The Island of Ted

by Jason Cunningham

  Delores showed me in. The house was a wreck, no doubt the result of losing a husband and facing the sobering thought of having to raise two young children, all in the span of three weeks. But even so, I could see that she was trying. An older woman took the kids into the living room as Delores showed me the kitchen. A few Hallmark cards lined her refrigerator, along with a crayon drawing of a tall man in police uniform with a big red heart around him. Written at the bottom of the page were the words:

  Miss you daddy! Sleep tight!

  For some reason that picture and the simple, child-like perspective behind it landed on me like a ton of bricks. I hadn’t cried since my father passed away but I had already developed a sizable lump in my throat and a wet glaze over my eyes. I fought back the temptation to let it all go and just sucked it up, the way men do. Delores, who was observing me carefully, was even more confused than before. She eased me into a chair like a nurturing mother whose child had just skinned a knee.

  “Sir, would you like something to drink? I have… well… water. But I can go to the store if you’d prefer something with more flavor.”

  “No, I’m fine, but thanks.”

  “Were you a friend of Eddie’s?” She asked.

  “I didn’t know your husband, Mrs. Jackson. I just came here because I wanted to talk to you. You see, I might be able to… improve your situation.”

  “Have we met?” she asked curiously.

  “Listen, my parents died when I was fairly young but they had set up this trust fund which allowed me to go through school and not have to worry about paying for rent or groceries. That trust fund wasn’t able to bring my parents back but it helped me attain a certain position in life. And that’s the reason I’m here tonight.”

  I continued, “I know what I’m about to do will in no sense bring your husband back or change the pain in your heart but…”

  I took out my checkbook and tore off a pre-written check for a half-million dollars. Who knows why I chose that amount but it seemed a good, round figure. I passed the check to her quivering hand and felt a load drop from my back. The feeling was uncanny. There was a moment of disbelief and then her eyes began to well up with tears. She covered her mouth and tried to speak.

  “Why are you doing this?” she sobbed.

  “Because I can.”

  “But why me? There’s a million people in this city and at least a dozen on this block who could use this more than me. I don’t deserve this.”

  “I have my convictions so let’s please leave it at that. I need you to deposit this into your account first thing in the morning. The bank will require you to go through a mediator due to the large sum. That’s perfectly normal; they aren’t trying to scam you. Just sign the legal documents they present to you and have them call my office to verify that the funds are available.”

  Delores looked at me like I was a life raft in the middle of the ocean but I felt the same way toward her. She nodded her head while smiling through tears.

  “Your name is Ted?” she inquired.

  “Yes. Theodore Preston LaSalle.”

  “That’s a good name. From now on that name will be held in the highest regard in my family. I’m going to hug everyone I meet named Ted.”

  “Uh oh, be careful with that kind of affection – you’re a pretty happening chick.”

  Happening chick? I’m such a dork.

  We both smiled and laughed. I spent another couple of hours with Delores and her kids, not wanting it to end. She told me they had been praying for something to happen since her husband’s life insurance wasn’t enough to get them through financially. They walked me to my car and saw me off with tears of joy, much to the bewilderment of the gentlemen still standing on the corner. I felt a strange sense of family being around Delores and her kids and by the way she welcomed me into her home when she thought I had nothing to offer. Just a couple of weeks earlier her story broke on the evening news and it threw acclaimed screenwriter, Richard Crowntree, into a world of desperation and hopelessness. But despite the way things went down with the film, something truly good came out of this and Richard would be proud, though I’d never tell him what I had done. My father used to tell me: To boast is to invite calamity to your front porch. Pops knew what he was talking about.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Looking out over the city from my office, I contemplated the next move. Things were dicey with Roger but something had occurred to me over the course of the past few weeks: I no longer enjoyed producing movies. I got into this business because I had an overpowering desire to create stories that last – the kind that change people. I wanted a life that didn’t involve tiptoeing around Roger Graham. What I wanted, in reality, was freedom. And that meant writing the great American screenplay.

  I installed some screenwriting software on my office computer and started out with a simple opening. They say to write what you know.

  FADE IN:

  INT. OFFICE – DAY

  A tall man with unkempt hair thought about asking out his assistant on a date. He was pensive.

  There was a light knock on the door and Teresa entered my office wearing a well-matched skirt suit, carrying a stack of papers to my desk. I didn’t want her to see what I was writing so instead of trying to swivel the monitor away, and look suspicious, my fingers hit the keyboard in a random fashion, typing a fake URL into the address bar. Much to my chagrin, a porn site popped up just as Teresa looked over. Ouch.

  “Oh no… I must have typed in the wrong address – this is not my kind of thing,” I said as my face turned three shades of red.

  Teresa smiled politely.

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  She took my empty mug of coffee and walked toward the door. I didn’t need a refill but it was too painful to speak at that moment.

  And then something odd happened. Teresa stopped in front of the door and turned to me slowly with a worried, almost motherly, expression on her face.

  “Ted,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Yes, Teresa?”

  “You should maybe get out, ya know?”

  I looked at her, puzzled.

  “Out? As in…?”

  “Meet some people. Make some friends.”

  “Jerry’s my friend.”

  “He’s your agent. There’s a difference.”

  I was beginning to sense that Teresa saw me as some kind of sappy loser with no knowledge of the social world. That would have been accurate but I needed cover.

  “Hey, you know me by now. I’m a man who values his privacy. Some people need close friends or whatever to feel complete. I don’t. My work is very fulfilling.”

  She quickly apologized, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. That was intrusive.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “Some people just prefer to be alone in life. Loners, you know – James Dean was a loner.”

  That was weak and she knew it. I was trying too hard to convince her that I preferred things the way they were.

  “I just worry about you sometimes.”

  “Why would you worry about me?” I said, a little too enthusiastically.

  “Well,” she started. “I know things aren’t going all that well with Roger. He’s a bit of a nightmare to have to deal with. Having someone you can talk to about things – it really helps.”

  I felt the urge to ask her out but resisted. I had an extreme dislike for guys who hit on women who work for them. I just found it creepy and would prefer to drink boiling acid than have Teresa ever see me that way. So I let the moment pass and said, “Thanks, Teresa. You’re right.”

  She smiled warmly and walked out.

  • • •

  My house seemed lonelier than ever that night. Even the perfectly chilled glass of Château Margaux and breezy notes of Tchaikovsky didn’t lift my mood. Since the usual tricks were no longer working, I decided to take Teresa’s advice and get out of the house. I needed to be around people.

  On restless nights, I liked
to take a boardwalk stroll down Navy Pier, which looks out over the vast waters of Lake Michigan. It provided a beautiful view of the Chicago skyline as well.

  There was a light snow falling when I got to the Pier and noticed that it had been closed down for the evening.

  “Where is everyone?” I thought to myself.

  It was a rare occasion when I actually felt like being social, so what gives? I looked down at my watch and saw that it was a little past midnight. I then realized that it was a Wednesday evening and most people don’t have the luxury of walking around at midnight during the week.

  Although the chilly night air was beginning to pierce my lungs with each breath, I was mesmerized by the beauty around me. The wind blowing in from Lake Michigan had created this gentle ballet of snowdrifts and prompted a rather dreamlike atmosphere. There I stood, among the shifting patterns of snow, illuminated by street lamps glowing overhead. It was pure bliss, and no one was around. I felt alone while surrounded by skyscrapers and the sensation of snowflakes hitting my skin.

  That’s when I heard the voice.

  It was a woman’s voice, faint in the distance. I couldn’t see through the drifting snow but that sound was definitely human. I moved forward blindly, trying to discern its origin. As I moved closer and closer toward the source, I was able to make out the words.

  “Help me!”

  I ran as fast as I could toward the voice and through the thick snow I saw a woman being thrown to the ground by a large man. I ran so fast it felt like I was in warp-speed, kicking up a trail of white dust behind me.

  I can’t possibly be running this fast! I thought to myself while shooting toward the end of the street in this weird, hypnotic state. My heart was beating so fast it was all I could hear, besides the crunching snow under foot.

  The guy looked up just as I smashed into him with a full-speed tackle! We immediately hit the ground and it felt like running head first into a brick wall. There was a flash of blackness and an intense pain between my eyes. I was dazed and couldn’t find my balance. The focus in my eyes was all but lost.

  For a moment I groped around, trying to regain my bearings. Where was I? Had I just tackled a fully grown man? A shooting pain went through my head, from ear to ear. I then caught a glimpse of the helpless woman, her right cheek swollen and red.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt someone take hold of my waist and I was airborne! My feet were well above my head when I crashed down hard onto the sidewalk. The man jumped on top of me and began aggressively punching me in the face, but I couldn’t see anything. I began to choke on the snow as it traveled down the back of my throat, mixed with the awful, metallic taste of blood.

  “DO SOMETHING!” I said to myself. “DO SOMETHING BEFORE YOU GET KILLED!”

  Although I was totally numb to the punches, I seriously thought I might suffocate from the snow collapsing into my face. It was terrifying not to see what was happening, even if the snow was buffering the punches a bit. Still dizzy and battered, I somehow managed to roll him off me. I got to my feet, head spinning and no sense of direction, and saw the man going once more for the woman I assumed was his girlfriend. She shouted, “Stop it, Steven! Just stop it! Help me, please!”

  I once more stumbled toward the man and latched onto him from behind in some sort of bear hug. We fell to the ground in such a way that I was able to wrap my forearm around his neck. I squeezed and squeezed with all my might with what felt like inhuman strength. I knew that choking him unconscious would allow me and the woman to flee to safety so there was no way I was letting go! The blood and tension rushing into my forearms caused them to cramp up. The pain was unbearable but I continued to squeeze.

  Suddenly, I heard my voice involuntarily scream out in pain! It took a moment to realize what was happening. I felt a sharp, searing pain in my back and all my muscles locked up at once. I fell over onto my side, unable to move. The man got to his feet and I saw the woman I had rescued standing over me holding a large folding knife.

  “Get his wallet! Hurry up!” she urged.

  I felt paralyzed as I lay there in the snow with two strangers pilfering through my pockets. The woman grabbed my money clip, removed my cash, and tossed the clip back down onto my face. And then, in a flash, they were gone – and I was alone. I blinked once and then lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Suddenly I felt warm and when I opened my eyes the room was so bright it burned them. After a moment of adjustment, it became clear that I was in a hospital bed. A nurse poked her head into the room and when she saw that I was awake she smiled and moved toward me.

  “Do you know where you are?” she asked.

  “The Critical Care Unit of Mercy Hospital?”

  She grinned and said, “That’s a pretty good guess. But we’ve moved you out of Critical Care.”

  I saw that the woman looked Polynesian so I asked where she was from.

  “I grew up in LA but I was born in the Philippines. Why do you ask?”

  In a split second my mind traveled back to that fifth grade nurse’s lounge and the map. I wanted to ask her if it was a nice place where people didn’t stab you in the back – both literally and figuratively.

  “You were on the news earlier,” she said. “They did a quick piece on you but didn’t know your name or anything. ”

  I began to say something and then passed out.

  After a few hours of very bizarre dreams I woke up sweating. They must’ve given me some wicked drugs because I didn’t feel a thing, not even a twinge of pain in my back. Everything was numb. I grabbed my cell phone from the little plastic tray beside the bed and flipped it open. There was not a single missed call. I was disappointed for a second, and then realized nobody had a clue what had happened to me.

  I flipped on the small TV that was mounted on the wall, a far cry from the type of set-up I had back home. I found a local news station and nearly jumped out of bed when I saw a familiar face!

  Delores Jackson’s profile was on the screen as a reporter informed us of breaking news. I couldn’t help but wonder if the press had discovered our little secret but I was hoping to keep her out of the limelight, for the sake of her kids. I also hoped Delores had not seen me on the news because she’d be scared out of her wits.

  “The thirty-one year old Jackson, whose police officer husband was shot to death recently while on duty, was driving erratically last evening when police tried to pull her over. Not responding, the state trooper shot out her back tires and the car flipped and then slammed into a tree, killing her instantly. Friends of Jackson say she had a history of epilepsy. A toxicology report will determine whether or not alcohol was involved in the incident but friends of the family tell us she was not a drinker.”

  My heart sank to my stomach. I just stared at the television as they moved on to the next story. I tried to talk, just to hear someone’s voice, but only a deep groan came out. I began to sob in a manner that I had not known before and the moment overtook me. Feeling I had no control whatsoever, I chucked the remote at the TV and shattered the screen!

  A couple of nurses ran into the room, thinking I had hurt myself. Still in a state of severe shock and panic, I began yelling at them.

  “THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO GOOD PEOPLE! THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO HONEST WOMEN! TO WIDOWS! I HATE THIS PLACE! I HATE ALL OF YOU! IT’S NOT FAIR… IT’S NOT FAIR… it’s not… fair.”

  My voice trailed off as they sedated me with some kind of needle. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed about Delores and her kids. They were all around a big Christmas tree, opening presents. Everyone was so happy as I watched them from the kitchen. This was my family and they brought me a great deal of joy.

  Then I woke up in searing pain.

  • • •

  I spent a week in the hospital but it was three days before I apologized to the nurses whom I had verbally assaulted. The pain in my back would go from dull to unimaginably painful all in the span of five seconds, and it would often k
nock me off my feet.

  When I finally called Teresa to tell her what had happened, she panicked and insisted on coming over right away, which I thought was sweet. But I didn’t want her to see me in such a weary state, so I said it wasn’t all that bad. She persisted so I told her they weren’t allowing any visitors. Her voice sounded hurt, which made me feel terrible. We said our goodbyes and I had a hard time pressing the END button on my phone. The truth is, I was in a bad place. I was mad at the world. My cynicism had finally birthed in me something very, very dark and I was even afraid to assess my current state of mind.

  CHAPTER

  10

  I spent the next month working from home. The pain medications eventually became unnecessary and the scar healed up fairly well. What had not healed was my distrust of people and I sincerely questioned whether being kind to others was noble or naïve. Within a very short time span, I had attempted to help two individuals and both of those monumental efforts had netted zero results.

  I couldn’t get over the fact that Delores was dead. Like we all suspected, it was later confirmed that she had no traces of alcohol in her blood at the time of the accident. The poor girl had just fallen into a seizure and the officer who blew her tires out was only doing his job, trying to prevent the harm he ultimately caused. It’s one of those situations that doesn’t fall into black-and-white categories but, rather, resides somewhere in the gray area. It’s those thoughts that torment my mind the most. What could’ve been done to prevent such a tragedy? Perhaps nothing.

  Sleep had become difficult. Every time I began to drift off I’d see Delores and her kids exchanging gifts under that ugly, but earnest, Christmas tree. I wondered what would become of her children, but the thought was too depressing to entertain so I didn’t even go there.

  I also mused over the stabbing and why it had occurred. To be perfectly honest, the answer to that never quite materialized. Why would a person so viciously turn on another who is only trying to help – someone who’s putting his life on the line for a stranger! In the moment, and even afterward, the experience was so surreal that I could barely piece together the events of that night. And yet a month later, I couldn’t get those same events out of my mind.