Apple in the Earth

by C.T. Millis

Chapter 22

 

  The police came and started asking questions about Sophie’s dad. Some woman gave James a blanket to wrap around himself. The cold air left layers of dew on the plants and leaves in the woods behind Mr. Heckerman’s house. There were dogs sniffing at the ground and when they barked, men with shovels would start to dig. The hole that James started was dug up. A woman in police uniform and kind eyes nodded to a detective and led James into Mr. Heckerman’s yard. She asked him questions about Sophie’s brother and James saw that the men with shovels were pulling out something a lot bigger than Sophie’s dog and putting it into the back of a truck that opened from the back and pulled away slowly.

 

  It was on his doorstep. Mr. Heckerman was shuffling towards his mailbox in his bathrobe and nearly choked mid-sip though his morning coffee. James had somehow gotten hold of a canvas. It seemed he got a hold of some acrylics, too. Mr. Heckerman was shocked most by the overabundance of red in the portrait, if it was in fact a portrait of some sort. The smears appeared to form a face.

  After getting the mail, Mr. Heckerman could hardly get the painting inside fast enough. It was not that he did not want the neighbors to see out of embarrassment, but that he wanted the focus to try to understand it.

  A real mess, he set it down on his kitchen table against a wall. Adjacent, Mr. Heckerman and his coffee sat motionless. It just looked red and black and white, swirls that seemed to ascend like a tunnel seeking light.

  It was then that he was struck with the image of the last day he saw his son. The last months were filled with status reports, IV drips, yellow flowers, and the gentle hum of electronics- all designed whirling around his son who oftentimes could not lift himself out of bed anymore.

  “I’m feeling better.”

  “That’s good,” Mr. Heckerman looked around, “they’re doing all they can to make you better.”

  “I won’t be walking away from this, I’m too sick, you know that. The doctors told you that,” his son responded in usual pre-teenage defiance. “I just wanted to let you know it doesn’t hurt anymore.” Mr. Heckerman focused his attention at the light coming in through the seams of the blinds that covered the hospital window.

  “I think there’s a way- I know there is. I worked on it.”

  “What you worked on was a cure and a curse, the company would have been able use it to condemn people to a life of sickness. To death. You made the right choice.”

  “Tell me that next year.” The silence between the father and son at that moment seemed to be a dark shadow on the natural white light that grew from the walls of the hospital room.

  “I’ll tell you that tomorrow.” Mr. Heckerman’s son said. He followed his father’s gaze to the shattered light emitted from the window. A steady buzz rose above the sound of the machines tied to Mr. Heckerman’s son. “Shouldn’t you get that?”

  “It’s your mother,” Mr. Heckerman said as he pulled his cell-phone from his pocket. “Hi sweetheart.” He waited, “Yeah, I’m with him now-” another minute passed in the hospital room, “He’s feeling good- yeah, yeah. I’ll tell him.” He snapped the phone shut and looked at his son. “Your mom loves you.”

  “I love both of you, very much. I’m getting tired.”

  “I’ll let you rest; I have to pick some things up from the store before dinner- want me to bring leftovers for lunch tomorrow?” Mr. Heckerman said while hugging the frail version of his son.

  “That sounds great,” he said as he watched his father walk towards the door.

  “Hey dad-” Mr. Heckerman turned back, “I want you to promise me something.” It was obvious that he was holding back tears with all of the strength he had less. He moved his face into a beam of light to camouflage his sadness with squinting.

  “What’s that?”

  “I just want you to be happy, above everything. Could you find a way to be happy?” Mr. Heckerman paused a moment and put true thought to the value of his answer.

  “I’ll try. I mean, if there is a way.”

  “There’s a way.”

  “You can’t know that-” Mr. Heckerman said gravely.

  “You’re right,” his son perked up, “see you tomorrow, then?”

  “Sure thing, kiddo.”

  The call came in before breakfast the next morning. The bowl of pancake batter remained on the counter to bubble and rot until after his son’s funeral. Mr. Heckerman’s wife followed their son into the earth less than a month later.

  Now, Staring at the swirls of white and red, Mr. Heckerman knew. He had to be happy, he had to lift himself up and live for both of them, for all the whole family. He had to let himself enjoy the woman he found. That found him. He had to.

 

 

  Chapter 25

  On James’ birthday, James’ mother allowed him to go with Mr. Heckerman to a surprise he said he planned for a long time. They drove for an hour and a half before they stopped at a farm. Mr. Heckerman got out of the car and introduced James to a few men he used to work with and resigned around the time that he did. They walked behind a barn where there was a hot air balloon.

  “James, do you want to see what it feels like to float?” James smiled and nodded.

  In the air, Mr. Heckerman showed James how to steer the balloon. He explained the way the hot air pushed the fabric and the basket up. James gripped the edge of the basket but was not very afraid. Mr. Heckerman cleared his throat,

  "I figured it out,"

  "What?" James shouted over the air, which rushed around them and smoldered at their ears.

  "Loss, do you still want me to tell you?"

  "yeah,"

  "Well I’ve noticed you've begun to hold onto things, haven't you? Creating things? Keeping things? Growing things?" "It's because you've lost someone- and you'll keep growing things as long as you let yourself.” Mr. Heckerman put his hand on James’ shoulder, “And people won't understand you, and they'll think you're strange for connecting with these things, these projects you create- but it'll help. It'll help you, and it'll help anyone who lets it." Mr. Heckerman looked out over the hills and farmyards,

  "James, you should know that these bad things happen to you not because life will be easy from now on, but if you can deal with this, what else can you deal with?" James looked up at the sky. It was an infinite blue that echoed in his heartbeat, "Remember Van Gogh? Those who have contributed the most to other people grew up like you or worse. You'll have to decide if this makes you a better person, or if it will swallow you."

  James thought about the sky, and how really it began where the ground ended and stretched out to eternity. He realized that not only was he in the sky right now, but he was always in the sky, with every step. The sky continued from where he was all the way to the ground. James thought about his father and tried to remember his face. The wind and Mr. Heckerman’s words whistled in James’ ears and in his mind James’ father was not made out of paper. James had to fight to remember him as anything other than paper, he had to fight to remove the hollow black crayon that shielded the memory of his father’s eyes, Mr. Heckerman asked him,

  "James, you can choose to go up or down, which way do you want to go?"

  "I want to go up," as soon as James spoke, Mr. Heckerman opened the valve more and they began to soar more than float.

  It was then that James remembered the color of his father's eyes. Infinite blue.