Mendez Genesis

by Edward Hancock II

  My Daddy. What’s wrong with my Daddy?

  She gave in just enough to allow The Innocent a few precious moments of affection. There was work to be done. Time was important. The Innocent kissed Alex on the cheek and, somewhat contented, relinquished control.

  “Good girl,” She said out loud, “I’ll take care of your Daddy, Honey. You just rest.” Her eyes closed and she listened to the sounds of the beeping machines, humming monitors and whooshing respirators. It was time, She told herself. “Everyone has a job to do, Alex,” She whispered. Her head began listing from side to side, almost as if it was trying to tear itself from the very neck on which it rested. “Even you.”

  Especially you.

  She held out her hands, palms facing up. Her head fell gently backwards, Her thoughts became centered. Her body seemed to be trying to transform, as if the power inside risked tearing apart the frail, fragile shell that was human existence. Her already brown hair–the color of rich, creamy coffee– darkened to shades nearer to Coca-Cola. Her eyes, once hazel, were now a deep dark ebony, nearly as black as the pupils that dilated dramatically behind the closed eyelids. Her skin seemed drained of all its color. Instantly, Christina Mendez’s fleshy shell grew devoid of any semblance of her Latin-American bloodline. The Innocent again grew scared.

  “Now now,” She thought calmly.

  The Innocent fought to be aware, but She pushed back until, at last, The Innocent grew quiet. Still afraid, She realized, but compliant. For now that would have to do. Her hands rose to shoulder height, arms slightly bent. An orange-red glowing sphere, about the size of a quarter, hovered gently above each open palm, spinning, swimming inside small spherical oceans of light. They grew larger even as the light they radiated grew ever brighter. The bed rattled and shook gently, but no alarm sounded to alert anyone. The heartbeat monitor recorded Alex’s strengthening tympani. A low humming materialized in the room, soft, barely audible to human ears but growing louder as the small spheres of light grew with increasingly bright orange hue. There was a small crashing sound on the far side of the room, hardly loud but noticeable, dangerously distracting. She fought to keep concentration; not an easy task given the limitations to which The Innocent subjected her.

  * * *

  Lisa didn’t lie when she said that the captain had called Dr. Conrad. Turned out he was a personal friend and was more than happy to oblige a fellow A&M alum. It wasn’t a lie that Christina was authorized to visit Alex. So if Nurse Thompkins wanted to check with her boss, far be it from Lisa to stop her.

  “I have to check with Dr. Conrad,” Nurse Thompkins insisted.

  “You do that. We’ll be in Alex’s room if you need us.”

  Breaking glass. What the…

  Christina?

  * * *

  Footsteps in the hallway. Must hurry. Someone’s coming. Had someone heard the crash?

  More footsteps! Must hurry. Alex!

  “Life!”

  * * *

  The sound of glass breaking had roused Lisa out of her concentrated frustration. It was then that she realized Christina had wandered off. Frightened, Lisa called for her daughter, pushed past the nurses and trotted hurriedly toward her husband’s door. Whether in Alex’s room or not, the crashing sound definitely came from that direction. Behind her, Lisa heard an alarm beeping at the nurse’s station. It was definitely not a simple call button going off. This was a distressed monitor alerting its master of the need for assistance. Nonetheless, Lisa continued toward the closed door of her husband’s hospital room. It was as if a pair of vice grip pliers had a hold of her and was tugging her by her insides toward Alex’s room. Through some mental faculty she couldn’t explain, Lisa told herself that Christina would be with Alex. And she was. Sitting on the bed beside Alex, stroking his face as he gently patted her tiny leg.

  “Oh my God!” Lisa gasped. Looking toward the door, startled, confused, weak, he smiled. A weak smile, hindered by tubes, vents and stress. Still, the most beautiful smile Lisa could ever remember seeing from him.

  “Mommy!” Christina chirped excitedly, “Look! I fixed Daddy!”

  Lisa almost fainted.

  Part II

  Chapter 8 ~

  Alex might have been weak but he was back. To Lisa, that was what mattered most. He could talk to her – well sort of. He couldn’t exactly speak yet – not well anyway – but at least he could answer simple questions. He could nod and shake his head. He could tell the doctors where it hurt. Finally, Lisa thought, they could make him better. He was still too weak to give any sustained physical exertion, but they had already started mild physical therapy, which mostly consisted of leg massages and simple, not to mention subtle, movements of his extremities designed to restore usefulness in a body that lay essentially motionless for many days. They had to spark his circulation if there was to be any chance of healing Alex.

  The doctors had suggested something called passive exercises. Lisa wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but if it meant having Alex back healthy she’d walk over broken glass, butt naked with a flaming crocodile chasing her. Doctors had tested his sensation pretty extensively and from what Lisa could tell, they were at the very least concerned about the results. No one had told her anything yet but it wasn’t too hard to tell Alex wasn’t flinching when being poked in the foot, shin or knee with pens or small metal rods. Needles lightly passed over his skin appeared to provide nothing in the way of sensation. No tickling, no discomfort and, for Lisa anyway, no comfort.

  If there was any good news it was that his arms didn’t seem to bear any lasting ill effects. Though weak, it appeared to Lisa that he would possess full use of his upper body once his strength returned. As bad as she wanted to cry, Lisa knew she had to stay strong for everyone. Christina would need to be reassured. Alex was going to need more than she could think of, for certain. Physically, emotionally, financially, and every other way imaginable, this was going to take all the Mendez family had and more. Though he was no longer on a respirator, Alex’s speech had not yet returned. He could make raspy, gurgle-like noises when he mouthed words, but the sounds were nonsensical and basically formless. Every now and then, he’d get a word out that made sense but, as with everything else, he was still too weak for any prolonged attempts. At times, Alex’s gurgling attempts at speech reminded Lisa of Chewbacca from the Star Wars movies. The doctors said that it was to be expected, but that he might start talking within a couple days. His vocal cords had to get used to not being obstructed, just as they’d had to become accustomed to the ventilator tube. Until then, Lisa would have to deal with her husband’s inability to communicate verbally. But she knew better than to waste time kicking herself for not engaging in the study of Wookie lingo.

  Aside from the breathing tube, there was possible brain trauma, which in a majority of cases damages the vocal cords almost as much as the breathing tube itself. Speech therapy, patience and time would hopefully help Alex find his voice again. There were setbacks, sure. But Lisa was surprisingly prepared to accept the hard work that lay ahead. She had made arrangements to have their house modified with the necessary handrails, ramps, lifts and other equipment. Tim St. James, Mike’s cousin, had been quite an asset. He’d literally almost done the entire job by himself and had done it far more quickly than Lisa ever thought possible. That whole family must be in the miracle business, she thought.

  The social worker had been just as helpful as Mike said she would be, acting as both counselor for Lisa and a resource for everything she seemed to need to prepare her home for Alex’s pending arrival. Both she and Mike had even managed to stop by the house on occasion to make sure everything was going well and if Lisa needed anything. Lisa was admittedly overwhelmed at the thought of all the changes being made to their once sacred home. As welcome as it might have been, Lisa still felt as if her home was being invaded – intruded upon – by the ramp-builders, social workers, toilet seat installers, lift chair delivery men, carpenters, plumbers, designers, advisors, etc. She ofte
n found herself wondering what on Earth they would do with all the unneeded modifications once Alex was whole again. Maybe sell the house, Lisa thought. Sell it and start over, somewhere that was sacred. Somewhere whose only intruder had been the men responsible for laying the foundation, putting up the walls and completing the task of building the castle in which they would someday live out their fairytale retirement.

  Though he wasn’t yet in talking shape, Lisa made sure to tell Alex everything that had gone on while he was away. That was how she had decided to refer to it, quite simply because it made it easier on her to accept than it might have been had she actually acknowledged how close she’d came to losing her husband. “While you were away…” sounded much more like he’d been gone on a business trip, on an extended stakeout or perhaps just away on vacation visiting his Aunt Rita in Tucson. Lisa had prepared him as best she could for his arrival home. It might still be a while away, but she wanted Alex to know that nothing was going to stop them from having as normal a life as possible. And she wanted to give him time to adjust to the changes. She secretly hoped that it would help the adjustment go more smoothly for everyone. This was going to be horrifying for Christina, no doubt. Even for a child of nearly five years, even one as smart and together as Christina, this was not going to be easily digested. How would Christina take to having her Daddy come home in less than perfect condition? It hadn’t bothered Christina nearly as much as Lisa had anticipated seeing Alex in his hospital bed. She’d gotten rather lucky to show up on the day Alex decided to wake up.

  Lisa knew that the probability of Alex obtaining the miracle of walking before coming home would be far too much to expect. All things being equal, Alex was going to come home in a wheelchair, probably still sounding like Chewbacca after a month of studying Hooked On Phonics cassettes. His condition had slowly improved. In the last few days, it had improved enough that Lisa made arrangements for Alex to be moved out of the small, sterile ICU and into a private room on the third floor. The nurses stationed on the third floor were quite friendly, a stark contrast to the stuffy nurses she seemed to find collected in the ICU. One in particular enjoyed a mutual admiration for Christina. Doctor Mike had begun to make regular visits to Alex’s hospital room. While he’d stopped by the house a couple of times to check on the progress of his cousin’s work, his visits at the hospital were more frequent, almost daily, and centered mostly on him getting acquainted with Alex. Lisa learned a lot about him too, both personally and professionally. He was a fifth year resident, not quite a full-fledged doctor but very much respected among his peers.

  He was single – widowed actually, having lost his wife and daughter “some years ago.” His faith in an afterlife was borne out of tragedy, he admitted. “Some people lose a loved one and choose to lay down and die themselves,” Mike said. “Not me. I knew what Elizabeth would have me do. She was always praying. She was a faithful churchgoer. She gave, even if it meant she went without. She was everything in life that I refused to be until her death. The only thing she ever asked of me was to go to church with her, pray with her, but I refused. Heck I wouldn’t even listen to her. I think at first I wondered if her death was God’s way of punishing me for not listening to her. Of getting my attention. But then I realized how stupid that was. I realized that her death wasn’t God’s punishment on me. Her life – both hers and Lilly’s, that was my daughter – was God’s gift to me. He had put angels into my life and, for whatever reason, taken them away. Maybe he thought I was too stubborn to listen and that I was not worthy. Maybe he knew how I would react to the loss. Maybe Elizabeth had another mission to carry out. I don’t know. But losing Elizabeth and Lilly was all it took. God had given me a great gift but had never taught me how to appreciate it. But it wasn’t up to Him, really. The human mind thinks it unfair to give someone a gift and then not tell him how to use it. God wonders at the fairness of giving someone a gift and then telling him how they should use it. After all, isn’t that what a gift is supposed to be? Free.”

  Lisa knew her own mind. She knew how close she came to being in a very similar situation to Mike’s. She was certain that her own circumstances would have turned the situation in a very different direction. The Mendez family – Alex, Lisa and Christina – was not a family of overt religious faith. They certainly weren’t Bible freaks by any stretch of the imagination. She wasn’t even sure that a Bible existed anywhere in their house.

  Though raised in a strict religious household, Alex had shied away from too close of a bond with any religious affiliation. They attended church with much the same regularity as most people on their block. That is to say Christmas, Easter and the occasional Mother’s Day or other special holiday. Lisa believed in God, she thought. She’d been trained by her mother to be a strong confident woman, but had also been influenced to accept the religious philosophy of the patriarchal household structure. She’d never felt threatened to let Alex be the “Man of the House.” She didn’t feel as though she was setting the women’s movement back fifty years and it wasn’t that she thought that much about it being a religious thing. It was just what she was supposed to do. If it was what God wanted, great. But Lisa didn’t do it to please God. Believing didn’t necessarily constitute full submission.

  Lisa lived her life the way that felt comfortable. For her, it just felt right to have such a strong, confident, reliable man like Alex at the family’s helm. Inside every woman, Lisa believed, was a little girl who missed having her Daddy’s arms of protection around her. Any woman who said that she didn’t love the thought of having a strong, confident, able man to protect her was either a liar, a lesbian or the product of a father very unlike the mild-mannered but deeply strong Daddy Warner.

  A lesser man might have necessitated that Lisa take more of a dominant role, but Alex was not a lesser man. Alex was, had long been, her everything. Just don’t ask her to explain what God was. He was there, she hoped. Just how He was there, and for what purpose, Lisa had never really figured out. He was there to answer prayer. That was about all Lisa understood about Him. To Lisa, He was somewhat like a Santa Claus for grownups. He makes a list of the good people and the bad people. Good people and bad people alike pray and ask for things. Maybe a car, a new house or, as in Lisa’s case, healing her husband. If you’re good enough, you get your prayer answered. If not…. Well it was just better off to be good, Lisa wagered.

  Nervously, Lisa had prayed, wondering if she’d been good enough for Santa God to send down one of His winged elves with the gift of Alex’s life. Alex’s gorgeous smile – awake, alert, alive – had been the most wonderful Christmas gift she’d ever gotten, and here it was only September. As she sat in Alex’s room, stroking his hair, he slept. The radio softly began to sing “Streets of Heaven.” It was a country song but Lisa had no clue what the name of the young female artist was. Lisa wasn’t a big country music fan, but the occasional song, like this one, struck an all too personal chord with Lisa. Whoever she was, Lisa thought, she sang as if she were singing the words of Lisa’s heart. In her desperate worry, Lisa would have likely promised anything to protect Alex’s life. The desperate resoluteness that almost allowed her to submit to her own powerless human nature. With the hypothetical hindsight of losing Alex, she could feel the Wrath of Mendez from which God was now safe.

  * * *

  Lisa had been in contact with Helping Hands for the Disabled three times in the last week. Though the dogs are always matched with the person they are going to service, Lisa felt it was important to check the place out and do a little “pre-screening” of the available mutts. While she’d known a little about service dogs, and managed to do a fair share of research on the Internet, she hadn’t realized how many breeds were actually adaptable to the occupation as human servants. Most dog breeds, she had learned, could be trained to some degree to do service work. However, it seemed that German Shepherds, Welsh Corgis, Golden Retrievers, Labradors and a few other breeds were the dogs of choice. At Helping Hands, she found a Golden Retr
iever named Brandy and a chocolate Lab dubbed Oliver, both of which seemed to have the temperament that would do well with a child like Christina, curious as Sherlock Holmes, being in the house. On the third trip to Helping Hands, Lisa had all but settled on Brandy, hoping that she and Alex would take a shine to one another. There was just something in her eyes, a sweetness that Lisa had scarcely seen in any dog. She was almost three years old, according to Helping Hands’ Director, Eunice Wylie, and had previously been a service dog to an elderly woman that passed away a couple months ago. Upon the owner’s death, Brandy was returned to Helping Hands, where she continued training. Her first two weeks back were tough on Brandy, Eunice said. Brandy seemed almost to be moping around, perhaps unsure of her fate or maybe just a little confused. Perhaps even sad at the loss of someone she had come to love. Did dogs understand death? To hear Eunice tell it dogs, animals in general, had a more keen sense of life and death than humans could ever hope to have. She told Lisa stories about dogs that had alerted neighbors or roommates to an owner’s condition hours before the onset of heart attacks, strokes or seizures. There were heroic tales of dogs leading blind masters out of burning homes and even one dog Eunice claimed to have firsthand knowledge of that attacked his owner’s neighbor who, as it turned out, had been enacting voodoo rituals in an attempt to do him harm.

  On the day that Brandy’s previous owner had died, a 911 call was logged from her house at just after nine in the morning. No one spoke, but there was the sound of breathing for several minutes and what could only be described as a faint whimpering. The ambulance had arrived by 9:30. When the EMT’s had examined the body, they found the old woman lying in her bed, under the covers, as if sleeping peacefully. Brandy lay beside her on the bed, calmly licking her master’s hand. Instead of growling protectively, Brandy had almost instinctively jumped off the bed when the EMT’s arrived, waiting patiently as they examined the lifeless body. Everything pointed to the elderly woman being dead for some time. There was no phone in the bedroom so who, Eunice asked rhetorically, made the 911 call from a phone down the hall, found resting – off the hook – on the floor beside a small wooden end table that had been tipped over, spilling the phone, a lace doily, a message pad and pen?