Golden Boy

by R. G. Lawrence

  "Oh Rodney, Rodney, if you could only understand." Taking a deep breath, his eyes displaying the sadness he felt, the Wizard touched the boy on the arm, gently, regretfully. "Close you eyes, son. Close your eyes and concentrate on your brother, on your pain, let the pain take you away, take you wherever it is you must go, away, away."

  30

  Tony saw the water in the distance and started to jog to the pond, but with the heat sapping away his remaining strength he settled for a fast walk. When the youngster reached the water, he planned to sit down, catch his breath, and go on home. Today, the water seemed to be calling to him, the pond telling him that it would relieve his exhaustion as it had done so often. The boy pulled his t-shirt over his head, kicked his tennis shoes and socks off and sat on the little fishing dock, his feet dangling in the water. The wooden planks were hot on his butt, the heat burning him through the seat of his jeans. Dozens of tiny blue-gills nipped at his toes, the water cool and refreshing to his blistered feet. As the relief moved up his legs, a feeling of rejuvenation overtook him.

  He lay back on the dock, resting his bare shoulders on his discarded tennis shoes and reached down, unzipping his cut-off jeans, pushing them down his legs and off, stood up on the old wood and pushed his underwear down his legs. He stood, naked, looking around to make sure nobody was watching, his hand absently covering his crotch. Tony looked toward the Rinehart farmhouse, not able to see anything but the weathervane, the old metal rooster standing perfectly still on the very tip of the berm. Glancing toward the corn field, Tony checked to make sure Mr. Rinehart wasn't about on his tractor, not wishing the farmer to see him alone. He didn't see any movement, was certain he was by himself, hesitated one more moment and dove in the water, the coolness hitting him, refreshing him, telling himself that this was a good idea, no, it was an excellent idea. He swam out 20 feet, feeling better than he had all day, turned back toward dock and kicked twice.

  The cramps hit him like a bullet, starting in his legs, paralyzing his lower body, doubling him over in the water, the pain shooting up through his groin into his bowels, traveling up inside his anus like a sudden heavy bolt of electricity. It pushed on into his stomach, making him gasp, needing to vomit, his stomach empty save for the solitary Coke, the carbonation bringing bubbles to his mouth and out his nose. He desperately tried to get his legs to kick, but they were inoperable, dead to his commands. He tried to power his way back with his arms, each one feeling like heavy, lead weights.

  The boy disappeared beneath the water, working his way back to the surface, determination on his face, not yet realizing the peril he was in. He knew he was strong enough to reach the shore, fighting the first inkling of fear that was seeping into his consciousness. He went under again, this time having more difficulty reaching the surface, begging his legs to kick. Getting no response, misjudging the sunlight, his senses commanding him to breath, he took a deep gulp of air while still three feet beneath the surface, swallowing nothing but green pond water, filling his lungs with liquid instead of air, the dirty water coursing through his system.

  He finally reached the surface, looking one last time at the dock, only twelve feet away, but maybe a mile, he wasn't sure, suddenly knew it didn't matter anymore, was no longer concerned, wanting to just go to sleep, giving in to the water, giving up the fight.

  The drowning boy lost consciousness, regaining it only when he felt the strong arms grabbing him around the shoulders, the almost superhuman strength of the forearm wrapping up and around his throat, pulling him up, up to the wonderful air. He was aware of being pushed toward the surface, the sunlight blinding him, closing his eyes to the glare, hitting the fresh air and trying to take a gulp, finding it impossible, his lungs filled with the pond water, his oxygen supply replaced with liquid. The boy couldn't breathe, felt himself blacking out, again giving in to it.

  He awoke on his back, somebody pounding him on the chest, hands and arms shoving him in the stomach and ribs, hurting him, the boy wanting to scream out, tried to open his mouth, found he still wasn't breathing, surprised when he suddenly regurgitated what seemed to be gallons of water, puking the entire contents of his stomach up. As the glorious air filled his lungs, he was like a starving man, gulping the freshness, breathing it in, not fast enough, passing out again, waking up and living. He looked up, straight into the face of his savior, not recognizing him although he looked so familiar, almost like his brother, but the hair was different, the face older, not Rod, but someone like Rod. He tried to sit up, finally satisfied to rest on his elbows, wanting to thank the man.

  Suddenly, with lightning like moves, Tony's rescuer was up and gone, crossing across the field, jogging away, not hanging around long enough so that Tony could thank him. Laying his head back down, Tony rested, knowing he had to get dressed, couldn't let anyone find him like this, not wanting to get into trouble for disobeying his parents, for swimming alone, wondering if there really had been someone there, half believing that he had imagined it, had pulled himself out when the cramps hit and dreamed the rest. He finally stood on quivering legs and dressed, walking the remainder of the way home, never mentioning his adventure to anyone.

  Halfway back across the field, Rod returned to the fog, awaiting transport back to Sunset Lake, back to his circle of friends. He drifted for what seemed like several minutes, his eyes closed, his satisfaction complete, having finally beaten away the demons that had possessed his soul for so long. His brother had survived the drowning; he had saved him, had pulled him out of the water, beat his young lungs back into operation and saw the life flow back into his body. He had done it, had been granted his wish. Now he wanted to be back amongst his friends, back so that he could prepare for college, for Indiana football, for his life as a doctor, a Harvard Med School doctor. His future, finally and forever, was suddenly something exciting to look forward to.

  "So Rodney, you got your wish, didn't you, son?"

  The soft voice of the stranger entered Rod's mind, interrupting his thoughts. Rod tried to open his eyes, hoping to find himself surrounded by friends, to see Andy, Susie, Tammy, and the others. He wanted to share his adventure, shout that Tony was alive, that he had succeeded, and that his brother had never drowned. He suddenly had a thought. What if Tony was there right now, at the lake with Andy and the others? What a reunion that would be.

  "Yes. I don't know how to thank you. It was wonderful, everything that I have dreamed about. I can't wait to get back and tell Andy, he's going to be so happy. He loved Tony like a brother, almost as much as I did. When will I be back?" He was talking, but like the stranger had done at the campfire, Rod wasn't using his mouth, he was transporting his thoughts without speaking. His eyes still closed, his body still floating in the fog.

  "Was it worth it, Rodney? Think carefully before you answer me, was it truly worth it?"

  "Of course it was worth it. What are you talking about; it's everything I've wanted for three years."

  "Remember when I told you all, warned you that sometimes our expectations don't turn out the way we plan them, that occasionally we face hard realities, broken dreams, unhappiness. I wanted each one of you to think about that before requesting a wish. I could feel your thoughts, Rod, could guess that you were wanting to go back, that you had to overcome the demons, that you would be the one, the only one, who would want to go backwards. Am I right, Rod? You've been going backwards for three years, haven't you, Rod?"

  "I had to save my brother. I had to save Tony."

  "It was the demons that haunted you, the demons that forced you to return to that pond, not the idea of saving your brother. It was saving you, the only way you could rid yourself of your nightmare. You couldn't go forward, could you Rod, for whatever reason, you couldn't move forward. Isn't that the truth, Rod, you went backwards to save Rodney, not Tony."

  "No, that’s not true, I wanted Tony, and I went back for Tony."

  "Because you wanted Tony to live? Or because you couldn't live with the guilt?"

&nbs
p; "Because I wanted him to live."

  "And?"

  "And nothing...nothing, damn you," the boy cried.

  "You haven't been plagued with guilt, thinking that you might have been, in some small way, responsible for this tragedy?"

  The boy finally broke, screaming his next words, tears pouring down his face. "Of course I felt responsible, I should have been with him that day, I should have been swimming with him. It was my fault, damn you. I killed him, as sure as if I had pushed his head under the water. It was my fault, just because I wanted to make a couple of extra bucks. I've hated myself, hated every single day that I've lived, every day that Tony didn't. But now, now it's all different. Tony didn't drown. Now can I go back to the lake?"

  "Not just yet. We have to take a little side trip first, Rod. It won't take long. We need to see if it was worth it."

  Rod came out of the fog, opening his eyes, standing beside the stranger, the Wizard, standing on a familiar street, across from the Littleton home in Hillcrest Ravine Estates, a windy, cool day, the trees beginning to bud, a feeling of spring in the air. A black Volvo wagon was sitting in the driveway next to the house, a bright red Pontiac Firebird parked on the street.

  "That's my house," Rod said, and the Wizard nodded his head. "And that Volvo is the car mom had before she got her new Beemer. What's it doing there?"

  "Just watch for a minute, Rodney. Let's wait and watch. It's about to begin, this final chapter. And then we'll know, know if all this was worth it or not."

  Two minutes later the front door banged opened, two boys leaving the house, one pulling on a blue, hooded Dallas Cowboy windbreaker, the other wearing a red and gold high school letterman's jacket, a gold "T" sewed to the left chest of the coat.

  "That's me...me and Tony," Rod whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. The boys went down to the red sports car, starting to get in. The front door of the house re-opened, Emily Littleton filling the doorway.

  "Rod, you go to the store and back, nowhere else. You've only had your license two days. Let's take it easy for a while, okay."

  "Mom, stop worrying, we're not going anywhere else. I'm a good driver, you know that, just ask dad."

  "Be back in an hour...I love you guys. Tony, zip that jacket up, this wind is chilly." She waved at the pair as they jumped in the Firebird, listened to the engine start, and watched them drive off down the street, still waving at her two sons as the car disappeared around the corner. Without knowing how, Rod found himself standing outside the Radford Wal-Mart store, the Wizard next to him. They were just in time to watch the two brothers coming out of the store through the big double doors, Tony with a Wal-Mart bag tucked under his arm.

  "What are we doing here?" Rod asked.

  "Be quiet. You need to hear every word to understand," the stranger whispered back. The two brothers were approaching the parked Firebird, deep in what appeared to be an argument. Their voices floated across to where Rod and the Wizard were standing, the words clear in the chilly, afternoon air.

  "Come on, Rod, a couple of blocks, I'll be careful. Just up to Elm, then I'll pull over, and you drive home. Please."

  "Oh shit, Tony, I've only had the damn car a week. If something happened to it, I'd never get another birthday present the rest of my life. What if we got caught? I'll let you drive tomorrow. We'll go out to Sunset, and you can drive around the lake as many times as you want. There won't be any traffic there."

  "C'mon Rod, two blocks, just for a second. Please." He was begging, his voice turning into a whine.

  "For Christ sake, next you'll be crying...all right, but just down the street to Elm. To Ridgeway School, then you pull into the parking lot and we switch...and don't ask for anything else."

  "Deal. All right, Rod, thanks...you're the best," Tony cried, rushing to the drivers side before Rod could change his mind, reaching across the roof of the car to get the keys from his frowning brother. Rod and the Wizard watched as Tony started the car and backed slowly, carefully out of the parking space, heard him shift gears and pull away, the sports car cruising easily through the Wal-Mart lot, the engine purring.

  The Firebird approached the exit leading out onto busy Ottawa Boulevard, the underage, unlicensed driver hesitating briefly, preparing to stop, his concentration on the approaching traffic rather than his own actions inside the vehicle, his foot slipping off the brake pedal, gravity inevitably forcing it hard against the accelerator. The older Rod watched horrified as the car darted out into the middle of the busy intersection, barely missing an oncoming station wagon, a cheerful metallic-blue, magnetic sign on the driver-side door identifying it as full of tiny children returning from Comfort Kid's Day Care Center.

  With a multitude of horns blaring a loud, angry discord of noise, several cars dodged from the path of the red missile, slamming on brakes, trying desperately to steer out of the way of the sudden afternoon threat of death. The Firebird was weaving in and out of the traffic, attempting to miss the inevitable collision, erratically moving like the sliding silver ball of an out-of-control pinball machine. Tony finally found the pedal he had been desperately reaching for, slammed the Firebird's brakes to the floor, the vehicle sliding sideways across two lanes of traffic, dodging one car, brushing a Chevy pick-up, kissing off the grill softly, leaving deep black, ugly rubber marks in his wake, furiously fighting the steering wheel in his losing battle against fate.

  The boy finally managed to slow the Firebird down, momentarily appearing to gain control of the vehicle, the car turning back around in slow motion, almost making a ninety-degree spin. As the Firebird came out of its berserk gyration, it was clipped in the right, rear fender by a fifteen-year-old, powder-blue Dodge. The elderly woman driver, having never worn a seat belt before in her life, was flung violently forward, smashing her fragile eighty-three year old head on the steering wheel, breaking it open like a ripe cantaloupe, knocking her unconscious. The tiny Dodge continued driverless, slamming violently sideways into a telephone pole, the vehicle folding like a well-tuned accordion, the driver crushed. Dead at the scene.

  Propelled by the collision with the Dodge, the Firebird continued its grotesque spin, facing head-on the approaching 18-wheel tractor-trailer, the rig bearing down hard from the opposite direction, its air horn cutting through the noise, now a two-man race. The driver instantly realized he wasn't going to miss the red sports car sitting in his path, his air brakes hissing, the cab turning, turning, not quite turning enough.

  Trucker Joseph Paletto had driven his rig for more than one million miles without a single accident or violation, had received his companies highest safety award the previous year, his family proudly in attendance as he accepted the plaque and bonus check. Joe knew his streak was over, briefly wondered how many of the television sets he was hauling would be lost in the collision, knew that he was going to jack-knife the rig. Joe hoped he wouldn't flip the cab, grasping the wheel so tight in his gloved hands that the police officer later had to pry his fingers, one by one, off the rubber. Joe looked down at the very last instant and saw two sets of chocolate brown eyes, four wide, horrified orbs staring in terror and disbelief, frozen screams on the faces of the two young boys staring up at him, two boys about the same age as Joe Jr.

  As long as Joe Paletto lived, those eyes would haunt his every night of sleep, his every waking moment.

  The truck hit the Firebird head on, the initial momentum of the 18-wheeler wrapping up the sports car like a ball of used aluminum foil, the Firebird instantly obliterated, bouncing away from the truck, the second impact driving the front of the auto under the wheels of the giant rig, the red car crushed beyond recognition.

  Rodney stood perfectly still, his every sense in deep, horrified uncomprehending shock, watching the accident in sudden trepidation, watched as the car caught fire and exploded, started to walk stiffly, then run toward the accident. Rod, wanting to save himself, save his brother.

  Again.

  The voice came, the gentle words invading his head, wh
ispering urgently, softly. Clearly. "Where are you running to, Rodney? Where are you going?"

  Screaming over his shoulder, screaming for his life. "I've got to save them. One of them might still be alive. We can't just stand here and watch them die...God, they're burning up...Oh God, they're on fire."

  "No, Rod, you can't help them. Stop. Stop right now. It's over. It's all over, Rodney. Oh child, don't you see, you no longer exist. You and Tony died today, six months after Tony nearly drowned. You died over two years ago in this terrible accident. You saved Tony from drowning, that's what you wanted, what you begged for. And then you died with him in this accident."

  The boy had stopped running, was walking with a jerky, tilted, uncoordinated gait. He turned slowly to face the Wizard, his mind trying hard to work out the riddle.

  "That's impossible. I was at the lake tonight, with my friends. Andy. Tammy. Our parents had a party for us...I'm going to Indiana next week, to college, I told you that...I'm going to play football, defense, going to be a doctor..."

  "Oh, no Rod. I'm sorry, so very sorry, but no, you're not. As you can see, you no longer exist. You haven't existed for two-and-a-half years."

  "...a pathologist. Harvard Med. Aren't I?" The truth was beginning to dawn on him, solving the riddle, always a good game player, but trying to reject the answer. The boy turned, disbelieving, the words sinking in, the logic beginning to make a perverted kind of sense to him. The understanding was dawning on his face, his features twisting in horror.

  "Wait, you mean because I wanted to save Tony we're both dead?" His voice was just a whisper now, full of pleading. "We're both dead?"