by Wm. Barnard
“It’s just so hard to understand. I mean, I never thought Johnny would do something like that.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I said softly.
“Well, he better watch his back. You know what I’m saying?” He said, and his jaw tightened.
“I just talked to Johnny yesterday and he said he thinks Dave may try to kill him,” I said turning toward Mickey to gage his response.
“Who could really blame him?”
“But what good would that really do? Johnny feels horrible because of what happened and you know it’s not going to bring Todd back.”
“Well, it’s not like I’m trying to condone it. It’s just that I can’t imagine the hurt and anger Dave’s going through. He’s jacked people up for a lot less, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said, remembering a night at Murphy’s where some poor guy had made the mistake of staring at Dave’s girlfriend for a little longer than he should have. Dave had nonchalantly slammed a beer bottle over the guy’s head, and would have done even more damage if Todd had not intervened.
I wanted desperately to change the subject, but Mickey continued his rant.
“Johnny’s got some serious bad karma coming his way. Some of Todd’s friends may not actually kill Johnny, but I could see plenty of them wanting to kick his teeth in,” he said.
“I think Johnny’s gonna be lying low for a while.”
“He should move out of the country,” Mickey added.
“You know, as much as I hate what Johnny did, I have to remember he’s a human being, like you and me. He made a huge mistake and he’s the one who will have to live with this the rest of his life. I don’t think railing on him is going to make anyone feel better.”
While I didn’t especially like having to defend Johnny, I knew dwelling on the “what ifs” and “whys” certainly didn’t help anyone.
THE WARMTH OF THE SUN finally breached the heavy cloud line, but went completely unnoticed by those walking up to the historic Cathedral Basilica of St. Anne. The entrance led us through a corridor lined with white concrete columns, large arching doorways, and wrought iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Instead of a calming effect, the cold, gothic architecture only magnified this tragedy.
Inside the main sanctuary, a twenty foot wooden carving of Jesus hung on an invisible crucifix, suspended midair high above the pulpit, made me want to look anywhere but up at the grotesque figure. An elderly lady in the front row cried hysterically as she leaned on Chris’ shoulder and I instinctively knew it was Todd’s mother. Sitting down immediately next to Mickey, I kept my gaze down as I continually wiped my wet face on my shoulder sleeve.
A middle-aged priest wearing a long, black ceremonial robe walked solemnly out in front of the congregation and stood beneath the Jesus statue. With everyone quietly focused up front, even the slightest sounds from the crowd echoed off the coved ceiling a hundred feet above us.
The priest began the funeral as if reading a script, flipping back and forth between Latin and English. Doing what all clergy do, he spoke favorably about the deceased, even though I’m sure he probably never knew Todd. A few minutes into his monotone speech, I don’t remember anything he actually said. I didn’t need to. No one needs a priest to understand that there is nothing more tragic than when someone like Todd takes his own life.
MICKEY AND I DECIDED TO forego the burial, and headed back to San Diego. Neither of us said a word until about half way home when Mickey suggested that we grab some grub at a fast-food drive-thru. On the cup of our soft drinks, a cartoon drawing portrayed an alien aircraft beaming up some hamburgers into a ship. I hadn’t even noticed it until Mickey pointed to the animation and asked, “Your friends frequent this place?” he said, cracking a smile.
“They know a good burger when they see one,” I said, which caused Mickey to chuckle. My little quip seemed to help lighten the mood that had been weighing us down all day.
“Hey, Lindsey told me you started up some webzine, but I haven’t checked it out yet.”
“Yeah, it’s been really interesting, but way more work than I anticipated.”
“So, do you, uh, see these aliens often or what?” Mickey asked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. He backtracked to make his thoughts more clear. “To me, it’s obvious you saw what you saw. I mean, who could really argue with all the photographic proof you have and everything. I’ve wanted to ask you some questions, but it’s not like I’ve had the chance to really sit down with you after that all happened. Plus I didn’t want to annoy you since everyone and their grandmother has wanted to talk to you. I’m sure you’re tired of answering the same old questions.”
“Well, it’s a lot easier just talking to people you know, but when you tell the world the most bizarre sounding story of the century, maybe even in all of history, then everything that comes with being that storyteller can start to really wear you down. That’s basically why I started the website, so I could control the format and, just like you said, not have to answer the same questions over and over.”
“I’m sure it’s annoying having to deal with people who don’t believe your story.”
“The religious fanatics are the worst. I’ve been called everything under the sun. I love all these Christians who preach love, then turn around and say I’m a blasphemer, that I’m the Anti-Christ. It’s all pretty ridiculous,” I said, before stuffing my mouth with more French fries.
“Yeah, Johnny told me your sister became one of those born-again Christians. That must make for a strange dinner atmosphere.”
“Well, it’s pretty odd, but Vanessa is cool. Don’t get me wrong. We’ve definitely had our differences of opinion; a lot of people from her church think that The Ancestors are demons, which is strange in itself when you hear other pastors from Unitarian Churches, Episcopalian, you name it, say that they think The Ancestors are really God’s angels. I think it’s their way of trying to explain what they don’t understand. Anyway, my sister and I have had some lengthy discussions and even though she is adamant about what she believes, we still have a great relationship. Vanessa’s okay in my book.”
“So, Zach, I have a question for you?”
“Shoot.”
“What do these aliens say about where we go from here when we die?”
“I’ve actually had bits and pieces of it answered for me, but let me try to explain it as I understand it. It’s kind of like we are this source of energy, I guess what some call the soul, and we’re going through the universe basically picking up information wherever we are. Our spirit just keeps evolving onto higher levels. This stuff is kind of hard to fully comprehend and what I’ve learned I actually heard explained from The Ancestors, and by others who have told me about their contact experiences. It’s something I’m still trying to learn more about.”
Mickey’s straw made a gurgling noise in the ice at the end of his empty cup before he added, “That’s pretty wild.”
“You’ll have to check out my website so you can read all the different stories. A few weeks ago I published a story explaining how people can contact the aliens for themselves.” I immediately regretted that I had brought this part up as it made me think about Johnny.
“Really? I’d like to check that out.”
“Yeah, well, you should definitely be cautious about doing it and make sure that you’re ready.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not everyone is ready for it, and I’m not sure everyone can contact them, either. Hey, all this traffic must be for the Chargers game. Flip on the radio to see when the game starts.” I said, trying to change the subject.
“Good call. I almost forgot that they were having the game on Saturday this week. They should have a good team this year.”
“I haven’t really had the chance to follow any sports lately, but I want to get back into it.”
Bringing up football provided a great diversion because it helped me deflect my thoughts from what continued to disturb me. I still couldn’t grasp
what had gone wrong with Johnny’s contact experience and it didn’t jell with everything I had learned.
While his strange experience raised several questions, one left me especially confounded: how were other people supposed to even discern whether they were hearing from The Ancestors or The Evil Ones?
DURING THE FOLLOWING WEEK, MY bitterness toward Johnny was replaced by concern when he didn’t return my calls about fixing my webpage. Frustrated by another unsuccessful attempt to reach him by phone, I finally decided to drive over to his apartment to find him. I had just prepared to leave my house when I heard the distinct sound of Johnny’s eight-cylinder truck roaring into my driveway before rumbling to a stop. Peering through my front window, I watched him stumble dejectedly up the sidewalk so I turned around, tossing my keys back on the table and yelled for him to come in.
With his head down and not saying a word, he sat down on my couch, staring at the floor. As I crossed by the couch to the adjacent lazy boy chair, it smelled like I had walked into a cloud of hard liquor.
“Hey, I’ve been trying to call you. Did you get my messages?” I asked.
“Yeah, I haven’t felt much like talking,” Johnny muttered.
“Okay, so what’s up?” I said, leaning forward and wondering if he would actually open up.
“I was already in your neighborhood so I figured I’d drop by to tell you that I’m gonna split out of here.”
“What? Where?”
“I’m going to move up north of Frisco. I got a cousin who can let me stay at his place and help me find some work. I gotta get out of here.”
“Well, are you going to keep your place or keep your stuff in storage or… is this like something you think is permanent.”
“I plan on taking everything. If I need something out of storage, it’s going to be a pain to get it if I have to drive down here.”
“So, uh, when do you think you’re moving?”
“In the next week. No sense on paying rent for next month,” he said, keeping his gaze on the rug beneath his feet.
“That makes sense,” I replied and nodded while trying to think of something to say.
“Jenny and I are through. She came over and said she just felt like we went too fast and I don’t know, just needed to step back and be friends,” he said bluntly. “And well, you know all the lame things you say to someone who you don’t want to see anymore. I guess I should’ve seen it coming, but…” He let out a sigh of disgust.
“Hey, we all make mistakes.”
“Yeah, well, this one just tops them all. It makes me feel like my whole life has been one big mistake.” His voice began to shake as he continued. “I ruined the life of a great friend. I’m the one that deserved to die.”
Johnny’s confession shocked me to silence.
His eyes flooding with tears, he suddenly stood and headed to the door. “I gotta start packing.”
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive. You can stay here and I’ll make some breakfast.
“Don’t worry. I’m sober.” he said before walking out to his truck, and I quietly followed behind him to the driveway.
Once inside the truck, Johnny leaned up against the steering wheel, placing his palms face down on the dashboard. Continuing to stare down into his lap, he began to pour out his heart.
“I had a dream the other night, Zach. It was so weird because I was like half awake, but the dream felt so real. I’ve been pretty tripped out by it and it’s really the reason I haven’t called. I heard a voice say that there was a way out from all this grief. It said that I could finally get the peace and rest I wanted. Since then, not a day has gone by that I don’t think about going out to my garage, turning on my truck and just going to sleep.”
Leaning into his cab, I grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to get him to look me in the eyes. “Johnny, listen to me, your mind is playing tricks on you. You need this to stick in your head: suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I know you feel terrible right now, but it’s gonna get better.”
Johnny glanced at me before turning his eyes down toward the floor. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t feel the pain I do. You don’t have to live with the guilt that I have.”
He paused for a moment before trying to sound more rational. “That’s why I need to get outta here. Get a new start.”
“Yeah, moving up there will help you get your head on straight. Time will heal this; you have got to know that. And listen, if you need to talk, I don’t care what time it is, you call me. Just please whatever you do, don’t go and kill yourself. You’re my best friend and it would crush me …” My hand weakened its grip on his shoulder as my voice began to break off.
He finally turned toward me, his bloodshot eyes welling up with tears again. “Thanks for always being a good friend, Zach.”
Pausing to get a hold on my emotions, I tapped the hood of his truck as if I had come up with an idea. “Look, why don’t we take that trip down to that fishing village in Baja for a few days that you mentioned.”
Johnny nodded his head, but didn’t say anything.
“Or, you know, just a quick surf session or anything you want to do.” I said grasping for something that might temporarily distract him from this heartache.
Johnny merely attempted a half smile and turned the ignition.
As I watched him drive away, my trivial suggestions of how to help him left me feeling powerless. Biting my lip, I felt like I was watching a condemned house teetering on the edge of a cliff and wondered how long before the weight of Johnny’s guilt would push him over the edge.
CHAPTER 18
My concerns about Johnny’s state of mind continued to grow as he didn’t respond to my emails or return any of my calls over the next week. When I finally did hear back from him, he had already relocated to Jenner, a small community near Santa Rosa, CA. Reluctant to speak to me, his voice still carried the disheartened tone from when I last saw him. I tried to lighten up our conversation by asking about the nearby surf spots I had heard about, but nothing I said could change his mood.
He asked me if I would pick up some mail and a paycheck from his last client in San Diego when I got the chance. Glad to do him the favor, I got his new address and advised him to call me after he had received it. While I knew he probably needed the money, I really wanted him to call back so I could know how he was holding up.
Around two weeks after I had mailed the check to him, I received a confusing message from Johnny who slurred so badly I could only make out half of what he said. He babbled something to the effect that he couldn’t find enough work and how things weren’t getting any better. Admitting that he couldn’t shake off the guilt that he felt over Todd’s death, he said there was no point of trying to go on. He wanted me to know that I was like a brother to him and he loved me, but when he started to cry I couldn’t understand the rest of his message. After he abruptly hung up, I tried desperately to call him back, but continued to receive a busy signal after about five attempts.
An operator informed me that the phone appeared to be off the hook and I yelled, “Oh, no!” Clueless as to what to do next, I tried to call Vanessa’s cell phone.
“Vanessa, I need your help! I think Johnny might kill himself,” I said rapidly.
“What? Where is he?” she gasped.
“He’s up in Jenner. It’s a small town north of San Fran. Can you call the local police and tell them to go over to 134 Sycamore Street?”
“Are you sure you have good reason to believe he’ll actually do this?”
“Trust me. He thinks he’s responsible for the suicide of our friend Todd. He just left a voice mail that sounded like a ‘goodbye forever’ message.”
“Oh my. Let me grab a pen.” Her voice became anxious. After I gave her the address again, she hurriedly said, “Alright, let me make some calls. Keep trying to call him and see if you can email him or something. I’ll call you back in ten minutes, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks,” I said,
hanging up, and re-dialed Johnny’s number. I cursed my phone out loud every time I heard the obnoxious beeping of the busy signal. Unable to sit still, I paced back and forth across my living room while jabbing a small pillow from my couch with my fist. Fifteen minutes later my phone rang and I rushed over to it hoping somehow it would be Johnny.
“Zach,” Vanessa said, “I was able to get the local police to head that way and check things out. They said they’ll call me back after the patrol car gets out there. Were you able to reach him?”
“No, I guess the phone’s still off the hook. I wish there was something I could do because it’s driving me nuts just sitting here and not knowing.”
“Yeah, I know. The police captain himself told me they would call me back once they know something. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to come over and keep you company until we hear back.”
“Okay. That sounds good…” I exhaled deeply… “It’s been a terrible last couple of weeks. We just buried my friend Todd and I couldn’t handle losing Johnny.”
“Hey, nothing’s happened. Let me tell you something. I’m going to call some friends from church to pray about this situation. So, you just sit tight and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
“Thanks,” was all I could muster.
Around thirty minutes later, my sister’s car arrived and I anxiously walked out to meet her. Vanessa closed her car door and jogged over to inform me she hadn’t heard anything from the police in Jenner. Seeing the concern in my eyes, Vanessa put her arm around me as we walked into my house. After we sat down on the couch, I shared some of the details of how Johnny had arrived at this desperate stage and how nothing I had said to him lately seemed to help.
“Zach, this is kind of hard to explain, but after I prayed about this, I had an overwhelming peace come over me. I have a good feeling that everything is going to be okay. I’ve never really experienced that before. I mean, usually, I just pray for something and, well, I leave it in God’s hands. I really don’t know what will happen, but I trust God that it will work out according to His good and perfect will. That might not make any sense to you right now, but I just…” Vanessa suddenly reached down to pull her cell phone from her pants pocket and looked at the incoming number. “It’s from Jenner,” she said.
