He was everybody’s best friend in school. Last year, he had even been elected class vice president and Student Council President, the first time in twenty years the president position had gone to an underclassman. He’d won second place in the district’s UIL speech contest, only to have his father wonder out loud why he failed to capture first prize. He’d done things in school his old man never had and still there seemed to be no respect between them. They were from different worlds and viewed even the simplest aspects of life from very different angles.
Scott hadn’t seen his father this morning. He thought he heard his voice, early in the morning, but dreams had clouded his certainty. The only real clue to him being home was the Mustang parked in the driveway, the keys resting on the kitchen table. Scott thought that maybe his mother had dropped him off, but they worked in opposite directions so that was not feasible. Scott’s best guess was that his dad had simply opted not to go in to the office today. It wasn’t unheard of, that’s for sure. It was weird, though, that his father hadn’t so much as made an appearance. Usually, when Scott and his father were both home, Mr. Bryan made sure to keep Scott busy with some menial task he probably should have been doing himself. There was always something. If it had been his mom asking, Scott knew he wouldn’t have minded so much. The simple fact was his dad could ask him to do anything and Scott would resent it simply because of who was doing the asking. Lack of respect had perpetrated a lack of true father-son affection. They existed cordially in the house with one another, mostly to keep the peace with Scott’s mother until such time as Scott was physically and financially able to move out on his own. Scott had long ago resigned himself to the as yet unannounced divorce that was most assuredly looming undecided somewhere on the horizon of his parents’ futures. Tired from playing computer games all day, stiff and sore from sitting at his computer, Scott decided to head for the passive exercise place he’d been going to for the last six months. A friend of his Dad’s owned it and as such, Scott got to exercise for half price. He did it as much for the social aspect as for the health benefit, even if the social aspect meant he got to “hang out” with geriatrics three times a week. In a lot of ways, the elderly people he saw at exercises were better suited for his maturity level than were most people his age. They didn’t place unrealistic expectations on him; they didn’t judge him or pressure him to be something he was not. Typical of unconditional love so often offered by older generations, each person he encountered at exercises treated him as if he was their very own grandson. And, almost without thinking about it, he treated them with the respect warranted by their years.
Scott knocked on his parents’ bedroom door, thinking maybe his father was napping, but got no answer. At the neighbors most likely. Scott’s Dad and Mr. Atwater were very good friends, despite the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Atwater were some 15 years older than Scott’s parents and were very conservative Republican Christians who visibly cringed every time Scott’s dad said a curse word. To be safe, Scott scrawled a brief message on a notepad to let his father know of his whereabouts. He left the pen resting on the notepad and positioned it on the counter in plain view. Anyone would have had to be blind to miss the note. He didn’t have to leave one. Despite his disability, Scott was given relatively free rein in an effort to foster whatever independence his parents could muster in him. It served Scott well and had made him trustworthy by design. He knew that they would not hesitate to take away freedom so nervously granted him so he was never – would never be – one to test his parents’ resolve. If his curfew was midnight and he was going to be five minutes late, he was calling at 11:55 to apprise them of the situation. If he could not get to a phone, he would inform them of his late arrival the next morning since they rarely, if ever, bothered to wait up. Scott no doubt had it good, but it was much deserved. He might not have been the best kid in the world, but he was no trouble to anyone and was, for the most part, well-liked by everyone in the community.
Signing the note with a simple “S” – his usual way of signing notes such as these – Scott grabbed his keys, tucked them in his shirt pocket and headed out to his car. Since his father’s keys were resting on the kitchen table, Scott did not lock the front door, as he would have otherwise usually done. Scott’s family was not wealthy but they lived in a very friendly neighborhood. There were few break-ins and what few occurred were usually viewed by no fewer than at least two of your nearest neighbors who were constantly on some understood neighborhood guard duty. He entered the car just as Mr. Atwater exited the front door of his house. He waved to Scott. Scott smiled and waved back. A burning pain prickled up Scott’s neck into his head. Though the keys were still in his hand, the car’s engine turned on, revving to unsafe levels. The radio squealed and squawked, emitting an orchestra of static, pops and sizzles. His eyes filling with tears, Scott’s head swam with images he could not understand. He heard a voice that seemed to come from within him, but could not make it out. It was deep, soft, whispered, yet possessing a quality Scott could only register as thunderous. Scott’s hands began to tremble violently. He closed his eyes – wet with anguished expression – as the pain in his head became sharper, like needles stabbing at his brain. In his mind’s eye, he saw his father’s face. It was distressed, blanketed in suffering. He seemed frightened and yet unanimated, as if forever frozen in a last moment of horrific revelation. His mind flashed the face from varying angles, like a cameraman changing perspectives instant to instant. As the voice in his head became louder, Scott grew afraid.
Death must come!
Scott slept.
Part III
Chapter 15 ~
Alex’s therapy had progressed rapidly. His speech had almost completely returned to normal in just over a month, shocking even the most positive thinking of Alex’s team of doctors. He still stuttered and his voice occasionally cracked, but for the most part he was sounding pretty much like himself again. With Alex finally at home, under the daily care of Doctor Mike – who had taken a sabbatical from the hospital to devote his full attention to Alex’s recovery – things were progressing like no one could have imagined. Brandy, Alex’s new pooch, seemed to be helping his recovery as much as anything. Meant to be a helper, to do things for Alex he could not do for himself, Brandy had become an inspiration to Alex. If a four-legged creature with no opposable thumbs could do it, surely a once able-bodied man could do it. Brandy was a great help to Alex. She was his legs when the two that were his grew too tired or too weak. She was his hands when he couldn’t reach something that was either too high or in a cabinet Alex could not access because of his reliance on the wheelchair. True to her breed, Brandy made an excellent retriever. She’d fetch Alex’s shoes, magazines, books, even get him a can of soda or a bottle of fruit juice if he asked her to, and amazingly, she knew the difference between the two. When not at Alex’s beck and call, Brandy provided another great service.
Stroking her soft shiny coat served to calm Alex during his frequent tired spells when frustration set in with a vengeance. The only thing not subsiding as quickly as the rest of the trouble was Alex’s frustration. Whereas everything else seemed to be heading toward a positive turn, Alex seemed to be growing increasingly irritated – even, it seemed, discouraged from time to time – by progress he felt was far too slow. Even though everything they knew about conventional medicine had all but deemed Alex a literal miracle. It wasn’t fast enough for Alex Mendez. A small triumph, while grounds for month-long celebration, meant Alex needed to work harder toward the next small triumph or a bigger triumph.
There was always a hill to climb and Alex never seemed satisfied to look back at his progress when so much work lay ahead of him. Everyone knew that he wanted to feel whole again. He’d confessed to Danny on more than one occasion that he just wanted to feel useful. He wanted to be the man that Lisa married. He wanted to be the strong, confident, Alex Mendez that struck fear into the hearts of criminals all across East Texas.
Danny had taken on an increasingly
active role in Alex’s recovery. Doctor Mike had reminded him of the importance of having loved ones around to help speed up the recovery. Though Alex was already healing at the medical speed of light, Danny was determined to do whatever he could to boost his mental and emotional recovery to beyond warp speed. He lifted Alex if he fell to the floor. He exercised Alex’s legs, forced him to roll around the block in his wheelchair, despite cautions from Doctor Mike that it might be too much for his heart after such an extended hospital stay. Danny knew Alex better than anyone and he knew that the sooner Alex returned to himself, whatever that meant, the better it was for Alex. Danny did wonder how much of the old Alex was left to return to.
Would he ever be a cop again? Alex had asked Danny that question at least a dozen times. Danny could not answer. While not severe, Alex’s pelvis had been broken in the fall. His legs had been broken in innumerable places. His spine had suffered damage. The list of bones Alex didn’t break was probably shorter than the list of broken ones. Likewise, the list of organs, tissues, veins, arteries, joints, ligaments and tendons to which Alex suffered no damage was short, virtually non-existent. A lesser man would have died. Would he ever return to police work? Danny’s best answer, an answer he shared with himself, not with Alex, was that any real answer depended on Alex’s definition of police work. Like the kid Alex was when he first entered the academy, he always seemed to have more questions for Danny. The roles had switched a couple of times over the years. Student to teacher. Teacher to student. Once again, Danny found himself thrust into the uncomfortable role of mentor to Alex. To an Alex he had to learn all over again. It was like starting from scratch for Danny and he never knew what to expect day to day. Today was no exception. The usually stoic reserve seemed completely gone. The overeager, questioning child slept, at least temporarily. Replaced with an eerie peacefulness that unnerved Danny greatly.
“I had a dream last night,” Alex said, staring past the rooftop of his neighbor’s house, off into the orange-tinted deep blue sky of approaching dusk. There was not a single cloud anywhere. The sun was setting in the west, off to their right. The moon was already showing its face, chasing its celestial partner in their never-ending game of tag.
Danny always liked this time of night. It always reminded him of being on some distant planet, like something out of a Star Wars movie. Two suns in the sky at the same time, or two moons battling for supremacy in the nocturnal firmament. He’d never considered himself a poetic soul, but this one moment, a moment that he was seldom able to enjoy, was his poetry. His symphony. One of the few guilty pleasures taken from the simple things in life and made all his own. He’d been to many places but never seen this phenomenon in the evening sky anywhere else but in Texas. He was sure it had to exist. It couldn’t be a trick of the mind and, despite what some might say, Texans were not God’s chosen people. Neither was Danny their Most High Chosen One. Still, there was something special about the sun and moon appearing in the night sky simultaneously that reminded Danny of why he loved Texas so much. And why he stuck around. It was a place of dreams. So when Alex mentioned he had a dream, Danny’s initial reaction was to wonder why Alex might be surprised. If nothing else, Texas was a place where dreams were built.
“I dreamed about dying,” Alex whispered. As if half-listening to the conversation, Brandy – who was laying at Alex’s feet – whined in nervous anticipation perhaps, Danny thought, half hoping her master was joking. She raised her head, regarded Alex curiously, chuffed and laid her head back on the cool cement. She blinked a couple of times, stared into the setting sun. Her ear twitched, buzzed by some mosquito, gnat or other bug too small for the human eye to see. Danny wasn’t quite sure he heard Alex right, so he didn’t immediately respond. When he looked at Alex, his eyes had not left the horizon behind his neighbor’s roof.
“Do you believe in God, Danny?” Alex’s voice was strange, trembling. Not from the effects of impaired speech, but from emotion, as if he was overcome with what Danny perceived as nerves. There was innocence, a curiousness that Danny hadn’t ever noticed before. Perhaps the questioning child wasn’t asleep after all. Maybe, Danny thought, he was just overwhelmed.
“I suppose so, yeah. I guess.” Danny wasn’t completely comfortable with the question, but something compelled him to answer regardless. Something he could not explain told him Alex had a reason for asking such a strange question out of the blue.
“I do,” Alex confirmed, his voice full of conviction, though still trembling. A sudden strength found its way into Alex’s voice. A power previously absent in their current conversation. A smile covered Alex’s face. It reminded Danny of a small child who had just spelled his first word for Mommy or just gone poopy in the potty for the first time. There was almost a mischievous quality about it, and yet it possessed an innocence that did not fit Alex’s character.
Not knowing what to say, Danny simply nodded, lifted one side of his mouth with confused affection.
“I saw him.”
“Saw who?” Danny asked.
“God,” Alex confirmed, “I saw him.”
“Yeah okay,” Danny said, “So, how’s Elvis doing?”
“No, really. I mean I didn’t see him the way that I’m seeing you now. I never saw him with my eyes. Ugh! Danny! I mean it! I saw everything!”
“Look, I believe you. If you say you talked to The Man Upstairs, who am I to say you didn’t—”
“Danny, Listen! Geez! I really saw God! I died Danny. You know I died, right?”
Again, speechless, Danny nodded. He was all too aware of the fact that Alex had died in the emergency room. That they had brought him back more than once. He’d been a miracle for which Danny, like so many others, had given thanks many times over in the last several weeks. Whatever God was, Danny had thanked him for sparing Alex’s life more times than he could count.
“I saw God. There was no tunnel or harps or stuff like you see in the movies but I swear I saw him!”
“If there weren’t any harps or ghosts with white wings, how do you know it was God you saw?” Danny smirked at Alex, showing the sarcasm he was trying to bring to the conversation. Danny’s levity did not sit well with Alex, whose eyes began to burn with frustrated tears. Alex was not a sissy and the Alex Danny had known was not given to such emotion. At least not erratic, unexplainable ones. He didn’t cry at stop signs. In fact, Danny could count on one hand the times he’d seen Alex cry real tears, most surely leaving at least one finger unused.
“Easy, Man!” Danny said, his voice carrying uncharacteristic, but genuine concern. He placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder. Alex’s gaze finally met Danny’s. “So tell me,” Danny said, smirking, “did you see Elvis there or not?”
Still sobbing gently, Alex let go with a quick fit of laughter that settled into a relaxed smile. “You can be a real jerk. You know that, right?”
Danny just smiled. “That’s why you love me.”
Alex took Danny’s hand. His face grew nervously serious. “I do love you Danny.”
Danny snatched his hand from Alex’s. “Hey I’m not into that gay mess”
Alex didn’t flinch, didn’t change expression. “You’re like my brother,” he said. “You are my brother, Danny.”
“I feel ya, dude.”
“That’s why I have to tell you this.” Danny sighed. “I heard you the first time, Brother. You saw God. Had lunch with the guy or whatever. I heard you so let’s move on, eh?”
“Danny, this is important. So with all respect, shut up and listen.”
* * *
Danny found himself lost in Alex’s story. He wasn’t sure what he believed, but he could not stop himself from devoting full attention to the fantastic tale Alex weaved. The vivid images Alex was describing made Danny feel like he was part of the latest Harry Potter novel or some new spin on Tolkien. As Alex talked of lakes filled with blood, birds vomiting feathers out of their foreheads and seeing his dead brother, Danny couldn’t help but wonder when Alex was going to get to
the punch line but it just never came. This was no joke – At least not to Alex. Danny’s head hurt. He was tired, grumpy and not really in much of a mood for a sermon from the Other Side, but he did his best to humor Alex. Sitting quietly, he had coaxed Brandy to her feet. Dutifully watching Alex, she had padded over to Danny where she sat awaiting her next command, meanwhile receiving an abundance of affection from Danny. She happily panted, occasionally cocked an ear, receiving sound only she could hear, then returning her attention to the task at hand.
“There was this white mist all around me,” he heard Alex declare. He sounded much like a five-year-old kid who’d just shook Santa’s hand for the first time. “The light was all around me. It seemed to pulse every time I even thought of a question or something I wanted to say. I began to wonder so many things but my questions seemed to be getting answered almost before I could ask them. Well not ask them but—well anyway. All the answers came from The Light. I’ve never known a light so brilliant. And yet I was not blinded. Looking at it was almost easy, as if my eyes craved it, hungered for it. We were communicating, but not talking. More than thinking.” Alex grew frustrated. He huffed. “Danny, I can’t really find the words. God spoke to me. All I know is that I asked what the mist was. It was as if I ached to know. I wanted to know why it had held such power over me and I was told that the mist was what happened when God breathed.” Alex momentarily choked on his own words. Danny wasn’t sure if he was finished, taking a break or waiting for a response.
If he was waiting on a response, Danny had none to give, save for the expression of astonished confusion that had settled on him. He sat, bewildered, listening but not really sure what to make of the tale.
“That’s when it hit me,” Alex finally continued, his voice still in that same resolute whisper in which he’d recounted most of his story. A little more shaky perhaps. Alex was giving way to emotions only he understood. He cleared his throat. Danny’s eyes squinted, focused on what was coming. “I was standing in the breath of God.”
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