by Cory Mccoy
I took my father's advice. Every day I would read to Connor, sometimes from his favorite books. Others from works I knew he had always wanted to read, but never had the time.
Johann had found a renewed sense of passion and was working diligently to help him recover. So far we had nothing to go on, aside from the results of his brains scans. I knew little of such matters, but Johann was convinced that he was exhibiting an incredible level of acuity for someone in his state. After days of having him hooked up to the scanners, we were able to discern that not only was he showing signs of awareness, but that when engaged the scans exploded with color showing his brain working at an amazing pace.
My Connor really was in there somewhere and we were all determined to help pull him out. Johann had begun having the medics exercise his entire body vigorously on a daily basis. He said that if he were to regain function he needed to find the right nerves to control. The exercises ranged from general stretching to muscle shock to induce spasms. I had been placed in charge of his mental re- invigoration. Jesse would spend hours listening to me read to Connor, he had never heard of most of these books. One morning, Johann noticed a flurry of activity as I explained some of the more subtle meanings of “A modest Proposal”. It was one of Connor's absolute favorites, he was such a smart ass.
Soon after, JoAnne arrived. Her mother had went back to LA. Jeanine was so relieved to be able to pamper one of her grandchildren, along with Jesse. It was so cute to watch her developing a crush on him. He wanted to train and learn to fight so that he could make Connor proud and he had redoubled his efforts since learning that Connor was responsive. JoAnne would try to run with us every morning, but she was a city girl and couldn't make it half way.
Jesse was picking up on cues from the marines, who he spent a significant amount of time interrogating. He had become their pet project without knowing it. They were determined to instill him with the ethos and resolve that boot camp normally did. He was doing exceedingly well in his recovery, between the training and Jeanine's cooking he had gained almost thirty pounds after three months.
Which brings us to today. I had never planned on writing down my story, I didn't think it would ever be necessary. Today something changed and in the process it helped me change my own mind.
We had taken our morning run, this time when JoAnne stopped, Jesse finally took the cue that she wasn't tired. She just wanted some time alone with him. He told us he would hang back and thirty minutes later as we returned ,we passed them sitting with their feet in the water. Her leaning on his shoulder. It had taken a while, but she had broken him down. I knew him well enough to know that he was putty in her hands, but she was a sweet girl and he deserved that summer romance that we've all had or wished we did.
After coffee that morning, Jesse and JoAnne still hadn't come back, I went to read to Connor. I had found a copy of The Mists of Avalon, it was another favorite of his. A tale of Arthurian legend from Morgaine's point of view. It was beautifully written, Connor had always been a sucker for such poetic prose, which was evident in not only his tapes but whenever he passionately conveyed a message.
I sat there, as I often did, in a recliner by his bedside. Johann had taken it from his own study to make us more comfortable, a fair amount of grunting and cussing had ensued as he was dragging it down stairs.
I read to him, myself encompassed in the beauty of the words, Johann had joined me at some point. Probably to check on his scans.
“"For this is the thing the priests do not know, with their One God and One Truth; that there is no such thing as a true tale. Truth has many faces and the truth is like the old road to Avalon; it depends on your own will, and your own thoughts, whither the road will take you, and whether, at the end, you arrive at the Holy Isle of Eternity or among the priests with their bells and their death and their Satan and hell and damnation...but perhaps I am unjust even to them. Even the Lady of the Lake, who hated a priest's robe as she would have hated a poisonous viper, and with good cause too, chide me once for speaking evil of the God.”
And Johann continued for me, without needing to read the next passage.
“'For all the Gods are one god,' she said to me then, as she had said many times before, and as I have said to my own novices many times, and as every priestess who comes after me will say again, 'and all the Goddesses are one Goddess, and their is only one Initiator. And to every man his own truth, and the God within.'
And so, perhaps, the truth winds somewhere between the road to Glastonbury, Isle of the Priests,”
He continued to recite, his coffee cup in one hand, smiling as he remembered the words.
