by Lee Schultz
Law school was a grind, certainly, but those years had a certain idyllic quality for me and the kids. Fiona and Kieran’s high school was a racially diverse school and they had a rainbow of friends. Our tiny apartment was always crammed to the eaves with teenagers studying for tests or playing Dungeons and Dragons. The game was a good escape for me, and I took on the character of Rip Orff, a thief who had a music composer cousin named Carl. (Music lovers will recognize Carl Orff as the composer of the wonderful "Carmina Burana," a passionate composition based on poems from a medieval monastery in which the monks agonize over fleshly temptations.)
Today it’s all computer games with little interaction among the players. But when we get together as a family, someone always brings a Dungeon & Dragons game, and we have to pull together every table and card table in the house to accommodate the grandchildren, who think it’s way cool to have their parents and grandmother pretending to be thieves and warriors and clerics and sorcerers. Years ago one Christmas I gave each of them a tiny silver figure representing each character. Some of us have several figures and alternate characters.
We have a fun, silly ritual when we gather: we stand in a circle, hold out our right arms into the circle, fists closed, then on the count of three we all open our hands to reveal the figure of the character we intend to play that day. Sort of like the starting buzzer at a horse race. Then the fun begins. We’ll play for hours, and even the younger ones who have grown up mostly with TV, video games, and computers will stay focused. I think they use the game to act out any aggression against their siblings and parents, because, as Sean once solemnly intoned, "What goes on in the dungeons, stays in the dungeons."
39
Rosie seemed to be in good spirits, and she seemed to feeling well physically. I managed to convince her that I had nothing better to do with the money I had squirreled away than to pay for her medical care. I made arrangements to have her consult with an oncologist at University of Wisconsin Madison. Because I never went anywhere, my beater of a pickup was all I generally needed. But it wouldn’t do for a trip to Madison, and neither would her car, held together as it was, apparently by duct tape and Bondo. So I visited a car dealership in Iron Mountain and picked up a nice used Saturn Vue. It was roomy enough for Rosie’s long legs, and satisfied my tighwadiness by getting good mileage and being a dream to drive.
My friends agreed to look after the critters while we were gone, so we packed up and headed south. We left plenty of time for frequent rest stops and snack breaks. I find that if I don’t stop at least every two hours my joints don’t want to unkink when I finally do get out of the car. The weather was mild and the roads were good. It was good to be together after all those years.
Rosie provided more details on her life since I had last seen her.
"Danny and I ended up in a fleabag hotel in Pleasantview, Tennessee, and it didn’t take me long to find someone who was willing to sell me what I needed. I don’t want to talk about what I did to get the money for my fixes. But then one day I got some bad stuff and ended up in the hospital. When they let me out, I found that social services had taken Danny and I could only see him if I had a clean drug test." She began to cry. "Oh, God, Molly, I couldn’t even stay clean enough to keep my baby!"
I stayed silent, let her cry. She’d go on when she was ready.
She fished around for the box of tissues that always seemed to end up out of reach, finally found it, wiped her eyes, blew her nose.
"It took me six months to bottom out to the point that I was ready to do whatever it took to get rid of my addictions, but by then it was too late. The judge decided that Danny deserved a decent home with a mother who didn’t choose drugs over his welfare. It hurt, oh, God, it hurt so bad." Her voice was an anguished moan. "I tried to kill myself."
I started, shocked. She hadn’t told me this part before.
She went on. "Just like everything else in my life, I fucked up killing myself and ended up in a psych ward where they put me in a rubber room -"
I interrupted. "Do they really do that, put you in a rubber room?"
She smiled ruefully. "Well, maybe not real rubber, but padded so you can’t knock your brains out against the wall, and they take anything away that you might use to hurt yourself. Even took my bra in case I tried to strangle myself." She stopped, remembering, and a half-smile played across Hher face.
"I look at it now, and I think, what a pathetic creature, putting poison into herself just so she can feel good for a little while, giving up the best thing in her life because she couldn’t walk away from drugs."
We were silent for a bit, then I said, "You’re not alone, sis. Every day as a lawyer I saw women just like you, who were decent, hard-working, loving people, who hooked up with the wrong guy and ended up in jail, on the street, losing their kids, real pariahs. Drugs have a powerful hold over people once they get started."
"Yeah, then you throw in my "mental health issues" as they so coyly call them, and I’m a total mess." She shrugged resignedly. "Too late to do much about it now, except I want to find Daniel before I die, so I can tell him I’m sorry, tell him I loved him, never stopped loving him. I don’t want him to think there was anything about my leaving him that was his fault. They do that, you know, kids. They think everything is their fault. I don’t want him to think that." She got quiet and I could tell she was weeping again. I reached over and patted her leg to let her know I was still with her.
"Rosie, when we get back from Madison, we’ll hit the computer with everything we’ve got, we’ll bring in Teddy the Hacker," this made her smile, "and we’ll find him somehow. I’ve already put out feelers on a website called "Bastard Nation."
She laughed out loud and clapped her hands like a little kid.
"No kidding," I said, "that’s what they call themselves. They use "bastard" almost like a term of pride. But they’re supposed to be the best at ferreting out the whereabouts of adoptees and the parents who gave them up. If they can’t do it, it can’t be done."
Within an hour of seeing the oncologist, Rosie was in the hospital. Her former doctors faxed and emailed her information, the new doc juggled his schedule and two days later, after what seemed like dozens of tests, he took out Rosie’s diseased lung.
When he came out of the surgical suite to give me an update on her condition, he strongly advised that I leave her there for a regimen of chemotherapy and radiation therapy.
"I’m confident we can at the very least halt the spread of the cancer. The scans we did don’t show any more tumors, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a cell or two just waiting to start multiplying the minute we’re not watching."
I had a mental picture of a Pac-Man-type cell, biding its time, and then going crazy once nobody was looking at it. Weird.
Rosie worried about the cost, of course, but the wonderful hospital social worker helped her apply for Medicaid, and I agreed to pay what Medicaid didn’t. I figured what the hell, I already had everything I wanted, what did I need to hang on to money for?: And she was my sister, dammit!
After promising to be back down in a week or so to visit, or to take her home if the doc said it was okay, I headed north again, and I don’t mind admitting that once I crossed the border into the Upper Peninsula, I wanted to stop the car and jump out and kiss the ground.
40
You might be a Yooper if the trunk of your car doubles as a deep freezer
The following Sunday morning Holy Wah and I took a short walk along one of the paths which had been packed down by all the activity of the previous week. We didn’t go far, just enough to work up a light sweat, then turned back toward home. As we stepped up onto the deck, I heard the phone ringing. The machine hadn’t kicked in yet, so I dashed in and grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"
"Molly? This is Anna Heikkenen, with the FBI? If you are free this afternoon, I’d like to spend some time talking with you."
"Does this mean you’re willing to give as well as receive?"
I said it half joking, but she didn’t pick up on the joking part.
"Yes. I’ve convinced my superiors that our cause is better served by filling you in on everything. Can I stop by around three?"
I assured her three would be fine, then set about tidying up. I’m not the neatest person in the world, what with two or three knitting projects in different parts of the house, books everywhere, and dust balls which take on a life of their own. It took me the better part of an hour to get things to a point where I figured nobody would cringe.
That took me until noon, and since I was feeling a bit antsy, decided to go for another ramble. I turned on my two-way and clipped it to my belt. Just in case. H.W. and I went in a different direction this time, into the woods toward the line where my property met that owned by Up North Enterprises, Inc. It was fairly easy going, because the previous year I had hired a couple of local ex-cons to brush out part of my property to make it easier to cut and haul firewood. As we zigzagged around trees I glanced upward occasionally to make sure the sun stayed in the same place. All I needed was to get lost and end up somewhere somebody didn’t want me to be.
We had walked for about a half hour, just zig-zagging through the trees in no particular direction, my mind wandering through various subjects when I walked face first into something solid. I bounced back and landed hard. It took several long seconds before I realized that what I took to be just more trees and snow was actually a huge photograph or something, like a theater stage backdrop. I got up and dusted the snow off my backside, then walked up to what I could now see was a high fence covered with a tarp or something which perfectly mimicked the winter woods. Bare trees and brush, snow on the ground. It blended perfectly and if I hadn’t mashed my nose on it, I would have thought it was just more woods and passed right on by it. It looked to be about ten feet high and went as far as I could see to either side of me. The brush had been cleared for about three feet onto my property - I could tell it was my property line, because of the orange tapes the surveyors had tied around trees along the line - and the tree branches had been pruned so there was plenty of space between them and the fence.. I started walking along the fence trying to see if I could figure out why in the world someone would go to what had to be a monstrous expense to make what amounted to a gigantic photo of winter woods. I had seen something like this before, during the Salt Lake City 2002 Olympics where they had hung ten-story-high photos of skiers in flight down the sides of the buildings facing the freeway. Pretty impressive and mega-expensive.
Somebody had put a lot of money into hiding a fenceline in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere.
Just as I was getting ready to turn and head back, a shout nearby made me jump.
"Hey, this is private property! "
I turned and saw a large man in military camouflage loping toward me, on my side of the fence. "No, this is MY property. Your private property starts on the other side of the fence." I pointed to the blaze marks on the trees which my surveyors had used to mark the property line. "In fact, you are trespassing on my property,."
He strode up to me and grabbed my arm. It hurt. It was definitely going to leave bruises. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
I tried to shrug off his grip. "What, I need a note from my mother to walk my own property?"
His face darkened and, without loosening his grip, used his free hand to pull a radio off his belt. I almost laughed when he said "Ranger Five to base, we have a bogey in Sector 3." There was a long silence, then a voice came back. "Ranger Five, apprehend and detain. Support is on the way."
"Hey," I said, angrily trying to escape his iron grip, "you’re on MY land and you have no right to apprehend and detain anybody! Now let go of me!"
It didn’t work. He replaced the radio on his belt and took out a pair of handcuffs from a pocket. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back."
"When you show me some identification showing that you are law enforcement I’ll give it some thought." Before he could make a move, I let my knees buckle, which caught him by surprise, and he almost lost his grip. He bent forward to grab me with both hands, and I straightened my knees with all the force I could muster. My aim was good, and the top of my head smashed into his face. I saw stars and there was a roaring in my ears, but when he reflexively let go and put his hands to his face, I took off like the hounds of Hell were after me, Holy Wah right behind me. I could hear footsteps thundering behind me, and despite already being winded, I managed to find a burst of energy that kicked me into overdrive. As far as I knew, I was running for my life and I wasn’t ready to give it up just yet.
The footsteps kept gaining on me, but I didn’t waste any time looking back. I kept zigzagging through the trees hoping that they were running too hard to think of shooting at me. No such luck. I heard the shot at the same time a piece of pine bark flew into my face. It stung like hell and I felt blood was running down my cheek. Despite my terror, I couldn’t help but remember a line from an old (really old!) Stepin Fetchit movie I had seen as a girl. "Feets, do your thing!"
And my feets did their thing. Another shot zinged past me and I could almost feel my pursuer’s hand reaching out for my shoulder. I heard a canine yip, a thud and cursing. I kept going. My head was buzzing like an angry nest of hornets and my peripheral vision had gone. I felt like I was running through a narrow tunnel and I couldn’t see the light at the end of it. I knew they wouldn’t have to shoot me, I was going to run myself right into a massive coronary. The thudding of my heart was the only thing I could hear. I couldn’t even hear anyone behind me anymore because of the thunder in my head. Something smashed into my ass and I nearly fell over. The pain was horrible, but my fear was greater, and I kept going. Holy Wah ran past me and I blindly followed her.
My heart was about to burst out through my nose when I exploded out of the trees into the clearing where, next to my cabin, was the most glorious sight I’ve ever seen. Anna Heikkinen, gun in both hands, crouching behind the hood of her car. Agent Nate Walters was behind my truck peering over the bed, gun in hand. A third agent was standing in between the cars in shooting stance.
I made it another dozen steps and then my legs really did give way. I heard Anna shout "Hold it! FBI! Hands in the air!" as I slowly sank to my knees, then, like a tree falling in slow motion, I toppled over onto my face.
The last thing I remember is thinking "Why does the snow taste like salt?" before everything went black.
41
I kept hearing sirens that didn’t fade in the distance like they were supposed to. I kept my eyes squeezed shut against bright lights that made opening my eyes painful. I tried to raise a hand to shade them. Didn’t work. I had no coordination and my hand just flopped like a beached fish. I could hear a rhythmic electronic beep, and something was squeezing my right bicep.
"Take it easy, Molly, don’t pull out that IV line."
Huh? My thoughts were jangled. IV line? I wasn’t supposed to work today....oh, right. I’m in the ambulance, and if the pain in my ass is any indication, I’m here as a patient. Wish they’d kill that siren, it’s giving me a headache. No, wait, I already have a headache. Things started falling into place. Running through the woods. A lightning bolt to my butt. My stomach clenched at the memory. Gunshots. Oh shit, have I been shot?
The overhead lights gradually dimmed, and I cracked open my eyes, then gradually opened them. I was greeted by the sight of Teddy McLaughlin sitting on the bench seat alongside the cot. She reached out and took my hand. It hurt. Not her taking my hand, just my hand in general. And my arm. And, come to think of it, my face. And the top of my head. I quit taking inventory. I was racking up too many ouch points.
"Hey, girlfriend, you’re looking a little confused there. We’re taking you to the hospital because you need immediate surgery to repair some severed blood vessels. "
My attention turned to my ass, which was hurting more every minute. "Where..." I managed to croak. My tongue felt like t
he cat had spent the night in my mouth.
She grinned wickedly. "You took a shot in your right butt cheek which did some muscle damage and severed some small blood vessels. I’ve got a pressure bandage on you, but you need to have things tidied up. You also have a large cut on your cheek - on your face, this time - from where a bullet apparently hit a tree and a chunk of wood got you. Just missed your eye. You must have fed your leprechauns, because you’re damn lucky! Plus you split the top of your head open and will need a couple of stitches. No, don’t move, I’ve got an IV in your left hand. You were thrashing around a bit, so I got an order for some Valium, that’s why you’re a little uncoordinated.."
"Wha’ – abou’ – dog?" Somebody had glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
She patted my arm. "The dog’s fine, she beat it out of the woods ahead of you by a few seconds, and the Feebs managed not to shoot her. I guess she tripped up the guy right behind you and gave you a couple of seconds of lead time. When you ran out of the woods and fell over they were afraid you’d been shot or had a heart attack or something. That lady agent said she’s never seen anyone your age run that fast. And, " she added with a smile, "that hunky FBI guy was sure worrying about you. I had to stop him from jumping in here and riding with us to the hospital.".
I started to ask another disjointed question, and she held up her hand, palm out. "Let me tell you what happened, and then you can talk. There were two guys who came out of the woods right behind you, and when the Feebs yelled at them, one tried to run back into the woods, but one of the agents shot him in the leg and he went down. The other guy had started to turn to run, but when his pal took a bullet, he stopped and put up his hands. The one guy’s in the other ambulance with a deputy and a Feeb, and the one who didn’t get shot is being escorted to jail by the sheriff and a state cop." I felt myself drifting again – probably the Valium – so I just let myself go and floated off to Dreamland, just as the blood pressure cuff on my right arm began to squeeze again.
