by Kelly Utt
It’s interesting that one person can be so good at two very different kinds of work. I doubt there’s much creativity involved in immigration law. Maybe the creativity piece is connected to her cello playing. My wife is a fabulous cello player, same as her mom is a fabulous viola player. Marjorie made a career out of it and enjoys playing professionally with the New York Philharmonic. Ali double majored in college at University of Virginia-- pre-law and music performance-- but ultimately decided to pursue law school and let music be a hobby.
I like trying to understand people’s motivations. Human psychology fascinates me.
Ali and I are happy to be putting down roots in a city where we have history. There’s something significant about walking around on the same ground I did in high school. The same ground Mom did growing up and then again since she moved back after Dad died. The same ground my grandparents walked around on for their entire lives. It makes me feel like a part of the physical place. I look at the hills and Cayuga Lake and I feel like I’m a part of them. Or maybe they’re a part of me. It feels like I belong here, in a know-it-in-my-bones kind of way.
I remember the first time I brought Ali home to Ithaca to meet Mom, John Wendell, and Grandma. We stayed in the spare bedroom at Mom’s little stone cottage downtown, the same room that was mine during high school and the one John Wendell spent the last years of his life in. Ali and I had met just a couple of weeks prior in the food court of a D.C. area mall, but already, we knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I had plans in place to take leave from the Air Force and make a trip home to Ithaca for the holidays. Ali was on winter break from law school and also had plans to head home to New York to spend the holiday with her parents and brother in New York City.
Not wanting to be away from Ali for a single day I didn’t have to, I asked her to join me for a joint Empire State road trip where we’d visit both Ithaca and New York City in order to meet each other’s families. It was presumptuous to ask, probably, but Ali immediately said yes without hesitation. I recall the feeling of elation vividly. We were young and so in love. It was as if we’d known each other forever and had reunited after a long time apart. Now that I remember having been with Ali in Ancient Greece, I realize we sort of had known each other forever. With that hindsight, our immediate knowing when we met in this life makes complete and total sense.
We took Ali’s black Jeep Grand Cherokee on the trip. The vehicle was new and loaded, provided the year prior as a gift from her parents at college graduation. I wasn’t using any of the money Dad left me back then, so I was driving a base-model, beaten up Pontiac Sunfire manufactured in the mid-nineties. Even though the headroom in the Cherokee left much to be desired for someone my height, it was the obvious choice for the journey. Besides, it was a four-by-four and we knew we’d be driving through a significant amount of snow.
I’ll never forget the day we packed up that Cherokee together and pulled out of D.C. on what we intuitively knew would be the first of countless road trips as a couple. I could almost see our future babies in the back seats if I looked hard enough. The feeling of rightness was overwhelming and all-encompassing. It didn’t matter that I was a young guy still in my twenties or that many other young guys my age would bolt at the thought of marriage and babies. Hell, many would bolt at the thought of a road trip out of state to meet a girl’s family. Not me. I was smitten. I was falling hard and didn’t want to stop.
I’m still falling hard for Alessandra Davies. Every single day.
We left on a Friday evening around supper time. I remember how the D.C. traffic turned into a snarl when we were less than five miles away from Ali’s apartment. We couldn’t have cared less. We sat in that traffic jam smiling, holding hands, and singing along to the radio. We were as happy as two people could be, simply spending time together. I know now that we weren’t allowed to be together in Greece, which surely made our young love feelings in this life that much more intense.
We made it a few hours up the road to Hershey, Pennsylvania on day one. We stayed at the first hotel we found, which turned out to be a charming bed and breakfast inn. It was snowing when we arrived and the twinkling holiday lights at the front entrance made us even more excited about our trip. Not only were we traveling together, but it was a holiday excursion.
Ali has always liked Christmas time and she was over the moon about the decorations at the little inn. I loved seeing her happy. I remember walking into the lobby where a wood fire was burning in a stone fireplace surrounded by inviting leather furniture. There were chocolates on the end tables and glasses of wine. Christmas music was playing, just like at the mall the day we met. I remember walking up to the front desk of the inn with Ali by my side and asking for one room, together. We had already made love to each other in her apartment more than once, but the thought of spending the night together like a real couple while traveling at Christmas time carried an entirely different appeal.
Our room was all we could have wished for. It had a wood-burning fireplace of its own, complete with a settee sofa positioned nearby and a big jacuzzi soaker tub across from the king-size bed. Two large windows allowed us to watch the snow falling outside while we stayed warm and cozy indoors. Suffice to say, we made good use of the space. Our lovemaking was beyond anything I could have imagined. We had a connection that defied all logical reason. We still do. That night will forever hold a place amongst my most cherished memories. I’m sure Ali would say the same.
Come to think of it, our current bedroom in our new house bears a lot of similarity to the one we enjoyed that winter night in Hershey, Pennsylvania. It’s much bigger, but I wonder if we somehow subliminally recalled that room at the inn as we were choosing our current home. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had.
After a delicious from-scratch breakfast at the inn of bacon, scrambled eggs, and cherry pastry, we made a stop at the Hershey’s Chocolate World museum before getting back on the road to Ithaca. The museum was decorated for Christmas, too, and Ali was bubbling with excitement. We toured the factory where they made the chocolates and sampled warm candy in between warm kisses. The sun seemed brighter that day. The world seemed more alive.
Hershey, Pennsylvania is a couple of hours away from Bannersville, Pennsylvania where Dad and Liam grew up. It felt good to be that close. I proudly told Ali about my Pennsylvania roots as we followed a tour guide and learned the history of chocolate making in the region. She smiled as I explained how Dad had come to Hershey on school field trips when he was a kid. I’m sure my face was lit up like a Christmas tree that day. And I’m sure my goofy grin was on display. Ali teases me about it, but she knows my goofy grin exists because she makes me so deliriously happy.
I continued to report on family history as we drove the four hours to Ithaca, stopping for a late lunch along the way in a little town called Mountain Top, Pennsylvania at the edge of Mount Penobscot. I told Ali all about Mom, Dad, Grandma, and John Wendell. I told her stories about my childhood and some of the good times my family and I have enjoyed together. She listened intently and seemed to be cataloging the information. I’ve always been impressed by her intelligence. More than a display of brain power though, she was learning about my family because she cared about me. I got that and appreciate it immensely. I felt seen by Ali in a way I’d never experienced before.
I’d dated a couple of nice girls while in high school and I’d had flings here and there as an adult, but I’d never experienced a connection like I felt with Ali. It was sudden and extraordinary. I didn’t know I needed it until it was right in front of me. Luckily, she felt the same way.
We arrived in town and pulled into Mom’s driveway just as the sun was beginning to set and pink light from the horizon glistened on the snow-covered ground.
I’ll never forget watching Ali’s face as she fell in love with my hometown and my family. That’s the day I knew without a doubt that I was completely and totally in love with Alessandra Davies and that there was no thought of being with
anyone else ever again. I was hers and she was mine. Our fate was sealed.
I fell in love with her hometown and her family, too, when we traveled to Manhattan to visit them a few days later. But neither of us ever envisioned living in Manhattan together.
Ithaca is so very different from the City. Ali and I enjoy the slower pace and the gorgeous natural scenery the Finger Lakes region has to offer. From the very beginning, we knew we’d make our home in Ithaca one day. We waited fourteen years for me to retire from the military so we could move here.
I’ve always thought it was kind of neat how Ali and I were both New Yorkers living in Washington, D.C. when we met. Our New York ties seemed serendipitous. Or maybe they were part of a larger connection and purpose.
I sometimes think about the first time Mom brought Dad home to Ithaca to meet John Wendell and Grandma. I wonder if he was nervous as they made the trip West from Brooklyn. And I wonder if they stopped overnight like Ali and me. Grandma and John Wendell were two of the nicest people ever, so I imagine that if Dad had been nervous, his mind was eased once he arrived in Ithaca and saw their smiling faces. Maybe that was the day Mom fell completely and totally in love with him.
I also think about the first time John Wendell and Grandma met each other’s families. Or maybe they already knew each other’s families since they both grew up in the area. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that story, but I’d like to. Maybe Mom knows it and can tell it to me some time. I enjoy contemplating our roots here. I hope one day, the boys will bring their loves home to meet Ali and me. We’ll still be here, older and gray and eager to share our beloved Ithaca with the newest members of our tribe.
It may sound strange, but now that I remember having lived in Ancient Greece, I’m aware of new layers of subtleties surrounding the human condition and our relationships with each other. Having lived before means we have exponentially more history which both makes us who we are and binds us tightly to one another. We have hurts and grudges that need to be healed.
There’s much for me to learn, sort out, and solve related to the intruders who tried to kidnap Ethan in January because I suspect what happened to my boy in Greece is directly related to what happened right here at home in New York. But the more I ponder the whole thing, I think it’s evident that the successes and happy endings in life are more triumphant than most of us realize, given everything we’ve been through. After all, we’re here now, safe and happy and together.
I wonder who else belongs in our group that hasn’t yet arrived.
I haven’t told anyone about my Greece memories yet. Not Ethan, who remembered us having been there even before I did. Not Marjorie, who remembers past lives of her own and knows of resources which can help me figure it all out. Not even Ali. I expected to tell them. I planned to tell them. The days just sort of went by, though. I guess I needed a break from the heaviness of it all. There was so much to absorb after that life-altering week. I needed time to process. Then, each day that passed without me mentioning Greece seemed to make it harder to bring up. There would, no doubt, be the inevitable questions about why I waited so long to tell them. I figure they’d believe me, but I suppose I don’t know that for sure. They might want to see some kind of proof.
Really though, I’m not trying to hide it from my family. I just don’t want to let them down. Maybe I want to figure out more on my own before I tell them so I don’t sound like a floundering mess. I want Ali and the boys to know, without a doubt, they can count on me. I want to protect them. I want to do a better job of protecting them than I did in Greece, that’s for damn sure.
I haven’t gone back to see Dr. Epstein either. Not since the day before Will was born and John Wendell died. The doc got me a prescription for some pills to help me sleep and called a few times to follow up, but I never called him back to schedule another appointment. Judging by where we left off, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m mentally ill. He and I were developing a good rapport before I told him I remembered having lived in Ancient Greece after the hypnosis session he facilitated. He was talking about unresolved grief from Dad dying and then guiding me to remember events from childhood when I spontaneously went further back.
I knew at the time I should probably keep my mouth shut about the extent of what I remembered, but I was overwhelmed and let it out while reporting on what I saw.
The way he responded made me angry. I’m not sure exactly which disorder he thinks I have, but I don’t appreciate being talked down to like that. There’s nothing wrong with my mind. At least I don’t think so. I mean, where do we even draw those lines? I realize the mental health community relies heavily on the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual to diagnose mental disorders, but I remember hearing somewhere how homosexuality used to be considered a mental disorder, complete with its own spot in the DSM. We now know that’s absurd. I’ve also heard how psychology is a young science. It seems likely that at least some of the human experiences we place in the realm of mental disorders today will eventually end up classified as normal.
Marjorie mentioned something about new developments in quantum physics lending support to the idea that our consciousness creates physical reality rather than the other way around. I’ve been intending to do some research and really dig into that material. I haven’t done it yet though. I should make a to-do list.
I spend a decent amount of time thinking about our lives together in Ancient Greece. My hypnosis session left me with quite a bit of information, yet not nearly enough. Some of what I know is specific, while other parts are more general. Like how I knew where I was and approximately what period of history I was in when I landed in the memory. That washed over me in a wave of general knowing. Other parts were revealed slowly and with more detail. It was kind of like opening a package and taking things out layer by layer in an effort to understand what’s inside. How can an entire lifetime be remembered in a matter of minutes though? I suspect there’s so much more.
I wonder why I wasn’t supposed to be with Ali back then. I understand the social class thing, but when it comes to our personal situations, I’m not so sure the explanation is that simple. Couldn’t someone have approved our union? I wonder who else from this life was involved in Ancient times. And I’m very curious about who made the decision to send Ali and baby Ethan out of the city.
If Ali and our son had been able to stay inside the boundaries of the city, no harm would have come to them. At least I don’t think it would have. What motivation did the pillagers have to take and kill my son, anyway? That’s hardcore, gut-wrenching history of the worst kind. There must have been more to the story. Especially if they actually did come at us again in this lifetime with the break-in and abduction attempt. I’m compelled to know more.
On the other hand though, deep down, I’m afraid to know more. A part of me feels like maybe avoiding it will make it all go away. So, for the time being, I mostly try and focus on more positive things over which I have some measure of control. That’s a key step for alcoholics, mentioned in the serenity prayer.
A buddy of mine in Officer Candidate School was a recovering alcoholic. He kept it quiet, but we became close enough that he eventually told me some stories about his own learning and growth. I figure it’s good life advice for us all to accept the things we cannot change, have the courage to change the things we can, and have the wisdom to know the difference. I’m moving through the best I can. I’m grateful to have a lot of positive in my life to focus on.
In fact, now that Will is old enough to travel reasonably well, we’re going away for a little while. We’ll enjoy the party tonight, then will allow a rest day at home tomorrow to recover and finish packing. On the day after tomorrow, my little family plus Liam, Roddy, and Marjorie will all head to Lake Tahoe for a two-week long vacation! We’ll fly into Reno and enjoy a nice lunch before renting a couple of vehicles and making the drive over the mountain. None of us have been to Tahoe before, so it will be a brand new adventure.
I realize it will be ho
t this time of year, but we can dip into the crystal-clear waters of the lake to cool off. Besides, after living in D.C. for so many years and experiencing the hot, muggy summers there, I don’t expect the dry heat out West to bother me much.
We’re renting a huge waterfront mansion in South Lake Tahoe that boasts a private pool, dock, and beach right on the property. It’s going to be amazing. The house isn’t all that far from California’s wine country. And San Francisco isn’t much beyond that. Even Vegas is relatively close. We figure Tahoe will be a good place to home-base while we explore. Maybe we’ll go somewhere else for a few days. I can see us making a long weekend trip to another popular spot in the region. Ali might really enjoy a romantic evening in Napa. Or a festive night out at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. We have a list of attractions we want to check out and things we want to do.
This will be the first vacation for the group of us together, but I’m sure my uncle or my in-laws would watch the kiddos so Ali and I can get out for an evening to ourselves if we ask them nicely. There is a myriad of options.
I invited Mom to go with us, too, but she declined. She’ll be at the party tonight, as far as I know, but she’s not a fan of heat or, for that matter, vacationing. Staying at home while we travel is probably the best thing for her to do because she would most likely drag the rest of us down.
I love Mom, truly, but our relationship has been somewhat strained lately. I’m getting more and more comfortable using my money and as I do, Mom seems more and more uncomfortable with me doing so. She’s convinced the break-in and abduction attempt happened because flaunting our wealth made us a target. Her words, not mine.
Maybe she’s right, but Ali and I don’t want to be afraid of enjoying our money. It’s not easy for me to relax about being wealthy given the messages I received growing up. I’m sincerely trying.
