Powerlines

by Kurt Newton

  The sun broke through the early morning mist and warmed Ethan's head. The climbing wasn't moving as quickly as planned. The hillside was thick with briars. There were thin vines that laced the undergrowth like a nylon netting that caught in his shoe tread. The grass was high and an assortment of burrs, hitchhikers, thistles, and sticktights attached themselves to his clothing like little velcro merit badges. The weight on his back grew increasingly heavy, but the hum of the high-tension wires overhead kept him focused.

  At the first plateau, he stopped and removed his backpack. His undershirt was already sweat-soaked so he removed his rain parka, rolled it up tight and stuffed it beneath the bungee cords stretched over the backpack. A light breeze cooled his back. He slid the water bottle out from its thermal sleeve, popped the squirter, and sucked down several gulps before tucking it back into place. From where he sat, the view was breathtaking.

  The southern tail of the power lines turned east on its way toward the Killingly Power Station. He felt like he was sitting on the slope of an abandoned ski resort, the lifts long since removed, the rolling cable song reduced to a mournful hum. He spotted the diner where he and Lindsey had eaten that morning. Cars moved at a snail's pace on the distant strip of roadway that threaded through the thick summer green. He saw the glitter of West Thompson Lake some twenty miles away.

  How far away was Lindsey? he thought. She was no doubt home by now. He missed her already. Which reminded him.

  He reached into one of the backpack's side pockets and pulled out his cell phone. He flipped it open. Surprisingly, he got a signal. Being so close to the high-tension wires he thought maybe the signal wouldn't make it through. He had told Lindsey his cell phone might not work, especially once he hiked further into the State Forest. He had promised himself not to call, however, unless it was an emergency. He wanted this trek to be a solitary journey, just him and his thoughts, and the wilds of Nature. At one point he had decided to leave his cell phone home, to avoid such a temptation, but he changed his mind. Temptation — not giving into it — built character. It was something his mother had taught him, a principle instilled in him to survive the drug-laced streets of Willimantic. A principle he wished his father would have adhered to.

  He checked his watch. There'd be plenty of time tonight, camping out under the stars, to reexamine his childhood. Right now, he needed to keep moving if he was going to put some miles behind him before nightfall.

  He tucked temptation back into the backpack's pocket, slung the thirty pound pack over his shoulders, and continued the slow ascent up the hill.

  A traveler unfamiliar with the northeast corner of Connecticut might assume Pomfret was just another scenic locale on the map. The narrow roads wound through thick woods and open fields. The only giveaway that there was something there other than old farm houses were the stone walls. Long, thick, perfect stonewalls. Stonewalls broken now and then by simple iron gates and long gravel driveways that penetrated deep into the woods. These unassuming entry points led to some of the most expensive properties in the state, million-dollar homes owned by celebrities and the just plain rich. One of these homes was owned by Elizabeth Richmond, wife of the late dot-com entrepreneur, Lindsey Harrison Richmond. Mr. Richmond was a thoughtful, caring man, unimpressed by his own success. He had wanted a large family, but God blessed him with only one child, a daughter, Lindsey, aptly named because she appeared to inherit a lot of his sensibilities. He didn't live to see it, but it would be the most valuable thing he could have left her, for it would save her life in the coming days.

  Lindsey hung the keys to her SUV on the kitchen key rack.

  "Good morning, Miss Lindsey."

  "Good morning, Maria." Lindsey smiled. Maria was the family's housekeeper. She cooked; she cleaned. She was always there, and had been there since Lindsey was a child. Maria was busy preparing food for tonight's Fourth of July celebration. Lindsey grabbed a carrot stick and began chewing it.

  "Will your Ethan be coming tonight?"

  "No, he's busy."

  "Oh, that's too bad. He's a nice boy."

  "Yes, he is."

  "Handsome, too. Not as handsome as Erik Estrada though."

  "Who?"

  "Erik Estrada? Ponch? Oh, you know, he rode his motorcycle on the TV show, CHIPS?" Maria pronounced it "ships."

  "Ships?"

  "Oh, you're too young. Your Ethan's a handsome boy. Nice teeth."

  "Thanks, Maria. He does have nice teeth."

  "Lindsey, is that you?" Lindsey's mom called from the sitting room. Lindsey grabbed another carrot stick. She waved goodbye to Maria and went to see her mother.

  The sunlight in the sunroom was diffused by thin white curtains. Though the outdoor morning temperature approached eighty degrees, the central air conditioning pumped at a comfortable sixty-eight. Tall plants grew from large ceramic planters. The tile flooring and wrought iron furniture lent an airy café atmosphere to the room. It was Mrs. Richmond's favorite room in the house. She sat reading the morning newspaper, a cup of coffee on the glass table in front of her.

  "Where we're you this morning, dear?"

  "I had breakfast with Ethan."

  "Breakfast? Where?"

  "At the Route 44 Diner."

  "You could have eaten here."

  "I know, but Ethan wanted it to be just the two of us before embarking on his big adventure."

  Mrs. Richmond shook her head but kept her mouth shut.

  "What?" Lindsey knew when her mom had something to say. One way or another it was going to be said, so whenever Lindsey saw her mother biting her tongue she wanted to hear it.

  "Nothing, dear. It's just that any man who has to go on a nature hike to think about things, doesn't know what he wants in life. If he doesn't know what he wants, Lindsey, how will you ever be able to trust him?"

  Lindsey loved her mother, but there were times — times like these — when her "concerns" were simple manipulations to get what she wanted.

  "Mom, Ethan's brother just died, he's got a lot on his mind. And you're not exactly welcoming him into the family with open arms."

  "How can I? When he whisks you off to some greasy spoon diner for breakfast, when the two of you could have simply eaten here. Did you pay for the meal, again?"

  "No, this time he did. He has a job, you know. He works for a living. Right now it's not much but he hopes to go back to school someday. He has a dream of opening his own business."

  Mrs. Richmond laughed. It was a humorless laugh. "Hopes and dreams. Sometimes that's all they are, and all they will remain. Lindsey, when are going to wake up? There is so much else out there in the world, why settle for something so...menial?"

  "Okay, Mom, that's it. I don't want to talk about it. Next subject please."

  "Okay, I'm sorry. Don't be upset. Come here, sweety."

  Lindsey stood her ground.

  "Lindsey, your father left us financially comfortable, but all I really have is you. You're still my baby. I just don't want to see you to get hurt."

  "I know, mom." Lindsey sat down beside her mother and hugged her. She struggled to keep the tears from flowing. "I don't know if you noticed, but I'm a big girl now. I need to make my own decisions. If it means my heart gets broken, then that's what's going to happen, I guess. But it won't happen, mom." She looked her mother in the eye. "Ethan's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love him, and he loves me. I know you don't see it. I know he's not exactly what you had in mind for me, but he's the one. Can't you just trust me on this? Can't you let go, just a little?"

  Lindsey felt her mother squeeze her tight. "I'll never let go of you, sweetheart."

  Lindsey knew there was some truth in that statement. Even though her mother physically let go of her just then, she knew their bond would be there for life.

  "So what are my baby's plans for tonight?"

  "I invited Hayley, Saga, and Kirsty."

  "Will they be bringing dates?"

  "No. Just us. A girl's night out. I hope you
don't mind. If they brought their boyfriends it would only remind me that Ethan's not here. We're just going to pig out and watch the fireworks."

  "Tell them to bring their bathing suits."

  "I will." Lindsey stood. "I'm going to go take a shower."

  "Okay, dear."

  As soon as Lindsey left the room, Mrs. Richmond picked up the phone and dialed a good friend. She had some fireworks of her own planned for tonight.

  4

  "Ten hundred hours. Test subject once again pacing. Increased dose to 0.75 Hz, 15 mV."

  Dr. Pike adjusted the dials beneath the Pit #3 monitor. From behind there came a long exhalation of air. He turned. Wolf lay on the floor staring up at him.

  "What do you think, Wolf?"

  Wolf's ears perked up.

  "Do you think our lady here has little ones at home?"

  Wolf lifted his head but didn't answer.

  "Momma, where are you?" Dr. Pike adopted the voice of a little boy lost. He stared at the monitor. "How long before she gives up her maternal instinct and resorts to I, me, mine?"

  Dr. Pike watched the cougar pace round and round like a meth-addict waiting for that knock on the door and delivery of the next high.

  "Should I let her go, Wolf? Let her go on with her life as if nothing ever happened?"

  Wolf's head tilted slightly. One word commands were all the canine understood. A sentence merely confused him.

  "You're right, Wolf. Of course we can't let her go. All in the name of science. After all, the whole world consists of a series of test cases: those that exert their control directly upon their test subjects, and those that occur due to the collateral effects. If our lady here has cubs, they will simply need to fend for themselves in that larger test pool — the wild."

  Dr. Pike pulled a piece of beef jerky out of his shirt pocket and held it out for Wolf. Wolf sat up and with the gentleness of a family pet took it from his hand. Wolf lay back down and chewed up the treat.

  "We'll keep a close eye on her, Wolf. See what she's made of."

  5

  After a series of gradual hills Ethan at last reached the top of a ridge that roughly ran east to west. From this elevation he got his first glimpse of vast sea of pines that made up Natchaug State Forest. The length of the journey ahead finally sank in.

  The twin rows of power stanchions and their glittery lines, looking now like spider strands laid atop the deep green forest, stretched for miles below, gradually bending toward the west before climbing up and over the next ridge. As Ethan walked, taking care with his footing on the rocky terrain, he had to admire the engineering involved. He tried to imagine what it was like to erect the towers, one after the other, working out here in isolation. The grind of metal into stone, the raising of each tree-sized post and their forty foot cross-ties, the pouring of cement, and, lastly, the treading of the cables, workers in hard hats suspended eighty feet above the forest floor, topping their man-made trees with enough raw voltage, if a person were to stand at ground level and hold a fluorescent light bulb in their hand, it would glow.

  Bottled lightening, thought Ethan. He began to understand now why he felt drawn to these power lines and why if felt as if he were tapping into their energy — even if it was just in a symbolic sense.

  For weeks now, ever since his brother's funeral, he had eyed the power lines on his way to work from Willimantic to Eastford. As an apprentice carpenter, he made good money. He worked for a small mill that created custom-designed furniture. The job was an all-important stepping-stone on his way to becoming a licensed carpenter and one day owning his own business. But lately he hadn't been able to keep his mind on his work. With the Fourth of July weekend coming up, he couldn't see himself celebrating. He didn't think it would have been the proper way to honor his brother's sacrifice. And he couldn't just sit at home. He needed to clear his thoughts, gain some independence of his own. A three-day hike along the power lines seemed like good therapy.

  At least that's how he sold the idea to Lindsey, who was extremely upset when she first heard his plan. It took an hour to convince her he wasn't just making excuses not to be with her and what he really wanted was to break up.

  Truth was he was scared.

  He was scared that, at a time in his life when he should have been having fun exploring all the choices and options available to him, some of those choices had already being made. He was scared to admit that, with his brother gone, he was now responsible for not just providing the love of one son to his mother but providing the love of two. He was scared that, if he and Lindsey stayed together, he wouldn't be able to provide for her in the manner she was accustomed to. Mostly he was scared he just wasn't ready for any of it. He hoped this hike would teach him how to be strong, not only in the days ahead, but in the months and years that loomed like the next ridge in the distance.

  Ethan grabbed his water bottle and gave himself a few thirst-quenching squirts. The sun was high overhead. The sky was clear. His legs felt good. It was just he and the ground at his feet, and the power lines that pulled him onward like a series of ancient artifacts leading him deep into undiscovered territory.

  Lindsey Richmond spent the rest of the morning helping Maria carry food platters and setting up lawn chairs. A long banquet table sat beneath a large floral canopy in the middle of the back yard. More than forty guests were expected, friends of the family that included local business leaders, members on the board of education and on the town council – all invited to keep Lindsey's mother the center of attention. Several of Lindsey's father's male friends, widowed in recent years, always managed to drop by when a Richmond "extravaganza" occurred. Lindsey's father loved the Fourth of July — the warm summer night, the bombs bursting in air. In past years, Mr. Richmond had spared no expense, going as far as to hire a pyrotechnic crew to cap the evening with a private fireworks display. Lindsey remembered how her father's face used to light up like a child's when the reds, whites and blues exploded in the night sky overhead. After her father died, Lindsey made sure her mother continued the tradition.

  A loud whumph sounded as a test rocket shot into the sky. Lindsey shielded her eyes from the sun's glare. She watched the rocket climb higher and higher into the blue. With a sudden cough, it extinguished itself, leaving a small puff cloud. Some two hundred yards away, down near the edge of a large man-made duck pond, a launch pad sat smoking. The same father and son pyrotechnic team their family has used for years stood alongside the pad. They waved to Lindsey.

  Lindsey waved back and gave them the thumbs up.

  "I miss your father," Maria said suddenly. She continued to arrange the stacks of plates, tumblers and silverware. "He was a kind man."

  "Maria, do you think my father would have approved of Ethan?" said Lindsey.

  Maria stopped. "I think he would have wanted whatever you wanted. Do you love this boy?"

  Lindsey nodded and smiled.

  "Does he make you warm in all the right places?"

  "Maria!" Lindsey felt the blush on her face.

  "Then there you go, mejita. Your heart will tell you what your head doesn't know."

  Lindsey gave Maria a hug. "Will you stay and watch the fireworks? You can hang out with us girls. We'll go swimming in the pool. We'll stay up late."

  "Oh, no, I can't. I have family at home." Maria returned to her duties.

  Lindsey sometimes forgot that Maria merely worked for her mother, that she had a life beyond the perfect stonewalls of the Richmond Estate. For Lindsey, Maria had become more of a second mother than a housekeeper, the kind of mother/best friend she wished her own mother could have been.

  Laughter came from the direction of the driveway. Maria's expression changed.

  "It looks like your friends are here. Always the first to arrive. So they can eat and eat and eat. Ah, idiotas!"

  "Maria, be nice."

  "I am nice. But they don't have to act like a bunch of hungry hyenas."

  As if to emphasize Maria's point, Lindsey's friends,
when they saw her, screamed her name and came running. Maria bristled as if the sound physically hurt her ears.

  "Buenos dias, Maria," the three girls said in unison.

  "Buenos dias," said Maria politely, followed by, "grupo de idiotas perezoso," under her breath as she walked back toward the house.

  "What did she say?" said Kirsty.

  "I don't think she likes us," said Hayley.

  "What is there to eat?" said Saga.

  "Lindsey!" they screamed again, and the four of them hugged and danced in place on the grass.

  Lindsey liked loud. She liked happy. Her friends were the best.

  Ethan reached a spot where tall, thick pines lined the utility right-of-way. The cooler temperature of the shade was just too inviting, so he decided to take a break. The first thing he did was relieve himself. It was funny, even though only the birds and the bees were watching, Ethan needed to find a large tree to hide behind. He thought it odd why guys couldn't just piss out in the open; they needed something to piss on. Perhaps it was something ancestral, a territorial leftover from their caveman days. As he stood relieving himself, there was something about the natural woodsy scent combined with the raw smell of his own urine that made him feel cautious, almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. Like a host of wild animals before him, he was now adding his own mark to this territory. It made him feel like an intruder, like he was pissing on the carpet of a neighbor's home. Though he hadn't spent much time thinking about it, he didn't like to ponder the thought of running into the wild animals that made this wilderness their home. Good thing he hid behind a tree, he thought, staring into the thick woods at his back. He wondered how many unseen eyes were watching him. He zipped up, hoping nothing would take offense.

  He spread his map on a sawed-off stump of what was once a very large tree. The map was a jigsaw printout of over a dozen sections of satellite photos produced by Google maps. There was little if any information available on the internet regarding locations of the state's power grid. After 9/11, it seemed the government thought it best to take things like nuclear power plant locations and information on nuclear bomb design, and other sensitive data, off the internet for national security reasons. Ethan had almost expected the Google maps to be altered in some way, the location of the power lines digitally masked over by vegetation; but there they were, not as visible poles and wires but as a narrow continuous strip of barren land cut into the landscape. If he had not known what to look for, he probably wouldn't have noticed they were there.