The cabbage skin that was his one foot started to look more normal. Could be worse, he thought, as he ran his finger over the edges of some of the open skin. The floor of the woods rubbed and tore the holes in his feet. Electricity made his foot dance whenever he touched one of the pink sores. The socks would have to go back on. As much as he wanted to leave them off, he knew his only chance of walking was to keep them on.
Ignoring George, Kyle decided to lie on his back. He closed his eyes and listened to the woods. He heard an occasional run of a small animal across the pine needles. He heard the drop of a branch or pine cone from above. He listened as the breeze washed through the tree tops. And he listened to the rush of air under wings of birds that flew above – never knowing he lay just beneath them.
The sounds that calmed and pushed him close to sleep, stopped with the interruption, ‘queenk, queenk queenk’.
“Dree Hrogs,” he stated in a flat tone, and opened his good eye in disappointment. Soon the ‘queenk, queenk, queenk,’ began to erode the sounds of the woods. It replaced all the other voices and ricocheted in his mind. ‘Queenk, Queenk, Queenk,’ Kyle listened to the merciless ribbing and cursed it and attempted to shut it out with his fingers pressed deep into his earholes. He pressed his fingers hard until the insides of his ears hurt. He thought he might touch his brain, and wondered if the same electric pain would fill his head.
’Tree frogs’, he thought and yanked his fingers from his ears. He thought past the sound that made fun of him and recalled when it was that he first heard them.
“I heard dem dast night,” he mumbled and turned his body to face the direction their song came from. Could they be the same frogs as at home, he wondered and staggered to his feet.
In his mind, he bolted upright. In his mind, he was running as he had when the Boar gave chase. But as he watched the distance grow from his good eye to his stocking feet on the ground, he realized he was only moving at the speed of pain.
There was more was going on in his head than just the injuries he could feel on the outside. He was starving. He could see the need for water and food by the way his fingers were getting skinny and bony. The skin on his hands was wrinkled. They reminded him of the fall leaves on the playground that you shuffled through with your Nikes.
He pushed against the tired. He forced his feet to try and walk to the sounds of the tree frog’s call. He inched along at first, and as the pain in his feet dulled with each step, he gained momentum. Leaves or maybe tree bark, he thought as an idea to cover the bottom of his peeling feet. He half smiled with pride at the idea. It whittled at the ongoing confusion. He told himself he’d get on it just after he feeds the need for food and water.
’Queenk, Queenk, Queenk,’ sounded out louder and louder. The color of the distant pines were getting darker and growing faint. He realized what part of the day it was. It’s late, it’s been more than a whole day or maybe two days, he thought, but couldn’t figure out for sure. He wondered if he missed an opportunity to cast the shadow of the Sun in front of him. Or was the shadow supposed to have been behind him? And, would he have to turn around and follow that out of the woods? Kyle fought against new tears born from the increasing confusion. He couldn’t remember where his shadow was when he first walked into the woods.
A feeling of being trapped came at him quick and unexpected like a small animal hunted in a large forest. It overwhelmed him as he shot a look to the woods. He turned his body to search above and around him, all that was familiar drained away like water colors off a fourth grade masterpiece left to die in the rain. His memory was the colors that strained to remain on the paper.
Tears pierced his broken eye while staining a path on his face. He didn’t see just the pine needles on the floor of the woods or the tall trees. He didn’t see just the tall grass that brushed and tickled his shins when he walked. A monster lived in the forest. It breathed fire that was the bruising and infections riddling his body. And it fed on little boys – toying with their lives for the sheer enjoyment. The monster held onto him like a small plaything in a cat’s trap of vicious claws. The claws clutched you then let you go for a minute then clutched again, dashing any hopes of escape.
’Queenk, Queenk, Queenk,’ continued and reminded Kyle what he was doing. Where he was going. And why he was going there. Turning to face the sound of the tree frogs, Kyle pushed his feet forward. His body told him to stay. Stay where your happy doing nothing at all. He ignored the invitation and pushed to move his feet. First up, then down. Then up again and down again. Minutes passed but he felt the pine needle floor passing under him. He continued his walk to the tree frogs.
When the sound of water broke the reptile’s call, Kyle stopped. He heard the flow of water. It wasn’t a rain flow or a stream flow, instead it was a weak trickle. Thirst stabbed the back of his throat and Kyle all but forgot about the tree frogs and their incessant song. He was walking down a shallow hill toward the sound of running water. He plodded along a few yards before realizing the source of the water was the same hidden spring he’d found earlier.
“I deen alking in dircles!” Kyle cried, and then approached the mouth of the spring. Dropping to his knees, and with little thought, he scooped the cold water just as he had before. Another scoop of water rested in his cupped hands as he dipped the swollen skin of his face. His skin was warm. Maybe fever warm. Leaning in, he pulled more water from the spring as it mixed with his tears. From his skin he tried to wash away the dirt and the scabby blood that seeped from beneath the broken parts of his face.
When he had his fill, he sat up and listened again to the tree frogs continue singing their call. The amount of tiredness that filled him was overwhelming. He fought the urge to lie down. He fought it with another handful of cold water. He was eager to reach the tree frogs and join in their endless evening songs, but the tired enveloped him and pulled him to the ground. Kyle stopped fighting and laid his back against the ground for what he told himself would be a minute and not a minute more. He told himself this as the window to the outside grew smaller and smaller and the lid of his good eye closed.
“Low and Outside,” he mumbled through his crooked smile. Just a few minutes, he told himself as the sounds of a little league baseball game played in his ears and the singing of the tree frogs cheered his team on.
24
Sara watched the man on her couch and wondered when she saw him stir last. A dead sleep, she thought as the minute hand from the clock on the wall swept past the second hour. The luke-warm taste of coffee touched her lips as Jacob stirred. Another touch of coffee and she thought of the dozen or more questions she wanted to ask him. She wondered which of them would spill out first. Questions about Jonnie’s Cape? And why Jonnie opened up to a complete stranger?
“Stranger,” she mumbled and saw Chris’s face in her mind as she studied the features of the man sleeping on her couch. She wanted to throw out the thoughts. She wanted to dismiss them. Or call them just an odd or strange coincidence. But the obvious was there. It was just a few feet from her. And it was in the form of a man who looked and acted and sometimes sounded like her husband Chris.
“How long have I been here … how long have I been asleep?” Jacob asked turning over to sit up. Sara jumped when she heard his voice. The unfamiliar sound bounced around the inside of the trailer and broke her stare of him.
“Umm. A few hours or so. Give or take,” she offered while getting up to pull a second cup and saucer from the kitchen cupboard.
“Coffee?”
“Thanx. A few hours? My apologies, ma’am.”
“Please, it’s Sara. My name is Sara,” she replied, and watched Jacob struggle to get to his feet.
“Sara --” he nodded, “-- Jacob,” he offered back as he took a seat across from her.
“Again, my apologies. I haven’t been well.”
Sara turned her head and watched his lips and eyes as he spoke. She tried to find the resemblance to Chris that she’d seen earlier that morning. She
saw nothing. Instead, she found embarrassment and some disappointment. Setting the coffee down, she nodded her head to the silliness of the thought.
“Your team mentioned you’ve been sick. Do you mind my asking?”
“My team?”
“Your associate … Jill was her name?” Sara asked and Jacob nodded, “I saw her with the microphone and the gentleman carrying the camera. I think they did the story?”
“Yeah, Jill. And actually – I should get outside to see them,” he strained to say as he began to stand.
Sara gave him a disappointed look, she had her own questions and wanted answers. “Oh, but they’re not here. Something about … forwarding?” She interrupted.
Jacob considered what she asked for a moment and then answered, “Store and forward.” As he began to sit back down he continued, “It’s called store and forward. We record the story first and then send it in for broadcast,” he finished and then picked up his coffee cup. He gestured a small thank you.
“Your coworkers will be back for you soon,” Sara commented and put her coffee cup down. She looked directly at Jacob. She didn’t hesitate or pause. She wasn’t shy or afraid.
“Jacob. I need you to tell me how it is you know about Superman’s Cape?” she asked, struggling to arrest any emotion. She needed her words to sound strong.
“Jonnie’s blanket? Superman’s Cape?” she repeated, but in a tone that burned with command and curiosity. Sara continued her stare. She wanted an answer. She watched his expression change as he digested the question. She thought his dimpled chin and narrow face were still a shade too pale for her comfort. She thought, in an exhausted and odd way, that if she huffed and she puffed then he’d fall over.
Jacob’s expression twisted and then rested as he struggled to answer. But finally, he said, “I have a brain tumor.” And just like that, with one sentence, her question was deflected. The news took Sara’s breath. Instinct had her hand moving across the table. And as she started to put her fingers on his, she hesitated. With a reluctant juggle, she pulled back.
“I am so sorry to hear that …” she started to say.
Jacob raised a hand and offered a polite smile, “… no, I’m sorry. It’s not like that.”
Sara’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” She asked.
“I’ve had the brain tumor a while now. Years, in fact.”
“Surgery?”
“Not this one,” he replied. A moment later he added, “Ten years ago they couldn’t remove it. But today? Maybe? Problem is, it got bigger. A lot bigger. That is what is causing the seizures,” he shrugged.
Sara wanted to console. But the question she asked earlier remained fresh and she didn’t want to chance not hearing some answers.
“I am sorry. But … Superman’s Cape. How?”
A similar contorted expression returned to Jacob’s face, but it did not remain.
With a reluctant sigh he replied, “Don’t remember exactly when it started. But for as long as I can remember I’ve been …” he paused. He looked around as though the words he was searching for were written on the walls of the trailer. Then he continued, “I know about things that will happen, or rather before they happen.”
With his words, wariness and suspicion came at her. The feelings came at her strong. Sara thought she wanted him to stop talking. She thought she might want him to leave. She regarded him heavily, and then asked, “before they happen?”
“Let’s say a step above insightful,” he suggested. Relief cleared the weariness from Jacob’s eyes. Confidence replaced the uncertainty of his tone and he continued, “I know about things … some things … not all things, but I know things --”
“Before they happen?” Sara countered.
“-- before they happen,” Jacob maintained, nodding his head.
Disappointment and anger replaced any wariness she was feeling. Sara dropped her chin as she stood up from her chair. She felt disgusted. She wanted to run around the table and slap the man across from her. How can he do this, she thought as the disgust and hurt overwhelmed her.
“Wait,” he declared. “Let me explain.”
Sara kicked at her chair and snapped at the nonsense of what he said.
“How do you expect me to react,” she raved.
“I know it isn’t the easiest thing to believe, but it is true. I’m not some kind of mind reader or fortune teller. But, I can sense things. And when it works, it’s a good thing.”
Why is he doing this, Sara wondered as the urge to scream at him rested on her lips. She paused and instead asked, “What do you mean when it works?”
“Until now I could read people and things. But now things are different. The tumor … I’ve had that for a long time and I used to think that maybe it was the source of what I could see. When I started getting sick, something in my mind got stuck. It got trapped,” Jacob added.
Sara’s anger shrank back. Maybe she wanted to listen to him or maybe she was too exhausted to scream and holler until he was out of her home. Or, she thought for a moment, maybe she hoped he could help.
“Trapped? You mean it’s gone?” she questioned.
Jacob stopped and looked back to Sara, “the Doctors told me about the brain tumor, I already knew about that. The tumor growing was news. My gift is still there. I know it is. I just can’t find it.”
Sara still felt hurt but also intrigued. If what he offered was true then she wondered if he could find Kyle. Confusion circled in her mind – from the fear and the anger she found hope. Sara wanted to believe.
“What happens when you try?” she asked thinking she sounded less resentful.
“All I see is gray and sometimes red and blue. And sometimes – well, sometimes I have seizures,” Jacob finished.
As Jacob talked, he wondered what this woman must be thinking. Was she going to continue her walk toward the door? Would she consider any of what he said? He watched as she contemplated and fought the idea of his gift. He watched her eyes and begged the door in his mind to open up so he could read her.
The loss of his gift was an amputation of senses. He felt like a blind person who had a lifetime of sight teasing his brain. In his mind he decided to knock on one of the doors again. The echo of a dead empty room rang back.
“Blue and red … Superman’s Cape,” Sara mumbled and turned to Jacob.
“But why Superman’s Cape?” She asked with skepticism still in her voice.
Jacob reached up and touched the side of his head pointing to the tumor that neither of them could see.
“I think when this started growing, when I started getting sicker, it was the last thing I was told I’d say before blacking out or having a seizure.”
Relief settled in him as she turned away from the trailer door and back to where they were sitting.
“I need coffee,” she started. “Coffee?”
“Please,” Jacob said welcoming a fresh cup. A feeling of helplessness settled in him. The searching in his mind was becoming compulsive – almost obsessive. It was like a scab with an itch you wanted to pick. With another breath, he succumbed to walking corridors and knocking on doors. One of them, he told himself, would offer him his gift.
Jacob came upon a door that wasn’t like the others. An uneasiness twisted and pulled his insides as he extended his hands down on the table. The cold of the table top distracted him. As the anxiety grew, he pressed his hands until the table legs groaned and the tips of his fingers turned white. The cold in his palms turned warm and Jacob found he was holding on as the world threatened to spin until he was thrown off.
The door he found was dressed in blue with spots of red. He looked at the face of it. It wasn’t made of wood but instead a shallow cloth. Soft, like a blanket, he thought. He lifted his hand and pressed harder. As with all the doors in his mind, the knock went unanswered. Frustrated, Jacob hit the cloth on the door. He hit it hard at first then harder until he pounded the table he sat at. The cups of coffee, the salt and pepper shakers all jumped a
crazy dance. They dodged one jump and then a second before falling over or spilling.
He rapped the door with his hands until he heard footsteps approach from inside the room. Jacob laid his palms against the cloth. He started gripping it and squeezing it and waited while the footsteps grew louder. A wave of exhausted satisfaction like no other came over him and he leaned his body into the door. His face falling against the red and blue cloth. Light from the room escaped beneath the door and crept into the hallway. When the footsteps slowed, Jacob saw the dark shadow of a person’s feet step into the light. A simple knock was offered from the other side.
“Jacob – Jacob!” Sara yelled.
Alarmed, Jacob sat upright and opened his eyes. He saw the mess on the table. He saw the fear in Sara’s face and was lost to say anything at all.
“You were banging the table. I wasn’t sure if it was a seizure or not!” she exclaimed as the fear in her voice turned to concern and then to sympathy.
“I am sorry. I am sorry if I scared you,” Jacob offered and fumbled with the salt and pepper shakers while looking at her.
“It’s fine,” she answered. Jacob felt her hands on his as she helped to put the remains of the table back in order.
“Something told me to be here,” Jacob sighed, “Not just told me, but pulled me here.”
“What?” Sara questioned, her expression turning to caution and maybe disbelief.
“I’m supposed to be here. To see you and Jonnie and Kyle. I don’t know you, but something is telling me I do,” Jacob finished and lifted his hands from the salt and pepper shakers and placed them on hers.
Superman's Cape Page 14