“Are you all right?” I shouted.
He gave a sputtering cough and raised his thumb to indicate he was all right. Don began to slowly pull himself up using the counter and one of the kitchen chairs for leverage.
“Your housekeeping leaves a lot to be desired,” he said as he plopped down in the chair, massaging his sore back and head. He pulled a couple of soggy Chocolate Berries from his sandy blond hair and flicked them onto the table with a look of distaste, like he had just removed bird poop.
“I’m sorry … Seth did that. I haven’t had a chance to clean it up yet,” I said as I grabbed a towel from the counter and handed it to Don. He looked at me skeptically. I could see that his belief that my dead son had returned was starting to wane quickly.
“Is he gone?” Don asked evenly as he toweled milk and Chocolate Berries off the back of his white golf shirt. There was going to be a big brown stain down his back unless he washed it soon.
“Yes,” I replied between shouts for my son.
I was just about to ask Don for his help in the search when I spotted Seth through the partially opened door to the laundry room. He was hiding on the far side of the washing machine, in a three-foot space between the heavy duty Kenmore and the wall. When our eyes met, he frowned sheepishly, shook his head emphatically, and ducked back into his hidey hole. He was scared, embarrassed, and no telling what else he was feeling. I was not going to make him come out and perform like some freak for my boss’s amusement. Don always meant well, but his tact left a lot to be desired. I was just about to suggest we go search the garage so Seth could sneak back to his room when Don’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
The caller ID was just visible to me as he held the phone to his ear; it was his wife.
I stood and watched his face melt into a sallow ashen mask as he listened to the one-sided dialogue on the other end of the line. At first, it was easy to tell that a woman, probably Gina, was speaking to him, in a rather scolding manner, causing a look of annoyance on his face. It was when the timbre of the voice turned to a masculine, husky drawl that all color drained from Don’s face. Gina was no longer on the line, and based on what Don had told me earlier, I guessed it was his dad. I had only met the man once before he passed, so the voice was not that familiar, but Don’s face was like a macabre caller ID as he listened to the deep voice he thought he would never hear again. Even at my distance several feet away, the voice was loud enough that I could hear the same tinny vibration as Seth’s.
After several long moments, Don rasped a single word like it was his final death throes.
“Okay.”
He dropped his arm holding the phone slowly to his side and took a deep rattling breath, then turned slowly to face me.
“I’ve got to go,” he croaked.
“Was that your dad?” I asked.
Don didn’t answer, he looked at me for several long moments with the flaccid expression of one who has just seen a ghost or, in this case perhaps, talked to one.
“I hope you find Seth,” he said hoarsely as he started toward the door. The skepticism in his voice that was so prevalent a few minutes ago had been replaced by terrified sincerity.
“Thanks, I’m sure I will,” I said, confident, looking over my shoulder in time to see Seth ducking back into his hidey hole.
I felt sorry for Don, I truly did. I understood the emotional turmoil and confusion he was about to endure, meeting a loved one who had just ‘returned from the grave’, but for him it was worse. He and his father had never had the best relationship in the world. In fact, it had been bad. From what Don had shared with me, his father was ex-military, a Marine. He was a good man but a strict disciplinarian of a father. I suspect this may have been a positive thing for Don, knowing his propensity for sloppiness, but according to Don, his father is what caused it.
He called it the “Barkley Syndrome” after former pro basketball star Charles Barkley. After years of fitness training, when Barkley finally retired he let himself go and became a rather rotund former basketball star. The logic to Don’s analogy was that when he was finally out of his father’s “bounce a quarter on the bed sheets, white-glove-inspected” house he let himself go out of rebellion, and quite frankly because he was tired of the stringency.
I think his real problem was the fact that he had made a number of candid and unkind remarks about his dad whenever I visited his home the last couple of years. I am certain that the negativity I heard was a small sampling of what had been discussed behind closed doors. Had his dad been there listening the last couple of years?
I guess Don was about to find that out. He had come to see me for a number of reasons – doubt, curiosity, and fear among them, but most likely he was procrastinating from facing his old man once again. It had been bad enough facing him in the flesh but now … I suspect there are a lot of people going through their own individual Hell of impromptu reunions today with the dearly departed.
“Just remember, he is still your dad,” I said as I held the front door open for him. That was the best I could offer. Even though I was 95-percent sure that Seth was Seth, that 5-percent still nagged at me. I mean, how certain about anything are we really?
Don nodded imperceptibly and headed down the sidewalk like a man walking to his execution. He slumped into his Camaro and grinded the gears as he shifted into reverse and then grinded them again as he lurched forward into first gear and slowly disappeared around the corner.
Dusk was settling across the neighborhood, giving the outdoors a surreal quality. The blackness of night seemed to have been replaced by the uncanny lavender glow. It was not like the darkness was illuminated by this extra-terrestrial light, it was like it had been replaced. The air shone eerily like a large black-light painting, undulating in almost imperceptible waves.
It was late spring and an otherwise cool and pleasant evening. That’s what made it so darn strange that there were no people out. No people in the yards, no kids playing, and no traffic … it was as if everyone had vanished. The only thing dispelling that perception was that most of the homes had lights on and blinds drawn; moving shadows could be seen passing about inside some of the windows. People were there, they just seemed to be heeding the warnings to stay indoors.
Turning around, I saw Seth had cautiously crept from his hiding place and was watching me hopefully from the laundry room door. I stepped back inside then firmly closed and locked the door.
“Is he gone?” Seth asked, apprehensive.
“Yes he is. Why did you do that, buddy? You had me worried sick.”
“I didn’t want him to see me,” Seth said with a sadness that was deeper than any I had ever seen in him.
I suspected I knew the answer but I asked anyway.
“Why not?”
He pointed at the mess of cereal now smeared across the kitchen floor. A tangled knot of frustration and love formed in my gut. I loved Seth dearly and would defend him to the end of time, but I also knew he was right. The people who still occupied the world of the living would look at him as a freak, a novelty, something to ogle, but also something to fear. He would be nothing more to them than an attraction at a funhouse or a zoo.
Seth would be the amputee, the paraplegic, the burn victim, or deformed person who constantly finds himself the subject of unkind voyeurism, making him the outcast or the punch line. The world is cruel, damn cruel, to those that are different. I knew he could never live a normal life, but is that what he’s doing? I buried him just two weeks ago, and now I’m talking about a normal life? How could he have any chance of normalcy if his own dad had doubts? I had to do something and do something quickly; we couldn’t just sit around in the house and hope for the best.
That was not good for Seth, and as far as I knew this “storm” might pass by morning, returning things to normal, putting Seth back into his impalpable state and pouring salt on the fresh woun
d in my heart. Dread rose in me so quickly that my breath hitched. I could feel every blood vessel course with panic when I realized the probable truth – I could lose him again. The obvious solution popped into my head like a light flicking on, but I decided I would ease into it first with Seth, to make sure he was still comfortable with the idea and to try to get him in a little better mood. I sat down on the sofa and started the conversation by changing the subject.
“Buddy, how did you get down here without me seeing you?”
His sad expression turned to a knowing grin as he looked up and pointed his finger.
I frowned and shook my head, clearly not understanding his inference.
“Through the ceiling!” he said with his trademark mischievous grin.
I swallowed hard as understanding dawned.
“You went through the ceiling?”
He shook his head and spoke with cocky kid confidence.
“It’s pretty easy. It doesn’t hurt or nothing … it kinda tickles.”
“Can you go through this chair?” I asked, pointing to the La-Z-Boy in front of me.
His chest puffed up with importance and he walked to the chair.
“Okay, watch!” he beckoned like an excited kid wanting to demonstrate his diving technique for the first time in the pool.
I stood up and crossed my arms to indicate I was paying complete attention and smiled supportively. He smiled back and positioned himself behind the chair with a look of intense concentration on his face. He swung his arms frontward and backward a couple of times and moved toward the chair. When he reached the back I didn’t think he would be able to continue as he appeared to stop dead in his tracks, but then he slowly began to move forward like a person walking into a strong wind.
A few moments later he was fully submerged in the chair with only the top of his head sticking out of the back cushion. Slowly his arms emerged, then his face and torso, he was smiling triumphantly as he moved forward, still immersed from the waist down in the bottom of the recliner. He giggled as he raised his knees like he was high-stepping. His knees popping up out of the seat cushion like that reminded me of that game where gophers pop up out of holes as the player whacks them on the head with a hammer. A few moments later, he was free of the chair and grinning at me like he had just hit a home run to win the big game.
“Awesome!” I exclaimed with sincere pride. And I was proud of my boy, even if what I had just witnessed was beyond bizarre. I also felt as helpless as a man that cannot swim watching his son flounder in deep water. What could I do to help him? I did not know for sure but I suspected my idea might be a start. Now that I had gotten him in a little better spirits, no pun intended, I would lay out my plan. I knew the response it would get before I even opened my mouth. After all, it was the reason that Seth was here with me in the first place.
“Seth, buddy, how would you like to go to Washington, D.C., in the morning?”
“The Air Space Moozem in Washaton?” he beamed with excitement.
“Yes sir,” I smiled and took his small hand, hardly noticing the strange sensation of cold and warmth as he squeezed my hand.
He began to hop up and down with excitement. Each time he came down, his feet sank about three inches into the floor. Seth was positively giddy.
I didn’t even think about telling Don. Honestly, I didn’t really care if I told him. I was going to go regardless of what he said, and he had his own issues to handle.
“We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” I told him. “I’ll put my bag together tonight so we can just get up and go.”
I stopped and discreetly examined Seth as he continued to prance with childlike glee. Would I need to pack clothes for him? I didn’t think so; his clothes and shoes seemed as much a part of him as his own skin. How was he even wearing clothes? I guess that was as much of a mystery as the very presence of him. Maybe the old expression “clothes make the man” is even more of a truism than we realize. I decided it best to let Seth take the lead; I would let him tell me what he needed.
“What would you like to pack, buddy?” I asked him. “Let’s get everything you need ready tonight so we can get an early start in the morning.”
He excitedly bolted up the stairs, beckoning for me to follow. I followed after retrieving his Buzz Lightyear suitcase from the hall closet. Thank God it had not been donated along with his cereal bowl.
A few moments after opening the suitcase on his bed it was filled with three Star Wars figures, Seth’s teddy bear, Luke, and a dozen or so assorted Spider-Man and Batman comics.
“Is that all you need?” I asked with a tone urging him to think about it. “Remember, we are going to be gone several days and you want to take everything you will need,” I added, putting special emphasis on need.
He nodded his head and then responded like he had just read my mind.
“Yep, I think so. I can’t wear any of my clothes, they won’t stay on me … I already tried. I guess I’ll just wear this the whole trip,” he said with a quick spin like he was modeling for me. He paused as a serious expression washed over his face.
“Momma wouldn’t let me wear the same clothes more than once. She would tell me she ain’t raising no stinky boy.”
A lump welled up in my throat as I thought of Ann. I had heard her tell Seth that on more than one occasion. He had his comfortable favorites he liked to wear and wear often, but hey, don’t we all? I fought back a tear as I reassured him.
“I don’t think Momma would mind buddy. Besides, it’s just you and me … a guy’s trip,” I said with a wink.
Yes indeed, it was going to be a guy’s trip and like most guys, I pack light. Just the necessities. Fifteen minutes later, both of our bags were packed and stacked neatly by the door. Seth climbed in bed with me. To my surprise, he informed me that he had slept quite a bit in the past two weeks. I don’t know why he has to sleep, but at least that’s one more thing we have in common. I was tempted to turn on the radio and get an update but I decided against it. What were the ‘experts’ going to tell me? That this is going away in the morning and everything will be back the way it was? I didn’t want to hear it. I would at least enjoy tonight, one quiet night with my son.
After a long period of conversation, mainly Seth telling me in great detail everything he wanted to see at the Smithsonian, he drifted off to sleep. I fought it as long as I could, fearing what the morning may bring. I wanted to relish every moment with Seth.
Rest was hard to come by as I lay awake watching him sleep. I was scared: scared to take my eyes off him, afraid that he could be gone at any moment. I was terrified of losing him again. I don’t think I could take the pain.
As I considered my sleeping son, other possibilities began to float through my head. My parents had been gone now for almost 14 years. Did they stay? Did Ann’s parents stay? My heart leapt with anticipation at the prospect. If they had, they were not here and their home on the other side of town was now occupied by a young family. Surely they would have called me if they had unexpected guests. Well, unless they had fled in terror. My dad, with his gruff exterior, had that impact on people even when he was alive.
As much as I would like to see my mom and dad again, I had to focus on Seth. They were adults and, if they were still here, they could find me. I put the thought out of my head with the promise to myself that I would drive by their house on the way out of town tomorrow. Sleep finally came, but it was anything but restful.
CHAPTER 8
Rattling Bridges
“A person may cause evil to others not only
by his action but by his inaction, and in either case he is
justly accountable to them for the injury.”
—John Stuart Mill
The President of the United States got no sleep that night, as most leaders around the world didn’t. He and his political and military advisors, along with scientist
s from NASA, MIT, Stanford, and a few other assorted government agencies spent the evening in the White House situation room monitoring developments. The scientists agreed on one thing – they had no idea what the phenomenon was or why it was disrupting television and internet but not radio. They also had no idea as to why it had suddenly unveiled the dead.
The scientists were split down the middle about whether the storm produced an unknown energy that affected the human brain, causing hallucinations, or if it really did evoke a physical manifestation of the unseen spirit world. The scientists on the hallucination side of the debate crudely referred to the visions of the deceased as “brain farts.” The phrase that the scientists used describing the spirit side was one that fit perfectly and was much more refined term than its hallucinatory counterpart. It meant “not capable of being perceived by the senses.” They called them “the Impalpables,” or “Impals” for short.
The most important question batted about was whether or not this new form of energy caused adverse health effects. So far there was no evidence of that but it had been less than 24-hours since the storm entered Earth’s atmosphere. There was no way as of yet to measure this unknown form of energy, so the only scientific method available was the tried and true technique – just wait and see.
There was one troubling development that had become apparent overnight, a development that the president’s advisors had spent a great deal of time coaching exactly how to present to the media, a development that could easily lead to global unrest if not handled with the utmost care. Indeed it would be very important, but seemingly insignificant at first, like a single spark from a dangling tailpipe in the middle of a tender dry forest that later produced a blaze of unimaginable consequences.
Aside from the scientists, the military, and the presidential advisors, there was another present at this meeting. He was an individual who showed great distaste toward any nickname. He had seen and heard this kind of talk before, not only in his living days but in the years since as one president after another occupied the place he had called home for four years. They afforded him no more attention than they would the air in the room. But how could they? Hadn’t he, by the very definition, been exactly what the despised nickname suggested? Impalpable.
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