Carter was so zoned out. His world had done an about-face overnight, and his past was about to be discarded. He felt as if he again was disconnected from his physical body. Things were happening so fast, yet so slow. The funeral was in the very near future, yet he felt as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His relatives and friends would say things to him, and he would just mumble something, but he would not even be sure what he was saying. He’d had dreams like that. A state of flux seemed to be the theme for his life these days. He felt so out of control, so disconnected, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Carter had been so spaced out at this time because of what had happened with the car accident, the out-of-body experience, and the can that opened up with those he met above, specifically that woman who claimed to know him. He was possibly more connected to her than he could ever have thought. He wondered how such a fluke could lead him on a life-changing journey to find out his true self. All he could think of these days was his genealogy. His family tree could really be unique if he chose to pursue the truth. He was at least certain that he did want to know who he was. He knew that he had nothing to lose by trying. He was also open to everything being true in his life.
Carter stood just inside the door, looking around at this once cozy home. He stared at the kitchen, which had served up many a meal, then beyond into the living room, where the family had spent most of their time together, and not just because there sat a television.
Television had been a privilege in this household, rather than a luxury. This room mostly existed for bonding purposes, like games, homework, reading and planning. The non-television part is what blew out of proportion and spread around grade school, alienating Carter through his most impressionable years. Because of this, nobody would be seen at the Spence household. Carter had learned to cherish peacefulness and creativity within his family unit at the cost of popularity amongst his peers.
To Carter it felt as if he had been away from home for a year. There’s a feeling you get when you return to a certain place after a time apart and it seems so much smaller. The memories of living there were not smaller, but the physical structure and room size had shrunk.
Carter envisioned his parents laughing. They both had a great sense of humor. Mr. Spence always had a corny joke, and Mrs. Spence was always a receptive audience. This duo would perform at this venue, or any venue for that matter, no more. The show was over, but Carter needed a walk through memory lane. Each room he entered popped up numerous memories from past events that went down in that particular room.
The family would gather nightly for dinner at the kitchen table. Holiday dinners would be held at the dining room table and the Spence family would eat off the nice china plates with silverware housed in a shiny oak utensil box the size of a medium suitcase. This room held a special feeling to Carter since it was used only for holidays like Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving. Close relatives would fill out the room and it was always a nice time getting together with them.
Carter continued upstairs to grab some of his belongings. He began by grabbing his suitcase in his bedroom closet, and then opening his dresser drawers and hand-picking random clothes to stuff into the suitcase. He moved to the upstairs bathroom for his toothbrush and electric razor. He returned to his room, and then paused to look around. This was the room he remembered growing up in. He remembered turning the light switch off and running through the dark and jumping onto his bed. He would quickly get under the covers before the boogie man got to him from the closet or under his bed. That’s why he quickly tucked his feet in when he jumped on the bed in the dark.
Carter’s bed was unmade as this was the norm. He always held that it made it easier to get into at night. The hardwood floors were unobstructed and his clothes were next to his bed in a small pile. His dresser contained a few baseball trophies, loose change and an alarm clock that woke him up in the morning. He kept his alarm clock on the dresser away from his bed. When he kept it on the nightstand next to his bed, he would keep whacking snooze until he overslept. Having it across the room forced him to rise from bed to shut it up.
Although his house seemed a bit different, the smell was familiar to Carter. He may be able to link it to the laundry department, but it could be spice related or a combination thereof. Whatever it was, it was the smell of home to Carter; a familiar smell, an identity, a blue print, a stamp. Carter pondered all of these identifiers as he walked back downstairs and through the house. The aroma began to fade, as did Carter’s belief that everything his life had represented had been real and truthful.
Carter grew distrustful, and began to question everything in his life. How dare his parents do that to him? How dare his parents keep him in the dark for his whole existence? Weren’t they at least supposed to unveil the truth when he comes of age? Wouldn’t that only be fair that a person receive knowledge of his true roots? If Carter wanted to do a family tree before this day, he would have been barking up the wrong tree. Nothing ever again would be taken at face value.
This house could never again be cozy to Carter. He knew it, and if the truth is in Heaven, it never was cozy. So he knew that he needed out. He needed an escape route, an evacuation, at least until he could organize his thoughts coherently. For now, he needed a decisive break from his inconclusive past, or as Carter thought of it…his past life.
Swinging the door closed behind him, he moved away from the house to find a motel in town because he could not get himself to lie down to sleep in that house.
Carter’s future began. He shut the door behind him and ran to his car for reasons even he was unsure of. It just happened. His legs moved from under his body. It seemed to him that he was totally out of control of his life, and it scared him. Even his actions were now unaccounted for. He felt as if he was literally running from his past. He wanted no company to share his feelings. Maybe this was part of his pre-determined path.
Carter settled on the fact that he just needed to get away from that house as soon as possible. He felt the breeze loft his hair into the air as he slowed to grip the handle of his Oldsmobile Omega. He couldn’t get himself to glimpse the house another time. Even when the thought occurred to him that he should, he felt what seemed like a vise preventing such a head turn.
CHAPTER SIX
When Carter opened his eyes at a Motel 6, he squinted from a bright light shining in his eyes. Then he thought about the advertisement. They’ll leave the light on, all right. He remembered being drained, and now he had awakened, unaware of even making the decision to go to sleep. The television had been on from the night before, and as Carter got out of bed to turn it off, he heard an actor on TV say, “Go West, young man.” That line resonated in his mind.
The whole day would patch in and out for Carter. He feared that it would patch out while he was behind the steering wheel, but he had no choice but to get in his car. After all, today was the day of his parent’s funeral. He couldn’t forget about it, intentionally or not. What would people think, and how would he feel if he blew it off only to discover later that they really were his parents. There’s no way to reverse a mistake like that, and Carter knew full well that his parents would be attending their own funeral, perhaps signing their names in the Guest book. He seemed sure that their spirits were alive and he felt pressure to do the right thing by attending the funeral.
He wondered if he could even cry, or at least fake it for the benefit of all. The bottom line is that they were his parents in that they had raised him and provided a home for him, at the very least, so he should treat them with all due respect at their funeral. He truly was sad, but blamed his brain for not producing tears on cue. He felt as if that woman above had planted something in his brain to make him think what she wanted him to think. His thoughts did not seem voluntary, and he even felt a touch of guilt for having a blank slate of emotions in such a tr
aumatic time such as the death of his parents.
Carter continued to space out, obliterating certain moments like a selective memory. Before he knew it, he stood there emotionless as he watched two coffins lowered into the Boston earth. Inside of those boxes lay two people whom Carter believed his entire life to be his parents. Those answers had the weight of the dirt being shoveled onto them as well, sealed with the corpses as keys thrown away into history.
Carter closed his eyes and listened…“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” That’s all he heard as his mind drifted elsewhere. Carter could shed no tears even when he gave it his best. Was he bitter, or were his tears all dried up? He couldn’t find the answer to that one either. He felt so lost in every aspect of life. His only concern, even as his parents took on the final shovels of dirt, became extremely self-serving. How would he begin his new life? He further wondered about which mistakes from his past life he could learn from. How could he adapt these lessons to his new life to ensure he doesn’t make the same mistakes? It helped that he was older now.
His eyes jerked open, and Carter believed he had only one option. He had to get the hell out of Boston. He didn’t mean scooting just over the town line, or barely over the border into Connecticut, but rather a decent journey. He wasn’t sure if he was doing this thinking on his own, but he knew that he had to do something radical beyond even his potential. A fire was lit underneath him.
The sound of church bells mixed with people talking and moving about. Carter had also noticed that a warm springtime breeze gently mixed with the spread and aroma of pine throughout the cemetery. He nodded to people and mumbled incoherently as people came by to express their condolences with hugs and kisses. He felt out of control of his cold responses to caring people, and hoped they read them as merely a man in grief.
Carter felt as though he had to stop thinking such thoughts because if they really were his biological parents, they would be able to view his actions from above and what would they think? His delirious mind took it one step further, which had him thinking that if they really weren’t his biological parents, and they knew what Carter now believed could be true, they could haunt him his entire life.
Carter closed his eyes and concentrated on a blank slate, trying to purge his mind of any traceable thoughts to eliminate the possibility of having to live out the rest of his life in a paranoid state. As his mind released the overload, Carter shook his head in disbelief at the absurdity of what he was doing. It wasn’t him, and he began to wonder just who he was.
Al Gorman was choked up as he stood before the podium to deliver the eulogy.
“Sydney and Patricia Spence were my closest friends. They were great people. They were husband and wife, and parents. He was my partner in crime, and they were all-around salt-of-the-earth people that I’m proud to call my friends. They loved their son, Carter, very much, and Carter returned that love just the same. Neither of them had a mean bone in their body. Although God may have taken them much too soon, they are in good hands and know that Carter has had great trainers for this world.”
Mr. Gorman paused as he choked up. He took a step back, then took a handkerchief to his red eyes, and inhaled quickly and exhaled quicker. He then returned that step to the podium, cleared his throat and carried on.
“They will be missed. Their smiles…invitations to card games at their warm home… a meal out at a restaurant… or just a simple walk around the neighborhood block. They will surely be missed.”
Al Gorman cleared his throat again, then said, “I thank you for listening and I thank you all for coming…and I also want to thank them for being the people they were. They were special enough to gather a crowd of this size. Thank you.” He then became one of them again, and Carter watched him as he returned. One thing Carter was certain about was his appreciation for Al‘s handling of the funeral arrangements.
A couple people away from him stood Mr. Jenkins. It was always just “Mr. Jenkins.” Carter was never really completely sure that there ever was such a person on this earth that was linked to Mr. Jenkins via some bloodline. He was always alone. He was always the old man next door to Carter his whole life. But Mr. Jenkins was genuinely pleasant to have as a neighbor. Carter always remembered him as a widower living alone, but over the years details of his young wife’s murder were only whispered throughout the neighborhood. However, like anything else, the whispers faded in time. As nice as he was, Carter still thought Mr. Jenkins was a bit of an enigma. He was very odd, but harmless.
Regardless of his nature, the old man was still very close to his parents and just a nice person that everyone in the neighborhood welcomed with open arms. As for Carter’s parent’s liking him, well, they seemed to like just about everyone. Carter accepted the fact that his parents were accepting of all differences, and that value was instilled in Carter as well, so his relationship with the old man would not change even without his parents.
As the years rolled by and Mr. Jenkins hit the big 8-0, he began to do even stranger things that Carter’s parents would just laugh off. Some days Mr. Jenkins could be seen peeking through the windows at the Spence household. Mr. Jenkins was harmless, though, so nothing more would happen and that’s why the Spence’s didn’t think much of this bizarre behavior even as it got progressively worse.
Carter saw that Mr. Jenkins eyes were red and puffy. He saw a tear drop from his eye to his wrinkled cheek, then roll the rest of the way, dropping and disappearing into his jacket. Carter noticed that although he was able to speak coherently and act appropriately for the situation, he was unable to make direct eye contact with Carter. Mr. Jenkins saw his parents every day, and a life change like this to an old man must be devastating. His parents were like family to him, and now he will be lonelier than ever.
Al Gorman returned and put his arm around Carter’s neck just as Carter’s mind reached reality. Mr. Spence’s business partner interrupted an ever so small pause with strong, meaningful, comforting words, a trait he’d always been known for and what made him such a successful businessman.
“Carter,” he began, “your mom and dad will be terribly missed. Look at all these people who have come to pay their respects. You have to be proud of what they’ve accomplished…all the lives they’ve touched. They provided you with a nice home and they were loving and caring people. They were loved and cared for because of it, and this world is going to be a different place without them, but at least we know full well that there’s someone looking out for them.”
Carter looked up at Mr. Gorman in total admiration, always having the right words at the right time, and never having memories of being let down by him.
“Thank you, Al,” said Carter. “I do have to talk to you about something though.”
“Anything,” Al shot back. “Anything at all.”
Carter took a step back and looked into Mr. Gorman’s eyes. He had a huge favor to ask of him, and nothing was going to stop his asking.
“It’s really tough to have my mind on any sort of work at this time, and I just don’t feel like I belong anywhere,” Carter began. “I’ve just lost both my parents, and I…and I…just feel so different. It’s hard to explain. I feel like I’m not who I was, or…or rather…I never was who I thought…oh, I don’t know. What I’m asking for I guess is time off. I can’t work right now, and I know that it leaves you in a bind, but work is now meaningless to my life.”
Al Gorman remained silent, careful to let him speak without interruption, then sandwiched Carter’s face between his hands and began another polished speech.
“Carter,” he began, “don’t you dare even think about work right now. You have enough on your plate. Besides, the tax push is over. Take as much time off as you need. That’s an order!”
He looked sternly at Carter, who could only nod his head slowly in agree
ment.
“If you need anything at all,” said Mr. Gorman, “please let me know, and maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to get away somewhere. Whenever you get back…whether it’s next week or next year, you’ll always have a job to return to.”
Carter forced a smile. That smile had been absent for almost a week, and it made Mr. Gorman smile too.
“Thank you Al,” he said. “I can always count on you.”
Mr. Gorman hugged Carter and said, “Take care of yourself, and keep in touch.”
“I will, Al…thanks again,” Carter replied.
Mr. Gorman turned and slowly walked away. Carter always admired how composed he was, and this was his ultimate test. But Carter began to tire of this whirlwind of attention he had been getting. He watched Al get smaller the further away from him he walked.
His parents were dead and gone. He tried to comprehend how this chapter in history suddenly closed. Carter had enough sympathy for the day, and he was never much of an actor, so he hunched over, eyes to the ground, and sneaked away from the cemetery until he caught up with a shadow on the ground in front of him.
Carter could not make a clean break, but if he ran into anyone, he’d prefer it be Mr. Jenkins, the elderly neighbor whom shared weekend drinks with his parents almost religiously. He liked his next door neighbor, but not quite enough to confide in him completely.
Mr. Jenkins could probably be considered the closest person to his parents, but Carter highly doubted that he held any answers, and what would he think of Carter if he suggested something so bizarre? Would this spread through town like wildfire? The Boston Globe: “Ungrateful Son Bashes Parents,” or NBC news: “A Boston man, once close to his real parents, slapped them on their dead cheeks when he suggested that they weren’t his…”
Desert Son Trilogy: Desert Son, Wayward Soul, Spiritual Intervention (Books 1-3) Page 5