Raven
Emotions from my past life crept into the current one, invading every corner. Unresolved grief from other lives compounded grief from the present. I wondered if it was always so, and we were just unaware.
Weary, I saved what I'd written and turned off the computer. I had worked all night.
A photograph of Tad stared back at me from my desk beside the monitor. His eyes held the touch of deviance that defined him. A twinge broke into a heartache. I blocked it. I did not need to cry about it anymore. Sadness had become the hallmark of my life. Wherever he was, crying would not bring him closer. The more I cried, the more I nursed the pain, the further from him I felt.
Enough.
I picked up the picture and caressed the edge of his face. I was rewarded by the cold, slick touch of glass.
"I love you," I whispered, "always."
Sliding open the desk's bottom drawer, I placed the photograph on top of other pictures of him, ones I kept close for comfort. Slowly, methodically I closed the drawer on him. On him. It seemed impossible. I was determined it would not be heart wrenching.
Sunlight slipped in through the windows. Beyond the deck the Clackamas River meandered toward the Willamette. On the far shore a heron stood patient watch, every morning in exactly the same spot. I loved that bird.
Patience--the word entered my mind, spoken in that still voice, the one I always wondered about, whether or not it really belonged to God.
Patience for what?
Sometimes life seemed to be a series of heartaches strung together by periods of patience.
Enough.
I stretched the stiffness from my back and peered again through the window at the river. Felipe and Jessie, dressed in cutoffs and tank tops, stood bent over in ankle-deep water. Stepping out onto the upper deck I descended the exterior stairs to ground level, eased myself down the bank and stopped next to the water.
One at a time Jessie and Felipe scooted good-sized rocks further out into the river.
"What you guys doing?"
"Putting them back," Jessie said.
"So that's how you did it?" I asked. Plopping myself on a grassy spot, I watched.
"Well, I certainly can't walk on water," Jessie said. "What would be the point of that? Defying the laws of physics is not what this dimension is about."
"So you're saying the stuff in the Bible about it is horse pucky?" I said.
"That and bull shit," Felipe said.
They tugged and pushed the last of the rocks into place. Finally they sat on either side of me.
The breeze bore a summer ambiance. Across the water, the grass and brush looked like it had seen too many hot days. It was not that I disliked summer. I just did not like the heat--not knowing how hot it would get or for how long. The relief of autumn seemed like an eternity away, although it could be only a couple of weeks. Fall in the Pacific Northwest usually began the first week of September.
"Do you think there's a chance that what we did will get your brother off of his religious high horse?" Felipe said. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke trail off and dissipate.
"Probably not. He likes rules," I said. Fatigue gathered around me.
"Especially when he thinks they give him the power of knowing," Jessie said. "He talked a lot about that when he was guzzling wine. We couldn't get through to him the difference between religion and spirituality, that religion is about following someone else's rules, and spirituality is about individual connection."
"It's an alien concept to him. In fact, anything that's logical is alien to him." I picked a stem of dead grass and began twiddling it.
"I don't know about you," Jessie said, "but I'd like to go out to breakfast. It's my favorite meal out."
Up the Clackamas River, just across from Carver, beyond the boat launch was a rustic Mom and Pop restaurant on the river.
As the waitress led us to a table Jessie asked, "Do you think we could sit on the deck?"
"We usually don't serve out there until lunch, but business has been light," the waitress said. "I should be able to handle it."
Sunlight splashed the table as we settled in and placed our orders. There was no breeze. Birds twittered nearby. A chipmunk peeked it's head up over the edge of deck floor and watched us.
"It's nice here," I said. "Peaceful. I've been up and down this river lots of times. I didn't even know this place was here. How'd you find it?"
"A little exploring the other day," Jessie said, smiling, "while Felipe was on duty."
"On duty. Hmmm. You know," I said, "I can never figure out why you smile all the time."
"Because I like to. Do you want me to teach you?" Jessie's expression held intensity as well as tranquility, a contradiction, but not unusual for him.
"Yes," I said. "I seem to have forgotten how."
"Too many heartaches can do that," Jessie said, "until you learn to see them differently. Sometimes you have to extract yourself from victim mode and teach yourself to be happy again."
"I was thinking something like that a little while ago," I said.
"Good," Felipe said, sporting mock-arrogance, "'cause look, you're in the company of the two most attractive men in the place. And humble, God, we're so humble...and sweet. It's a wonder all the other women here aren't flocking to us."
"Except for the waitress, as far as I can tell, I'm the only one. And you're the only guys."
"See what I mean?" Felipe said. "We both think you're hot..."
A loud pop broke the moment.
Jessie threw himself across me. The three of us sprawled on the deck.
Another pop followed.
"What was that?" I said.
"A gunshot," Jessie said.
"A gunshot?" I asked. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Stay down. Follow me," Jessie said.
We crawled toward the door. Jessie reached up and opened it. The gun fired again and again. Felipe pushed Jessie and I inside.
"Call the police," Felipe yelled to the waitress and the cook peeking from the kitchen. "Our friend's been shot."
"He's bleeding," I said.
A puddle of blood had already gathering beneath him.
Crouching low, Felipe and I tugged Jessie through the room and around the corner into the hall.
"Call an ambulance," I hollered. I ripped off my over-shirt, stuffed it on the wound below his left shoulder and applied pressure. "It went all the way through."
Felipe took off his shirt and pressed it against the back side of the wound.
"Jessie?" Felipe said. "Come on, fella. Jessie?"
He did not answer.
Stunned, not allowing it register, I said, "They hit him in the head, too. Zak was right. He was right."
"He always is," Jessie mumbled.
"Jessie, hold on. Help is coming. Hold on," I said.
The hallway smelled musty and stale with the after-smell of Lysol. I hadn't noticed it when we first came in, but now as we waited, as time strung out before us, I noticed insignificant things around me--a cobweb strung from the hanging light to a picture frame, the fussy dust in the corner between the carpet and the baseboard, a place the vacuum was hard pressed to reach.
In the distance the voice of a siren spoke. It came closer and closer until finally the ambulance stopped near the door. A police car rushed to a stop beside them. A man and a woman pushing a stretcher barged into the restaurant and found us waiting.
Felipe rode with them to St. Teresa's Hospital in Milwaukie while I talked to the police. After the interview, with nerves frazzled I sped to the hospital, found a parking spot and rushed into emergency. Felipe was answering questions at the desk.
When he was done, I said, "Where is he?"
"In surgery," Felipe said. "A bullet entered just above his heart. He's in pretty bad shape."
Chapter 26