficult and, despite her stellar grades in high school, she wondered if she had the inner strength to succeed at the college level.

   But now, on her last day of high school, she had no doubt that she had made the right decision.  Following the prom and her graduation ceremony next week, she would begin her last season as a lifeguard at her town’s community pool.  She looked forward to a relaxing summer and, hopefully, to a few more dates with Tony before she left for college. 

   He had become a good friend since moving to town during their junior year and she couldn’t ask for a more kind and handsome companion.  In fact, Tony was her first and only boyfriend, reflecting her devotion to both her education and the needs of her family.  The possibility of a future marriage often crossed her mind but a college degree would have to come first and he had plans to join the Air Force.

   Entering the Art Room for the final time, she hung up her backpack and walked over to Mr. Moyer’s desk, thanking him for his inspiration and for the letter of recommendation, a glowing report that surely eased her way into Stanford.  He, of course, offered his best wishes and asked her to stay in touch through the years.

   As she was expressing her intent to do so, a series of pops echoed through the hallway.  Suspecting that one of her classmates had set off fireworks to celebrate their final day, Rose opened the door and turned to face the prankster.  She did not get a look at him and never had another thought.

   Five days later, three days before her planned graduation, Rose was buried in her prom dress.  

Meeting Frank

   It was Chuck’s fault.  Despite my long-professed aversion to technology, he went and bought me a smart phone for Christmas.  To be honest, I think it was just another way to keep me entertained, out of his hair.  He’s always tinkering with his old cars or watching ESPN.  We barely talk anymore.

   So I spent most of the next few days figuring out how to use the damn thing and finally got to where I could make calls and check my email.  And wouldn’t you know that one of the first emails was from Lovesick Companions, one of those online matchmaking sites, offering two weeks of free membership.

   Now, I’ve never been a fan of social media and often warned our girls about falling for some online cruiser.  I’ve seen enough bad outcomes on the crime shows that I watch and, as far as I know, they steered clear of those types.  But now that they’re grown, off with their own families, the idea seemed a bit more exciting.  Besides, Chuck and I might as well be cousins.

   So I signed up and looked through the male lineup, limiting myself to those over forty-five.  I figured the losers would be easy to spot, flaunting their money and looks.  Frankly, I was surprised by the large number of decent choices and, after some hesitation, responded to a gentleman who lived in our county.  His name was Frank and he described himself as fit, lovable and adventurous.  There was no mention of his marital status but, then again, I didn’t list my own.

   He responded the very next day and we developed an online friendship over the following couple of weeks.   Frank sent photos of himself, all of them taken outdoors to, in his words, capture his adventurous spirit.  He appeared to be tall, muscular and attractive, with a closely cropped goatee and soft brown eyes.   Since he was always wearing a hat, I suspected that, like Chuck, he had lost a good deal of his hair.

   I responded with photos of myself.  Most were from a few years ago when I was a bit slimmer but they were close enough.  Frank liked them anyway and commented on my warm smile and bright blue eyes.  We agreed to meet for lunch at a café just off the main highway.  He said he would wear a Red Sox cap so I could easily spot him in the lunch crowd.

   On the morning of our rendezvous I was nervous as a cat and unusually attentive to Chuck, actually preparing a hot breakfast before he left for work.  Of course, he didn’t make a big deal about my efforts but did ask for more pancakes and gave me a peck on the cheek before heading out the door.  Once he left, I showered and tried on several outfits, trying to capture the image in my photos.  I finally settled on a long dress and light jacket and then flipped on the television to catch The View.

   I decided to leave a bit early and stake out the café entrance.  If he looked dangerous I could bail and apologize later.  Just before noon, I saw him, limping toward the entrance.  He was a tad shorter and heavier than he looked in the photos but my fears about a dangerous hustler quickly faded.  After waiting a few minutes, I walked in and spotted him at a table near the window.

   He rose from his chair, shaking my hand and commenting that I was even more lovely in person.  I returned the compliment and we entered a light-hearted chat about the menu and the weather.  Once we had placed our orders and were sipping our chardonnays, the conversation moved on to our personal lives. 

   As it turned out, Frank had been divorced for several months and was close to retiring from his accounting firm.  He still lived on a small farm that he and his ex had bought and their one child, a daughter, was now married and living in New York.  When I broke the news that I was still married, though unhappily, his reaction was subdued, more empathetic than I had expected.  He went on to express his conviction that marriage is an unnatural state, imposed by human society for religious and cultural reasons.  In his opinion, men and women are not designed to live together for extended periods of time.

   In the midst of that last comment, our food arrived and we both had time to digest the potential ramifications of what he had said.  In a way, I actually agreed with him but I’m sure neither of us wanted to start off with a guarantee of failure. 

   Seeming to sense my thoughts, he clarified his comment, proclaiming that long, loving relationships can work as long as couples are willing to compromise and give each other space.  His ex, he said, was incapable of doing either.  I had to admit to myself that Chuck is usually receptive to my ideas, unless they are outrageously expensive, and has no problem with my leaving for days or weeks at a time.

   Unfortunately, Frank decided to offer an example.  When at the farm, he said, he practices nudism, a choice not appreciated or condoned by his ex.  According to Frank, it was one of the major issues that led to their divorce.  I did my best to appear sympathetic while trying to suppress the image of us sitting on his couch in our birthday suits.  He, of course, would be wearing a cap.

   Our conversation fading, neither of us opted for dessert and Frank offered to pick up the tab.  Once outside, Frank kissed me on the cheek and said he would email that evening.  He also expressed hope that I might visit his farm. For my part, I hurried home to cancel my membership to Lovesick Companions.

Best Wishes

   Hank arrived early, as he did for almost every event, taking a seat along a side aisle of the chapel.  After perusing the church, with its natural wooden beams and stained glass windows, he turned his attention to the ragged sleeves of his aging sports coat.  A wildlife biologist, he had little need for formal clothing and this tweed jacket, wearable with jeans or Dockers, had become standard for weddings and funerals.  In Hank’s opinion, neither ceremony justified anything more elaborate.   

   Others drifted in over the next twenty minutes, escorted by grim-faced ushers in blue-gray tuxedos.  Nearing the start of the ceremony, close family members were seated, taking their place in the front pews.  Among this group was Phyllis Gage, Hank’s ex-wife, and her current boyfriend, Jack King.  At first glance, Phyllis seemed to have lost some weight but Hank soon concluded that her black, formal dress was responsible for the illusion.  Other family members included the groom’s sister and her husband, the groom’s mother, the groom’s father and his new, young wife, the bride’s grandparents and the bride’s mother, Debra, Phyllis’ sister.  As Hank now recalled, the bride’s father abandoned the family when she was still quite young.

   With everyone in place, the organist moved on to the processional hymn and the crowd stood to view the wedding party.  Bride’s maids, paired with nervous young men, were followed by the maid of honor, Julie’s best friend, Candice, and, finally, Julie herself, adorned in a lovely white gown.  Escorted by her Uncle John, the bride was radiant as she approached the minister, the wedding party and Josh Peters, her soon-to-be husband.  With everyone in place, Reverend Carson asked the congregation to be seated and initiated the ceremony.

    After two readings from Scripture, one by Phyllis and the other by Candice, Reverend Carson addressed the wedding party and those seated in the chapel.  He had a smooth delivery, easier to listen to than most, Henry thought.  Covering the sanctity of marriage, the power of love and the responsibilities of husband and wife, his words brought tears to some of the women in the congregation and sniffling soon echoed through the small church.  Brief but effective, the minister finished his sermon and moved on to more perfunctory duties, including the vows, ring exchange and, finally, the lighting of candles, a ritual planned by the bride and groom themselves.  A wedding kiss brought polite applause from the attendees and the newlywed couple, followed by their brightly dressed cohorts, strode down the aisle and entered their life together.

   The family followed the wedding party and the congregation filed behind them, emptying the pews from front to back.  Hank walked behind a young couple that was overly affectionate, a clear sign to Hank that they had not yet married.  By the time he reached Julie and Josh, they were beginning to show signs of greeting fatigue, he having loosened his tie and she having set her corsage on a nearby planter.

   “Hi, Uncle Hank,” she said before he could speak.  “So glad you could come.  Josh, this is Hank, he was my aunt’s husband.”

   “Glad to meet you, sir,” said Josh, extending his sweaty palm.

   Hank patted Josh on the shoulder and kissed Julie on the cheek.  “That was a beautiful ceremony,” he said, “my best wishes for both of you.”

   But, with their attention drawn to the next couple in line, they may not have heard him.  Pulling off his sports coat, Henry headed for his pickup.  He did not plan to attend the reception.