Gina, in time was able to put her life back together, slowly, ever so slowly, piece by piece. Once she was home again in familiar surroundings, with her mother there to help her those first few weeks, her strength began to return and she started exhibiting new interest in her baby. Fortunately, Sam was a happy camper and only got cranky, when hungry or wet. After a couple of months he began to fill out with the usual baby fat ripples and was even known to put on a silly grin now and then, that everyone seemed to enjoy. Art had swallowed his pride and came to understand that if he wanted any degree of normalcy restored to his home, that he had to be part of the process, and so had consented to hold Sam while a bottle was prepared or keep an eye on him as he slept in his tiny bed while Gina washed diapers and hung them out on the line in the yard, a daily operation. Over the course of the ensuing days and months, a new rhythm of living took hold at the Harris home, and they all slowly emerged from their gut-wrenching ordeal of loss, and began inching forward toward the promise of a new day, a better way.
Carol sat out under the Elm tree late one afternoon feeding Sam some crackers and peanut butter that he had summarily smeared all over on his happy, little, round face. Gina came out the back door of the house having just returned home from her work at the Library, where over the last two years she had honed her skills and been made an assistant Librarian. Sam a toddler now, looked up to see his mothers approach and let out a joyful squeal as he ran toward her with his short little legs and outstretched arms. As Gina bent down and scooped him up into her arms, she kissed his peanut butter face and told him what a tasty little muffin he was, as he laughed and hugged her neck. Art had been in the garden picking vegetables for dinner when he heard Sam yell papa and looked up to see Sam coming across the lawn with a cracker in his hand. Placing the vegetables in a basket, he sat down on the edge of the grass where Sam found him sprawled out to rest. As Sam came up to Art he held out his crispy offering and Art obediently opened his mouth as Sam stuck the cracker inside with a happy grin and giggle. Art chewed on the cracker saying yum; yum then grabbed Sam and wrestled around with him on the lawn as Sam laughed with glee. How could any of them have ever thought this little man to be anything but the blessing and miracle he was? Art, who had started out in a hard place, had come full circle and now enjoyed Sam as the son he never had. He had completely bonded with this child and loved it when Sam toddled along behind him wanting to see what papa was doing and could he help. Because of Sam’s pure sweetness, Carol and Art had found a common bond of joy in him that enhanced their own personal relationship and the pleasure they found in him seemed to translate into many other areas of their lives.
But what had happened to Sonny Boone? As the last two and a half years had slowly slipped away into the shadowy recesses of memory, they were no longer defined by a constant agony of the soul. Gina would still lay awake in her bed at night and wonder what had happened to her dear Sonny, whom she had loved nearly more than life its self. Every time she looked into Sam’s sweet, tender face she saw Sonny smiling back at her. At least he had left her some small treasure of himself, a testament to his passage through this mortal life that had touched her own like a shooting star, here then gone. Gina had matured quickly through the exquisite pain of her loss, and now all that really mattered was Sam. However, with every beat of her heart the question lingered; what happened to Sonny? She knew she would never be free of that question, now hidden in her secret place of her passion lost in time.
Pushing on down the thin band of road that was highway176, leading to the foot-hills outside of Ashville North Carolina, Sonny drove with his elbow propped on the open window of his car door while smoking his last cigarette. He had pledged to Gina, that when his last pack was gone, he would buy no more. He had the radio on and the mellow tones of the Glenn Miller band playing Moonlight Serenade filled the car and again his thoughts were of his darling bride he had reluctantly left behind. He really wanted to be the man Gina thought he was. He wanted to make good and give her the moon on a silver platter, though that is never what she would have asked for. No, he alone had been the glowing orb in her life and he felt so proud and happy that she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with him.
A fiery dusk lit the tops of the hills now, washing the land in deep purple shadows as Sonny steered his car off the road at a Hendersonville truck stop at the edge of town. He hadn’t bothered to eat since early morning and so with his grits and eggs long gone, he decided it was time to take a break and have a bite to eat. There were several cars and trucks parked outside the Café; with a few long haul semis in a side parking lot. As he walked in and took a seat at a booth near the back wall, a middle aged woman in a pink and green uniform approached his table placing a glass of water and utensils in front of him and smiling asked if he would like to see a menu. Sonny listened to the offered specials and settled for an open-faced beef sandwich and a cup of coffee. When the waitress returned with Sonny’s order she made small talk with him and asked if he was from around here, Sonny mentioned he was traveling and just passing through. As he ate his supper he casually looked around the busy Café and noticed what a diverse group of people had flocked to its neon sign this particular night. Up at the front near the windows sat a young rambunctious family with squirmy little ones that kept wiggling out of their seats, and while their mother made a feeble attempt to round them up and put them back in their chairs, her husband seemed oblivious as to what was going on around him. Along the right wall, two little old ladies sipped at coffee and ate cherry pie as they swapped stories about their grandkids, one pointing to a picture she had pulled from her purse. To the left, two large burly men seemed to be in an animated dispute, one gesturing wildly in the air, saying something about a fish. There was a young couple at the counter having a first date, laughing and talking over a large pile of French Fries and cokes. As Sonny stood to stretch and go pay his bill, he put some tip money down on the table and began to walk toward the front check—out counter. As he walked he noticed his waitress engaged in a conversation with a man and they were both staring straight at him. When Sonny pulled out his wallet and withdrew a few dollars to cover his meal the man stood nearby and continued to look at Sonny. With his business completed, Sonny walked out the door and as he stood outside in the glare of the neon lights, he stretched again and wondered if he should go ahead and call it a night and check into one of the tourist cabins he had passed just a mile down on the right. While Sonny crossed the parking lot to reach his car, he thought how nice it would feel to lay down now and start out again in the morning, and he fished for his keys from his pocket. Then he was down, his face pushed into the gravel, his head bleeding from a severe blow to the back of his head. Shooting pains racked his body as he was repeatedly kicked while his keys and wallet were taken from him. Soon everything was swirling around him. Nausea in his stomach now rose to his throat, threatening to choke him. With a final boot to his cracked skull he was out and gone, swallowed by a deep void where all perception had vanished. The two men that beat Sonny and left him for dead in the dark parking lot that night, sped away in his car over a small country Carolina road and disappeared into the dark. It was over an hour that Sonny lay in a heap, unconscious and bleeding, unable to move; before he was discovered by a guest from the Café. A lady, who had initially been parked next to Sonny’s car, now spotted him lying on the ground where his car had been. Seeing Sonny’s serious condition, the gray haired grandma scurried back inside the Café and asked for help as she grabbed a phone that hung on the wall. By the time the police and ambulance had arrived, several people from inside the Café were huddled around Sonny, some trying as best they could to offer comfort and encouragement while others stared in total shock and horror at the poor man on the ground. Many could not believe that something like this could happen in their small town neighborhood. Once the word got out, would anyone feel safe here at night again?
With a screaming siren and flashing lights the ambulance rushed
up to the emergency door at Asheville Memorial and quickly off loaded their patient. With a swift alert from the emergency room, Dr. Walters who was on duty that night, barked orders at his staff to start an IV, draw blood work and order x-rays stat. Walters a veteran of the Trauma Unit had seen it all, but this was bad. “Who would do this to another human being” he asked, as he and his nurse removed Sonny’s clothing to make an appraisal of his multiple contusions and possible broken bones. Sonny’s vitals were weak and erratic at best, further complicating his delicate condition.
For the next several hours, the OR medical team struggled to put Sonny back together; supplying three pints of blood to his battered system as they worked to mend damaged organs and bone fractures. On top of all the bodily damage he had suffered, he also had a bad concussion and skull fracture that put him into a deep state of unconsciousness. Four hours later, walking out of the OR, Dr. Walters could only hope that Sonny’s youth and an otherwise healthy body would be on his side and help to pull him through. For the next twelve days Sonny laid in his hospital bed unaware of the world around him as night changed to day, then back into night, he floated on the edge of reality in a no-man’s land he did not recognize or comprehend, a state of being and not.
In late afternoon of the twelfth day of his ordeal, Sonny’s eyes opened to see a strange young woman leaning over him adjusting a tube that seemed to be attached to his arm. He tried to speak but his mouth was so dry he could not adequately form his words, and only a groan escaped his lips which caught the nurse by surprise. More moans came from Sonny, as Nurse Ellen Ames reached to give him a sip of water. Ellen smiled and tried to reassure Sonny that he was safe and alright and that he was being well cared for, when she noticed the troubled look of panic settling on Sonny’s face. She took his hand and gently explained that he had been involved in a mugging and robbery a few days ago and had undergone surgery to mend his wounds. She immediately contacted Dr. Walters about Sonny’s alert condition and soon he too stood near Sonny’s bed side and told him he had been unconscious due to head trauma and that his injuries and head issues would hopefully resolve themselves over time. However the next few days revealed the fact that Sonny no longer knew who he was or where he had come from or what had happened to him. He was a ship without a rudder, set adrift on a sea of uncertainty, into an empty void that now defined his life.
When Sonny Boone was finally discharged from the hospital he was given a note by Dr. Walters with the address of a Catholic Church mission written on it, where he could find food, shelter and counseling. Father Edward Rodgers name had been scratched on the paper as a contact person for Sonny to see on arrival. Ed, as he liked to be called, was circling a pile a dirty dishes in the mission kitchen after the noon meal when Sonny found him, having been directed there by an altar boy tending to his chores in the sanctuary. Ed looked up and saw Sonny standing in the kitchen doorway with his hat in his hands, curling its brim nervously with his fingers. With two giant strides to match his large bulky physique, Ed crossed the floor and with a warm and understanding smile extended his hand and introduced himself. Escorted into Father Ed’s study, just off the small chapel behind the main church facility; Sonny was motioned to a seat near Ed’s desk and offered a cup of coffee from a console table near a window that overlooked an expansive lawn and hedged garden. Sonny gratefully took the cup and sipped in its deep, rich comfort. Ed took up his own cup and studied Sonny as he sat down in his chair. Ed explained that he had conversed with Dr. Walters and had been filled in on the details of Sonny’s circumstance. As he looked over the brim of his cup he asked Sonny how he was feeling about things and what he might like to do. Sonny confided that he really didn’t know where to start to put his life back together, having no clue as to who he was or where he belonged. And then there was the associated fear of discovery, and that he might not like what he might find out at some point. Ed assured Sonny that he could stay at the mission as long as he had a need and that there was always a demand for helping hands to earn his keep. Sonny soon relaxed and appreciated the warm easy going manner of his host who seemed to have a true desire to be of help.
In the weeks that followed, Father Ed had given Sonny the nick—name Thomas, after a faithful man in the Bible, a disciple of Jesus who had also struggled with doubts of uncertainty yet in the end had prevailed. Sonny had been appointed a job working as a grounds keeper, under the guidance of an older gentleman by the name of Rich Ricker, a widower, who had retired a few years back and now kept the church grounds full time. Sonny worked alongside Rich every day except Saturdays and Sundays that were set aside for rest and worship. Sonny lived out of a barracks hall set up behind the rectory for people in need who were passing through. Usually in the late afternoons Father Ed would call Sonny to his study, where they would have coffee together and talk about Sonny’s situation. Often, the two would pray asking god for a blessing of restoration. Ed had contacted a parishioner who was a neurologist and asked him to meet with Sonny. Dr. Jim Jefferson discuss triggers that might help refresh his memory, and described how certain sounds, smells and objects can stir sensory perceptions that can often lead to memories. Sonny was encouraged to keep a journal and jot down any flashback or thoughts he might have and their sources. By this time, weeks had turned into months and still Sonny languished in the darkened regions of his mind, which held his true identity captive and secret. When alone, he passionately implored God for his mercy, to restore his shattered memory and continue to heal his battered body. The information he had been given at the hospital was sketchy. He had been told the attack took place at a truck stop out of town but no one seemed to know where that was. For some reason he had never talked to the police, so he was left without a clue as to where he had actually been during the robbery or where he had traveled from. How had the investigation of his case fallen through the crack? Although it was now 1949, Sonny had no frame of reference with which to look back or forward, his life remained a mystery. He was consigned to move in the shadows of a vibrant life once lived.
One Saturday night Sonny and Rich decided to go see a movie at the local cinema. A war film was playing about D-Day and the Normandy invasion. Rich mentioned, as he reached for some pop corn, that he had been too old to enlist when the war started but that he really admired those who had gone and served. As the film got going into its first full battle sequence, Sonny began to feel agitated then very nervous as the scene escalated with bombs pounding the ground and aircraft circling in the air, with men yelling as they rushed the beach. At this point Sonny panicked and yelled out in an astonishing cry as he leapt from his seat and rushed out of the theater. Rich jumped up in hot pursuit of Sonny and soon found him sitting on the sidewalk, crumpled against the front wall of the Theater, curled into a ball; his arms and hands flung over his head as he frantically called out “get down, they’re on your left, get down, get down”.
Passersby stared at the two men as Rich put his arms around Sonny and reassured him everything was all right. After several minutes Sonny finally regained some composure, as he held on to Rich’s arm and began to realize where he was and eventually struggled to his feet with Rich’s help. Sonny stood trembling, shaking his head and looking at the ground as if to find the answers for what just happened in the pavers at his feet, but they yielded no answers. Rich finally got Sonny back to his car and drove him to the church barracks and saw him comfortably inside and settled, then went in search of Father Ed, whose study light glowed across the darkened court yard. After describing to Ed the events at the Theater that night, they both returned to the barracks building to check on Sonny. The two men knocked at the corner of his enclosure and asked if they could come in; Sonny said “Yes”. They found him in his darkened room stretched out on the bed, his arms folded over his eyes and resting. Ed pulled up a side chair and began to gently ask Sonny about what had happened that night and what he was feeling. Sonny said that after the film began he started to have flashbacks and saw himself in the
heat of combat with mortars going off all around him. His armor division was bivouacked at the edge of a forested area outside the city of Cologne Germany; where there had been earlier skirmishes involving the infantry. There were trenches dug and barbed wire strung around a small perimeter of bunkers. Suddenly there was a barrage of gun fire, then heavy bombardment. “As I scrambled to get back into my tank” he said; “There were terrible deafening explosions going on all around me, then I heard the voice of another soldier wild with fear call out to me, “Sonny, help me I’m stuck, please help me” as he tugged on a section of barbed wire that had caught his left leg and ensnared his boot.” Sonny sat up on the edge of the bed trembling, with tears in his eyes and said “I tried to make my way back to help, when there was another terrible explosion and then, he was gone”. Wiping at the tears on his pain filled, dejected face he said” My name is Sonny Boone; I was in the Army during the war”. Ed and Rich looked at one another in amazement and Ed asked in a calm quiet voice if there was any more about himself he could remember now, but he shook his head and said “Sadly no”.
Two years had come and gone since Sonny had been assaulted and little more progress had been made into his identity. But now with this recant revelation of his name and the fact he must have served in the Army, he had a place to start an inquiry. He wrote a letter to the Department of the Army in Washington D.C. explaining his problem and requesting any information they might have on him. When there was no immediate response, Sonny became impatient, and then one day decided it was time to move on and try to build a life for himself outside the shelter of his mission home and Father Ed, who had become his closest friend and confidant. And although it would be hard to leave behind the people who had become his life line during his darkest hours of need; he felt compelled to make something of the miracle of life he had been so graciously given again after such a terrible, brutal attack. He wanted his life to count for something, he just didn’t know what, but he knew in his heart he had to go look for it. During his spare time in the last few weeks, Sonny had been pouring over the news paper want adds to find work and ran on to a job offer by a freight line promising top wages along with two weeks big rig training. Moving with the urge inside himself to travel and explore; he decided to make a few phone calls and was soon off to an interview. Three days later, after being hired; he waved good-by to Ed and the staff at the mission, as Rich drove him to the depot for his drivers training. For the next six months Sonny traveled the highways and byways of the mid west, delivering a variety of products to businesses and industries in small and large town across the farm belt. From the rolling verdant hills of the mid-east to the golden flat lands of grain in the mid-west, he moved along; always attempting to fill the emptiness at his core; that aching questions inside him that still went unanswered; where had he come from, did he have a family, where did he belong? The relentless miles came and went as one season changed into another and yet the longing remained.
Bridges Page 11
