It was sharpened to a steely edge, and it manifested itself through moments of his cold silence, his fiery glares, and his dull indifference. It had protected and covered his heart, hedged and kept him far from meaningful human contact, and allowed only superficial interaction.
From one day to the next, it would be this persona that would protect him, cover him, and cage him, starting from his very first waking moments.
Well into his sleep, he began a vivid dream, like no other he had ever had. It was as if the event had truly occurred.
He saw himself standing inside a room that could comfortably fit fifty people, but there were no more than twenty in it. A piano was at one corner, and he heard Mozart being played.
He stood in front of a pleasantly smiling couple, maybe in their late forties. Hearing himself speak in German, he asked the couple to excuse him.
Slowly and calmly, he paced in front of a mirror that was framed in ornate gold and examined his image. He wore a gray military uniform - someone of high rank. He saw his goatee was trimmed close to his skin. An officer’s hat was on his head hiding most of his hair, but he noticed that the hair at the sides of his head was cut short to his scalp. He had a glass of wine in his hand. Looking down, he saw a revolver was holstered at his left hip.
He turned around and walked slowly to a fellow officer. As he greeted the officer, he could hear his own thoughts focus on the man’s gun. After sensing and counting the bullets in the magazine, he then turned them into stone. The transformation was perfect and unnoticeable. He drank from his wine, nodded his head at the officer, smiled, and passed by.
Gazing around the room, he saw white and gold curtains adorning the walls from ceiling to floor. A heavily ornate crystal chandelier hung from the center of the room. The floor was made of well-polished wood. There was only one entrance: it was a single closed door at one side of the room.
He walked slowly to the piano and stood by it, enjoying the music as he looked around again. One soldier stood at attention at each wall of the room. He had already turned their ammunition into stone. At the center of the room was someone very familiar, standing and chatting with a small group of people. They smiled and laughed as they spoke.
There he is, the goateed man heard himself whisper in his thoughts.
The familiar man was unmistakably Hitler.
Slowly, he started walking again around the room, smiling and nodding as he greeted people. His thoughts searched for weapons, and when he found one, he would render them useless.
Soon, he had searched everyone in the room. He was ready.
Calmly he circled his way and reached two steps from his target, two steps from the Fuhrer.
He appeared unshakeable and in control, but his heart raced; and the little wine he had drunk began to turn his face flush. Everything in the room began to slow their movement. All sounds began to attenuate, and people’s voices started to slow like a recording being intentionally played more slowly. However, the music of the piano began to intensify.
He reached for the revolver at his hip.
Behind him, the door to the room unexpectedly opened.
While tightening his grip on the handle of the revolver, he could feel his rapidly pounding heart.
Hurriedly, a man in black uniform, an SS Major, paced through the door with a pistol already in his hand, and then purposefully made his way to the center of the room.
As the goateed man raised his revolver and aimed at his target, he set free the glass of wine, letting it drop.
Taking aim, the SS Major raised his pistol.
When the wine glass shattered, people spun around to see the cause. Hitler turned to his direction and saw him, a man whom he closely trusted. Their eyes met and locked onto each other. As the goateed man pointed the revolver directly at Hitler’s face, he said with steely eyes and a grave voice, “For the salvation of Germany.”
But nothing could stop the single purpose of the SS Major. With swift, efficient movement and a steady aim through the surrounding people, he fired into the side of the assassin’s head.
The bullet struck the temple of the goateed man, forcing his head to whip around. With his revolver flying out of his hand, his body fell to the floor.
Silence and shock engulfed the room.
The SS Major calmly and confidently lowered his firearm.
At Hitler’s feet, there the goateed man lay, motionless. His blood slowly flowed from the mortal wound, mingling with the split red wine and the broken glass.
Chapter 4
It was later during the week, and the longhaired goateed man decided to visit Trace for lunch again.
With a CD playing in his Mustang and with the top down, he rode east on the 56 Freeway. The sun above was warm, but the wind tossing his hair was noticeably cool.
After driving a couple of miles, he saw a car at the side of the freeway, with its hazard lights flashing. A gray haired man, possibly in his seventies, sat solemnly on the car’s rear bumper.
When the old man saw the longhaired man approaching, he sparked to life and slowly stood, straightening his knees as he painfully grimaced. With an aged, slumped back, he took two weary but hurried steps forward.
As the Mustang came closer, the old man waved his arms, and then signaled with his hand to his ear that he needed a phone.
Instinctively, the longhaired man stepped on his brakes, and the Mustang’s taillights immediately lit up in multi-facetted red. But suddenly, his foot released the brake pedal and slid back onto the gas. The life in the Mustang’s red lights faded and grew dark once again.
The longhaired man mumbled, “Be prepared. Get your own phone.”
The Mustang accelerated.
From his rearview mirror, he could see the old man turn his body to follow his car as it passed by.
The old man’s disappointed arms flopped down to his sides.
The man in the Mustang drove with his speed unabated. As the figure of the old man in his rearview mirror diminished in the distance, so too diminished his concern for his fellow human’s need.
The glass door entrance to Trace restaurant had large and wide glass panes on either side. As he walked toward the door, he noticed Paige standing in front of the welcome podium. She would be his waitress.
This time, he was a bit uncomfortable. He remembered how drunk he was at church, when he made eye contact with her, as she walked out of the building with her son.
He approached the door, but upon seeing her, he immediately stopped and turned around to face the opposite direction. Blocking the entrance, he looked up at the sky, while slowly tapping one foot and taking a few deep breaths.
“Just my luck,” he thought, as a feeling of embarrassment began to surface. He looked down and took two more breaths.
Paige watched him, becoming a bit amused and saying to herself, “So, when is Mr. Silent Faithful Patron gonna decide to come in?”
Finally, he decided. “Whatever. I gotta eat.” With that, he turned around, pulled the door open, and then stepped through it, pacing his way to Paige. He tried not to look at her as he walked in, but it was an awkward struggle. He stopped two steps in front of her.
Paige greeted him with a friendly smile, saying, “Hi. How are ya today?”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he dropped his head down. “Oh, just fine, thanks,” he responded with a hidden half-hearted smile.
“Got a preference on where to sit?” She was looking at him waiting for his eyes to lift.
He slowly moved his head up. As his lifted it, he darted his eyes to glance at her. Noticing that she was looking directly at him, he darted his eyes back down. “Yeahhhhh…what about back at the window again?” he said, speaking to the ground.
Now thoroughly amused, she said with a grin, “Sure. Go on ahead to any table and I’ll follow right behind ya.”
The walk to his usual window table, past the bar and past a circular high-table area, seemed to take longer than the other days. He quickly swiveled
his head to the side to see if Paige was indeed following. She was. Some people glanced at him, as he made his way, but most of them minded their own meals. Finally, he reached the table and sat down by the window. Still a bit uneasy, he folded his hands together on top of the table and focused his eyes on them.
“Here you go,” Paige calmly said, as she handed him the menu.
He took it with both hands, and then fixed his eyes on the menu. Becoming nervous, his knee began to twitch up and down.
Paige stood and waited for a few seconds.
He thought she would ask him if he’d like a drink.
Instead, Paige leaned forward and said in a soft low voice, only for him to hear, “You know, I just wanted to tell you.” She paused. “…that I’m sorry about your wife and son.”
Upon hearing that, he felt as if the room filled with muffled silence. Motionless, he replayed Paige’s soft whisper in his mind. His uneasiness disappeared. His leg stopped moving. Then, he slowly set the menu down onto the table.
Paige stood straight again, with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting for him.
Slowly, he breathed in, and then slowly he breathed out. Staring down at the table, he said, “Thank you.” His eyes darted up at her then back down. With a nod, he whispered again, “Thank you.” A short pause went by, and he added, “I didn’t know you went to that church. But it’s no surprise. I try not to notice anyone while I’m there.”
“My son and I have been going there since we moved here last year,” she revealed, and then she chuckled, “Yeah, you usually keep all to yourself.”
“I’m sorry. I’m usually in no condition to be there, if you know what I mean,” he confessed. “But I try to be in good behavior…I don’t know why I show up.”
“Well, don’t worry. Not everybody’s got life figured out,” she consoled, and then added, “I sure don’t.”
He remained silent.
Lightly tapping her hand on his shoulder, she said softly and with a smile, “I’ll give you a minute, and I’ll be back with your Mule.”
He didn’t move as she disappeared from his view.
When Paige reached the bar, she asked Katy, who tended bar that day, to pour a Mule from tap for him.
The longhaired man quickly glanced back to see which direction Paige had gone. He saw Katy at the bar. Katy was the twin sister of Kim. Both worked at Trace. Both were blonde and beautiful, and both slightly shorter than Paige. Katy had long straight hair reaching below her neck. She had an air of responsibility and maturity that he believed quite attractive, regardless of her looks of course - so he tried to convince himself. She tended bar, and every time he sat at the bar, there was no loss of men he could hear telling her, “You look beautiful today, Katy,” or “You’re looking gorgeous again today, Katy.” But they were right. He always agreed but kept his opinion to himself and continued eating his meal, or continued watching one of the five television monitors that hung from the ceiling in front of him. Katy always graciously accepted the compliments. She was friendly but never flirted, never failing to walk the professional walk.
Her sister Kim was just as beautiful, yet unlike Katy, flamboyant. She had a tremendous laugh anyone could hear within the restaurant. It came from deep within her lungs and carried across the air, bouncing from wall to wall and from ceiling to floor. She told him once, with a smile and a chuckle, “When I laugh, you know that I’m in the room.” He told her it was cute and he meant it; it was such an unexpectedly loud laugh from such a beauty. It was easy for Kim to strike up a conversation with anyone. One knew she was genuinely caring and friendly. She would give a touch of her hand on your shoulder, a tap of her finger on the top of your hand, and always with a brief smile and a glance into your eyes; but not too long of a glance to make you think it was more than just a friendly gesture.
Both were very nice young women, but he never took the time to get to know them more or to speak to them for any length of time other than just small talk.
So many pretty women in one spot, he always thought. I guess Tracy’s husband only hires the cuties.
A short distance away, two men sat a table. Kim was setting down a plate of food for one of them. “That’s yours,” Kim said in her usual perky tone of voice.
Helping Kim, Katy walked up to the second man, presenting his meal. She said, “Hi, guys. Here’s the other one.”
The first man asked a question that the two women frequently heard, “Hey, are you two sisters?”
Katy answered, “Yup, twins.”
“Twins?” the first man said with an inflection in his voice. “You two don’t look quite exactly alike, but there’s a definite resemblance.”
The second man chimed in, “Not looking exactly alike - maybe that’s a good thing, huh?”
In a good mood, Kim responded, “Yup we like it that way. Identical, but not so identical.” Quickly, she looked knowingly at Katy, giving her a familiar cue to start a brief bit they enjoyed performing, when both were in very good moods.
The twins moved closer to each other and clasped arm in arm.
With a long drawn out word, Kim signaled the beginning of their short-versed bit, “And…”
Simultaneously, the twins began to sing in melody,
“We’re sisters
…Together!
…Forever!”
They finished with their opposite hands energetically stretched in the air. Smiling like stage performers, they looked as though they posed for a picture.
The two men applauded enthusiastically.
Entertained and amused, a few other people from neighboring tables joined the applause.
The first man pointed at the louder-voiced Kim and exclaimed, “Nice lungs on that one!”
* * * * * * *
He had already showered and dressed for his date with Dancy.
Reaching for his cologne, he picked it up and slowly lifted it to his face. He stared at it.
It was the last present his wife had given him.
Then, he set down the cologne bottle, not sure what to do next.
While leaning a hand on the bathroom counter, he stared at the image of himself from the mirror for almost a minute, wondering whether he should continue getting ready.
Then, he remembered when his wife had given him the gift.
Years ago, his family sat on wooden chairs around a small round wooden table in a large outdoor seating area of a restaurant. The white sand beach of the Kaanapali coastline of Maui, Hawaii, was merely steps away. It was the last vacation they took.
The sun was setting.
Their view into the horizon was a picturesque frame with coconut trees at the left and right, and at the center hovered the setting sun. Tall slender torches were aflame that were staggered along a concrete pathway, just before the sand.
His son had just finished asking him why the sky around the sun had different colors when the sun was setting.
“Oh, boy,” he said, with a sigh to his wife. Turning to his son, he said, “Well, Daddy may have a tough time keeping it simple…and you know Daddy always has a tough time with the whole ‘keep it simple’ concept anyway.” He paused. “So. Color, color, color. Light, light, light.” He took a deep breath, and then began to explain, “Ok, just think of light as very little tiny things, smaller than a piece of dust that move in the air, and they also have color. And as they go forward, they also move up and down like the waves in the ocean.” He raised a finger and moved the tip of it up and down through the air, in front of his son’s eyes. “Light gets its colors by how fast it moves up and down. If they move fast up and down, they make colors like violet and blue. If they move slowly, they make colors like red and orange. Got it?” He oscillated the tip of his finger quickly, and then slowly, as he explained.
“Like the red and orange now, but no green?” his son asked.
“Yeah, like the colors we see now. That’s a smart boy! Also, the ones that move slow like to change direction, but the ones that move fast don�
��t like to change direction, and they just shoot straight ahead. So, these violet and blue guys that move fast are saying like this…” Putting on a voice and face of someone who could be self-important, he said, “Oh, I’m just a busy fast moving light dude who can’t waste time going any other places but straight ahead.”
He continued with his regular voice, “But the slow moving light, these guys are all saying like…” Speaking like a stereotypical surfer, with a patch of white sun block on his nose, he said, “So, hey, I’m just all kick-back and taking it easy, dude. Ooh, there’s something that looks cool over there. I can go there, man. Or hey, what about there? There’s a cool little kid sitting at a table in Maui. That’s where I’m going, dude, because I like to go where ever I want.”
His wife smiled and his son laughed.
“Ok. I’m hopin’ you’re following so far, right?” As he continued to explain, his son intently listened. When he finished, he breathed out a sigh, “So, that’s why you see the red and orange light when the sun comes down.” Smiling, he asked, “Did you get it? Did I explain that clear? Was that good?”
“Got it, Daddy!” his son exclaimed.
His wife clapped her hands, coaxing their son to do the same, “Yay! Good answer!” She looked down at their son with a smile, asking, “Daddy’s really smart, huh?”
“Yeah, I got a cool dad.”
“Aw, that’s so nice to say,” he said, as he leaned over and he kissed his son’s forehead.
“Oh!” his wife said abruptly, remembering something. “Since you did such a good job explaining, here’s something we got you.” She pulled up from beside her a petite red and white gift bag and set it on top of the table.
He stopped and looked at her, “Really? You guys got me something?”
“Yeah, while you were getting ready in the room, we went downstairs to the gift store.”
“What’s it for?”
RB 01 Through Flesh & Bone Page 9