Mayday

by Jonathan Friesen

  “You’re not who I expected.” He smiled. “Did you come with Coraline?”

  “We’re together.”

  He straightened and pointed to the floor. I lowered myself down at my dad’s feet and let him stare. It wasn’t the crazed stare I feared, but a controlled stare, a settled stare, which, oddly enough, causes fear as well.

  “Shane.” Dad looked off. “I need to know. Is Coraline well?”

  “I think she’s coming around, but life’s been hard on her.”

  Dad stopped rocking. “For how long?”

  “Thirteen years.”

  He nodded. “I sensed that. She wouldn’t answer all my questions.”

  My locket. I could feel its weight, its change. “Da— Mr. Raine. Do you believe in second chances?”

  “In some cases. I just got one with Coraline. She promised to bring Addy.” He slapped the armrests of his rocker. “For years a man sits in a chair, or walks through a courtyard, wishing he was something different, something more, something other than an agent of pain, and then what he most fears and most desires walks in the door.”

  I rose to my knees in front of him. “I’m not sure I have much time. But I need to hear this: Why did you leave Crow?”

  “She wanted to ask me that. She couldn’t.” He looked down. “This place robs one of all pride. I have no problem telling you.” He breathed deep. “I was a weak man, Shane. I loved Coraline and Addy and their mother so much. I didn’t want any of them growing old nursing a troubled father. I know that makes no sense, and I know now that they needed me. I was selfish.” He glanced around. “But I’ve paid. I fear everyone has paid.”

  “You didn’t leave because of Crow?”

  He shook his head. “She’s the reason I stayed as long as I did.”

  Oh, Dad, tell Crow. Tell her that straight.

  I grabbed his arm. “Then go back. Leave this place and go back. Hug Addy and walk with Crow and talk sense when they’re all turned around.”

  His jaw tightened. “Who are you to say?”

  I dug in my pocket and pulled out the locket. Crimson faintly flickered, and I held it up.

  “Crow wants you back, very much. She’s about to make some choices you can’t affect from in here. I need you where she is. She needs you where she is. I don’t know what to do about Jude, but I need you out of this room and into her life and—”

  Black. The locket went black, and my vision blurred. I tried to stand, but my knees buckled. I fell forward into Dad’s lap, and he stroked my hair.

  “Addy loves you. I still love you, Dad. I’m so sorry I screamed so loudly.”

  My voice changed. It became younger, higher, and through double vision I saw his strong arms wrap around my five-year-old ones. “I’ll play my song better next time. Don’t leave, Daddy.”

  “Coraline?” He leaned forward and rocked and rocked. I felt his embrace, gentle and warm. And then I didn’t. I passed through Dad, frantic and standing. “Where are you, Coraline?”

  Lying on the floor, Daddy.

  In the distance, the door opened. “Are you all right, Cam?”

  “I want my girl back!” Dad sobbed. “She was right here. Two seconds ago, my girl was right here!”

  “I’m here.” Crow ran in and threw herself into his arms. He blinked his eyes, stared around the room, and embraced her.

  “I’m right here, Dad. I’ve missed you. Oh, God, I’ve missed you and failed you, but I’m not leaving, you got that? I’m not leaving you, and you’re not staying here.”

  “You never failed me,” Dad said, his voice cracking. “I failed you.”

  And I felt it, a tug across the middle, pulling, pulling. I didn’t fight it.

  I’d done what I could.

  My walkabout was over.

  I emerged from the dream, the scene slipping away from me. My dad’s broken voice—“I love you, Coraline”—the last words I heard.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE THOUGHTS OF C. RAINE

  Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.

  Rabindranath Tagore

  I OPENED MY EYES IN THE CORNER OF LIFELESS’S ROOM. I wasn’t alone. The room was filled with people standing around the bed. This included the regulars—Dr. Ambrose, Nurse Latte, and Adele—but also a host of faces new to the setting: Mom and Jude, Mr. Loumans and a tearful Thomas, and Mr. Kroft and Will, who was sitting up in a wheelchair.

  And my dad.

  I pushed my way to the bedside. My body looked the same.

  “No. No.” I stroked her head with an unfeeling hand. “You can’t be here. You can’t still be here. What did you do to Will?” My voice lowered. “He’s a good kid. I know you believed me. Why couldn’t you let it go?”

  Will’s dad cleared his throat. “I confess to you all that I’ve never done anything quite like this before, and it breaks my heart.”

  I glanced around at the faces. At the sniffles and tears and the machine, which had been moved out from the wall. I knew what this was.

  “You can’t do this to her! She dreams! Of green fields and the yellow sun.” I broke down and crumpled beside the bed. “I have dreams.”

  “Her life touched each of ours. Without her, we will not be the same, but because of her, we’ve all been changed.”

  But nothing’s changed.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Sadie stood next to me, knitting needles at her side.

  “But the car.” I rose. “It still hit the train.”

  “Yes, it did. One horrible moment in time.” She eased close to my ear. “But a different moment. One you couldn’t control.

  “Crow . . . you wasn’t driving.”

  I frowned, opened my mouth to speak, and frowned again.

  “Don’t look so surprised. You and Thomas, Will and Addy couldn’t all fit up front.” Sadie raised her eyebrows. “You, my dear Coraline, was in the backseat.”

  “No, that’s not true. I remember.”

  “You remember the first time around.” Sadie hesitated. “Mayday came, done its dirty work. Nothing you done on your walkabout could change that. But you sure ’nuff changed you. I wish you could’ve seen yourself that last night. Prettiest yellow dress I ever laid eyes on.”

  “Yellow? I don’t understand.”

  Sadie grinned. “You and Addy decided you should step out in the same dress. Truth be your dad thought it a fine idea, and since he was payin’. And your dates, Thomas and Will, did they not look handsome in them black suits? Um, hmm.”

  “Wait. Thomas? I went to prom. In a yellow dress. With Thomas Loumans?”

  “And a fine time the four of you had right until the end, until that big old nasty train clipped the driver’s-side rear. You got the worst of it. Thomas and Addy, barely a scratch.”

  Deep inside it started. A chuckle that gained strength and volume and turned into a laugh, clear and free. Thomas. I had dated Thomas. My spirit bore witness it was true. I walked over to him, felt that strange blending of joy and pain, and kissed his cheek. Did he feel it? Did I feel it? No. But it was real just the same.

  “You don’t need to see this, Coraline.” Sadie gestured me back.

  “Is this really—”

  “It’s an end, so it has been decided by those legally involved. But I reckon, for you, bound now by a different law, this may also be a beginning.”

  I ran through Jude and stroked Addy’s hair. “Can’t I touch them?” I dashed to Dad. “One more time. Let them know I’m here.”

  “No, child.” Sadie pointed out the door. “But you can now leave.”

  I breathed deeply. “I won’t get pulled back?”

  Sadie smiled.

  “Where will I go?”

  “Some things aren’t for me to know. Some of us only work this side. But now th
at the walkabout be done, you are tied to nothing that was. Not even bad decisions.”

  I followed her around the bed, my hand outstretched to each one I passed. I reached Jude and paused.

  “Leave him go, Coraline. Leave him go. For your own sake. Bitterness be a poor partner wherever you’re heading.”

  My breathing quickened, and my hands shook. “How do I get free of him?”

  “Choose it. Give him over.” Sadie stepped toward Jude, her eyes blazing. “Justice will be served on the man. Just not by you.” Sadie faced me square. “Do you believe me?”

  I closed my eyes and pictured my knife in hand.

  “He deserves to die,” I whispered.

  “Yes, child, he does.”

  I squeezed tight my fists then opened them, and in my mind the knife clattered to the floor. “You promise justice will be served?”

  Sadie’s face softened.

  “Then, I’m ready,” I said.

  Sadie bowed, and together we reached the door. Behind me, the steady beep changed to a solid tone. I glanced over my shoulder as both Adele and Dad wrapped me in their embrace.

  “Tell me, Sadie. Did Crow ever, did I ever, did Dad ever find out how much I loved him? You were there my last months. I don’t know what happened. Did I do any better?”

  Sadie sighed, and a tear fell. “You done took plenty of courtyard walks with your father, and let him know all he needed to hear. Shoot, you saw him most every day. Long after visiting hours ended, you two night owls stayed up, talking that strange philosophical language only you shared.” She wiped her nose with a mitten. “Yeah, I’d say you told him everything. You done good.”

  I breathed deep and nodded. “So that’s it? I just leave and . . . wait.” I pulled out the locket and walked over to my body. Amid the tears and hugs, I bent down and clasped the necklace around my neck. “It looks good on you.” I whispered, “Thank you.”

  I rejoined Sadie at the door and took one last look. Dad’s voice rose over the din. “I didn’t notice it on her before.”

  The halls of the hospital vanished, and once again Sadie and I stood where we’d met, next to the last of three ambulances. Only this time, there was no flashing red, no yellow tape, no police blue. There was no grisly crash. Just three ambulances, parked like limousines in the middle of a field.

  “My dear Crow. This is our good-bye.” She tapped the side-view mirror. “Need proof you done good?” I leaned and stared and touched and then stroked my face.

  I was beautiful.

  She continued, “I could tell you much more about the weeks before Mayday. But it don’t matter now.” She hugged me hard. “Oh, child. That twisted soul that was you is gone. Look at you!” She swatted my backside. “Now go on. Your ride be waitin’.”

  Sadie gazed at the first ambulance, no longer filled with fog but with light.

  I walked quickly toward it. Thinking back, I should have thanked Sadie, but if you’ve ever felt the excitement of the future, if you’ve ever collided with hope, you understand you don’t retrace your steps. I hopped inside the cab and soaked in the warmth. It didn’t take long to locate a pen and my notebook.

  • • •

  Which brings me back to now, whenever that is.

  • • •

  It’s been done. I’ve finished the course and set the record straight. Will this be read? Will the story of any of our lives be read or remembered? That’s a good question, one that never came up in philosophy class, too busy were we discussing global warming. I have no definitive answer. All I know is that someday every page gets written, and until someday comes, the ending can be changed, and even the craziest dreams have a chance.

  I mean, look at me; I’m writing after all.

  Wait. Hold on. The ambulance is moving. The windows are down, and the wind blows gently across my face.

  The fields are green and alive. Alive with laughter.

  Oh, it’s good. . . .

  READ THE AWARD-WINNING NOVEL

  FROM JONATHAN FRIESEN—

  JERK, CALIFORNIA

  “EMOTIONALLY REWARDING AND EFFECTIVE.”

  —VOYA

  TEXT © JONATHAN FRIESEN

  chapter one

  “SAM HAS IT. QUESTION IS, HOW BAD?”

  The pediatrician smiled. Like he got off on destroying a kid’s life. Like children frequently went to sleep normal and woke up monsters who couldn’t keep their damn bodies still.

  He stared at me, waiting. My right hand twitched. He pointed and continued. “The disease has seasons. One day he’ll flail like a windmill in spring. Then the wind’ll die and you won’t see anything for months.” He turned to my mom. “There are some experimental drugs—”

  “Who the hell is supposed to pay for those?” my stepdad said.

  The doctor rose. “I can see you need some time, Bill.” He shook my six-year-old hand, gave my stepdad a pat on the back, and slipped out of the examining room, leaving the three of us to stare at my jerking hands and shoulders.

  “What’d he say, Mom? Bill? When’s it gonna go away?”

  Bill stood and paced the room. “Go away? Your twitches won’t ever stop.” He cursed and kicked the doctor’s swivel chair.

  I stared at Mom. “Never? Not even when I’m older?”

  Mom scooted her chair in front of mine. “He says you have Tourette’s.”

  I mouthed the word, and she leaned forward and stroked my arms. Gentle at first, then harder and harder and mixed with tears. I knew she was trying to rub that bad word out of me.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means,” Bill said, “you can forget about ever running my machines.”

  My hands squeezed the jacket Bill gave me, the green one with Tar-Boy on the front and a cement mixer on the back. I pulled free of Mom and grabbed Bill’s pant leg.

  “I can stop it. Please, Bill.” I started to cry. “I’ll be still. Promise!”

  Old Bill turned his back, Mom closed her eyes, and even at six years old I knew I was alone.

  chapter two

  “YOU’RE QUIET IN GROUP TODAY.”

  Leslie, the social worker, stares at me. I look around at the others. Eight guys rest their heads on the table.

  “Everyone’s quiet,” I say.

  She places her young elbows on the table and rests her young head in her young hands. “But you’re somewhere else, aren’t you, Sam?”

  Bryan snores from across the circle, and I point at him, but this woman’s eyes won’t go away. I glance at the clock—ten more minutes.

  “I wish I were somewhere else. How many more weeks do I have to come?”

  Dumb question. I know exactly. Ten. In Old Bill’s barn hang fourteen sheets of paper covered with smiley-face suns. Ten of those sheets aren’t yet blasted through with BB-gun pellets.

  Leslie smiles the smile people use at funerals. “One of the ways we build friendships is by answering questions. A good way to do this is through small talk. You respond with something cheery about your day or your family.”

  Room 14 is a morgue. Powder-blue walls and no window. Only the tick of the clock and the buzz and flicker of the fluorescent light remind me I’m still alive.

  I slump down in my seat and cross my arms.

  Socially maladaptive. According to the special-ed teacher, that’s what I am. Sentenced to a semester in Leslie’s “Sunshine Club,” I’m one of the lucky ones up for parole at Christmas break.

  I glance at the lifers. Ken and Kerry, autistic twins; Larry, who slugged a cook. Not sure how cramming in a tiny room for an hour after school will turn any of us into charmers.

  The word maladaptive scrawled in invisible ink across my forehead just stole another hour of my life. Today, I don’t have the time.

  “I can see you’re defensive, but look around you, Sam.” Leslie’s eyes plead. “These boys are here to be your friends.”

 
; Another snore from Bryan.

  “Let’s try a role-play. I’ll pretend I like you.” She perks up and clears her throat. “Remember, small talk. Answer with something general and light.” Her smile widens, so do her eyes. “I’d love to hear something about your family.”

  I check the clock, look back at her, and nod. “My dad is dead. Don’t worry about it, because he was a loser drunk who dug holes for a living. But he was generous. Kind enough to leave me this damn disease as my inheritance.”

  Leslie’s smile is gone, her face frozen.

  I push back from the table.“He left my mom for some other gal and then got himself killed.” I stand. “And his replacement, Old Bill, is almost as bad. Any other questions?” I pick up my backpack and walk to the door. “Do appreciate the small-talk lesson.”

  Bryan’s snore catches on something ugly, and he wakes with a “Huh!”

  Before the door closes, a quieter Leslie goes to work on another victim. “You’re quiet in group today, Bryan.”

  I jog to my locker, drop to the ground, and change into running shoes. I push through the front doors of Mitrista High. Outside, air hangs heavy, full of October mist. My lungs suck in the soup.

  I stand and stretch and jog out of town. It’s quiet. Birds, frogs, crickets—thick air smothers them all. The paved road ends and shoes hit gravel. My pace evens. My brain clears.

  Shouldn’t have come down on Leslie. Ain’t her fault.

  I jog through Bland—population sixteen—past three houses and Crusty’s Coop, and reach tiny Pierce. It’s only a minute’s run from our farm on the near side of town to the Shell station here.

  Two cars filling up? Today’s 10K must be a bigger race than I thought.

  Behind me, gravel pops and crackles, and I glance over my shoulder. Three school buses approach. I drift to the road’s edge as they rumble by. A minute later, a string of twenty more overtakes me. I reluctantly fall in line behind them, and we all turn left into the Northwoods Wildlife Refuge.