did my best to assure them I was fine. Within a short time, Tom and I sat and finished filing a report of what had just transpired. I related everything in detail, but could not verbally express something I saw in his eyes. What had been exposed between us had a far great connection that would need more time and understanding.
With such an incident, normally all rights granted to a patient would have been revoked and all were except one. Against Toms wishes, he finally conceded in granting me more time with Mr. T. While from the outside observation, one would think I would have to be insane for wanting such a thing, he had baited me in with clear certainty that I would follow. He was right, and the game of cat and mouse was now very much on.
By the time I had arrived curbside in front of my childhood home, the shadow of the neighbor’s two-story home was already falling across the front of what used to be my bedroom window. Aside from relieving me from the afternoon heat, it was also an indication that Grace would be on her way home from her time spent helping at the clinic.
Walking up close to the house, I noticed that it seemed to have recently been given a new coat of paint. The drab gray stucco exterior was now replaced by a summer yellow with windows in a white trim. Walking the perimeter of the property, I felt in some comfort that not a lot seemed to have changed other then the fact that the big hill behind the property was full of relatively new homes.
Turning, I happily watched on as the new generation of youngsters chased each other around on their bicycles. Their laughter made the other wise somber homecoming easier to deal with.
Taking the lone key from my pocket, I stood for a time staring over the familiar details with the doors wood frame design. I managed a smile for the fact that worn brass fixtures seemed still stained with dirt markings from past times.
Pushing the door open, it was quickly obvious that someone had already begun the clearing out of the all her belongings. The imprints of where all the living room furniture had been were marked deeply into the old shag rug carpet. All the walls remained clear with an exception of the fireplace mantel where upon it was the small shelf that still carried and retained Grace’s shrine of pictures.
Stepping in close, some articles had been cleared off but those left behind were of a series of pictures set out and I presumed were intended for me. Flipping through the images, a stir of emotions shifted within me as I fanned over them looking first at the childhood grin exposing a gum line of missing teeth, to the much later picture of me during
adolescence where the smile was not as convincing. Another black and white portrait was of us with our faces together side by side. Our eyes reflected the happiness of those early years. Wiping the light dust covering from their surface, I guessed the picture had been taken when I was just about four or five years of age.
Relaxing to the floor, I continued flipping though the other pictures and came across a single one that I had not seen before. Gracie’s young body was at the mercy of what looked to be her one time lover. She was leaning into a fall back position, supported within the arms and eyes of a clean-cut military looking man. Her hands held together in an embrace at her chest, indicating a total surrender. She was gazing into the eyes of man that I was trying to remember but could not.
Behind the cluster of pictures was a white envelope. Upon it lay Graces blue and white beaded Rosary. Sliding the intended gift into my hand, I took in a long breath of admiration for her devotion towards the church. While I did attend mass with her in my early childhood days, her unwavering dedication impacted me little as the years went on. I remember usually when Sunday did arrive; I was nowhere to be seen.
Looking to the envelope, and removing the tape, I separated the two sides and what was revealed yet again was another set of some ten or so pictures that were all of black and white print. Along with the images was an old newspaper clipping exposing a missing person’s case featuring that of a Monica Blackwood. Looking over the brief information, it was stated that Mrs. Blackwood was last seen in this very area of Redding, back in 1972.
Resorting to the photographs, first picture was aged and had deteriorated to the point of being visually difficult to see definite detail. It was a photograph of two separate couples, that of Grace and her lover who were both standing side by side with the other pair; both couples with identical hairstyles and dress wear giving away the time period in which they lived. Both ladies wore full blouses pulled in tight at the waistline with what looked like matching ribbons. Both men in clean tee’s and sporting cigarettes from their mouths, stood side by side while holding their ladies in their arms. The couples remained beaming in joy under the bright sunlight of summer day.
For a moment I switched my gaze between the image and the article, but again the age of the documents made it too difficult to decipher any connection though the correlation was evidently obvious.
The next picture was a close up of Grace and her lover. Their faces were touching side-by-side and appearing very much in love. Setting the collection of old photographs back onto to the fire place mantle, I knew I would have more time later to analyze the rest of them, but for now was eager to set out to reacquaint myself with the house.
Walking the hallway and entering to what used to be my bedroom; any trace of what was there had been removed. All was empty and gone. Brushing my hand across the walls, I laughed momentarily while still finding tape remnants of what used to support posters of sports and music hero’s alike.
Closing the door, I then paced slowly to the other end of the house where Grace’s room was. I could count on one hand how many times I had been in that room. I later was convinced that it was her own hideaway where she would reside and drink alone, out of the sight of all others. Sometimes I remember hearing her crying in the night, sometimes all night.
It was that corner of the house that seemed darkest to me. I remember as young teens, me and a few of my friends cut short the school day and headed over to the house and tried to break into her room. We spent two hours inflicting damage to the out side of the window, all for the alcohol she hid inside the closet. I was grounded for a week but ended up leaving home for two.
The door was unlocked. There was no longer any reason for things to be hidden. Opening the door, the dissipating daylight filtered into a room that as I remembered it, was usually shadowed in by blinds pulled close. As with the other rooms in the house, Grace’s room remained stripped of all belongings and was empty. Standing at the entry of the room, even now I hesitated before crossing to the inside but once in, I felt that same uneasy feeling begin to overcome me.
Stepping back to the living room, I sauntered into the kitchen moving my eyes casually over the old wooden floors and counter tops. The years of wear and tear upon them matched the feel of the old paper that hung in limp sadness off the far walls.
Pausing, my wondering sight fell out the door way and onto the attic entryway above. Years ago it was used to store the decorations for festive season celebrations. But its other purpose was my hiding space from the out side world. A place where I could go and be with my collection of things I wanted no one else to see. Another truth was that it was a place where I could escape too and do my drawings, drawings that Grace always got mad at me for and threatened to throw away my color markers if she caught me creating such things.
Standing below the entryway, I reached up with my fingertips and just pushed up slightly on the attic lid when a foreign voice bellowed out from down the hall.
“Hi you must be Peter”?
Pivoting around, I was quickly greeted by a short plump man of forty-some who briskly pushed his open hand into mine and gave a vigorous shake.
“Yes Grace, left a key for me and I’m here just to pick up a few things”.
Without a word and holding up a finger, he disappeared and returned with a ladder and flashlight.
“She mentioned you would be by at some point, my name is John Harris and my wife and I are just living down the street. We have all been friends for quite some time and well, we are just seeing the transition through. I will let you carry on with what you are doing and chat shortly”.
Climbing up to the lid of the entryway and sliding it aside, I headed into the darkness where a hot and heavy silence filled the void. Powdery dust particles floated and swirled back behind me, illuminated by the day light pushing up from the passageway below.
Turning on the handheld light, I cast its weak beam to rear of the storage space. I instantly focused on the small corner end of the shoe-box that exposed itself peaking from behind the low end of the wooden roof line truss. Crawling myself along the dark and cramped attic space, I balanced myself along the wooden narrow catwalk until finally retrieving the lightweight box. A shower of sweat fell from my body from both the immense heat and the emotions that were now over taking me.
“Here ya go John”.
Handing him the flashlight and the box, I quickly rejoined my new acquaintance in the cool air below.
Extending his short arm, we shook hands again and headed for the light of the living room. Handing the box over to me, John’s face compressed into a look of question.
“Funny, I thought we cleared out up top; don’t see how we missed that one. But as you can see we are moving right along. Grace wanted everything donated so we have been bringing most of it down to the local Salvation Army and other bit to the church. She did say she had gotten in touch with you and mentioned for us to leave the pictures that you have obviously found”.
Listening politely as John spoke, my curiosity was getting the best of me and I proceeded to lift the top off the old dusty shoe-box. Looking down onto the thick cluster of folded drawing papers that lay haphazardly over my assortment of childhood treasures, I then added Grace’s pictures to the contents with in the box. All the while, John stood pacing himself around the room in a non stop acknowledgment of how wonderful Grace was and what an honor it was for he and his wife to be over seeing the details of her passing.
Looking to meet his eyes now and again, he then stepped in close setting his one hand on my shoulder while glancing down into the exposed contents within my hands. Reaching in, John lightly touched over the top at one of the photos that was of Grace in the arms of her lover. His action seemed to lend a soft touch of condolence to the both of them.
“Damn tragedy”.
Stepping away and shaking his head, John continued his pacing.
“That damn war took to many good men; unfortunately Ben was one of them. Understandably, it broke Gracie’s heart all to hell”.
Stepping outside, the sounds of nature’s buzzing filled the immediate air. John continued to lay out all details of the service to be held, as he knew our time together was short.
“I am sorry for talking your ear off Peter, would you care to join us for dinner tonight”.
Looking down to my watch sympathetically, I apologized and explained I had to be heading out to catch a flight. Glancing back through the taxi window, I threw a small goodbye wave to John who remained road side till he and the house soon fell out of slight.
By midnight I was in my hotel room in down town Denver. I was beyond the point of needing sleep, but my mind would not have it. I needed to talk with someone, someone who knew me and someone I thought I could trust. I knew it was gamble flying in unannounced, but the deep ache I had with in me needed that familiar voice and face of Michelle.
Lifting the cover off the shoe-box, I immediately grabbed at the old papers marked over wildly with colors. Flipping through them randomly, my eyes wondered over the circles of confusion that lay upon them. Round and round went the drawings void of any meaning, scribbled over till the ink of black and red pens ran dry.
Setting the papers back to the bed, I grabbed at the pictures that were now in disarray across the bed surface. I immediately began to reexamine the one image in particular, which was that of the two couples together. At a distance and with the age of the photograph, again, it was hard to make out the details of the other two but, the connection and the reason for Grace to pass this onto me, was now obvious.
By eight-thirty a.m., I was up and sitting bedside ready to make the call to Michelle. It had been a long time since our last real visit, and while it was to be an unexpected one, I figured she was the only person in the world who would here me out. With baited breath I sat in the silence broken only by the ring tone of the phone.
“Hello and good morning, Michelle here”.
“Hi Michelle, its Peter, I know it’s a surprise but I am in town for the day and I really need to see you today”.
Pausing, than speaking with someone in the background, she held out a long hesitating before responding.
“Ahh listen Peter it’s a bad day, I am sorry, some lead time would be appreciated in the future o.k.”?
Brushing her rebuttal aside, I was determined not to be dismissed so easily.
‘I am really sorry Michelle, but today is all I’ve got. Just give me an hour for lunch…please”.
With an exhale followed by a voice of strain, she conceded.
“Peter, I will be at the Water Mark at one pm sharp. See you there”.
I showed up early and was sitting under the shade umbrella at a table reserved for two. Surrounding me sat a small crowd of locals and visitors alike, chatting while enjoying the Denver summertime weather. Just then, Michelle swung in as if already late for the next appointment.
“Hi Michelle and you are looking wonderful”.
Sitting quickly, she signaled to the waiter that she was ready with her order.
“Hi Peter, and I wish I could say the same for you”.
Still smiling, she leaned in as if almost ready to laugh all the while never making any real eye contact.
“Yeh thanks, it has been a rough week”.
Not shocked, but partially dismayed by her course tone, I was already digging in my heels knowing more of the same verbal backlash was soon to come.
“And so, how is life”?
Lighting up a cigarette she settled back into her chair while blowing out and up a cloud of white smoke. Her shoulder length hair remained finely groomed and held the same style and appearance throughout the years of knowing her. She was still very much a beautiful woman.
“I’m living with guy who loves to redecorate my apartment by midnight. No shortage of excitement on the work front as I have just been physically roughed over for the first time in my career, and yes, Grace has died”.
Amused but showing very little reaction other then a slight smile and the reminiscent side-to-side bob of the head, made it feel as though not a day in the last eight years had passed since our agreed separation. Without looking at me and posing a question she already knew the answer too, she calmly stilled all her extremities, with an exception of her head, which slightly settled back while exhaling slowly.
“Did you manage to spend any time at all together”?
Looking to Michelle, I shook my head no, which right away sent her mind in flight over all the years of this same discussion. She tried always to get me to make mends with Grace but my injured ego was never quite ready to make that happen. Looking at me direct for the first time, she lifted her hands open searching for explanation.
“No comment”?
Resorting quickly into my coat pocket, I removed the small envelope and placed it on the table. After a time and with a look of disgust, Michelle began looking over the images all the while shaking her head in obvious disappointment. Meeting her disappointment head on, I pulled my hands tightly over my face and head.
“Look, Grace died yes; I missed her by four hours…"
Exhaling in total depletion, I looked up just as Michelle leaned in with a stern and steely look.
“You missed her by twenty years Peter; let’s not kid ourselves shall we”.
“And yes I am pissed. You want to know if it hurts, yes Michelle it hurts”.
Pushing myself back into my chair, I knew I resembled the person of old, the person with that one unresolved issue. The tattered individual, the one now further mired within the consequence of prolonged indecisive action taken. Settling to calm, we both sat in silence within our once familiar emotional sphere of discontent.
“Look, Grace is not the reason of why I flew out to meet you this afternoon ok. There is something really different going on here and everything is getting really strange again”.
Leaning in close, I pulled around to get to her wondering eyes.
“Intuitively…I think I have been drawn into an environment that is beginning to expose a much larger reality here. Yes, I am now experiencing those same hyper bouts of elevated panics but the visions are clearer and I am getting closer. And…I am hearing the same voice again but it too is so much clearer. It’s just like before…only, there are so many synchronicities relentlessly happening now…and well, I am ready for regressions again, I am certain we can make a break through now”.
Falling back and away while continuing to look my way, Michelle’s face took on a look of disdain and disbelief.
“I don’t have time Peter. I am sorry but this time, I just do not have time”.
Looking out for the first time to take in the view, she continued shaking her head from side to side while subtly releasing words from her otherwise stoic expression.
“Too many years, too many years spent, too many years lost”.
