A friend of mine got me a job as a bill collector. It was a fun job. I had cool supervisors and bosses. The debtors that yelled and called me names didn’t bother me. I knew their anger was just the frustration of having an inability to pay their bills. That’s something I’ve known my entire life.
I remember when we found out that we were having twins. Twins? Are you kidding me? Twins don’t run in her family or my family. The doctor told us it had to start somewhere.
I remember that day. We were sitting in the doctor’s office. It was our first appointment and we were about to listen to the heartbeat. I was holding her hand, listening to the doctor as he placed the equipment to her stomach. He said “There’s the heartbeat.” Then there was the look on his face as he finished. “…and there’s the second heartbeat.”
My wife looked at me and smiled. We thought the doctor was joking. We looked at him and my wife was like ha, ha, very funny Doc.
“No really, listen.”
We did. We listened and we heard the heartbeats. There were two of them. It was amazing. That was it. She and I were having twins. Twins, to this day it still amazes me, we have twins.
The next few months went fast. Sally and I decided to wait to get married, wait until after the babies were born. I wasn’t happy with that but I understood. She and I moved fast. We had a great first three months and then a very rough couple of months. Now, we were going to have twins. Her reason for waiting was not a problem. I know that when you do the crime you have to do the time. I had time I had to do and I was going to do it. I was going to show her that I wasn’t that scared little boy in a man’s body.
When Sally was five months pregnant she had a doctor’s appointment. It was a routine check up. When you have twins they take more ultrasounds than when you have only one. This was the first visit I was not going to be present. That was not something I was happy with but I had to work. In collections you have to be on the phones to make money.
At work I was doing ok. I was kind of meaner to the debtors than I should have been, but I was hitting my numbers. I was on a call with a debtor who thought it was necessary to say that they wished harm to my unborn children. The debtor was saying a lot of nasty things when I get another call. I place the cussing debtor on hold without warning and I answer the other call.
It was Sally and she was at the hospital. I could tell instantly in her tone, something was wrong. She asked me if I could leave work. Then I hear the words, complications and concerns. I hear the sadness as her voice cracks.
“Baby I need you.”
I tell her I’m on my way. Baby I’m on my way is all I can say. I hang the phone up then I stand and walk to my supervisor. “I got to go, something’s wrong.”
“Go,” is all he said. He was a good man of good character. I tell him there’s a debtor on line two as I walk away. I was walking around the corner when I heard my supervisor talking to my debtor.
“Excuse me sir, do you kiss your children with that mouth.”
Next thing I remember is, standing in the hospital room next to Sally. I’m holding her hand as we listen to the doctor explain how if we wait the full nine months, Baby B, because of positioning, would be deprived of food. He said baby A, was in good position but was taking the majority of the food.
I was in shock. The more he spoke the more his words created fear. There were decisions that had to be made. If we waited full term then Baby B would not make it but if we had them to early then Baby A might not be ready. As the doctor put it, Baby A was happy and content to grow to full term and Baby B would begin to develop faster as nature knew he needed to be born. They began giving Sally shots that would help the twins lungs develop early. There was dialogue about possible scenarios that were absolutely frightening.
The names were already set. What the doctor called Baby A was Anthony and his middle name would be Joseph after my younger brother. Baby B was Brandon and his middle name would be John after my older brother. They were going to be healthy. That was all there was to it. That was something we reminded the doctors, reminded ourselves.
My father called the night we found out and I told him what was happening. It was that night that my Father changed. He stopped being the man he had been the last few months. He became what I needed. He became the father that I needed. From that day on my father has never said a bad word about my wife, not to me anyways. I think he sees how tough she is, and how she is different, that she is real.
The next two months we did everything the doctors told us. The doctors and nurses were very good. They were cool, but there was one nurse and when she gave my wife the shot, it was like whack, stabbing her. My wife yelled out and all I can say is it looked painful.
My wife had been on bed rest for two months and on the seventh month they decided to induce labor. They said any longer would be bad for Brandon. We knew that the babies were going to be small but we weren’t ready for what they were. They were small but strong, Anthony weighed 3 pounds 7oz and Brandon weighed 2 pounds 6oz. They dropped down to 2 and 3 pounds and we spent the next month and a half working on getting weight on them.
That memory is clear. It is easy to experience. I flash my presence to that hospital room. I’m standing next to my wife. I’m holding her hand.
The doctors were going to do everything they could to avoid a C-section. The problem was Brandon. He was positioned feet first but the doctor believed he could turn him around.
Sally is staring up at me, hope in her eyes, but its also obvious that she’s feeling no pain. An epidural doesn’t always take all the pain away for the woman, but Sally’s was working perfectly. She was quite funny. That might sound weird but she was. Don’t get me wrong. She was worried and nervous, but she was feeling no pain.
They deliver Anthony pretty quickly and he left the room just as fast. We had only a few seconds to hear him cry then the nurse and a doctor rushed him to NICU. He was so small. Sally and I watched as they wheeled him out of the room and then we looked to each other. The shock of his size was on both our faces. We couldn’t hide our concerns. “He’s fine baby,” is all is could say.
The next seventeen minutes were to become the longest of my life. The first couple minutes were normal but around the tenth the attitude in the room changed. The frustration on the doctor’s face showed his concern. He was having trouble turning Brandon.
Sally looked up at me and asked her question with her eyes. I tell her its ok but with each minute that passes I see the look on the doctor’s face worsening not to mention the other 7 people in the room were deathly silent.
This was not going to happen. Our son was going to be born just fine and after seventeen minutes the doctor brought him out feet first and he was wheeled away instantly. He wasn’t crying and it looked like he wasn’t moving. I turn back to my wife on the bed.
“Is he ok?”
I didn’t have the answer for her. I kissed her forehead and told her yes. He’s going to be fine. I told her they both are going to be fine. Although very small the twins had no other serious health problems but we wouldn’t be out of the woods for several months; as premature babies they were still in danger.
My wife lost all the weight from the pregnancy after having the twins; in her recovery room she looked like she had never been pregnant at all let alone pregnant with twins. We went home without our babies and my wife become very ill. Her sickness would keep her from holding our babies for a week.
The twins Anthony and Brandon were in intensive care for two months after their birth. They were so small that they fit, literally in the palm of your hand.
Everybody was very supportive. My father even came up from Kentucky to see the twins while they were in intensive care. He went inside that room with all those babies, and held the twins. My mother and Sally’s mother were wonderful, everyone in our families were supportive. The twins would finally come home and although they were on heart monitors for several months and Brandon would visit the intensive care unit a few times
before he was a year old, overall we were extremely lucky.
Those times were good, but they were rough financially. My wife was babysitting neighborhood kids, taking care of Jessy, Bryan and the twins while I was still at the collection company but we were barely able to pay our bills. Food was not something that was plentiful in our apartment at that time.
The twins first Christmas, I remember sitting in the kitchen with my wife, my younger brother Joey, and Michael. There was a knock at the door and I went to answer it. It was one of my bosses from work with his wife. They had several boxes of groceries and other items to give us. There is no way I can describe how much that meant to my wife and me. The timing was incredible and it was an unbelievably motivating action. They said that when they were younger someone did the same for them and they said the only thing we had to do, was promise that later in life when we could, that we would do the same for someone else. We will keep that promise.
Blackness pulls me from memory and steals my vision. I hear loud low pitch roars that erupt from everywhere. Why is this happening? What? What? There’s nothing I can do about that now. I can’t. And I don’t care. Leave. Exit! Go!
My vision clears and I’m sitting in front of my computer. I take a deep breath and then I load up the T.B.O.T.E. document. I don’t want to do it but I know I have to. I know time will end paths and everything needs done now. Now! Now! The document loads and within minutes I’m gone.
Two hours later my vision clears and I have typed fifteen pages. I typed them from memory and made many changes. Changes that I doubt people will notice, but hopefully it flows better. I don’t know anymore. When I see the story it’s so clear and real that I really experience it. I travel through the T.B.O.T.E. world and experience what the characters experience.
Right now I know what I need to do. I need sleep, rest, and mental peace. Tomorrow I wish to accomplish so much but I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t. I don’t know. Am I wrong? Have I become what I said I wouldn’t? Is this garbage? Am I garbage? Have I tricked myself? Please don’t let it be that I tricked those around me. It can’t be that. They deserve more than that. I have to yell. I have to.
“Son of aaaaaaaagh!”
My control is slipping. The voices are returning. I stand and push my chair away from me. This isn’t right. I’m stronger. I know I am but still my legs weaken and I collapse to my knees. A second later I feel it, the hand. I feel the cold hand as the fingers walk up the back of my neck. My breath is gone and my conscious slips away from me. I hear a voice as I collapse sideways to the floor. The voice is eerie and delivers words in wind-like whispers
“All over, all ending.”
I wake on the floor. One of my dogs, the mutt beagle, Pal, is lying on the floor beside me. He whines as he stares at me. He shoves his nose into my neck.
My head is heavy and when I sit up I lose balance but I don’t fall. My whole body aches and my head feels like I was hit by a hammer. I’m not going to panic. I’ve had this happen to me before. I yell as I stand and try to regain my focus. My legs hurt but they hold me. I turn to my computer and sit down in the chair. I can barely breathe. I need to go lay down. I can’t. I need to finish. My body hurts and is done, but not my mind.
The whispers return and then I hear a distant low pitch roar. Until now I’ve only heard the roars in the Black Void. This was different. My mind is gone. My imagination is greater than I am. My pain, my pain is real. I know that. Then images slam into my vision.
I see myself lying on the floor. My body is going into convulsions. In my vision multiple images flash in front of me. I see a being different than any I’ve seen before. It has a black and blue outline and is much larger than me. The images continue flashing out of control.
I see myself on my stomach, and the being is attacking me, punching me. The last image I see is the being slamming its fist down on the center of my back again and again as it roars.
The vision fades and I’m sitting in my chair. I can’t do anything. I’m done.
The next day I wake in my bed. My entire body is sore. I have no memory of the night ending. I don’t remember leaving the basement and going to bed. I feel like I just ran a long distance race. This isn’t the first time I’ve experienced this.
I’ve had all kinds of issues, issues that everyone had names for. The doctors said panic attacks and or anxiety attacks. I don’t care what they are, I don’t like them and they need to stop. That’s it. They just need to stop. Stop. Stop! I don’t care! So I hurt big deal. Everybody does.
This isn’t working. I can’t see. My vision and my thoughts are not mine. Why? Why? They should be mine. I’m in control and that’s it. I am!
No I’m not.
My vision blackens and that damn wind blows. I hate what’s next and it only takes a second for them to begin the voices. The wind-like voices whisper all around my presence. They are louder, clearer than ever before. I hear the words they whisper.
“Go back . . . go back.” Then they scream high pitch ear-piercing roars. “Now! Now! Go back now!”
I remember, I remember the first time I had an attack. I hate the way that sounds, but I’m not saying it the way doctors word it. In my mind an attack implies that there is a capability to fight back. Sounds stupid but I don’t care. Doctors say to use medicine, maybe they’re right. I don’t like their medicines.
In my memory the attacks began after the twins were born. Sometimes I tell myself that isn’t true. I’ve probably had them my entire life. It explains a lot of my memories.
The doctor said that it was common for our situation. They said that the twins’ birth was the cause. They said it was stressful and that my brain did this and that, whatever. It didn’t matter to me. I just knew that they were affecting my life and that they needed to stop.
Once, when I was working landscaping for a friend’s dad I had an attack. I was walking around the front of an apartment complex weed whacking. I remember staring down and getting a dizzy feeling. Then I wake and I’m lying in the bushes looking up at my boss’ daughter. She took me to the doctors and that was the day the medicine began.
The medicine, bad memories. I can speak for no one but myself. The medicine, I didn’t like it. They said I had a chemical imbalance and that my brain was putting out too much, or not enough of a certain chemical, whatever.
I remember another attack. I was in the basement of the apartment. It was months after the twins were born. I was on my way to work. I was driving my normal boring pace and then the next thing I know, I end up in this man’s front yard. I blacked out and swerved to a stop twice that month. Both times I was lucky. No one got hurt, and both times I was in the same man’s front yard. I changed my route to work and it didn’t happen again.
Another time I had decided to challenge myself. I went to the store alone. I was going to face this silliness. I was going to show myself that I wasn’t scared, that I wasn’t afraid of everything. That day is clear. I walk through the store grabbing a few why-not-items. I was fine. I knew I would be. In my life I had done a lot and never was I afraid to the point of panic. I told myself the attempt was successful and then when I started down the soup aisle my mind turned on me.
My vision blurred and my balance was lost. I fell to my knees and then to hands and knees. My breath, I couldn’t breathe. The air became thick and everything around me began to fade. I put my hands to my head and yelled out loud. The lady turning down the aisle jumped when I yelled but I didn’t care. I stood and fought to regain balance, reaching to the shelf beside me. My hand pushes cans of soup backwards and I shake my head growling.
The lady was standing in front of me. She wasn’t moving. She was just staring at me. I could see it in her eyes. She didn’t know what to say. I told her I was fine and that I was sorry for yelling then I started off before she could respond. I was embarrassed. It took several steps but I gained complete balance and left the store.
I come out of that memory mad. Maybe I am embarrassed stil
l? This is stupid. Who cares? No one will want to hear The Beginning of the End. No one will. So why, why? This is not what I need to do. It’s not! I know what I need to do. I will travel through my memories and I’ll find answers.
My vision fades to blackness and a second later it clears. I’m standing in the hall of our old apartment. Sally is in the kitchen with the twins. My younger brother, who was out of the Army, was coming up the basement stairs.
Joey’s wife had left him when they were in Texas, that’s where he was stationed after Germany. She went back to Germany but he was strong. He knew the reasons why. Anyways, he was living in our basement. He had a big plan and we were going to help him with it. He had money from the army so he was going to train for six months then he was going to walk the Appalachian Trail. That’s only a small trail that goes from Georgia up to Maine somewhere. He was a stubborn man, and once he said that he was going to do it, he had to save honor and do it. He is strong like that.
Then in December he gets a call from his wife in Germany. He hadn’t seen her in a year but from the moment he received that call he was willing to drop everything. They talked for hours and she told him she wanted to come back. They set up for her to fly into the airport in Kentucky where my Dad lives. Why I don’t know. Why not Ohio, I don’t remember but he went to Kentucky. He showed up at the airport with flowers in hand and a bottle of wine in the car. He was going to be different.
His wife never showed. He waited at the airport for hours, convincing himself that she was going to be on the next flight. She wasn’t and after that was nothing stopping my little brother from the trail. For the next three months he did absolutely no training but he left for the trail.
While Joey was on the trail, my buddy called me one night and asked for a favor. His younger brother Rusty needed a place to stay and my buddy asked if Rusty could stay with us. That was an interesting nine months. We instantly had a teenager, that’s the only way I can word it.
Rusty was argumentative and there were clashes all the time, but he was a good teen with a big heart. He just hadn’t learned how to control his hormones yet. That’s all. There were only a couple physical confrontations but nothing too bad. I knew his parents, they are good people and I knew why they kicked him out. He was a handful but like I said, he was just learning how to deal with life.
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