Most were from Ma. She spoke of the same things she always did, but his eyes filled nonetheless. Grampa John had a few in the pile. He asked more questions than anything. Then there was one last letter; it had been stamped in Massachusetts.
George bathed in the articulate words of his younger brother, the aspiring writer. After poking fun about having to exchange letters instead of texts, Evan went on about finishing his college degree and was equally detailed about his new job at the newspaper. Yet, it was the way in which he wrote about his fiancée Carley that made George smile. From the letter, Evan’s life couldn’t have been any happier. It finally gave the suffering soldier something real to smile about. He stood and began packing his duffel bags. Remembering what his baby brother’s heart was like, he thought, God willing, every word in this letter is true.
Sergeant George McCarthy, the combat veteran, paused at the barracks door and gave the place one last look. Scanning over the bunks of Cooch, Brad, Danny and Brady, he whispered, “I’m going to miss all of it.” After going over the short list in his throbbing head, he hit the lights, confident he hadn’t forgotten a thing. Anxious not to waste another minute, he ventured off to find his soul.
Many miles north in Massachusetts, it was nearly five o’clock the next morning when Evan stumbled home. He’d been out all night, wandering aimlessly through the abandoned streets of Fall River. What a lonely time it was. While some people were just getting home to put their addictions to sleep and others—committed to the rat race—were awakening to face another morning of bad coffee and traffic jams, Evan was torturing himself with his fears of the future. Without Carley, I have nothing, he thought, and could feel the world tumbling down around him—one concrete domino after another.
Days before, his fiancée had been caught cheating and he was still trying to process the cruel finality of it all. But while he searched for any way to avoid the inevitable, his mind circled back to the same truth each time. It’s over! Carley had betrayed him and, in doing so, had turned their relationship—past, present and future—into nothing more than some cruel joke. It was the permanence of it that hurt most. As Grampa John would say, “Once a dog gets a taste of chicken blood, you gotta get rid of it ’cause it’ll surely kill again.” For Carley and me, he thought, there’s no going back … or forward. It was that truth that cut the deepest. Evan couldn’t imagine a greater anguish.
He sat in his car a block away from their apartment, waiting to pack up his life into trash bags. Each second lasted an eternity. He hadn’t been able to eat, sleep or function as a normal human being. Analyzing his pathetic existence, he finally concluded, Carley Mendoza is my life. The jobs, the future, the dreams … it all means nothing without her. He’d even forgotten his own heritage and accepted the Mendozas as his new family. But they aren’t my family, he realized. They’re Carley’s. Without her, they’re gone, too.
Once Carley left for work, Evan stepped into their apartment. During his final tour of the home he loved, to his surprise all the material objects, which he once believed had brought him so much joy, now meant nothing. Ashamed at the truth of it, he packed his clothes, grabbed his writing portfolio and then stopped at the maple rocking chair he’d finished with his own hands. Sitting in its lap for one final ride, he wept like a child. My kids were supposed to be rocked in this chair … not Paul Smith’s. He picked up the rocker, smashed it into pieces and then cried until there were no tears left.
He grabbed his mail off the kitchen counter, looked back once and burned the picture into his memory. Opening the door, he stepped out of his life. He was on his own again, with no future to strive for. He didn’t have the heart to write his sentimental stories any longer. Nothing matters any more, he decided. It’s over. He’d trusted Carley with his most valuable possessions—his heart and soul. In payment, she handed them back in pieces. What he never expected, though, was that she would destroy his dreams. But she had. When their love died, so did Evan’s dreams. He couldn’t imagine ever being able to get them back.
Not knowing how he even got there, Evan pulled into his favorite spot in Massachusetts—Horseneck Beach. It was a rocky stretch of coastline located in Westport, a quaint bedroom town. He and Carley used to enjoy their picnics in its dunes and then roll up in a blanket to sleep under a canopy of stars. It didn’t have the same sense of magic any more.
Feeling the anxious need to leave and keep moving, he forced himself to climb up on the car’s hood, sit back for a minute and ponder the meaning of his life. As he did, he immediately realized that Carley hadn’t taken his sight. He still had the eyes of a poet and thought, God, how I wish I could share this with her.
It was dusk, with low tide creeping in. Encased in a liquid-blue sky, the sun flawlessly marked time. Cotton-candy clouds crawled by, while beams of orange and red discovered their final escape and raced to the icy water. The sleeping sea—like a patient old man—hummed a soothing tune. Rocking in, then farther outward, it cleansed itself, depositing its filth on the surf’s foamy edge. Rancid smells of dead fish and crabs lured flocks of seagulls in for a bountiful feast. Above broken shells, they lazily spread their wings and enjoyed a free ride on the ruffling winds. Landing on a carpet of bleached-white sand, they foraged at the sea’s outer reach. Rocks blanketed in seaweed jutted out, as long blades of razor-sharp grass swayed in unison. At this foundation of the world—this cornerstone of eternity—a salty mist was cast, creating a rainbow before a burst of sunlight. In the distance, that sun grew weary. Evan understood its plight. Slowly falling off, the stiff horizon produced mystical shadows, mere stains of the past, while the moon was summoned to quell the fears of the dark.
Not knowing how long he’d been there, Evan jumped off the car’s hood and wiped his eyes. Things are bad, he thought, but my fate hasn’t been sealed yet. That hope alone was enough to keep him breathing.
As Evan opened the car door, he caught a miraculous sign. It was a shooting star, the type he’d spent hours looking for as a kid. When he’d finally catch one, he’d spend even more time making his wish. The memory made him gasp for air. At that very instant, he decided, I can’t take my own life. God gave it to me, so God’s the only One who can take it back.
Turning the ignition, he wondered where to go first. Then, for the second time that night, another miracle arrived. Atop the pile of mail sitting on his passenger-side seat, a letter addressed in Grampa John’s chicken scratch jumped right out at him. The old man’s still writing letters, he thought, and tore open the envelope. He quickly deciphered the blurry words. In short, Grandma was preparing to venture into the Promised Land. In an urgent tone, the old man finished, If it suits you to get a hold of that sister of yours, I’d be much obliged. There ain’t much time, Evan.
The initial thought of going home made his stomach flop. He’d spent his entire childhood and adolescence trying to escape from Montana, along with the beatings that his father enjoyed handing out. Most kids fear monsters when they’re growing up, he thought, but I never did. I had Pa and he never hid under my bed.
Evan looked back down at his grandfather’s letter and sighed heavily. But I have to go back, he thought. I need to find Tara … and fast. He checked his cell phone for a text or a missed call from Carley. Nothing. He pointed the car south toward New York City and hit the gas.
Barreling down the coast, Evan thought about the distance he’d allowed between him and Tara and felt the guilt for it. They’d played together for years until finally having to play tag over the phone. Then, one day she didn’t feel like playing any more. She was no longer online and her cell phone number had been disconnected. Time took care of the rest.
He knew she’d given birth to Lila and was sure she was still chasing her shooting star in the Big Apple, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own life that he didn’t know much else. The guilt turned to shame.
If she’s still in New York, I’ll find her, he thought. We’re twins. Distance or time could never completely separate us. The u
nspoken bond they shared was like a homing device and knowing this, he pressed down hard on the accelerator. Carley had left him no choice. It was time to grab his sister and fly back to the nest.
Two days and a half dozen New York addresses later, Evan happened upon a sight that—if only for a minute—made him forget his own pain.
The vulgar sounds of the bustling metropolis drowned out the silent cries of the needy. At first glance, it would have been less painful to look away, but with a hint of courage and the grace of a newfound compassion, Evan’s journalistic look detailed the brutal story of a cold and uncaring society.
Alone on a stoop, a poor, disabled soul sat amid a flowing river of pedestrians. Dressed in tattered clothing and worn shoes, one trembling hand held a sign—his desperate plea for help—while the other extended an empty cup. His weary eyes betrayed a tormenting despair, yet there was still a sparkle of sincerity. Shifting to get a better look, an eerie chill traveled the length of Evan’s spine. Unfortunately, the temperature was not the cause of the horrible sensation and, at that instant, he felt guilty for wallowing in self-pity.
As if the handicapped man were invisible, most walked around him and proceeded on to their blessed lives of good health and prosperity. Those who did take notice merely peered down their noses at him, quickly turning away to avoid any eye contact. The all-too-familiar sight made Evan’s heart ache with sorrow.
It was obviously easier to assume the panhandler was a con artist than to find the truth within his tortured eyes. The snickering and mumbled insults were carried through the frigid air, causing those very eyes to slam shut. Fifteen endless minutes elapsed and although the cup remained empty, Evan witnessed one human being suffer more embarrassment and humiliation than anyone deserved in an entire lifetime.
Unemployed and homeless, the man continued to work harder than most, though his efforts proved futile. Whatever dignity that did remain was methodically and painfully stripped away by those who had plenty to spare.
At last, the merciful shadow of a lame, elderly woman caused the pauper to gaze up. Slowly bending, she dropped a dollar bill into his cup. The two shared a genuine smile that only those in need could understand. Their simple exchange sent that same uncomfortable chill down Evan’s spine. As she walked away, her gentle face was replaced by the judgmental stares of a thousand cruel eyes. The homeless man’s smile was erased, his gaze dropped and again, among the masses, he sat alone.
Evan shook his head in disgust. While so many passed by, scratching their lottery tickets, Evan thought, They’re better off gambling on the homeless man than the lottery. From the look of things, many of them are only one or two paychecks away from where he’s sitting. Yet, most had the gall to question why God gave so much to so few and so little to so many. Grampa John had once said, “God gave enough but somewhere along the line folks forgot how to share His gifts.” Grampa John would be mortified, Evan thought, and dropped a couple bucks into the cup. He then turned to find someone in even worse shape. Squinting to get a closer look, he nearly passed out. “It’s … it’s … Tara.”
Only two doorways from the homeless man, his sister was sitting on the jagged edge of life. Evan needed to walk a few steps closer to make sure there was no mistake. There was none. My God … it’s really her. She was twenty pounds lighter than the thinnest Evan had ever seen her. Her pretty face had been replaced by white, pasty skin and her once excited eyes were now sunken and devoid of life. The distinct lines of harsh experience completely covered her days of innocence, and her flowing strawberry locks were now matted and dirty. She looks like death warmed over, Evan thought, and nearly cried at the sight of her.
Vowing to be strong, he fought to emerge from his own fog of pain and approached her. “Tara?” he asked. The world seemed to slow down for the long-awaited reunion. For a few terrible moments, her eyes scanned every inch of his face without reaction. This made Evan feel even sicker than he did when he’d left his and Carley’s apartment. At last, Tara’s glassy eyes threw off a spark of recognition and her crooked mouth did its best to form a smile. My face has finally registered in her memory, he realized.
Without a word, Tara stood and spread her bony arms. As if she’d waited for years on this very stoop for someone to come and save her, she began weeping. Evan couldn’t tell if they were tears of joy or sorrow. As they soaked his collar, he decided it was a combination of the two. Tara wasn’t just crying. She was mourning and Evan could feel her pain. He always could. Though he never would have guessed it an hour before, she was the one who needed to be healed. For so many reasons, he cried right along with her.
Evan could feel the hardness of her bones tremble against his broken heart. Pulling back, he peered into her distant eyes. “T, where’s the baby?”
She sniffled and resumed the hug, whining louder with every sway of his familiar frame. “Lila’s with Nancy … a friend,” she managed between sobs.
He grabbed her face and forced his own smile. “I’m here now, T. Let’s get a bite to eat and you can tell me everything.”
She avoided his eyes. “I’m not sure you’ll wanna hear it,” she said shamefully. As if she finally felt the shock of his presence, she looked into his eyes. “What are you doing here, Ev?” she asked.
He smiled again—only this time he meant it. “Grampa John sent me here to take you home.” Recalling the letter, he sighed. “Grandma’s not doing well.”
Tara never flinched at the news and retained her empty stare.
“I want to hear what’s been going on with you,” Evan confirmed, and realized again that his concern for another’s feelings numbed his own pain.
Hand in hand, they walked down the crowded street. As they passed the homeless man, Evan gestured toward him with a nod.
Like it was common knowledge, Tara shrugged. “That’s Benny. They say he used to work on Wall Street until he and his family got into a car accident. He lost the use of his right leg but he was the lucky one. His wife and kids never made it.”
Evan fumbled in his wallet and dropped a ten-dollar bill into the cup. The man smiled softly, but quickly returned his gaze to the cruel world before him.
The long-lost twins sat in the corner booth of some greasy spoon. While his troubled sister hyperventilated and struggled to regain her composure, Evan couldn’t believe his eyes. This broken doll who sat across from him looked like anyone but the happy girl he’d grown up with in Montana. So much time has passed, he thought, and time has not been kind.
The waitress took the order for more food than two people could have ever eaten, but Tara looked famished and Evan wanted her to have one of everything on the menu. As they waited for the banquet to arrive, Tara stared out the window and—through a long line of sniffles—began her twisted tale. The distance in her eyes told Evan that her mind was no longer with him—if, in fact, it had been at all. Starting as far back as it mattered, she told everything that her mind had not mercifully erased.
With little money and less understanding of the real world—or at least the world that existed beyond the Rocky Mountains—Tara reached the Big Apple. From the moment she caught sight of this great discovery, she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. Oddly enough, it never once looked back—not one set of eyes.
For the first time in her brief, sheltered life, Tara stood among millions but felt alone. It was the complete opposite of Montana, where a soul living miles away created the warm feeling of having company. Those first few hours in New York were sort of eerie but, at the same time, the most exciting time she’d ever known. She decided to savor it, wander the streets and watch.
After grabbing a rubbery sausage sandwich from a heckling street vendor, she bought a newspaper and started on her quest to locate the address her college friend had given her. It was the residence of Nancy Vallee, a kind soul who’d agreed to take Tara in until she found a place of her own. Tara hated to impose and equally disliked the idea of bunking with someone she didn’t know—but every dream has its pric
e, she reasoned. Besides, at that time, the quicker she got out of Dodge, the sooner she could pull down the star that had her name written all over it.
With large-rimmed glasses and her hair pulled back in a tight bun, Nancy Vallee was one of the nicest people Tara had ever met.
While Tara slowly settled in, Nancy set up two auditions for the star-struck dreamer. Before long, the older woman also provided the lead on a good job. The Polo Club was the hottest nightclub in Manhattan. “They’re always looking for a young, pretty face,” she claimed.
At her new job, Tara served cocktails to sweet-smelling men and their well-dressed ladies at tightly packed tables. Bryce, the owner, really squeezed them in. Tara filled her pockets with tips. She couldn’t believe it. One of my chores back home was to keep Pa’s mug topped off with cold beer and I never got a red cent for it. New York is unbelievable!
Before long, Tara was dating Bryce and attending auditions—only to discover she had been the biggest fish from the smallest pond in America. I used to be the prettiest girl on stage, she thought. Now, unless I’m willing to peddle programs, I can’t get ten feet from one. And I’m certainly not the prettiest anymore. All the girls who tried out for parts were gorgeous, coming in different shapes, sizes and colors. She tried to tread water in the middle of this new ocean, but without the experience or contacts the other girls had, she was in way over her strawberry blond head. Not a single director was impressed with a farm girl who’d once played Cinderella in some God-forsaken hole in Montana.
Each time, she would get all hyped up for a possible role or an opportunity that seemed just within reach. And then poof, it disappeared. And every time, it was some long-winded reason that added up to, “We’ll call you.” But they never did.
To counter the oppressive frustration, Tara drowned herself in alcohol. It created a sense of pleasure and removed all her inhibitions. For the first time, she understood her pa’s strong attraction to the happy serum. When it takes hold, there isn’t a problem in the world that can’t wait ’til tomorrow.
The Rockin' Chair Page 5
