Two Lost Souls
Book II of the Chosen Words Series
Written by: Scott D Wagner
Copyright 2012 Scott D. Wagner
1st Edition
Cover Art and Digital Preparations by Kane W. Woodward
This book is the follow up to Incident at Monticello. The Chosen Words Series, in order to be fully appreciated by the reader, needs to be read in the proper order.
The First, centered.
In, or out, laws.
There is a virgin layer of new snow, covering the back porch and beyond. The Colorado Snow Gods have blessed the Front Range with four inches of crystallized water. As I stare out the sliding glass door, the foothills appear as majestic as they ever do.
It is about eleven p.m. on February 6, 2011. In order of relevance: my daughter Sarina’s 25th birthday; Super Bowl Sunday; and what would have been President Ronald Reagan’s, 100th birthday.
Faintly, distinctly, emanating from the second floor, my daughter’s ring-tone is heard. Our kids, the trio, all have dedicated ring-tones tagged in Pamila’s phone. Phone; I know that name is still attached, but come on! Calling people, actually talking to people, seems a drying riverbed.
The caller, my eldest, decided choice is Ramblin Man by The Allman Brothers Band. Chosen not by Rebecca; Pamila’s selection of course has satirical meaning. I love it; its symbolism always delivers a father’s deviant smile. Pami has never told me of her reasoned selection; there is no need. Our time together has led us to recognize like items. You know how they say that dog owners start to resemble their pet; I have no doubt that married couples start to think alike. And because of this theory, there is no doubt that I feel sorry for Pami.
I should have learned my lesson, but I don’t seem to have. Mere pages into this text, I am going to tempt the wrath of a family member. A failure that is recognized by those of you that have previously traveled with me. Although I choose words for a living, I don’t always present the best ones. So here are my chosen, but probably not best.
Rebecca’s ring-tone is representative of her youthful wandering away from the future, and often the present as well. She has a very difficult time… well, with time. Rebecca has no more clue what she is going to do with tomorrow than she does with a month from now. One year from now, forget about it. Pamila calls it Mental Goal Wandering, MGW. (Now Pami will be wrathed as well. Two wrathings means one for me as well. Not the first time; won’t…
Her husband Wade has MGW as well. His unorganized spirit of youth fuels the fire of her unsettledness. Rebecca lives in a world that is only inhabited by the two of them. The rest of us orbit her planet, constantly questioning its ellipse, and hoping there is not a sudden catastrophic cosmic impact.
My watch coming to a stilling end, I lock, inspect, and insert closing entry to daily log: ‘2311 hours, all is as should be. Signing off’. I push the house into a shadowed corner as this day is closed. A day that has overflowed the rim with an event of family, friends, and tales. One tale, long and detailed, more than the many others.
With a smothering power outage, my mind and body identifies that it is time to shut down. Ascending the stairs with recognized tiredness, I feel the subtle calmness of a house that has spun down to a tranquil resolve. Resolved, I find it to be one of those moments daily when all is good.
Stepping onto the twelfth and final step with my left foot, always my left, I hear Pami’s voice fading in and out amongst the sound of a running furnace and her motioned direction. Entering the bedroom, amongst her passing of me, she shares a tinge of parental frustration. “That was Rebecca. Wade, your son-in-law, is not feeling well and they are off to the hospital. Again!” ‘Your son-in-law’, banged hard my ears. Not important right now. What is important to you is that her departing words did not elaborate. Turning and facing her bathroom location, she blessed me with; “Rebecca thinks he has food poisoning.”
“From my food?” I immediately toss with indignation.
Leaving my self-identified culinary insult alone, Pami slid the bathroom door closed. Describing it nicely, it was an over-use of inertia.
Turning from her self-imposed privacy, I hear with loudness delivered; “Food poisoning? I think he’s got brain poisoning.” Not a great medical diagnosis from a nurse. A warm smile entertained me.
Now, since you have willfully chosen to read this novel, you will be forced to accept an occasional dumping of my thoughts. Often, this placement of my un-wisdom has nothing to do with this story. This is one of those times.
Being a new Father-in-law, there is something I never considered. Something that my parents, catholic schooling, or life experiences, have not taught me. How to be a good Father-in-law. Really, if you are not there yet, wait, it is not that easy. I mean you have to love him right. After all, he is married to my daughter. But I have to tell you, at times, son-in-law love is dark deep. A lifting enlightening takes energy. Now I am certain that he does not think me a wonderful gift in his new married life. However, that is not my problem. Or is it? I think I need a seminar.
Transitioning back into the story, I have noticed one thing. Lately, Pami has been tested by her lack of formal training as well. As is the case tonight, she has had to dig deep within as well.
You need to understand that my wife is one of the most loving people you will ever meet. She feeds squirrels and birds, removes worms from puddled sidewalks, and I have been in the car when she has jumped from our vehicle to stop traffic. Thus allowing Prairie Dogs to safely cross. However, being a mother-in-law has displayed a chink in her armor.
Obviously, Pami’s concern for Wade’s current health issue was at this time slight at best. However, I knew it to be there. It was certain that I would hear of her concerned night’s restlessness over our morning coffee. I suspected, and she probably knew, that this anticipated restlessness was the cause of her current frustrated state. See, I told you it wasn’t easy. Me, I did not anticipate losing sleep.
Am I hard of heart? Right now, let us pretend that I am not. Here is why I do not anticipate losing sleep. This is Rebecca’s World. Wade, Rebecca, and the hospital staff of Wade Memorial Emergency Room, are all well acquainted. (No not the real name.) They are all BFF’s. The three of them have shared much time together. Time that was always resolved with antibiotics or placeboes. Sometimes, a doctor or nurse that does not want to play anymore administers a hypochondriac teaching moment. I like those best. (Hmm? Maybe I am hard of heart.)
‘Lantus’, 35 clicks, 35 units, flex-pen injected; my Hemoglobin needs were addressed. I was tucked and settled. The soft white light that was slicing from beneath the bathroom door loses its source. Pamila, weary and still tumbling in thought joins me. The silence was interrupted only by my feeling that the Rebecca’s World situation was not yet ready for a night’s rest. After few seconds of ‘Sleep stage 1, Calming’, Pami justified my feeling. “That child…” Quick that I am, I deciphered Rebecca as being that child. She continued; “Danny, did she seem happy to you today? I worry about her. I know something is bothering her. I don’t know what it is, but something.”
She seemed finished so I started; “I-”
“Never mind you weren’t really around much. Thanks for that by the way.” She apparently was not finished. I felt it was probably best to leave that alone. Tobias and the Incident at Monticello had consumed most of my time. She continued on my path of rudeness. “That stupid story get over it Danny. Damn Daniel you are consumed by that stupid story.” Story? It cannot just be a story, not anymore, not now.
Worlds were colliding; Rebecca’s World was crashing into mine. Pami turned from me; there was more colliding. “Did you re
ally have to tell that story today?” Rolling slightly back toward me. “Super Bowl Sunday. Your daughter’s birthday.” She regained her resting position. In a softer voice, but with no less meaning, she ended the cosmic disaster. “That creepy little man. Tobias! What a freak!” By now, I had become a victim of a Black Bear attack simply trying to survive. I laid motionless and silent. Seconds passed, and in a new voice, a friendly one, she said; “Goodnight. I love you Danny.” I chuckled as silently as I could. I knew she couldn’t hear me, but she must have felt motioned jocularity through the mattress. “Stop laughing! Jerk!” I rolled from her with sounding laughter. Another day done.
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