by Ron Savarese
“I had dreams when I was young. I wanted to be a teacher and live a simple life. You know—a small town, part of a community. I loved working with kids. I could have been a great mentor. But something happened. I got seduced by money. So I put those dreams on a shelf for the pursuit of a high powered career. I guess I thought I couldn’t do both.”
He looks down and shakes his head and laughs. “I didn’t follow my heart. I chased after something else instead—and for what? To impress my friends? To win the heart of a woman who would never be happy with the real me? Doesn’t make much sense does it? And when it didn’t work out I blamed everyone but myself. Do you know how many people I could have helped?”
He rubs at the corner of one eye, like a little boy trying not to cry. “Well I do. I met a bunch of those people—met them all in one night, Joe. I got to hear their stories. I got to find out how I could have made a difference. Yeah, I had some of that special brew too. Its powerful stuff isn’t it?
“Now let’s talk about you,” he says. “You got the clients. The big-hitters started to notice you. Then you got the promotion. That put you in a new league. Wealth and affluence came next. You got your big houses and fancy cars and you started building your walls—the kind of walls that keep you safe and invulnerable. Or so you think. But in reality you built walls that keep out the ones that love you most: your wife, your kids, your family, your friends…”
He shakes his head. He laughs. “Oh Joe, the things we do.”
The room is getting dark. Walt turns back toward the window. After a moment he glances at a lantern sitting on the desk. He snaps his fingers and a yellow flame appears inside the lantern. He smiles as if he’s proud of himself and surprised by being able to light it this way.
“Maybe there’s someone you need to forgive? Do you like lanterns Joe?”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I try to sort out everything he’s telling me. I had forgotten about that time in my life and about this man in the room with me. He was an insignificant memory—or so I thought. Just another person I had stepped over in my pursuit of success.
“You could say that I gave you your start,” he says. “You had the life I thought I wanted. But it wasn’t true. I see that now. Let’s be honest about what we were doing in those days. We were chasing the money—thought we could buy a piece of the good life. The ego sure is a hungry bastard, isn’t it? Funny how some of us put our dreams on a shelf, thinking we can pull them down one day after we’ve ‘made it.’ But while we’re making it, things change, huh? There’s a price for making it, Joe. We both paid it—in different ways.”
His words cut into me like a scalpel, deep and clean. I just sit and listen. What else can I do?
He shakes his head and walks back to the chair, picks up his backpack and swings it over his shoulder. He walks toward the door and stands there for a moment. Then he turns around and looks at me. “You’ll get a second chance if you decide to take it,” he says. “I traveled a long way to tell you that you have a chance to change it all. You have a choice. But I came here for me too, to make it all right— because that’s the way it works. Oh yeah, we really do reap what we sow—all of it.”
He reaches toward the door handle, but before he opens it he looks back at me. “I’ll be around Joe. You may not see me but I’ll be watching you. I’ll be here until you decide.”
Walt opens the door. Snow blows into the room. I hold up my hands to shield my eyes from the light. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says. “That village down in the valley, where the cottages are—there’s going to be a party—maybe I’ll see you there.”
I jump from my chair and bolt toward him. “Wait!” I say. “We’re not finished. You can’t leave yet! What about my choice? How much time do I have to make it? And anyway, you’re wrong. It wasn’t all that way.”
He opens the door and steps into the white space. “It was that way, and it’s finished. I forgive you Joe. It’s up to you now. Take a look,” he says.
Then he’s gone.
Is it the snow blowing into the room or am I in an entirely different place now? Whiteness encircles me. Then the image forms: I see myself in my mid-thirties sitting at my desk in my office. Is this what Walt meant when he said take a look? I can hear my thoughts. I can hear the words I speak and the words others speak to me. And I can see myself as if I’m watching a movie:
All I’ve got to do is close this last deal. If I can do this, I’ll be the top dealmaker in the firm. And that means a hefty bonus and lots of stock options. If I can just close this last deal and get a few things signed before the end of the day, I can make it. I can hit my goal. I know I can do this. I just have to stay focused and get this one last deal done. This is what I’ve been working toward for the past five years. It’s all come together for me now. If I can do this, nothing can stop me. I’ll be able to buy that house and that new Mercedes convertible I’ve had my eye on.
These are my thoughts on this summer day as I sit in my office and work feverishly on the task before me. With a cold cup of coffee by my side (my fifth of the day) and papers scattered across my desk, I have one thing on my mind—closing this deal. Then it happens. My secretary pops in and tells me my mother-in-law is on the line. She says they think Jessica has gone into early labor, but not to worry, they’re leaving for the hospital.
I tell Jesse’s mother I’ll meet them there as soon as I can. But I just can’t seem to pull myself away. Come on, I tell myself, this is your new baby. What’s more important, hitting your goals or being with Jessica for the birth of your child—okay, one more call to the attorney to button up that last item in the document and that’s it—then I’m on my way.
But I’m still sitting at my desk. The attorney said he would call right back. I look at my watch. Holy shit! That was over an hour ago. The phone rings. It’s Jesse’s mother. I’m on my way, I tell her. Okay, I’ve got to get out of here. I frantically pack up my papers and stuff them in my briefcase. The phone rings again. It’s the attorney. He got the call from the client. It looks like we’re going to close the deal.
This is great news! There’s just one minor snag. Our client will only do the deal if we agree to change some of the language and numbers in the prospectus that relate to their accounting practices. Although I know they follow the letter of the law, I also know they sometimes deviate from the spirit of the law. Their methods are complicated, and they use novel ways of characterizing income, assets, and liabilities.
Our attorney asks me if I will agree to the terms. If I don’t agree, we won’t get the deal done. What do you want me to do, the attorney asks. I tell him I’ll call him right back. I think about it for a few minutes. My head is spinning. I really need to get to the hospital. I pick up the phone and call the attorney back and tell him I agree. The attorney asks if I can do one last thing. Sure, I can do that. It should only take me about twenty minutes. Sure I can get back to him within half an hour.
But I told Jesse’s mother I was on my way. Oh hell, if this delivery is like the last one I’ve got plenty of time. Jesse was in labor for eight hours before she delivered John. And besides, her mother is with her. I’ll get this last item knocked out and get over there.
I call the attorney back and give him the information he needs. I look at my watch. Oh no, how did this happen? I told Jesse’s mother I would leave three hours ago. I wonder why she didn’t call me again. Everything must be okay or she would have called. But what the hell’s wrong with me? I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get to the hospital— now! It’s just a short drive from my office. I’ll be there in no time.
I drive the three or four miles to the hospital. The traffic is light tonight. It takes me less than ten minutes. Alright, that’s not so bad. I’m only a couple hours later than I said I would be. Jesse’s used to me showing up late. She won’t be too mad. Hell, I probably even have time to stop by the gift shop and buy her some flowers. That’ll make her happy.
I buy
the flowers and head up to the second floor. I ask the nurse where Jesse’s room is and she tells me it’s just down the hall—room 210. But when I walk into the room, I see that Jesse is alone and crying. “Jesse, what’s going on?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. She just waves her hand back and forth few times—waving me away. And she’s crying into a ball of bunched up tissues. I set the flowers on the tray near her bed and sit on the bed next to her. She raises her hand to push me away. “Jesse, what’s wrong? Is everything okay? Where’s your mother? Are you alright?”
She doesn’t speak. She covers her face with her hands. She’s trembling and sobbing.
“Jesse! Tell me what’s going on? Is the baby okay?”
But she can’t talk. She’s sobbing too much. I dash out of the room to the nurse’s station. I talk to the first person I see: a young woman in blue scrubs.
“Can you tell me what’s going on with my wife? She’s in room 210, and she’s sobbing. Is my baby alright?”
The woman looks at me, and pauses for only a split second. “Yes sir, she says. “Congratulations! You have a brand new baby boy. As far as I know, everything is just fine—the baby’s adorable, and just as healthy as can be. I wasn’t here for the delivery, I just came on duty a little while ago,” she says. “He was delivered about an hour ago. I understand it was smooth as silk—that boy just popped right on out. Your wife’s mother is in the nursery with the baby right now. They should be bringing him back soon. You can go to the nursery. It’s just down the hall and to the left. Just follow the signs.”
The nurse sets her clip board on the countertop. She tilts her head to one side and looks at me. “Hey mister, you just getting in from out of town or something?” she asks. “I don’t know why your wife is crying so much. She’s probably just happy, that’s all. It’s a pretty emotional time for a woman after a new baby comes. Just give her some lovin’, she’ll be fine.”
I don’t know where to go first. I want to see my new son. But something tells me I better get back to Jesse’s room. Although now I know why she’s crying so hard, and I really would rather go to see the baby and not have to deal with Jesse’s emotions. But I head back to Jesse’s room.
By the time I get there, Jesse’s composed herself. Now she sits up in her bed with a cold blank stare. She folds her arms across her chest as I approach. The body language is quite clear. I sit in the chair next to the bed. And we’re both silent for awhile.
“Is making money so important to you?” she asks. “Is it so important that you couldn’t be here for your son’s birth? My god Joe, what’s become of you? My mother called you twice. Twice! You’re less than ten minutes away. That was over three hours ago! What were you doing?”
I hang my head and try to disguise the fact that I’m flexing it to relieve the stiffness. I slide my eyes toward Jessica and see tears trickling down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry Jesse. I don’t know what to say. I feel just as bad as you do. Do you think I didn’t want to be here?”
Jessica turns away from me and looks out the window. She wipes her eyes and turns back toward me. “Are all your deals and accomplishments worth the price? Huh? Tell me now, because I need to know.”
She is facing me. But her eyes are far away. I don’t even know if she really sees me. Her eyes are red and puffy. She sniffles a few times and blows her nose softly into the tissues. “None of that is important to me,” she says. “Not if it drives a wedge between us Joe, and that’s exactly what it’s doing. Enough is enough. I’ve had it! I couldn’t give a shit about that big house you’ve been talking about. Who are you doing this for anyway, Joe? How much do you need? What are you trying to prove?”
I don’t have any words to comfort Jessica. And I fear that something in our relationship has been changed forever. I stand up and try to sit next to her on the bed. She raises her hand in protest, but I don’t relent. I move onto the bed and put my arms around her. I kiss her softly on her cheek and her wet, salty tears run across my cheek. She hugs me back, but it’s a tentative kind of hug. The kind that says irreparable damage has been done.
Then whiteness again. And a voice.
“I understand Joe. You thought money would give you power. Put that in your file of illusions. It doesn’t work that way my friend. Money in your world may be everything, but in this world it’s nothing. The only thing that matters here is love.”
Walt, is that you? Walt?
Maybe Walt was right about me after all. But there was more. Another scene flashes before me: I wake up late, anticipating something. Something’s in the air. I can feel it in the way the breeze rustles in the trees and the sultry summer heat simmers in my loins.
It’s the Fourth of July. I’m going to a picnic at Uncle Lou’s. We’ve had family picnics there on Independence Day for as long as I can remember. There’ll be the aunts, the uncles, the little kids chasing each other with sparklers, and the long tables of chicken, and ribs, and coleslaw, and sausage and peppers, and pasta and peas, and greens and beans.
Is my white tee-shirt with the Sigma Chi emblem clean? I think I’ll wear my khaki shorts and flip-flops. I grab the six-pack out of the fridge, (good, no one drank any of it!) zip out the front door to the driveway, open the door of my cool blue ’66 Mustang, and toss the beer into the backseat.
I squeeze my car into one of the last spots at the field where the picnic is already at full roar. Paul is standing in his favorite spot: hovering over a makeshift grill of stacked cinder blocks and a metal grate, slapping on the barbecue sauce.
“Hey Joe, it’s about time you got here,” he says. “Late night last night? Who was she?”
I don’t even answer that one.
I see Albert sitting by himself under a tree. I walk over.
“Hey, why are you sitting here all alone?” I ask.
Albert looks up quickly and then stares down at the gray blanket he’s sitting on. “Oh, hey Joe. I don’t know. I’m not feeling too good today,” Albert says.
I squat next to him and put my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, come on now. It’s the Fourth of July. You’re supposed to be having a good time.”
Albert looks up at me. His eyes are watery and puffy and I know he’s been crying.
“Hey, what are the tears for?”
“I don’t know Joe. I’ve just been so sad lately. I feel like I don’t fit in anywhere in this world.” Albert rubs his fingers over his eyes. “What’s wrong with me Joe? I just want to be normal.”
I put my hands on Albert’s knees and then I take his hands and pull him up. “Come on now,” I say. “I’m not going to let you sit here by yourself all day today. Let’s go get up a game of bocce. Come on, you and I will be on the same team. We’ll kick some butt just like always.”
Albert smiles and stands and follows me and we get up a game. I’m worried about him. But I don’t know what to do.
From time to time, as the day wears on I almost forget that feeling of the morning. But it keeps coming back, something sweet and sensual, like melted chocolate, warm and moist in my mouth.
As a kid, I would stick around until dark and go with my family to watch fireworks, but today by early evening, I’m ready to leave. At home I consider taking a shower and going to bed, but instead I decide to go out.
About ten o’clock I head out to “The Sunken Treasure.” “The Treasure,” as it’s known by the locals, is an old dance hall converted a while ago to a rock-and-roll club on the strip at Harbor Cove. The “Strip” is a little over a mile long. It’s just a short hike up a shady hillside from the beach down by the lake.
In its heyday, the old-timers say—in the mid-1940s— the Strip would be lined with Fords, Oldsmobiles and Packards. The old-timers still talk about the summer Tommy Dorsey, Cab Calloway, and the young Frank Sinatra came through: Cars were backed up for miles on both sides and you couldn’t get near the place.
It must have been something back then, I think, as I park my car and look down the Strip. It’s a bit run down
now. The once famous Flying Jets, the Dodge’ems, and the Penny Arcade have been replaced by rickety hot dog stands, dingy donut shops, and seedy bingo parlors. Signs that mark the most prominent establishments, once lit up with dazzling displays, now have burned out lights and missing bulbs. And yet, this night, the Strip has a charm and character that is classic. This night, the orange and green neon signs, the pink and yellow blinking lights, the red, white, and blue faded flags, are magical.
Tonight, The Treasure is packed with teenage kids, young adults, and lots of out-of-towners. The under-18 crowd loiters around the entrance, and occasionally a few lucky ones make it past the bouncers checking ID’s. There seem to be a lot of kids fresh out of college here tonight, like me.
The outdoor patio is crowded. Tonight’s local band is making their usual mess of the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction.” You’d think they could try a new song to slaughter, I think. Inside, it’s bustling and noisy, and kids are dancing. I hang out with some of my old high school pals for awhile and some guys who made it back from Viet Nam. Luckily, my lottery number was 256. I don’t think I’ll be going. A few of my friends didn’t make it back.
Some of the kids are dressed in the usual Ivy League attire. Others are wearing bell bottom pants, and hip-huggers with embroidered shirts and wide belts, or leather fringe jackets or vests. Some girls wear soft muslin blouses, embroidered with flowers, and love beads or headbands. The air smells like stale beer and cigarette smoke.
It’s been a long day. Too many beers already in the hot sun and I’ve got to get up early. No more drinking and partying tonight. What am I doing here anyway? I haven’t had a drink since around seven o’clock, and I’m starting to fade. It’s hot, there’s no air conditioning in this place. It’s more than hot, it’s stifling. So I walk out onto the patio to get some fresh air. The patio’s about the quarter size of a basketball court. Most of it is filled with people. I can hear the muffled sound of go carts and the faint screams of kids on the new roller coaster ride down the Strip.
