The Tesla Gate

by John D. Mimms

  Living may not be an appropriate term for the last 100 years or more, but he had existed a long time. He had existed long enough to know that he didn’t care for some of the ideas and language coming from the room. He had heard it before, not only during the last great trial of his life as he struggled to keep a nation together but also since that time from the mouths and actions of a number of advisors and leaders occupying what should be an honored house.

  If there was one thing he had learned the last two centuries were that the ideals that spawned and maintain America are of divine providence and should be defended to the end, but the governmental offices were rarely a reflection of these ideals. He had decided long ago that if white represents purity and virtue, the presidential residence should have been painted sack cloth black decades ago.

  He had worked through the initial discomfort of the day, being ogled and stared at, because he felt like he needed to listen to what was going on as it most decidedly involved him. He had now had all he could stand after the tenth time of being asked if it hurt when he was assassinated and if he had seen John Wilkes Booth anywhere in the spirit realm. The answer to both questions was no, but that was beside the point, he felt like some freak in Ringling Brothers Circus. He had observed the spectacle when the travelling show did a special White House appearance on the front lawn for President Garfield. He found it revolting and not much more dignified than a slave auction – another place where distasteful nicknames were freely used without compassion.

  After the “straw breaking the camel’s back” question was asked, this time by a general, of all people, he smiled politely – if nothing else he was the consummate gentleman – and answered ‘no sir’ to both questions and politely excused himself from the room. While his faith in his successors may have waned over the decades, his sense of humor had not. It had been one of his strongest attributes in his political career and probably had helped him endure his life as an unseen visitor in the most important house in the world. That and the fact that he was not the only invisible resident of the nation’s capital. He had made many friends over the last 100 years and he needed to talk to them now—not only for his sake, but for theirs, as well.

  He had respectfully been given free rein to roam about the White House as he saw fit – respecting privacy. Of course, he had enjoyed free rein before over the last 100 years, but no one knew he was there. He edged through the doors to the rose garden under the dumbstruck and restrained stares of the Secret Service. His tall, slender, ethereal outline was barely visible until he reached the perimeter fence and then disappeared into the fading darkness.

  A few minutes later, the sun’s first rays began to drive back the bizarre black light nighttime, spreading fading lavender over the Washington monument as the surreal night retreated. It was like a photo negative slowly developing into a clear print. This would be the first sunrise over a new and redefined world; however, the new definition remained to be seen.

  I woke up early the next morning, my heart thumping against my ribs like a caged bird. Had I been dreaming? I wasn’t sure but I knew there was an underlying panic, something that I dreaded waking for. I fought hard to clear the cobwebs from my head. As my thoughts began to take cohesion, a single word came to mind … Seth.

  Remembering the past day’s events and my fear of what the morning might bring, I spun in bed to verify the other side was occupied. My hopes sank like a large boulder sliding into my stomach; Seth was not there. I sprung from the bed and was halfway to the door before my sheets touched back down on my mattress.

  Seth’s suitcase was still there by the door but there was no sign of him. Did I have a bizarre dream and pack his suitcase and mine in my sleep? I seriously considered that possibility for a moment, but the otherworldly lavender light filtering through the drapes dispelled that thought. He had to be here somewhere; after all, the strange light was still here.

  “Seth! Seth!” I called in a panic as I sprinted through my bedroom door and across the landing to Seth’s room.

  I was just about to fling the door open when I heard Seth’s voice call from downstairs.

  “Daddy? What are you doing?” he called.

  “Looking for you!” I shouted back with a mixture of relief and aggravation.

  I started down the stairs and saw him coming back through the door to the garage dragging a large canvas bag that I recognized as the one that stored our sleeping bags. I hadn’t made it to the garage yet since the funeral, so the bag still carried all three of our sleeping bags – the down-filled plaid that was mine, the down-filled yellow that belonged to Ann, and the Star Wars sleeping bag.

  “What are you doing Seth?” I asked, a bit perplexed. I had every intention of taking our trip but I had no intention of camping out. Motel 6 and Super 8 were my idea of roughing it.

  “I almost forgot these. We may have to camp out between here and there,” he said, then frowned and added, “Where’s the tent?”

  I had put the tent in the attic a couple of months ago. Its bulky box took up too much room in our two-car garage. It was stored against the wall in front of where I parked. I frankly had gotten tired of squeezing between the rear of my SUV and the garage door. It was not only an inconvenience but a constant reminder of my expanding waistline. With the box out of the way, I could easily walk in the three-foot area between my vehicle and the wall, no problem. Besides, it was too darned heavy to try and hoist out of the attic.

  “We won’t need that,” I said with exaggerated excitement for his benefit. “If we have to camp, we can spread the bags out in the back of the SUV. Won’t that be fun?”

  He looked at me doubtfully for a few moments then shrugged and carefully placed the bags by the door.

  “Okay, I’m ready!” he said as he sat down hard on the bag, his rear end noticeably sinking a couple of inches through the canvas.

  “Give me a minute, buddy, and I’ll be ready to rattle some bridges!” I said before turning and heading for the bathroom where an eye opening morning shower was calling my name. I hardly noticed Seth’s confusion, but he had an expression like he had come across a difficult problem on his homework. He was probably trying to figure out my expression about bridges.

  Fifteen minutes later I was showered, dressed, and ready to go. Seth excitedly dragged his suitcase downstairs and through the garage door, parking it near the rear of my SUV. He then stacked the sleeping bag carrier beside it. I brought my case downstairs, locked the doors and set the security system, then closed and locked the door to the house. I hit the button opening the big garage door and helped Seth load the bags in the back. I had just one thing I needed to do before we left, I needed to call Don and let him know I would be out of town for a while. I opened the door for Seth and turned the key to accessory so he could listen to Radio Disney while I made my phone call.

  I was apprehensive about making the call. Not because I was afraid he would say no and tell me to go back to work; that was immaterial. This trip is going to happen regardless. I was apprehensive because of the state Don was in when he left last night. I knew this was not going to be easy for him and I had no idea what to expect. Thankfully for me, Gina answered the phone.

  “Hello?” she said, weary.

  “Gina, this is Thomas. Is Don available?”

  She sighed heavily.

  “I’m so glad you called Thomas; it has been a rough night.”

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, a knot starting to form in my stomach.

  “I guess as okay as can be expected, given the circumstances. Don was up until three or four this morning talking to his … his dad. I still can’t believe this is happening. It sounds so strange to talk about him again like he’s still living, but I guess he is still living in a sense.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said as I looked in the window at Seth. He was sitting there, happily mouthing the words to one of his favorite Disney t
unes.

  “Oh … oh, Thomas I’m sorry. How is Seth?”

  “Fine,” I said as I caught Seth’s eye and gave him a reassuring wink. He grinned comically and winked back before resuming his radio lip sync. “That’s kind of what I was calling about. I guess Don is still asleep since he was up all night?”

  “Yes,” she said ruefully then continued with a hopeful tone. “Do you want me to wake him?”

  I suspected it was because Don’s father was not asleep and she felt uncomfortable about being alone with him. She was probably looking for an excuse to wake Don. Come to think of it, I was not even sure if Seth slept or not. I fell asleep talking to him last night and he was up and about when I woke up.

  “No Gina, that’s okay … can you give him a message for me?”

  She sighed noticeably and I thought I detected a faint sob rattling underneath.

  “All right … what?” she said.

  “Gina, is everything okay?”

  I heard a faint sniffle and then she cleared her throat before speaking.

  “Yes, it’s just hard you know … losing someone, making peace with the loss and then suddenly they’re back.” She took a deep breath and mustered a more positive tone. “I think it is going to be a good thing ultimately. As crazy as this sounds, I actually think it will help their relationship.”

  “That’s great,” I said. I could definitely relate to the losing someone and then suddenly they are back. In my case I had not made peace with it yet; it had only been a couple of weeks. Two weeks or two years, I wasn’t sure with which would be the most difficult to come to terms. Maybe it was personal prejudice on my part, but I suspected that my situation had to be worse. I lost my child and that goes as much against the natural order of things as this phenomenon does. It is an abomination to nature and a terror that haunts the soul of all mothers and fathers. When I thought of it in those terms, I didn’t feel so sorry for Don anymore. Empathetic? Yes. Sorry? No.

  “Listen Gina, I am taking Seth out of town for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks. I wanted you to let Don know that I would be gone.”

  “Are you coming back?” she said in a tone that almost sounded panicked.

  It never occurred to me that I would not come back, so the question took me completely off guard. It also gave me an uncomfortable moment of pause.

  “Uh … yeah,” I stammered. “We intend to.”

  I looked back in the window at Seth. He was still lip syncing and swaying his shoulders. Our eyes met and he motioned for me to come on and go already.

  “Gina, I need to go. I know you and Don have my number if you need me,” I said, and then told her our travel destination.

  “That sounds like fun,” she said. “Give Seth a hug for me.”

  “I will. You guys take care. Tell Don to give me a call if he needs to talk.”

  “I’ll do that, Thomas. You are a good friend. Have a good trip and come back safely.”

  “We will. Goodbye, Gina.”

  I put the phone in my pocket, slipped into the driver’s seat, and turned the volume down on the Jonas Brothers. Seth looked at me hopefully.

  “Are you ready to rabble bridges?” he asked.

  I chuckled when I realized he had picked up on my ‘rattling bridges’ expression.

  “I’m ready!” I said as I turned the ignition over and fired the vehicle to life.

  Seth looked at me with a puzzled frown.

  “What does that mean?”

  I explained to him that it was an expression I had picked up from my grandfather when I was a kid. The way he had explained it to me is that when he was young, most bridges were made of wood and they rattled when you crossed them. When you went on a trip you crossed a lot of bridges, so you were rattling bridges.

  Seth looked at me with a mixture of doubt and comprehension. I suspect he comprehended the expression as well as any six-year-old could, not knowing anything of the world prior to the dawn of the 21st Century. Seth was a smart kid, though, smarter than I was at that age.

  I shifted the SUV into reverse and cleared the garage door, closing it with a click of my remote. I carefully backed into the street. The neighborhood was still eerily silent and still. It was not empty, though. I noted several curious observers from a number of neighbors peering through drapes or blinds. We did live in a neighborhood with a high population of retirees and we didn’t see them much. I couldn’t even tell you half of my neighbors’ names.

  Zoning for our neighborhood dictated there be no names on the brick mailboxes, just the house number in raised brass letters. Most of my neighbors were just a number to me, I’m sad to say. I saw number 19 and 21 quickly withdraw their heads and shut the blinds as I stopped in the middle of the street and looked in their direction. They were embarrassed to be caught looking but they were frightened as well, and that I completely understood.

  I was just about to shift into drive as I looked up into the lavender sky and the strange, yellow clouds. It made me think of Alice in Wonderland again, which made me think of Disney World, which ignited a memory, one I had not thought of in a long time. The first time I went to Disney World, the ride I was excited about the most was the Jungle Cruise. I guess maybe it was because I was a Tarzan fan as a kid. It was not just that strange sky that invoked this memory, it was also the feeling I had inside at this very moment.

  When I got in the boat and took my seat in preparation for the ride, I had a nervous excitement burning within me. I was scared because I had no idea what dangers lurked ahead in the form of lions, hippos, or giant snakes, but I was excited because of the thrill of adventure and the thrill of the unknown. That was exactly how I felt now. I was scared of what was occurring and what we may encounter on our trip but I was also excited. This was definitely an unknown. I shifted the vehicle into drive and set out on a trip that would prove to be unlike any I had taken before.

  CHAPTER 9

  Father Wilson

  “Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words.”

  —Francis of Assisi

  The trip was unexpectedly delayed by the flashing of headlights and honking of a horn behind me. I looked in the mirror to see Father Wilson in his small green sedan desperately trying to get my attention.

  Seth looked at me with a confused frown.

  I smiled sympathetically as I secretly gritted my teeth in aggravation.

  “I’m sorry, buddy. I guess the trip is going to have to wait a few minutes.”

  His disappointed face was a direct reflection of how I felt. I was looking forward to our little adventure, I really was. I did not want to have a conversation with the Father now, I just wanted to get on the road.

  “Who is it?” Seth asked, not recognizing the car.

  I turned the wheel and pulled to the curb before shifting into park and stepping out.

  Seth hopped out and bounded to my side.

  “Is that Father Wilson, Daddy?”

  “Yes,” I said, but when I saw his worried look I knelt down beside him. “We won’t be long; he just wants to wish us well on our trip.”

  “Why don’t you go in the house and play while I talk to the Father.”

  “Can I get my toys out?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I said as I opened the back door.

  He grabbed his duffel bag of toys and set it on the ground with one hand out.

  I looked at him stupidly as he continued to hold out his hand with mounting impatience.

  “Can I go inside?” he asked.

  I shook my head like I was trying to sweep away the cobwebs then gently placed the keys in his palm.

  “Here ya go, buddy,” I said as he started for the door.

  “Okey dokey,” he called as he put the key in the lock and opened the door. It just occurred to me that Seth could have gotten in the house without the aid of a
key. I was glad to see that we were keeping it normal. Of course, I really had no idea what was normal anymore.

  Just as I watched Seth disappear into the house, a lump formed in the pit of my stomach. Father Wilson had gotten out and was walking toward me, a stern but pleasant expression on his face. I did want to talk to him about some of the discussion topics at Seth’s school, but I didn’t want to have that conversation now.

  He was dressed as he typically is – black shirt, black pants and white priest’s collar. With his gray hair and sagging jowls he has always reminded me of the old priest in The Exorcist Childishly, my first impulse was to run inside and lock the door, but the time had come to speak to the man. I really didn’t have any more excuses to put him off. He had been concerned for my well-being after Ann and Seth’s accident, which I appreciated. But I had blown him off because I didn’t want to have that discussion with anyone especially after my friends’ – primarily Gina and Don Lewis – goodhearted attempts to rid my house of all reminders of my wife and child’s existence. I wasn’t ready to let go, and am not sure I ever will be. I guess in my view, discussing it with a priest would put the final dagger through my heart; it would give their existence the finality that I was not prepared to acknowledge.

  My issues about discussing abortion and suicide with six-year-olds seemed trivial now considering what had happened to me and what was going on in the world, but it suddenly occurred to me that he might have an interesting perspective on current events. As it turned out, he did, he had also come to discuss one of the very topics I had wanted to discuss with him.

  “Good morning, Father,” I said, smiling as he approached me with an apprehensive expression. I understand his wariness, since the last couple of visits from him I was less than cordial, practically slamming the door in his face.