Panacea

by Brad Murray

Andy took the gun from Jimmy and handed it to Ram. He lifted his boy high into the air and held him so that they were nose to nose. Andy spoke no words, for none need be spoken; the pride radiating from his eyes spoke volumes. It was a snapshot moment in time; a connection between father and son that neither would ever forget. Jimmy, so determined to make his father proud, had done just that. He absorbed every moment while he was in his father’s arms. Despite his attempts to keep his elation under wraps, Jimmy could not contain the utter bliss that had swelled inside of him. He laughed to the sky as his father held him above his head; sheer joy coursing through each and every cell of his being.

  Just as his father lowered him back to the earth, a ball of snow-ice mixture smashed squarely into Jimmy’s nose, sending him sputtering backwards until he tripped on his own feet and flopped unceremoniously onto his back into a small mound of snow. The whole chain of events was so unexpected that Jimmy lay on his back disoriented, trying to piece together what had happened. Cooper’s high-pitched squeal provided the answer - payback for knocking Cooper off the tree stump ten minutes earlier. Jimmy’s elation that was wrapped up in those perfect moments now seemed miles away; blown to bits like the clay pigeon by a well-placed snowball. Jimmy looked to the gray winter sky and saw red. He scrambled onto his feet, rage and retribution on his mind. There was Cooper still standing next to the tree stump and, WHACK! Another snowball crashed into Jimmy’s chin, shards of ice shooting down his neck and inside his shirt. Knocked off kilter, Jimmy’s feet spun frantically, moving faster than his balance could handle, and once again sending him face down into the snow. Cooper roared with delight, his revenge far sweeter than he could have imagined. As Jimmy scrambled to his feet, angrier than ever, Andy grabbed him by his shoulders, holding him back from pouncing on Cooper.

  “You’re even Bud. Let it go.”

  “But!” screamed Jimmy.

  “I said let it go son,” said Andy firmly.

  Jimmy grumbled and groaned but knew there was no use in arguing, he knew that steely look in his father’s eyes meant there would be an ass-whipping if he argued. And so the rage inside him settled quickly like the day’s dying sun. Dusk was skulking in, so the men decided it was time to head back inside. They gathered up their things and walked towards home; after walking the field to pick up the dozens of undamaged pigeons Ram had missed.

  “Let me show ya what I’ve been working on. It’s in here,” said Andy, as they approached one of the farm’s outbuildings. The door creaked open on the rickety shed and Andy reached in and flipped the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs hummed to life, revealing a beat up Chevy pickup in the center of the room’s concrete floor. An assortment of tools, body putty, and sand paper were scattered about the floor.

  “What do you think?” said Andy boastfully. “I’ve been restoring it the last several months. I got it on the cheap. Bought it off an old guy over in Marysville who just wanted rid of it. She had a lot of rust on her, but I think I’ve gotten it all taken care of. Runs pretty well, no major mechanical issues. Most of what she needs is cosmetic.”

  “I had a girlfriend once who only needed cosmetics,” said Ram. “She had everything but the looks. Still, I couldn’t get past it. Sweet girl, but damn she was ugly. Last I heard she took a job at a carnival…”

  Andy wasn’t laughing.

  “Ah c’mon, that was funny!”

  Ram walked over to the truck to take a closer look. “This is impressive work, Porter! I had no idea you had automotive skills, or any other manly abilities for that matter,” replied Ram dryly.

  “You mean other than my ability to outshoot you with my eyes closed?” Andy grinned. “Yeah, I’m learning as I go with this project. It’s been therapeutic for me, gets me out of the house every once in awhile, if you know what I mean.”

  Ram thought of their earlier conversation about Andy and Emma’s rash of arguments and nodded his head. “So you decide what color to paint her yet?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think Jimmy?”

  “White!” Jimmy exclaimed.

  “What’s Emma think of your little project?” asked Ram.

  Andy exhaled and shrugged his shoulders. Ram read between the lines; whatever amount of money he was putting into the old truck, it was too much in Emma’s eyes.

  As if on cue, Emma yelled from the porch, “Andy! You out there in the shed?”

  Andy cringed and ducked his head out of the shed door, leaning outside. “Yeah, right here. You need something?”

  “Are you about done out there? I need to you talk to you,” she said somberly.

  Andy turned, and looked at Ram pensively.

  “That’s my signal to go,” said Ram. “See you dead-eye marksmen later.” Ram lumbered his large frame out of the shed and ambled towards his house down the dirt road.

  Jimmy and Cooper knew all too well to stay inside the shed for the time being. From Emma’s tone, there was an argument brewing and they wanted to be as far away from it as possible. The door to the shed had barely closed when the couple’s voices began to rise. Something about money again no doubt, thought the boys. Jimmy eyed the shotgun leaning against the wall that his father had left behind, the glory from his shooting exhibition still resonating proudly. Jimmy picked up the weapon, partly because he wanted to feel the smoothness of the wooden stock in his hands again, but mostly because he wanted to divert Cooper’s attention from their parent’s argument. The two fought like any other set of siblings, but when it came to protecting his younger brother, whether it was taking on the occasional bully or steering him clear from their parents’ arguments, Jimmy was first-rate. Funny thing about brothers; fifteen minutes earlier Jimmy was ready to bash Cooper’s nose in. Now, he would do about anything to keep Cooper from having to endure their parents fighting.

  “What are you doing? Put it down!” commanded Cooper. “You know you’re not supposed to touch that. Mama says so all the time.”

  “Shut up. Dad showed me how. I know what I’m doing.”

  Jimmy closed one eye and aimed the weapon at the far wall, pretending to track a clay pigeon.

  “You better put it down before Daddy comes back,” worried Cooper.

  “The safety’s on. It won’t shoot anyhow, see?” Jimmy squeezed the trigger. An explosion of sound and fire and the violent kick of the weapon knocked him backwards and into the shed wall. Their ears ringing, the heavy smell of gunpowder floating around them, they stared at each other in shock.

  “You are in deeeeep trouble now! I told you not to touch it!” said Cooper, hands covering his ringing ears.

  “Shut up!” Jimmy pushed the safety button on and laid the gun back against the shed wall.

  “Boys! Boys!” their parents screamed in unison from the front porch. Andy’s feet must have hardly touched the ground because the shed door flew open within a millisecond. Emma wasn’t far behind.

  “Are you alright?” screamed Andy, though the shed was small enough that a conversation held in whispers would be plenty loud. Emma ran her hands over Cooper’s entire body and then over Jimmy, checking for wounds.

  “What the hell happened?” barked Andy, voice cracking.

  “I told him to put it down Daddy, but he wouldn’t listen,” proclaimed Cooper.

  Andy glared down at Jimmy, fear for his boys’ safety replaced by anger. “What the hell were you thinking Jimmy? You know better.”

  All Jimmy could do was look down at the dusty concrete at his feet, too ashamed to look into his disappointed father’s eyes.

  “I told you Andy,” growled Emma. “I don’t want guns in our home, they’re too dangerous. Especially with children around who don’t…”

  “I’m sorry Daddy!” Jimmy cried out, tears welling in his little blue eyes. “I thought the safety was on like you showed me earlier. And when I…”

  “Showed him earlier?” Emma cut in, her eyes narrowing. “You showed him how to shoot today, didn’t you? You promised me!”

  Andy exhaled and rub
bed his temples while Emma droned on about the guns and about how hurt she was that Andy had let her down. As he thought of a sharp retort to Emma’s lecture, he took notice of the pickup truck. Andy moved forward slowly and bent to his knees to inspect it. The truck’s front fender was dotted with dozens of holes from the buckshot. As Jimmy watched his father inspect the damage, he was mortified as he realized what he had done. He recounted all the hours his father had spent working on it recently; all the bonding and sanding and the re-bonding and re-sanding to fix the rusted holes in that very fender. He knew the pride his father had placed in the project; of the satisfaction his father had taken from his handy work.

  And now it was ruined.

  He had broken his father’s heart, and his own heart ached because of it. Andy, still kneeling beside his truck, pivoted his head around and stared blankly into Jimmy’s eyes. Jimmy gulped, waiting for his father to explode in a fit of rage, to give him the beating he deserved.

  But it never came.

  What happened next was far worse. Andy simply stood up and walked out of the shed, saying nothing. Emma and the boys watched helplessly as Andy jumped into the old Chevy Caprice and tore out of the driveway.

  ***

  Jimmy cried himself to sleep that night. And when he awoke the next morning, he was disheartened to discover his father had still not returned. He spent the whole of the next day walking up and down the long driveway in the winter cold, hoping to spot the Caprice’s return. As the sun set on another day, the little boy reverted to the warmth of the house to find his mother on the phone. She had called everyone she knew. She had called everyone her husband knew. But no one had seen hide nor hair of him.

  The following day, Sheriff James stopped by the house to report that Andy had not been to work, that his credit card showed no activity, and that there was no trace of his vehicle.

  “Unfortunately, we see this sort of thing all the time,” said the sheriff dryly. “If he wants to be gone, he’s gone.”

  Andy Porter had vanished without a trace. And his oldest son blamed himself for it.

  “He left ‘cuz I ruined his truck,” he cried.

  “Don’t you think that for one second,” Emma comforted. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for this. He’ll be back soon.”

  But there was no explanation. And Andy was not back soon. A week later, as Emma sat dazed on the front porch swing, Cooper came running up the steps, delivering the mail that had just arrived in the mailbox near the front of the driveway. Emma’s heart jumped when she saw the envelope; the one with Andy’s handwriting. Postmarked Springfield, Missouri, the typed letter was short and to the point.

  “I cannot do this anymore. I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

  Emma sat on the front porch swing, the very swing where the couple had spent so much time together. She sat in a sort of dazed trance, looking emptily out to the horizon. The letter fluttered from her hand and came to rest gently beside Abby, who was snoozing in her usual position on the porch.

  Jimmy rounded the corner, having returned from the shed. He’d been trying in vain to patch up the holes he’d made in the old truck, hoping it would somehow bring his father back. As he traipsed up the steps, he noticed his mother’s empty gaze, and the piece of paper that had fallen from her hand.

  “Mama?” he called. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

  She did not stir.

  Jimmy read the letter carefully. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it. But when he found the envelope and his father’s handwriting, he re-read it once more. And when the meaning of his father’s letter set in, Jimmy curled up in a ball on the swing next to his mother, a torrent of tears streaming onto Emma’s lap. Those eight simple words were stark. Cold. Absolute.

  He realized his father, his hero, had abandoned him and his family.

  And it was all his fault.

  5

  Yesterday – May 28, 2011

  At the end of the runway, a battered orange windsock popped and furled defiantly against the never-ending southern gusts. Once bright neon orange, the harsh combination of wind and sun had gotten the best of it; its color had become a dull shade of peach. A tumbleweed jumped across the grass and cartwheeled onto the pavement, where it somersaulted a few turns before it spun away and caught itself against a shoddy wire fence. Two rusty, corrugated tin-roofed airplane hangars stood forlornly against the backdrop of the gently rolling flatlands of western Kansas, where wheat fields stretched as far as the eye could see.

  To the few farmers in the area, the airfield was a bit of a head-scratcher. Frequently the subject of gossip at the local diner, its function was the source of many a lively debate. And excellent rumor fodder it was; the mysteries surrounding it were numerous. Jumbo jets were witnessed making touch and go landings. Jumbo jets – here of all places. The runway was well-kept – never a pothole, crack, or even a single weed allowed to take hold. Its owners were anonymous; a strange circumstance in a place where everyone knew everyone else’s business. The prevailing theory at the diner was that the airfield was home to a secret government base, conducting a wide array of experimental missions. There were any number of disagreements over what specifically was going on inside the fence line, but one thing was in agreement - it was a terrible waste of good farmland.

  Jenny Jordan futilely flipped her strawberry blonde locks away from her blue eyes only to have them immediately blown back over her face. She fidgeted next to the airfield’s fuel tanks, and glanced down at her watch for the umpteenth time during the conversation. She hoped he would pick up on her not-so-subtle hints.

  “C’mon, darlin’,” said the man as he carelessly held the fuel hose and emptied its contents into the tank. “Just one dinner. Hell, I’d settle for just one cup of coffee.” He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing black grime in the process.

  “I can’t Eddie,” said Jenny. “Like I’ve told you a hundred times – I don’t have time. I’ve got way too much work to do here.”

  “Place is dead, Jenny,” he said, looking across the tarmac at the empty hangars. “Ain’t no way you’re busy. But I can take a hint.”

  Like hell you can, thought Jenny. She looked at her watch again. They were due to land in twenty minutes - Eddie’s departure needed to be hastened.

  “Listen, someday we’ll go for coffee, I promise,” she said, flashing her best fake sexy smile through her sparkling blue eyes. “But I need you to finish up now. I really do have to get back to work.”

  Eddy smiled from ear to ear. “For reals? You’re finally sayin’ yes? We’re goin’ on a date?”

  “Oh shit Eddie, it’s not a date!” she said exasperatedly. “Coffee only. And I said someday.”

  “When?” said Eddie.

  He mindlessly sputtered, heaved, and coughed up phlegm, which he grotesquely spat on the pavement. Jenny shuddered, repulsed at the thought of actually being seen in public with the disgusting mouth-breather.

  “When what?” said Jenny, eyeing her watch.

  “When’s our coffee date?” he said. His mouth hung open as he eyeballed her curves.

  “Pick a day,” said Jenny thoughtlessly. “Next month maybe.”

  “Next month? Shit, can’t we do it sooner than that?”

  “You’re pressing your luck, Eddie,” she said, hands on hips. “If you don’t finish up and get out of here in the next two minutes, you can forget the whole thing!”

  “Okay, okay! Damn!” he said. He scrambled to close the valve and feverishly reeled in the hose. He hadn’t moved his pear shaped body so fast in months. At last, he jumped into his fuel truck and started it up, honking in celebration as he drove away. Jenny breathed a sigh of relief.

  But just before it crossed the exit gate, the fuel truck’s brakes lit red.

  What now? she thought.

  Eddie’s bulbous head leaned far out from his cab window. “I’ll see you later, Sweetheart!” he waved.

  Jenny shook her head and pointed towards the exit. “Go!”
>
  Eighteen minutes later, Jenny stood waiting at the front of the hangar, casually leaning against its outside wall. She shaded her eyes with her hand against the mid-morning sun as she looked to the eastern sky. Like clockwork, the silhouette of the 737 came into sight; appearing as a tiny grey dot at first. It gradually grew larger until she could make out its wings, and then its landing gear. She entered the hangar and walked to a heavy metal door that was centered on one wall. She swung the door open and trotted down a flight of stairs where she was greeted by another heavy door at the bottom. Above the door a red light blinked forebodingly.

  Jenny waved a badge in front of the reader that hung next to the door. The red light switched yellow. She punched her six-digit code into a keypad; the yellow light switched green and a heavy clunking sound indicated the magnetic lock had released. She disappeared inside and returned a minute later to the stairwell carrying a computer tablet. Taking two steps at a time she ascended the stairs, crossed the empty floor of the hangar, and returned to her position near the hangar’s open door.

  The 737 was on approach, hovering just above the runway. A puff of smoke and the chirp of its wheels announced its touchdown. It roared as it blew past the hangars, rumbling across the smooth pavement that was bordered on all sides by the isolated plains of wheat. Its thrust reversers opened, and the rumbling of the jet engines shifted into a high-pitch scream. It taxied for a distance down the runway before turning sharply and gliding back towards the hangars. Jenny brushed the hair from her eyes as the 737 rolled past her and into the hangar. She quickly rolled the mobile stairs into position with the 737’s exit door and locked it in place. After chocking the aircraft’s wheels, she positioned herself between the jet and the door to the stairs and waited for the engines to die down. The exit door unlatched, swung open, and a parade of feet tromped down the metal stairs.

  They acknowledged her as they passed; each with a wink or a nod; a few with a friendly “morning Jenny.” She smiled and nodded back, checking off each of the 180 names listed on the manifest on her tablet, person by person. They fell in line behind the security door like people in the morning elevator line at a high-rise office building. Some casually chatted while others scanned papers held in folders. Some talked on cellphones while others checked text messages. Some stood impatiently tapping their toes, while others passed the time by cracking a joke with their neighbor. One by one, the passengers entered the stairwell in orderly procession, awaiting the green light’s clearance.