Helix of Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  “When I was about 10, Kennedy was president, and a pudgy little sweetheart named Nikita Khrushchev was the leader of the Soviet Union. The U.S. got a hold of some pictures of missiles being set up in Cuba.” Cole paused. “Do you know about this?”

  Mindy’s blank stare answered before her words. “Not really,” she said softly.

  “Well, we knew that Castro couldn’t have built them, so they must have come from the Russians. Kennedy told Khrushchev to get them out. The Russian said ‘no,’ and we set up a blockade around Cuba. Nobody in, nobody out.”

  “Can we do that?” Mindy asked.

  “Things were easier back then, I guess. Yeah, we did it. For 12 days, the world held its breath. Everyone believed it was going to be World War III. Every night at the dinner table my parents would talk about the Russians hitting us with atomic bombs. I would sit at the table and get a knot in my stomach the size of a grapefruit.

  At school we did drills—getting under our desks, covering our heads—like that would help. For 12 days, every night my parents would plan what to do ‘if.’

  “How scary,” Mindy offered, genuinely concerned.

  “They talked about putting wet towels at the bottom of the bedroom doors so radiation couldn’t get to us. They loaded the trunk of the car full of food and blankets and even jugs of water. The plan was to go to my uncle’s ranch in the foothills. If Dad was at work, he said he would get there the best he could. I could hear my parents down the hall, talking into the night in their bedroom, planning, worrying, ‘what if-ing’.”

  “Then it was over. The Russians backed down. The crisis was gone, but nothing would ever be the same for me again. Kennedy was shot in Dallas, Martin Luther King was shot in Memphis, Bobby Kennedy got shot in L.A. All that stuff happened almost 40 years ago, and you know what? Here we sit. We’re still here. I have a granddaughter. I never figured I’d live to be a grownup. The world would come to an end first.”

  Mindy blinked. “But doesn’t it seem so much worse now? It’s like everybody hates us. I mean, at least I feel like it.”

  “Well, you can thank CNN for that. Used to be it would take quite a while for news from the other side of the world to reach us. Now it’s instant, 24/7, 365 days a year. When I was a kid, we never heard of a murder or police chase in the next county let alone on the East Coast. It’s all in your face now. Do you watch cops chase some car thief down the freeway in Los Angeles? Why? You can’t help, it doesn’t affect you, it only adds to your stress.

  “I tell you what would make you feel better. Drop your subscription to the newspaper and take CNN, FOX, MSNBC, and Headline News off your Favorites list and block them on TV. You’ll go through withdrawal, but within a week you’ll feel much better.”

  “Oh, Curt would die without his news.”

  “Tell him its doctor’s orders. Too much news isn’t healthy. Trust me on that one.”

  “What do you do for a living, Cole?”

  “I’m a newspaperman.”

  For the first time, Mindy showed a hint of a smile, then it broadened. She giggled, which quickly turned to laughter, and Cole joined her. Her huge belly shook as tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Oh, stop, stop!” Mindy tried to speak but was convulsed again in laughter.

  “Feels good to laugh for a change, huh?” Cole said with a big smile.

  When the laughter finally subsided, the two sat on the bench in silence. Cole looked up and watched the billowy white clouds roll high above the park. Cole looked down at the Time magazine on his lap. What was the percentage of good news on its pages? he wondered. He spent his whole life reporting and digging for the news. Had he been part of the problem for people like Mindy? He hoped not, but he knew that death, horror and suffering sold papers; it drove the network news and made a multi-billion dollar industry of cable news.

  Jenny stirred on the blanket. “You ready to go home?” Cole said as she stood, rubbing her eyes.

  Cole and Mindy exchanged smiles. He gathered the blanket, lunch basket and ice chest, swept Jenny up in his arms and left the park.

  Erin invited Cole to stay for dinner and he happily accepted. While the smell of dinner wafted from the kitchen, Jenny watched Dora the Explorer on TV, and Cole took a nap on the couch. Cole felt at home at Erin’s house, and the peace she made in her home with Ben and Jenny was like a balm to his hurried soul.

  “Mom, phone!” Jenny’s yell from the floor brought Cole out of his slumber.

  “Got it!” Erin called. “Hello, Carol? What’s the matter, sweetie?”

  Cole sat up at the urgency of Erin’s voice.

  “What is it, hon?” The sound of Ben’s voice was muffled by the kitchen wall.

  “Here, talk to Ben. I will. Don’t worry, okay? Already? Here he is.”

  Cole strained to hear. The pauses from the kitchen were long and interrupted only by occasional “uh-huh”s and “I see”s.

  “Do you want me to come over? No, it’s no bother. All right, but if you change your mind, give me a holler, promise? Okay. Hey, listen you’ll be fine. I’m sure they won’t be back. Feel free to come over later if you want to. Okay, bye-bye.”

  “Poor Carol,” Erin said as Cole entered the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?”

  “That was our neighbor, Carol. Someone broke in through the back bedroom window and took everything smaller than the refrigerator,” Ben said, continuing to set the table.

  “We’ve never seen anything like this happen since we’ve been here,” Erin said with obvious strain in her voice. “I can’t stand the thought of a burglary. We had a break-in when I was little, and it still terrifies me to think about it. You feel so violated.”

  Ben said, “We’re not on the alley. We have double-pane windows, and we have an alarm, none of which Carol has. Our house sets back farther from the fence. We’re not a good target.” Ben smiled the smile he must use on terminal patients to give them comfort, but it didn’t seem to work on Erin.

  “Well, I’m still scared.”

  “Shhh, let’s not let Jenny get upset. Cole, tell her the odds of us getting hit.”

  “He’s right. You’re a bad burglary risk. Besides, Ben will shoot anybody who jumps the fence.”

  “Would you shoot someone, Dad?” Erin turned to face her father.

  “If it came down to shooting someone or letting them hurt someone I love? They lose.”

  “You could really kill someone, Cole?” Ben looked closely at his father-in-law.

  “I think if it really came down to it, I could. How far would you go to protect your family? If someone had serious intent of harming one of you, they would feel the full force of me. I didn’t say I’d like it or look forward to it, but if push came to shove, yes, I’d kill someone.”

  “I don’t know if I could,” Ben said. “My whole life is about saving lives and healing. I would give my life to save Erin and Jenny, but I’m not sure about taking one.” Ben paused and fiddled with a napkin on the table. “This is like my Ethics or Philosophy classes in college, the ‘how many angels on the head of a pin’ kind of thing.”

  “Well it’s not going to come to that. Even if, God forbid, you get broken into, burglars are cowards. They wait until no one’s at home. I bet if they catch them, it’ll be a bunch of kids.” Cole switched subjects. “What smells so good?”

  “Swiss steak.” Erin smirked. “My two heroes, I feel a lot safer. John Wayne and Sydney Carton,” she said sarcastically.

  “Sydney Carton? Who’s he?” Ben frowned.

  “Tale of Two Cities, Dickens. Carton gave his life for that of his friend,” Cole said, lifting the lid off a saucepan. “Went to the guillotine.” Cole licked his finger after a quick dip into the saucepan. “Guess that’s you, Ben. That makes me The Duke. Hey, this is really good.” Cole smiled.

  “Jenny,” Erin called, “let’s eat.”

  After the dishes were neatly arranged in the dishwasher and a pot of coffee started, Erin took Jenny for her bath. C
ole and Ben went out to the patio. The hot air of the day was beginning to turn to the cool air of evening. Neighborhood sounds died away, and the rustle of leaves high in the trees mimicked the ocean. The two men sat in a comfortable silence for several minutes before Ben spoke.

  “I’m not a coward.”

  Cole was startled by the sudden declaration. “What?”

  “About protecting Erin and Jenny. I would fight to the death to protect them.”

  “I have no doubt. Look, this is a pet topic of mine for after-dinner conversation. I had no intention of upsetting you. My remark about shooting somebody climbing the fence was an attempt at levity. I wasn’t suggesting or implying anything.” Cole broke off, sensing Ben’s need to speak.

  “I know, it’s just that, every day I deal with death and dying. Families ripped apart by disease and genetic hiccups. The thought of taking a life on purpose is so far outside my focus, it just caught me by surprise when Erin reacted, I guess.”

  “She’s a lot like her mother on this. Ellie was vehemently opposed to guns, a committed peacenik. Violence is so foreign that when it does rear its ugly head, it scares us. To some, it’s a chosen path. You read about them in the paper every day. Thugs and gangsters, mobsters, sooner or later, their number comes up. In our lives, violence sneaks up on us. We’re far more likely to experience the fight-or-flight reflex than kill-or-be-killed.”

  “So, have you two lined up target practice?” Erin said as she held the screen door waiting for Jenny.

  “No, but I’ve decided to go check on Carol.” Ben stood, stretched and made his way to the door.

  Jenny burst through the screen door and threw a ball, nearly hitting Cole in the head. Her wet hair bobbed and swayed as she dodged Cole’s attempt to grab her. She chased the ball and kicked it across the lawn. Erin dropped into the chair Ben vacated and heaved a big sigh.

  “I overreacted, huh?” Erin smiled sheepishly.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Cole sighed. “The world seems to have gone crazy, and we’re stuck in the middle of it. I had a guy try and mug me the other day.” Cole paused trying to decide how much to reveal. “Right in front of the 7-11, middle of the afternoon. You don’t have to go looking for trouble, we’re surrounded by it. We try to have standards and values, but events around us strain those to the breaking point.”

  “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. Ben’s always had this silly idea that I think he’s a coward. Once when we were dating these drunks at a street fair started making remarks about me. They got a bit close, and it got kind of scary. Ben took me by the arm and made a fast escape.”

  “Sounds smart to me.”

  “Me, too, but Ben thought he should have stood up to them, defended my honor and all that.”

  “Yeah and got his butt kicked. It’s a guy thing. Those drunks and the guy who tried to rob me, it’s their world; they operate at that level all the time. We just happened to walk into it, unprepared for what they do as part of daily life. It’s the same with this burglary thing. The bad guys come and go on their schedule, and people like Carol come home to it. Ben is right to want to protect his family. He is also right to question how far he would go to do that. There’s a million years of macho gene pool he’s swimmin’ around in. If the time ever arrives that he needs to act, he’d know what to do.”

  “Think so?”

  “Know so.” Cole smiled. “Say, Ben’s mom called and invited me to a dinner party she’s having. I didn’t know Ben’s dad died.”

  Erin cleared her throat and looked into Cole’s eyes for a moment before she spoke. “We don’t talk about it, that’s why. Ben has never really grieved for his father. He was in Med School and rather than face the fact that he died, Ben threw himself into his studies and didn’t look back. He adored his father, and the scar of his death is so thick that he can’t feel the pain. One of the only fights we have ever had was when I told him he needed to talk about it, grieve, and embrace his memories of his dad. He was like someone I didn’t know, told me to mind my own business. We didn’t speak for nearly two weeks. His mom never mentions his dad in front of him. They had the same kind of fight over it. I think that’s why he reacted the way he did when mom died. The weird thing is he’s so kind and loving with families that lose a child. He cries with the parents, and calls them from home to check up on them long after the child is gone.”

  “I have a lot of history to catch up on.”

  “Some of it is better left behind. I like the idea of you and Kelly having dinner though.” Erin smiled.

  “Well, on that high note, I better get home.” Cole stood.

  “Jenny! Come give Grandpa hugs!”

  The little girl ran and plowed into Cole at full speed, hugging him tight around the legs. He picked her up, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and set her back down. In an instant, she was back chasing her ball around the yard. Erin gave Cole a hug at the front door.

  “How did I ever get along without you?” she said to Cole’s back as he made his way down the front steps.

  “From all appearances, pretty well!” Cole waved as he unlocked his car door. “Say goodbye to Ben for me.”

  Erin waved back and closed the door.

  The traffic seemed unusually slow as Cole approached the large intersection where he made his turn onto the freeway. Neil Young had been in the CD player for several days, and Cole pushed the reverse button to hear “Ambulance Blues” again. Just ahead on his right, he could see several people walking along the street. He hoped there wasn’t an accident. Between the mellow sound of Neil Young and the warm car, he realized just how tired he was. He smiled at the thought of being tired from playing with his grandchild. Before reuniting with Ellie and meeting Erin, he all but given up hope of having children, let alone grandchildren. Cole’s thoughts were interrupted by the honking of horns.

  Cars in front of him were suddenly beeping, honking, and blaring. The cars in oncoming lanes were also honking, and waving out the windows. As the traffic crept slowly forward, Cole could now see people on both sides of the street.

  A dozen car lengths ahead on each side, he could see a hundred or more people waving placards and flags. A few car lengths farther and he could see that the signs to his left carried a pro-immigration message, and the signs to his right were anti-immigration. The light changed, and he moved forward slowly. He was three cars from the intersection when the light changed again.

  There was a surreal feeling to listening to Neil Young and seeing people’s mouths moving out the windows but not hearing their cries. “Oh, Isabella, proud Isabella, They tore you down and plowed you under.” The music played and Cole watched a pretty woman about Erin’s age with long black hair raise her sign high in the air and call out to the passing cars, yelling until her veins bulged and snaked up her neck. Dozens of signs bobbed up and down as people shouted and called out. Signs of red, white, and green read, “No Human is Illegal,” “We Pay Our Taxes Too,” “Today We March, Tomorrow We Vote,” and “We are America!” Brown men with creased, weather-beaten faces held up children to raise their signs higher, casting their shapes to dusk’s long shadows. A woman with long grey braids draped over her large bosom held a sign over her head that stated, “I Love the USA! Let Me Stay!”

  To his right, Cole read the fierce black and red letters of signs held in answer to the signs across the street. “More INS, Less IRS,” “Vote for Pedro to Go Home,” “I Didn’t Fight in Iraq for Illegal Aliens,” and “No Borders, No Country.” With feet firmly planted, they leaned like sailors in the wind and screamed what Cole knew, without hearing, were inflammatory words. Neil sang on, “Oh, Mother Goose, she’s on the skids / Shoe ain’t happy, neither are the kids. She needs someone that she can scream at and I’m such a heel for makin’ her feel so bad.” The soft drone of the music made a strange soundtrack for such rage.

  The light turned green for the turn lanes. The cars streamed from his right and blocked his view for several seconds. A black Chevy 4X4 pickup with
oversized off-road tires caught Cole’s eye. He could see a man’s head and shoulders above the cab of the truck. With an almost fluid motion, the man brought up a large McDonald’s soda cup, complete with lid and straw, and hurled it at the crowd as he passed. The cup that must have been nearly full struck the woman with the grey braids in a brown fan of liquid. The cubes of ice sparkled in the setting sun’s sharp rays. Her white cardboard sign floated to the ground.

  To his right, the faces that were so fierce in their screams and taunts broke into smiles and laughter. Then he saw crossing the space between the two groups the arching flight of a tomato. Cole didn’t see who or what it hit because his attention was fixed on a man of about 50 who was bent over and taking the lid off an ice chest. His hand came up with an unopened beer can. He shook the water off it and then as if struck with a sudden idea began to shake the can vigorously. Cole watched a smile cross the man’s face as he pulled back and threw the can with all his might at the crowd across the street. Cole gazed as the can turned, twisted, and spiraled into the crowd, striking a man in the head.

  The man dropped to his knees as blood ran from under his baseball cap and down his forehead. Men to either side of him bent to examine what happened. As if with the dropping of a starting flag, both groups, with a force Cole could nearly feel, charged each other. Like ancient warriors screaming a battle cry, the groups ran into the traffic. Cars stopped as the green arrow went to red. Cole’s light was still green, but the cars in front of him sat frozen. A woman slapped the hood of Cole’s car as she ran by; a thin young man of around 20 jumped up and ran across the back of Cole’s car.

  In the turn lane to his left, the two sides collided. Fists flew, shirts were grabbed, a woman was thrown to the ground, and a Hispanic man with strong shoulders began kicking someone just below Cole’s vision. Two women spun around, their hands deeply entwined in the other’s hair. With all the mayhem just outside his car, Cole felt strangely objective and removed from the scene.

  From all around him horns blared. In front of him, a blue-grey cloud of smoke floated up. The car just ahead of him was pulling away, tires spinning. The car behind him gave several short repetitive horn blasts, and Cole instinctively began to pull forward. People jumped and shoved others out of the way. Cole was jolted and pitched forward. The car behind him rammed his back bumper. As he hit the crosswalk, Cole floored the gas pedal and shot around the corner. He hit the northbound ramp at 50 miles an hour and was doing almost 70 as he merged onto the freeway.