Ruins of the Mind

by Jason Stadtlander

  Frankie’s innocent, questioning eyes did not comprehend what his father was about to say. Howard continued. “Son,” he said softly, “I don’t think we missed that car spinning toward us back on the highway.” A lone tear rolled down Howard’s cheek. “I think it hit us—and hit us hard.”

  Frankie winced and then grinned in relief as if his father didn’t know what he was saying. “No, Daddy—that car didn’t hit us. We drove away and went to Tyler’s party—remember?”

  Howard thought carefully about what to say next. “Are you sure, Frankie…are you absolutely certain?” he asked, hoping his son would begin to grasp the reality of their shared experience.

  The boy looked away for a moment, a solemn expression crossing his face. For a few seconds, Frankie considered the possibility that he could have been mistaken about the accident. Then he turned back to meet his father’s eyes and, shaking his head slowly, said in a whisper, “I think we missed it.”

  Howard was filled with love for his young son. “Frankie, I want you to think back on something for me. Think back to the party—no one there would talk to you or play with you, and even the parents weren’t really talking to me—remember?”

  Frankie’s response was pensive as he inched his way to the truth. “I don’t understand, Daddy. I remember the party, and I remember driving home…but I don’t remember getting in an accident.”

  Howard was at a loss. “I don’t understand it, either, son,” he said, hearing another beep, beep, beep coming from the second floor.

  Howard looked back toward the stairs before turning back to his boy. “Frankie, do you hear that?”

  “I hear it. Something’s beeping—what is that?” Frankie asked.

  There is was again—beep, beep, beep…

  “I don’t know,” Howard answered, confused and curious.

  His curiosity was interrupted, however, by his son’s direct question. “Daddy…” Frankie hesitated at first, biting his lip, and then continued. “Are we—are we dead, Daddy?”

  Howard choked on his own emotions as he faced the need to respond to his son’s earnest question. “I think we might be, son.” Howard was suddenly overcome with fear and sadness that Frankie—his sweet, five-year-old boy—had just died. His mind jumped ahead to the conclusions resulting from such a loss: his son would never marry, never learn to drive, never fall in love. Tears welled up in Howard’s sad eyes and rolled slowly down his cheeks.

  There it was yet again. Beep, beep, beep…

  Frankie’s eyes also filled with tears, his voice pleading as he said to his father, “I’m scared—I don’t want to be dead.” He looked up at his father as if to say, Come on, Daddy—fix this. You can do it. You always fix everything.

  When his father failed to reassure him that they weren’t dead, Frankie reached out his arms and wrapped them tightly around his father’s waist, squeezing hard. “I love you, Daddy—Daddy, I love you.”

  Howard picked the small child up and put Frankie on his lap. He then wrapped his arms around his son, returning his embrace. Howard was overwhelmed in that moment by the piercing emotion he felt for his little boy. Smelling the scent of the baby shampoo in Frankie’s hair and feeling the warmth of his embrace, Howard replied in a heartfelt voice, close to a whisper, “I love you, too, Frankie…so much. I’m proud of the boy you’ve become…and I’m so very sorry. I wish I could fix this, but I just can’t…I would if I could, son.”

  Beep, beep, beep…

  Father and son sat for a minute, arms around each other, cuddled up on the sofa. Then Frankie stood up. He looked tearfully at his father sitting on the couch, and then his vision faded abruptly to black.

  Beep, beep, beep…

  “FRANKIE? CAN YOU hear me, sweetheart?” his mother’s voice pleaded from far away. “Frankie?”

  Frankie opened his eyes and looked into his mother’s worried, love-filled face. Her tender expression was rich with affection, and he suddenly felt confused.

  “Mommy…Daddy—where’s Daddy?”

  His mother’s lips quivered as she shook her head slowly from side to side, fighting back tears.

  Frankie was so young, but there was no mistaking what his mother was trying to tell him. He understood what she was struggling to say and said it for her. “Daddy,” he said sadly. “Daddy’s gone, isn’t he?”

  Karen continued looking into her son’s face, staring into his innocent brown eyes, offering him only a look of pure compassion. Then she slipped her hand into his own and nodded, saying, “Yes, sweetheart. Daddy’s gone.”

  Frankie looked away from her toward the window, struggling to put all the pieces together in his mind. Without moving his gaze, he blinked hard several times. “We didn’t miss that car, did we?” Frankie asked, but it was more a statement than a question.

  His mother leaned closer. “That’s right, baby. Another car ran into Daddy’s car on the highway.” She could sense Frankie’s confusion. “You don’t remember anything, do you?” she asked.

  Frankie thought for a few seconds. “I remember going to the birthday party, but nobody would talk to me. So Daddy and I left…we came home to get you and take you to dinner with us—I called and left you a message.”

  “No, sweetheart. I’m afraid you were dreaming all that. You’ve been here in the hospital for two days. The emergency squad pulled you from the car and rushed you here as quickly as they could. Your father was gone by the time they reached the accident. We could have lost you, too, Frankie, but we didn’t. I am so happy that you’re still here.”

  Frankie looked back at his mother and spoke pleadingly, saying, “But we came back home after leaving the party to get you…and we saw you there, crying. I remember it all, Mommy—I remember,” he protested.

  His mother interrupted him, not wanting to prolong the pain of this moment. “The mind can play tricks, honey, especially when you’re asleep. I’m just so relieved that you’re okay. Your father loved you very much, you know, and he would be very happy that you survived…even though he didn’t.”

  Frankie said nothing. His young ears heard his mother’s words, but he struggled to accept what she was telling him. His father was gone, and his innocent heart tried to take it all in, to believe what his mother was saying over what he remembered to be true.

  Reluctantly, he finally answered her. “Daddy told me he loved me and that he’s very proud of me.” He paused again, adding, “I left you a message on the phone.”

  His mother looked to her mobile and said, “My phone is right here, Frankie.” She held her iPhone up for Frankie to see, and then she looked at the mobile screen, saying, “See, honey, there are no…”

  Karen stopped, her hand flying to her mouth. The screen read:

  Howard—Mobile

  Voicemail & Missed Call

  “But…” She stared at the screen in disbelief and then stared at Frankie before looking back at her phone again. With trembling fingers, she tapped the message and pressed “Speaker.”

  Through the speaker, Karen listened to her son’s young voice. “Hi, Mommy! Daddy and I are on our way home. We’re coming to take you out to dinner—”

  Howard’s voice could be heard in the background coaching Frankie, saying, “Don’t forget to ask her where she wants to go.”

  Karen stifled a sob while Frankie’s voice mail message continued. “Oh—and Daddy wants me to ask where you’re going to go.”

  She heard Howard laughing and saying something, but she couldn’t make out what he had said. Karen then heard Frankie’s unmistakable little-boy giggle, stopping to correct himself before proceeding.

  “Where do you want to go—to eat? Call me! Love you, Mommy.”

  “Come stay with us. Try out a new culture and get out of town for a while,” Helen’s boss, Lubomira, had said two weeks before Lubomira took off to go back and visit her parents in Bulgaria.

  Helen had been overworked for weeks, dealing with project deadlines for the new application her company was releasing i
n the fall. She had been putting in forty-to-sixty-hour weeks and was getting very little sleep. Lubie, which Helen affectionally called her boss, had known how much stress she was under. Helen looked up from her computer, her eyes bloodshot.

  “Helen, you have everything on your end done except for the release notes. Let the team handle things for a week—get out of here and come stay with Georgi, Daniela and I at my aunt’s old apartment in Ruse. Daniela can be a little bit of a handful, but trust me, the terrible twos are not as terrible as everyone makes them out to be. Besides, the walls are very solid in my aunt’s old apartment. They built things to last, and you can’t hear anything through the walls.”

  Helen looked apprehensive; she had never on a whim just taken a week off and flown to some foreign country thousands of miles away. However, it couldn’t be that bad, given that it was Lubie’s homeland. Helen would have guides with her, and she had seen the photos; it did look beautiful. “OK,” she replied before she allowed herself to say no.

  Lubie’s face lit up as she said, “Wonderful! I’ll book your flight for you. You just worry about having a week’s worth of clothes and bring your bathing suit. We might go to the Black Sea.”

  “You really want to see this pasty white ghost in a bathing suit?”

  “Can’t get rid of the beautiful, pasty-white complexion unless you get a little sun.” She winked.

  Helen had loved her boss from the start. She was charismatic, well organized, did everything to try and help her team and in typical Bulgarian form, she was beautiful. Helen had joked with friends that if she were ever “playing on the other team,” she’d definitely go for a woman like Lubie. Lubie’s husband Georgi was quiet, patient and kind. He was an amazing father, and the two had her over for dinner several times at their home in Danvers, where they made amazing dishes for her that they claimed had come from their homeland. Thus, Helen’s curiosity about the country also fueled her acceptance of the offer.

  So, here she sat on a Delta Airbus A330, trying to get herself ready. No going back now. “Crew, prepare for departure,” the captain’s voice chimed. Fifteen seconds later, they taxied onto the active runway. Helen was sucked into the back of her seat as the plane sped up to 170 miles per hour, and the body of the aircraft began to lift off.

  Helen looked out the window as the tarmac got farther away, and the aircraft gently banked to the left, giving her an amazing view of the Boston Harbor at night and the communities that surrounded it, lit up like Christmas lights. Within a few minutes, she could see her own community of Swampscott below, the causeway lit up by lights that went all the way to Nahant, as well as Lubie and Georgi’s home in the distance—or at least where she knew it to be. Of course, they weren’t there, having left three days prior. They were no doubt already at the apartment in Ruse four thousand miles away, cleaning, shopping and preparing for their American guest.

  In her thirty-two years, Helen had never made such a spontaneous choice as this one to leave to the country at the drop of a hat—but how could she have refused?

  The flight was uneventful. The crew served dinner once the plane had reached altitude, and Helen was surprised that it was actually delicious. She had heard that tomato juice tasted better at high altitudes and briefly wondered if the same applied to other food. Once she had finished her chocolate torte and passed the tray to the flight attendant, she paused and glanced at the elderly woman next to her that had not said a word. She was peacefully sleeping, having skipped dinner. Maybe that was the wiser thing to do, but Helen had been hungry long before she boarded the plane.

  She took a moment and browsed through the offerings on the in-flight entertainment system, putting on her headphones to begin watching Love Actually. It was a movie she had seen dozens of times, and for that very reason she didn’t care if she fell asleep watching it. Helen just wanted to drown out the noise of the aircraft.

  What felt like ten minutes later, she received a gentle nudge from the woman next to her. Helen opened her eyes and looked at her neighbor, who was pointing at the flight attendant standing next to her. She quickly took off her headset. “Ma’am, you need to put your seat up. We are landing in a few minutes.”

  Helen did as she was asked, shocked that seven hours had passed as well as breakfast time, and she hadn’t even had a chance to eat. She slowly opened the shade next to her and looked out. It was dawn over a new country, and below she could see what she assumed was the English Channel. In the distance were a few factories, Amsterdam beyond that.

  In what felt like a few minutes, Helen found herself at the next gate, waiting to take her Bulgaria Air flight. She saw a coffee stand nearby, and relieved, she went over to claim one for herself. “One coffee, please,” she told the cashier.

  A moment later, he handed her a tiny cup with a shot of espresso. “What’s that?”

  “Coffee,” the man replied. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Well, I just expected…a little more, I guess.”

  “You’re American?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled and said, “In Europe, coffee is usually espresso. You’d want an Americano. My advice, try that first.” He pointed at the cup in her hand.

  She smiled and nodded and walked back to the gate. As she sat, she sipped her hot beverage and was delighted it wasn’t as strong as an American espresso. It actually did taste like a slightly strong coffee, not an element that was used to melt through steel. Helen was surprised at how good this tasted. She had drank a large black coffee nearly every morning of her adult life, yet all the other coffee she’d had didn’t even come close to how good this was. Maybe I’m just really tired, but if all coffee in Europe tastes this good, I’m never leaving.

  Her experience of travel up to this point had consisted of a few flights to Toronto, one to Hawaii and two to England, where she’d only had tea. This was the farthest east she had ever been, and she had never been to a country where English wasn’t the dominant language, so she was a little concerned.

  An hour and a half later, she was seated on the aircraft and watched as a flight attendant walked through the small plane, handing out tiny bottled waters and newspapers from a basket, another foreign sight for her. She graciously took one of each and looked down at the newspaper in her hand; it was in Bulgarian. Helen leafed through it, looking for pictures, and saw a captioned photo of the U.S. president sitting at his desk in the oval office. She glanced over at the large man sitting next to her that was also looking at the newspaper, and it was clear he could read it. Helen suddenly felt small and insignificant. What am I doing? How am I going to even communicate with anyone? This is crazy. She looked out the window as the plane departed.

  The airplane touched down in Sofia and the pilot welcomed the passengers over the intercom, first in Bulgarian and then in English. As the door opened, Helen felt a rush of warm air fill the plane, and when she approached the door, she saw why. They were not at a gate. They were about a thousand yards from the airport with a moving stairway pulled up to the door, which was another new experience. In the shuttle on the way to the airport, Helen looked around and saw a group of young teenagers wearing what looked like team jackets with Bulgarian flags on them, and then she looked out the window and saw a large sign with a circle that said “Happy” on the airport building. She cocked an eyebrow and looked back at the people on the bus. A woman next to her smiled. “Visiting?” she asked in a strong German accent.

  Grateful that the woman spoke English, Helen said, “Yes. My friends invited me to visit them here.”

  “You’ll enjoy it. It’s a very nice country,” she said.

  “Happy?” Helen said, pointing to the sign. “Is there a problem with people not being happy here?”

  The woman laughed and said, “No, it’s a popular restaurant chain here called Happy. Stupid name but great food!”

  “Oh!” Helen suddenly felt very foolish. “Well, we aren’t much better in America with restaurant names. I mean, we have Dunkin’ Donuts
.”

  “True, but at least it says what it is, donuts. They should call this one something like Happy Restaurant or Happy Grill.”

  The shuttle arrived at the airport, and Helen nodded and said goodbye to the woman as they got off. “Have a nice trip,” the woman said as she left.

  “Thank you, you too.”

  Once Helen had gotten through customs and retrieved her bag, which was surprisingly quick, she walked out the double doors to find Lubie and Georgi standing at the divider with little Daniela in a stroller. Helen ran over and gave them both a hug. “You made it!” Lubie exclaimed. “I was a little worried you might change your mind.”

  “Never.”

  They made their way to the BMW that was waiting in the parking garage, and Helen sat up front while Lubie sat in the back with Daniela. Helen enjoyed seeing this distant land with her friends, driving through the streets and making their way to the highway where she saw mountains, rolling hills and eventually enormous fields of sunflowers as far as the eye could see. All along the way, there were small villages tucked away or right along the road in some cases, which had turned into a two-lane highway. “I had no idea Bulgaria was so beautiful.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Lubie replied.

  They arrived in Ruse and Helen was surprised to see so many trees and parks. She had expected a much more industrial city with concrete and skyscrapers. There were definitely tall buildings, but most of them were apartment buildings. Many of those were run-down, and Lubie explained they were remnants of the soviet era. Lubie and Georgi’s building was eleven stories and was situated next to Mladezhki Park, a long stretch of lush green with statues, sidewalks and cafés. The elevator up to the apartment scared Helen a little, being made of mostly varnished plywood with a gate and door you had to pull closed to operate. “Trust me, it’s old, but it’s safe,” Lubie had said. However, in Helen’s mind, she could see herself plummeting to her death and was very grateful when the elevator stopped at the eighth floor and she could get off.