Middle Falls Time Travel Series (Book 4): The Final Life of Nathaniel Moon

by Inmon, Shawn

  When faced with these reactions, Nathaniel would switch over to more mainstream Chilean flute music or the like, and say, “My music is an acquired taste, like anchovies. Except eventually, some people learn to love anchovies."

  Nathaniel had a few life mottos. Chief among them was, “What other people think of me is none of my business.” Another was, “What is right, and what is easy, are rarely the same thing.” The one he had written on a piece of cardboard and stuck above his mixing board said, “Everything is impossible, until you see someone do it.”

  Nathaniel lived several miles outside the city limits of Middle Falls, on a small plot of land that had been created as a flag lot when several other plats of land had been subdivided. That gave him the advantage of having a smaller, less expensive piece of land that was surrounded by twenty acre parcels on all sides. His nearest neighbors were a quarter mile away in any direction, which gave him the privacy he cherished.

  Nathaniel had bought the land on a contract when he was just a year out of high school. However, he had continued to live at home with Violet for two years after graduating so he could pour all his modest salary from the hospital into getting the land paid off as quickly as possible. As soon as he managed that, he bought an old travel trailer, dropped it on the property, and moved in.

  As soon as Jon got back from U of O, he went to work for a small architectural firm in Middle Falls during the day, and he and Nathaniel designed the house that would eventually go on the property. They spent many nights in Jon’s small apartment, talking and dreaming over the plans, while Melissa occasionally brought the woman’s perspective to the proceedings, which was much-needed.

  Nathaniel lived in the travel trailer for five years, and grew most of his own food in the rich soil behind the site of his future house. During those years, Nathaniel saved his money. His goal was to be able to build the house, including all the improvements to the land, and own it free and clear the day it was completed.

  Nathaniel would have been content continuing to live in the travel trailer, but he had to admit that when you owned a dog the size of Brutus, a little more space was more than a luxury. When Brutus laid down in the middle of the floor of the tiny trailer, Nathaniel had to resort to elaborate gymnastic maneuvers to get around him.

  Not to mention that it was getting more and more difficult for Brutus to get up the tiny metal steps into the travel trailer. Because of the way Nathaniel had found Brutus, he had no way to know how old the dog was, but by 1999, he knew that Brutus was at least eleven years old, and almost certainly older. He noticed that Brutus was moving slower, his joints were stiffer, and his eyesight was failing. Every dog lover knows and dreads the pattern of a dog’s life—that eventually the suffering of the dog outweighs the potential grief at losing a companion.

  But other dog lovers did not have the options that Nathaniel Moon did. When the day came that he knew Brutus was suffering, Nathaniel sat in the grass with him and laid a hand on top of his head. Brutus closed his eyes and laid his massive head on Nathaniel’s knee. His trusting brown eyes looked into Nathaniel’s.

  Nathaniel couldn’t talk to Brutus, of course—he wasn’t Dr. Doolittle—but he did what he could to communicate with him. What do you want, my constant friend? For me to make you young again, or to be released to whatever is next for you? You have been such a positive presence in my life. I would miss you if you were gone, but I want to do what’s best for you. For your mighty spirit.

  It would seem that having the power to deny death and restore health would be a wonderful gift, but Nathaniel knew the truth of it. Long-extended life, even a pain-free life, was not always desired, and the Law of Unintended Consequences always raised its head. He had vowed to never extend the life of anyone or anything without knowing if that was what they wished.

  They sat together for long, silent minutes, soaking up the sunshine, Nathaniel stroking Brutus’s ears and scratching between his eyes. Five minutes later, they both stood, but this time Brutus’s joints were no longer stiff, and his rheumy eyes had cleared. He put his head down between his feet, shook his head, and woofed like he hadn’t done in years.

  When Nathaniel had “fixed” Pup Spitton years before, he was too young to know, but whoever or whatever Nathaniel fixed, stayed fixed. So it was with Brutus, who would never have so much as a touch of arthritis for the rest of his exceptionally long life. Now, so many years after they had first found each other, Brutus was as young and healthy as he had ever been—he still jumped up into Nathaniel’s pickup truck when it was time to go for a drive, and he still spent happy hours fruitlessly chasing rabbits and squirrels behind the house.

  From the road, Nathaniel’s house looked modest, and it was, in many ways. Middle Falls was famous for having a high water table, so basements were rare, but the soil on Nathaniel’s property drained well, so that had given him the perfect place for his dream musical studio. Above ground, the house was small—eleven hundred square feet, although it was only that big because Jon insisted on it. Left to his own devices, Nathaniel would have had a much smaller footprint.

  “I know you could live in a space the size of the travel trailer, but eventually you might want to have a wife, and she’s not going to want to live in a house the size of a closet. Besides, you need a second bedroom so that when your best friend crashes for the night, he doesn’t have to sleep on the couch, or God forbid, a hide-a-bed.”

  Nathaniel laughed at the thought of his bulky best friend attempting to sleep on a hide-a-bed, with a metal bar firmly across his shoulders. He relented, and Jon designed him a lovely two-bedroom house with a great room concept built around a massive river rock fireplace and an A-frame window that looked out on the forested hills behind his house. The house was small, but the finishes and flat surfaces were straight out of Property Brothers.

  The day Nathaniel and Jon packed the last of the tools away and vacuumed up the last of the sawdust, they sat on the patio on the back deck, and enjoyed the accomplishment of something they had built with their own hands. They each nursed a beer and watched the sun set behind the tree covered hill.

  Nathaniel tipped his Budweiser toward Jon and said, “Thank you, brother, for everything you did. It’s perfect. Without you, I would still be living in the travel trailer. Seems like you’ve been doing me favors since the first day I met you down at the creek. I owe you.”

  Jon nodded. “I’m sure I’ll cash that all in someday, when one of your songs hits the Top 40.”

  They both laughed at that ludicrous idea.

  Sitting in rickety lawn chairs, squinting into the setting sun, Jon took a long look at Nathaniel and said, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you all these years. I almost told you that very first day, when you got dunked in the creek, but I didn’t, and then I just never knew how to bring it up. Today, putting the finishing touches on your house, seems like the time. Are you up for an unbelievable story?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jon took a long drag on his beer, crumpled the can, and fished another out of the cooler that sat between them. Nathaniel sat quietly, staring out at the hills.

  “This isn’t my first lifetime.”

  I don’t think this is the first lifetime for any of us, Jon.

  “My first life was both the same, and completely different, if that makes sense. I mean, I was born here in Middle Falls, and everything was the same—same parents, same friends growing up, everything. Except in that life, I played sports. A lot. In high school, I played basketball, baseball, football and track. Sometimes I had to run straight from a track meet to a baseball game. I loved that.”

  He cracked the beer open with a satisfying psssht sound.

  “The University of Oregon recruited me, but told me they wanted me to concentrate on football, so I gave up everything else. I went to Oregon then, just like I did in this life, but I didn’t study architecture, I mostly studied how to be a big man on campus while taking the easiest classes I could find.”

>   Jon was silent for a moment, reflecting.

  “I’ll be honest. I wasn’t a very good dude. Too much success, too early, went to my head, and I was pretty certain my feces were of the non-smelly variety, if you know what I mean.”

  Nathaniel smiled and nodded in understanding.

  “I got drafted by the Oakland Raiders to play middle linebacker. I wasn’t one of those first round draft picks, but I still got enough money to do whatever I wanted, I guess. Problem was, I couldn’t really think of anything I did want. I never got married, never had kids.” He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine life without Melissa and Katie. That’s probably why I’m not rich, but I am happy in this life, instead of having more money than sense in that one. Anyway, back then, we didn’t know much about concussions and brain injuries and CTE. Not like we know now.”

  Unconsciously, Jon ran his fingers through his close-cropped hair, as if feeling the impact of some of those blows across the lifetimes.

  “I had five concussions, or maybe I should say five registered concussions. A lot of times, we just called it getting your bell rung or a stinger. Whatever you want to call them, they added up, and they did something to me. Before I was even out of football, I was having trouble remembering defensive formations. Two years after I retired, I had to write down my address, in case I couldn’t find my way home. That’s bad enough, but there were worse things. I was angry all the time. I lashed out at everyone, but mostly, anybody that tried to get close to me. One day, I raised my hand to hit my girlfriend, and that was it. The look on her face stopped me, thank God.”

  He drained off half the fresh beer in one long pull.

  “I went straight home, typed up my suicide note, donating my brain to study the effects of all those concussions, then put a gun to my chest and pulled the trigger. Here’s how lost I was: as I lay there on my bed, about to pull the trigger to kill myself, all I could think about was whether ESPN would interrupt their programming to announce I’d done it, or if it would just be a throwaway at the end of Sportscenter.” Jon chuckled a little, but it was a bitter, tinny laugh. “You’d think that would be the end of it, right? I should have gone on to whatever’s next?”

  “You would think,” Nathaniel said.

  “But I didn’t. The next thing I knew, I felt like I was falling. Here’s the weird part. My mom reached out and caught me to keep from falling on my face. My mom, who had died almost ten years before me. We were walking through the Safeway parking lot, and she reached out and caught me like it was no big deal, like I had been there the whole time. It was like my whole life was given a do-over. It took me a while to wrap my head around it, I’ll admit. Eventually, I figured out that I had been given a second chance, although I have no idea why.”

  He turned and looked at Nathaniel.

  “Thirty years later, I still don’t understand any of it. But, when I came to in my ten year old body, everything that had been wrong with me was gone. No more headaches, or uncontrollable anger. It really was a second chance. So, I decided a couple of things. First, I would never step on a football field again. Second, I would try to make up for what a jerk I was by stopping bullying every chance I got.”

  Jon smiled. “That’s where you came into the picture. I didn’t remember you at all from my first life, but when I went back to school, I saw you everywhere, and you were always being so cool with people, and people went out of their way to bully you. You never fought back, but you never let them get to you, either. I decided whatever you had, that’s what I wanted. I saw my chance when Craig pushed you down in Miller’s Creek that day. Sorry I didn’t get there quite in time.”

  Nathaniel grinned at the memory. “No problem. It was a good beginning for us.”

  “I always figured that maybe the same thing had happened to you—that you had just lived this life so many times that you had everything figured out.”

  “Do I have everything figured out? Doesn’t feel like it most days.”

  “Well, you certainly do more than I, or anybody else I know, does.”

  “No, I am not living the same life over and over.” Nathaniel paused and thought back over the many lives he had lived. “I’ve only lived each life once. It just shows you how many different ways things are done in our universe. We are all spiritual beings, having a human experience, but doing so in different ways. I’m sure that’s a metaphor for something, if I wanted to think about it.”

  “So, how come you are the way you are? I’ve never known anyone like you.”

  “Before I was even born, I decided to bring some of the memories with me into this world. When I was a little boy, I used some of those memories to save a man’s life. Then, I did it again, and stopped a boy from dying. That didn’t turn out so well. We got some unwanted attention and made a run for it. That’s how we came to Middle Falls. After that, Mom asked me to not do it, so we didn’t have to run again.” He drained the rest of the beer and set it down on the deck. “It’s made for an interesting life so far. A constant tightrope walk, wanting to use what I can do to help people, while still wanting to be left alone to live the life I want to live. Sometimes, it feels selfish, but I do what I can to help people.”

  “Not just people,” Jon said, pointedly looking at Brutus, at least thirty years old with the energy of a pup.

  Nathaniel nodded in agreement. “Not just people. Change is coming, though. I know it. Eventually, I’m going to fall off this tightrope, and I have no idea if there’s a net below or not.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Nathaniel Moon pushed a wide broom down a side hallway of Middle Falls Hospital. It was a little after 8:00 p.m., and he had four hours left on his shift. Nathaniel’s mind was as quiet as the patients who lay asleep in the beds in the Critical Care Unit. His broom whispered over the linoleum floor in a pattern he had traced thousands of times.

  Nathaniel glanced into Room 3218. An old man lay awake, staring at the ceiling, drawing one labored breath after another. His mouth was open, and each breath sounded like the wind whistling through a forest in winter.

  Nathaniel paused, almost imperceptibly, and reached into the room with his mind.

  As good a place as any.

  Nathaniel returned to his pushcart, retrieved the dustpan and collected the dirt that had tracked in on people’s feet in the last 24 hours. He pushed his cart into the janitor’s closet at the end of the hall, retrieved his brown bag lunch, and returned to Room 3218.

  When he walked in, there was a nurse bustling around the room. “Can I help you?”

  “Hello, you must be Shelley, the new nurse. I’m Nathaniel.”

  “Ahhh, the famous Nathaniel. I think I heard more about you than I did anything else in my training.”

  “I’m just the night janitor, but I often spend my lunch hour in with the critical care patients, if they don’t have any other visitors.”

  “So I hear. It’s a bit unusual, allowing non-family members as visitors at night, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose. I’ve been doing it for years. For many, this wing is their final stop, and I hate to see them alone, with no visitors, so I do what I can.”

  “Right. That’s the word I got. One of the nurses said you’re better with the patients than all the doctors in the hospital put together. That you’re some kind of miracle worker.”

  “Oh, no, not at all. As I said, I’m just a janitor.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Everyone here knows you’re more than that, and from the way they talk about you, everyone loves you for it.”

  Nathaniel smiled but changed the subject away from himself. “That’s always good to hear, isn’t it? So what is this gentleman’s name?”

  “This is Mr. Isaac Donelly. I’m not sure how much company he will be for you. He hasn’t spoken a word since they brought him in. He just stares at the ceiling, or sleeps.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with keeping your own counsel. If more people did, the world would be a happier place, don’t you think?�
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  Shelley stopped, thought for a moment, and finally said, “You’re right, you’re right.” She bustled out of the room chuckling slightly to herself. “You’re a strange one, Mr. Moon.”

  Nathaniel sat in the chair next to the bed and unrolled the brown bag in his lap. He was a light eater, and tonight he had a container of brown rice that he had sprinkled some Sriracha sauce over.

  He spooned rice into his mouth and chewed contemplatively. A moment later, he said, “Good evening, Mr. Donelly. How are you, sir?”

  Mr. Donelly, who, other than blinking, hadn’t moved in more than twelve hours, turned his head to stare at Nathaniel. He closed his mouth with a wet slap, but his wheezing breath continued unchanged. After many long seconds of contemplation, he said, “I’m goddamn dying here, aren’t I? What’s it to you?”

  Nathaniel dabbed at his mouth with a paper towel.

  Isaac Donelly peered closer at Nathaniel, taking in his dark wavy hair and the gray work shirt that had his name stitched over the pocket.

  “You the custodian or something?”

  “I am,” Nathaniel agreed.

  “No way to run a hospital, I’ll tell you. Having the custodial staff harassing the patients.”

  “What did you do for a living, Mr. Donelly?”

  “I was a photographer.”

  Nathaniel waited patiently. He had drawn out thousands of these conversations over the years, and knew the virtue of patience.

  “Not one of those fancy, ‘take a picture of a mountain and pretend it’s art’ kind of photographers, either. I owned my own shop, then worked for Sears for twenty years, working with the same crummy backgrounds over and over, trying to get the same bratty kids to smile.”

  Nathaniel nodded, but still didn’t speak.

  “Lost that job in ’91, though.” His eyes grew distant as he sorted through the memories he hadn’t ordered in a long time. “Then I went to work for one of those car sales rags. Spent my days driving from one piddly-ass town to another, taking pictures of cars no one wanted. Say, my throat’s awful dry. Can you help me get a drink of that water?”