by Brian Toal
"Do you want to go to the store then?" Jesse asked again.
"Yeah, sure." Chris answered, raising his last half-sandwich to his mouth. "Just give me a couple of minutes to finish."
"Okay." Jesse replied, rising from his seat. "I'm going to go take a leak, so I'll meet you back here in a few minutes."
"Sure. I'll wait here until you get back."
Jesse walked up the aisle, past the group of guys two tables away. None of the five took any notice of him as he walked by, his blonde hair sticking up on the left side of his head, like a horn on one of his ancestor's helmets. The five were now laughing uproariously over some private joke, although Chris could see the two girls were not amused.
Chris continued to munch on his sandwich, his eyes scanning the other occupants of the cafeteria and occasionally returning to the five. In his mind he began to review some of the material he had read that morning. The pages appeared before his vision as an overlay between himself and the rest of his schoolmates who were milling about the cafeteria. Most of them had finished their lunch and were now getting up to search out some activity to fill the remaining thirty minutes of their lunch break. Chris could see them clearly through the white printed pages, rapidly scrolling through his mind.
A loud expletive drew his attention and again his eyes returned to the five boys. John McCann had a large ball of chewed sandwich on the end of his tongue, flipping his tongue rapidly in and out of his mouth in the face of another one of his compatriots. As Chris watched, the vision of Ben Able minutes before, sucking the strands of spaghetti off his plate slowly materialized, like a liquid jigsaw puzzle, before his eyes, the actual events happening in the cafeteria, cloudy and distant. The vision changed, flowing like a series of photographs taken with too long an exposure. Ben's white face and the yellow-red spaghetti fuzzy and undefined, but moving - changing - Chris' recollection of the moment becoming redefined. Chris' attention had left the five boys and instead he concentrated exclusively on the apparition changing, frame-by-frame in his mind. Ben raising the plate then lifting it above his head. The trail of spaghetti from his mouth to the plate, looping in a sagging arc, upwards to the glutinous mass perched on the plate above his forehead. Slowly the plate tilted. The spaghetti sliding forward, lumping up against the rim of the cafeteria plate. Still the angle of the plate increased and with almost an audible sucking sound, the spaghetti slid from the uplifted plate onto the face and head of the imaginary Ben.
The vision ended. The sounds and activity of the cafeteria restored to Chris' awareness. Jesse was just returning, walking down the aisle towards him, his blonde hair brushed back in place. John McCann chewing on his bite of sandwich, laughter on his face, the other boy turning away, his revulsion apparent. And Ben Able sitting in his chair, the plate of spaghetti on the table in front of him.
"You ready to go?" Jesse asked, standing beside Chris, his stomach pressed against the end of the table.
Chris shook his head quickly, trying to clear his mind of the power of the strange vision he had just experienced. "Sure...I guess I won't bother eating the rest of this." He shoved the couple remaining bites of sandwich into his brown paper bag and stood up, crumpling the bag in his hand.
"I just saw Shawn. He wants to come to the store with us."
"Okay, that’d be great." Chris pushed his chair back under the table. His head still felt strange and little bits of the vision kept repeating themselves - frames reappearing and then fading.
Jesse fell in behind him as he reached the main aisle between the rows of tables. The two girls were getting up from the table in front of him, their high-pitched giggles rising above the background chatter. John McCann was pushing himself to his feet on the opposite side in preparation to leaving with the girls.
And then Chris' eyes locked with the brown of Ben Able's. Ben was staring up at him, his eyes fixed upon Chris, his face stretched with lines of alarm.
John McCann slammed his chair under the table and belched. Ben's strong, wide hands firmly gripped the sides of his plate, the muscles of his forearms visible under their sheath of the tanned skin. The two girls giggled, pushing each other towards the end of the table. Ben slowly raised the plate off the table, his eyes flickering from Chris to the spaghetti rising in front of him. Jesse bumped into Chris from behind. "Come on, let's go!" Ben lifted the plate of spaghetti up and over his head, his arms outstretched above him. John McCann stopped his advance towards the end of the table, standing just behind Ben, looking down at Ben's outstretched arms, a quizzical look of amazement crossing his face. Chris heard Jesse gasp from behind him...
And slowly, the plate ever so slowly increasing its angle, the expression on Ben's face changing from alarm to outright panic - Ben dumped the entire plate of spaghetti onto his head. The sticky strands landing in a clump, sagging down over his forehead, and then sliding across his waxen, rigid face to land in a solid mass in his lap.
"Boner! What a fucking boner!" John McCann yelled, slapping his hands against his thighs as he doubled up with laughter. The two girls looked across the table and screamed in hysterics, their shrill shrieks drawing the attention of the entire cafeteria.
Ben slowly lowered the empty plate, his eyes moving from Chris' to stare dumbly around him. Other students were standing up at their places to get a better look. Their shouts of laughter joining the group at the table as they spotted Ben's spaghetti-streaked face.
FOUR - THREE
The helicopter arrived late in the morning of the third day, although Charlie had heard several others at daybreak hovering over the lake, probably pulling water in order to fight the fire. So far, the wind had kept the fire on the opposite side of the lake, but he certainly couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen the smoke. The entire eastern sky was blanketed in thick cloud rolling up from beyond.
He had phoned Beth the night before. Mostly because he knew that he should tell her where he was and also to test the emotional responses he had been practicing.
It was great practice.
Beth had practically screamed at him. Crying in relief, then screaming at him again. NorthCan had phoned her that morning, as they were phoning all of the families of the employees that had boarded the train. So far, they were reporting them as missing, but providing the details of the sunken train and the forest fire raging on either side of the bridge. Charlie had done his best to relate with her fright, join with her euphoria at knowing he was alive, and express his anguish at the death of his co-workers. The conversation had gone well and had lasted fifty minutes. To continue with his success, he had then phoned his direct superior at home, reassuring him of his safety and explaining why he had elected to stay behind. That conversation had also gone well and so when Charlie heard the helicopter’s approach, he moved with confidence through the camp towards the rail-road tracks on the far side. There was an area big enough there for the pilot to land and Charlie preferred if the helicopter pilot did not see too much of the camp.
In a whirlwind of dust, the helicopter settled to the ground beside the rail-road tracks, the thin row of pines, between it and the camp, bending in the gale. Charlie remained standing a hundred feet away, his back to the helicopter as a mist of fine gravel and dirt blew by him until a few seconds after landing the pilot shut down the engine, although the rotors continued to spin above him. Charlie turned and inspected the helicopter, he didn’t know all that much about helicopters, but he figured this one would be too small for his purposes. He waited while the helicopter pilot flipped a few more switches over his head and then exited the machine, the blades still turning slowly over his head as he walked towards Charlie.
“You the caretaker here?” He asked as he got closer.
“Guess you could call me that, I’m the only one left.”
“Harry Summers.” He put out his hand. “Guess you know you got a fire burning pretty good around the other side of the lake.” He continued, as Charlie shook his hand.
“Yeah, I can see the smoke. Any danger o
f it coming around this side?”
“Well, that’s the problem. If the wind decides to change, it just might. The fire boss was hoping we could pack you out of here.”
Charlie nodded, “I’d like to go, but the problem is we got a bunch of stuff here we got to evacuate as well. You know - computers, geological equipment - stuff like that.”
“How big?”
“I gathered it together. I figure it weighs about fifteen hundred to two thousand pounds.”
“Not in my machine, you won’t. It’s just a Bell 206. Can’t lift more than twelve hundred pounds and that doesn’t include passengers.”
“Any chance I could hire one that could get the stuff out?”
“Not yet. Not until we get that fire under control and some ground crews in.”
Charlie nodded. “What have you got that could lift two thousand pounds?”
“We’ve got a couple A-stars, even a 212 - like the Hueys from Vietnam. Either of them would do the trick. But you won’t get them today and probably not tomorrow either.”
“Shit!” Charlie figured that was a suitable expletive. “In that case I got to stay on here until I can get a helicopter to move the stuff out. NorthCan would have a fit if I left it behind.”
He watched as Harry’s eyes traveled over his worn work clothes and battered boots. “You got the authority to call up a helicopter?”
“Yeah, I’m the operation’s manager.”
“I thought you were just the caretaker.”
“That’s what I’m doing now. There’s nobody left to manage.”
“Yeah, I know...”
His eyes moved away and Charlie knew what was coming next.
“You know...umm. You know about the train, do you?”
Charlie followed Harry’s example and lowered his head. “I called my wife last night and she told me.” With his head still lowered he said nothing for three seconds, counting them down in his head. “I had lots of good friends on that train.”
“Christ, man. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. One of the other pilots who was first on the scene, spotted the train. It shook him up bad.”
“As it has me. That’s another reason why I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
Charlie raised his head as he heard the other man take a step towards him. But instead of any physical contact the pilot moved past him, looking through the trees at the rows of trailers beyond. Each connected to the others by neat pathways, with gravel roads corralling them into city-like blocks.
“Everybody on that train lived here - didn’t they?”
“Yeah, we were just in the process of setting the operation up. Then it came time for a break.”
“Geez, all those people dying... I took some pictures of the train wreck although I couldn’t get any of the passenger cars because they’re under water. But, geez all those people lived here didn’t they...” The pilot took a few more steps beyond Charlie. “Do you mind if I take a look around?”
Charlie turned to follow the pilot’s gaze, knowing that he was safe. This man was not interested in his emotional well-being, nor the souls of the dead. He was a spectator. A treasure seeker. One that would be only moderately satisfied with photographs and would prefer a piece of the tragedy. The passenger cars were under water, so Harry would be unable to obtain anything from those. But this was the camp where they had all lived and breathed. In spite of himself, Charlie smiled. By the row of trees was a child’s doll. He had no idea whose doll it had been, but he would make up a suitable story. A little blond girl, her hair tied in pigtails, rushing to the train, hand-in-hand with her parents, dropping the doll in her rush... Yes, he would make up a suitable story that Harry could tell - and then he would have a trophy from the tragedy that he could place on his mantle-piece. Not that he would likely ever get a chance to mount it there. Charlie needed him to return in a couple days with a bigger helicopter and then Harry would become the trophy.
FOUR - FOUR
As Chris and Jesse sat in the rear of Sharon's pink Mustang, two nights later on their way to the hospital, they passed by the front doors of their own school. Although both of them did glance out of the side window towards the familiar building, neither of them noticed or cared that the library lights were still on, shining through a narrow crack in the curtains drawn against the night's shadows. Both would have been surprised, although Chris less than Jesse, if they had happened to have snuck up to one of the windows. There they would have seen a rumpled blue dress upon the floor beside Mrs. Andrew's desk, a bra hung over the back of her chair and a complete set of clothing belonging to Mr. Clifford scattered across her desk. The two straining bodies would not have been visible, as they were currently in the final thrusts of passion, directly behind Mrs. Andrew's desk and out of sight of the window. Of course, neither Chris nor Jesse had any urge to leave the car, run up to the outside of the library windows and peer through the glass, so both were denied an opportunity - agreeably a rather unpleasant opportunity - to improve their sex education. A class that Mr. Clifford taught during the regular hours of the school day.
Sharon continued driving, talking with Beth, seated in the front seat beside her, as the school building diminished behind them.
Todd was watching T.V. when Chris and the others entered his room. A pile of books, almost identical to the grouping that had covered his bedside table in Toronto, sat by his bed. Chris heard that Todd had, on several occasions, opened one or more of the books but had only glanced indifferently through them, before replacing them on his table. If asked, he could read. His reading ability was as good as it was before the accident, but now, he didn't seem to have an interest in the contents.
"Hi, Todd." Chris said, walking up to his bedside. "How’re you doing?"
Todd turned away from the T.V. program and after a moment's hesitation, his face broke into a grin. "Hi, Chris. Hi, Jesse. Hi Mom. Hi, Aunt Sharon. What are you doing here?" He asked Jesse.
"Chris was coming to visit you, so I thought I’d come along." Jesse responded, looking at Todd but also scanning the room around him. Jesse had never been in a hospital room where people actually stayed overnight. "So... are you going to get out of here soon?" He asked, joining Chris by the bed.
"Ummm..." Todd responded looking at his mother.
"Yes, shortly we hope." Beth answered.
"Hey! I've got this great new Ninja game." Jesse began, "We were playing it yesterday and it was really wild. It's got these..." He stopped as Todd looked away towards the T.V., his eyes blank and disinterested.
"That’s okay, Jesse." Beth said, placing her hand reassuringly on his shoulder. "Todd does that sometimes. His attention span is very short. But just give him a while and he’ll become interested again."
"Oh." He responded, unconsciously stepping back from the bed. "Does that happen to everybody that gets hurt in the head?"
"No, not everyone." Beth said, taking her coat off and hanging it on a hook behind the door. "Doctors know quite a lot about the brain and how it functions and they have identified many of the portions of the brain that control various activities in the body. But there is a lot they don't know. For instance, in Todd's case, one area of the brain that controls speech has been damaged. Luckily there are three areas of the brain that allow a person to speak and only one of his has been injured, but now another area of Todd's brain has to learn how to do what the damaged area once did and it takes time.
"Wow!" Jesse looked critically at the side of Todd's head - Todd was still watching T.V., uninterested in the conversation taking place around him.
"And the part that makes him interested in things, possibly the Frontal Lobe or the Cerebral Cortex. Is that hurt too?" Chris asked.
Beth looked curiously at Chris, "how do you know about the Frontal Lobe or the Cerebral Cortex?"
"I read about them in a book." Chris replied, quickly looking away.
"Well, doctors are not absolutely sure
which part of the brain controls motivation and personality. But you are right, Chris, many researchers believe it occurs at the front of the brain, the Frontal Lobe. Motivation is a bit like memory," Beth continued. "There is no one place for motivation or memory. Memory is apparently stored throughout the brain and it is thought that specific pieces of memory are stored in several different places. Todd has very little trouble remembering - he remembered you for instance." Beth said nodding her head towards Jesse.
"How do they know all this?" Jesse asked.
"Scientists have done experiments for years on the brain. They have inserted probes into various portions of the brain and then watched to see what would happen. In one place a person might feel a tickling sensation in their foot. In another they might suddenly believe that they were reliving an event that had occurred years before. Or, like in Todd's case, they might not be able to say certain words or they may have a strong desire to say others, that are out of context at the time."
"Doesn't it hurt?" Jesse asked, his forehead wrinkling as he pondered metal wires being stuck into his own brain.
"No. The brain doesn’t have any pain sensors. The skin covering the skull does, but not the brain itself. If you ever have an operation on your brain, and hopefully you never will, the doctors will probably operate on you while you’re awake."
"I would hate that!" Jesse responded shivering slightly from the thought of doctors probing in his brain while he lay awake on an operating table.
Beth smiled a dim smile and moved to the opposite side of the bed, her eyes on Todd. "Hopefully, that’ll never happen to you, Jesse."
"So, Todd's brain got hurt in bad places, but Chris' brain got hurt in good places?"
"What do you mean?" Beth asked absently as she sat down beside Sharon.