Never Again

by Heather Starsong

  “No, no thanks.” But when I turned my head up to answer him, my hood slipped out of my hand and fell back. There was a moment of stunned silence, then uproar.

  “I thought we were looking for your mother.”

  “She said she was Clara Norwood.”

  “Why did you tell us it was your mom?”

  “More like your little sister.”

  “Doesn’t look like the picture.”

  “If this is some kind of a joke—”

  I straightened my shoulders. I’ll have to get used to this, I told myself. I mustn’t let them scare me.

  “Stop!” Greg raised his voice and the men were silent, boring me with their eyes. I tightened my jaw and returned their gaze.

  Greg spoke into the silence. “Rob and I are as confused as you are. She’s changed since we last saw her. We don’t know what happened to her, but we know she’s our mother. So the search is over. She’s alive and well enough to walk out. That’s the good news.”

  “Let her speak,” Matt said. “Let’s hear her story.”

  I spread my hands, wordless. My sons sat down on either side of me, touching me, comforting me with their nearness.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Greg said. “Tell us. What happened?”

  I began, resolved to tell as much truth as possible. I told them how I always went to my special place on my birthday, how it was my eightieth two days ago.

  “Eightieth!” Herb exclaimed.

  “Let her talk,” Robin said sharply.

  I continued, telling how I had climbed slowly but finally reached my place, how the storm had come up suddenly, how I had dashed for the krum tree and fallen, waked in the night paralyzed, thought I was dying.

  “We saw where you fell,” Herb said. “There were muddy skid marks, blood on the rock.”

  Blood? I didn’t know I had bled.

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t make it to the krum tree,” Pete said.

  “I know. I saw it this morning when I came back. I loved that tree.”

  Matt nodded. “It was an old one.”

  “So,” Pete said. “The lightning struck the tree and you were close enough that it hit you, too. Temporary paralysis is sometimes an effect. Those storms can move in fast. The story makes sense so far. Then what? We searched everywhere and couldn’t find you. You said ‘when I came back this morning.’ Came back from where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The men were silent. Pete’s jaw was clenched.

  “What happened between the time you thought you were dying in the night and this morning? It’s okay.” Matt leaned forward to touch my knee. “Just tell us what you remember.”

  “I had strange dreams.” I felt lightheaded. Perhaps that really was true. Perhaps it was all a dream after all. I looked down and saw my hand in Robin’s. Smooth and young. It wasn’t a dream. When I looked up again, the men were staring at me, silent, waiting. Matt’s eyes were kind, Chad’s hard. I took a breath and continued.

  “Then this morning I found myself at the head of the valley, at the source of the stream. I had never been there before. I walked down the stream and came to where I had fallen, saw the tree. Someone had put my pack and boots under my poncho.”

  “That was Rob,” Greg said. “He was sure you were coming back.”

  I looked at Robin. He’d been holding back tears ever since my return. “Thank you. I was glad to have them coming down.”

  Robin didn’t reply, just squeezed my hand.

  “You walked all that distance barefoot?” Chad raised one eyebrow. His question had the condescending tone of men who believe women to be inferior.

  “The tundra is soft,” I told him.

  “You have ashes on your skirt,” he said, jutting his chin out. “Fires are forbidden except in designated campgrounds. Were you making a fire?”

  “No,” I answered. “I was sitting with the krum tree.”

  “Why would you do that?” Chad asked.

  That tone again. Ire rose in me. I lifted my chin. “I doubt you would understand.”

  “For a day and a night you don’t remember anything?” Pete demanded.

  I struggled with my desire to be truthful and my need to protect the Elirians. “Only strange dreams.”

  “Stop grilling her,” Greg said fiercely. “She can’t remember. What’s likely is that when the paralysis passed, she wandered off somewhere. Lightning can cause amnesia, too, I would guess.”

  “It can,” Matt said. He touched me again. “Clara, I’m an EMT. I’d like to take your pulse and blood pressure. Just to see how you’re doing. Okay?”

  I nodded. I remember the pumping on my arm, the fingers on my wrist. I think, as men go, Matt was gentle, but his touch seemed rough and crude compared to the wise hands of the Elirians.

  “One hundred over sixty. Pulse sixty-five,” Matt said. “She’s good.”

  I gathered myself and stood. “Thank you very much for searching for me,” I said to the men crowded around me. “I’d like to go home now.” I picked up my pack and staff.

  There was a bustle of movement and talk. The men stood, hugged each other, slapped each other’s backs, and began climbing out of the truck. Herb turned off the stove and covered the soup pot. In all the excitement, food had been completely forgotten. I started for the door, but Chad blocked my path.

  “There’s more to your story.”

  I met his eyes. “I’ve told you what I can.”

  He towered over me. I lifted my chin and held his eyes.

  Finally he turned away and left the truck. I experienced a moment of triumph at facing him down. Rude man. Three men were talking, blocking the door. Deciding to wait until the way was clear, I stood in the back of the truck listening to the men’s voices outside as they moved away.

  “That’s the weirdest thing I ever—”

  “Eighty years old, my ass.”

  “She seemed pretty confused.”

  “Lightning can do some strange things, but…”

  Near the front of the truck, Matt drew Robin aside. I heard him say, “She looks okay and her blood pressure is fine, but if she were my mom, I’d stop by the hospital and get her checked out. A lightning strike is serious. And there was blood on the rock.”

  Robin nodded. He turned back and saw me, took my arm. “Come on, Mama.”

  We stepped out of the truck into late afternoon and drizzling rain. A few of the men were still standing outside talking with Greg.

  “Thanks again,” I said to them as Robin and I walked by.

  “Sure thing.”

  “Glad you could walk out.”

  “Stay away from lightning, you hear?”

  Greg shook hands all around and then joined us as we walked to Robin’s car. I looked across the parking lot and was relieved to see my old Subaru in the corner where I’d left it.

  “Oh, good,” I said. “My car’s still here. I was afraid they’d tow it when I didn’t come back.”

  “Pete tagged it so they wouldn’t,” Greg said.

  Robin unlocked his car and turned to me. “Mama, I want to stop at the hospital on the way home and get you checked out.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I don’t want to go to the hospital. I want to go home.” The idea of the hospital horrified me. In spite of the strength and vitality I’d felt on the mountain, I also felt raw and new like a butterfly just out of the chrysalis. I knew the hospital scene; I’d been there enough times when my heart had run out of control. I didn’t feel I could stand the questions, the lights, all the hook-ups.

  “Matt thought we should take you,” Robin insisted. “We don’t know what the lightning did. And you had amnesia. I’m kind of worried.”

  “Maybe Rob’s right,” Greg said. “If you’re okay, they’ll release you. If not, it would be good to know
what’s going on and have you taken care of. We’ll hang with you.”

  I didn’t answer. It didn’t feel like the right moment, standing there in the drizzle, to tell them about the Elirians and what they had done for me—if I ever could.

  Robin got in his car and started the engine. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  “Right.” Greg took my arm and led me to my car. “I’ll drive. Where’re the keys?”

  They were in the pocket of my pack where I always kept them. I pushed the button on the key chain, and unlocked all the doors with one click. Even though I’d owned my car for more than a decade, I still marveled at that, the electronic world I could never quite believe in or feel I belonged to.

  I let out a sigh as we drove away. “That was an ordeal.”

  “Sorry, Mom.” Greg patted my knee. “I didn’t know they’d grill you like that. But it’s not surprising they’d want your story. They worked hard looking for you. They’re all good guys, except for Chad. He’s kind of a jerk. But you handled him well. You may look like a spring chicken, but you’re still a feisty old woman inside.”

  He turned to look at me, sudden tears in his eyes. “God, I’m glad you’re alive!”

  I touched his hand. “I am, too. I’m so grateful you recognized me. I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

  “Of course we would. You’re our mom.” He gave me another glance. “Though every time I look at you, I feel like a kid again.”

  He focused on the road for a moment, taking a series of tight curves at a speed that made me clutch the door handle.

  When the road straightened out, he asked, “What in the world happened to you? You climb the mountain, an old woman who can barely get around without her stick, get hit by lightning, and come back a blooming young beauty none the worse except for a few ashes on her skirt. By the way, you’ve got a smudge on your forehead.”

  I put my hand to my brow. Probably I’d dried my face with my skirt before I realized it had ashes on it. “I thought I’d rinsed it all off,” I said.

  “Not quite. So. None of the guys knew what to make of it all. Rob and I don’t, either. Seems like you had some kind of miracle.”

  “I did. I’ll tell you. But let’s wait ’till we’re home and Robin’s with us.”

  “Okay.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ve gotta call Margo and tell her you’re okay. She and the kids have been real worried.”

  I looked away, trying not to be nervous about his dialing and driving, and leaned my head against the side of the car. I heard Greg say “Hi, honey, we found her,” then drew into myself. I felt lost, separated from the clarity of the high country, separated from the love of the Elirians, most of all separated from myself. How can I be me with this young body? With eyes that flirt? What kind of trouble will I get into? What will my life be like now? I slipped my hand into the left pocket of my skirt. The metal pieces were still there close against the hip they’d once held together. How did they get those metal pieces out without cutting me open? It was too much. I let the questions drop away like leaves falling from an autumn tree, and yielded to the motion of the car as we swung down the canyon.

  Greg finished talking and put his phone away. He glanced over at me. “Mom? How’re you doing?”

  “Okay. Just kind of bewildered.”

  “No wonder. You’ve been through a lot.”

  We arrived at the hospital. “This is ridiculous,” I said to Greg. “The doctors are going to be as stumped as the rescue team. If I ever make it past the front desk. We should just go home.”

  Greg opened the car door for me. “Did you really get hit by lightning?”

  “I really did.”

  “Then we should check you out.”

  “Another ordeal,” I muttered as we crossed the parking lot.

  Greg grinned. “I can’t wait to see how you handle it.”

  Robin was waiting for us outside the emergency room. We walked in together. The woman behind the desk was solid, burdened with a big bust. She looked up at us over the top of her glasses.

  “She was lost on the mountain for two days, struck by lightning,” Greg explained me. “We think she’s had some amnesia.”

  The woman eased herself out from behind her desk. “Sit here,” she directed me. She took my pulse and blood pressure. “Vitals are good.” She went back behind the desk. “Can I see your insurance card?”

  “I don’t have it with me,” I said, standing. “I’m on Medicare. No supplemental.”

  “Medicare?” she said, accusation in her voice.

  “Yes. You have me in your computer. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Clara Norwood.”

  The woman focused on the computer screen, her fingers tapping the keys. I waited, my sons silent beside me.

  “Clara Norwood?” She looked up at me again.

  “That’s right.”

  “Says here your birthday is August 30, 1931.” She was glaring at me now.

  “That’s right,” I said again.

  “Come on,” she said. “Who do you think you’re kidding?”

  Feisty old woman rose up in me. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I need to see your ID,” she insisted.

  My voice was cold. “I told you, I don’t have any ID on me. My identity is far too weighty to take with me when I go hiking.”

  Robin suppressed a snicker. “You must have your driver’s license,” he said.

  “It’s in my car.”

  “Shall I get it?”

  “I don’t think it would help,” Greg said.

  The woman swelled her formidable chest. “I can’t admit you without ID.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m not dying.” I turned to Robin and Greg. After all, I was their mother. “I don’t want to be here anyway. I want to go home. I’m fine. If anything comes up, I can go to the doctor.”

  “Right,” Greg said. He tilted his head toward the door and we left.

  Chapter 4

  Home. My good old Subaru safe in the garage. My dear little house. Just being there helped me feel more grounded.

  We rummaged in the refrigerator and got out soup and salad stuff, corn tortillas and cheese, and sat down around the dining room table.

  “Okay, Mom,” Greg said. “Tell us. What happened to you?”

  “I will.” I hesitated. “But first tell me how you got here. Last I knew you were in Santa Fe. And, Robin, when did you find out I hadn’t come home?”

  “The same day you left,” Robin answered. “I knew you were going hiking and didn’t want a fuss for your birthday, but the kids wanted to bring you cake and presents, so I called when I thought you should be home. You didn’t answer. Later I called again, and finally went over to your house, to find that your car was still gone. I got worried and drove up to the trailhead, and there it was. By that time it was dark and getting cold. I found park rangers at the campground and reported you missing. Then I called Greg.”

  “I got in the car and drove,” Greg said, “got to Rob’s about 3:00 a.m.”

  “I went back home and got my hiking stuff,” Robin went on, “kept in touch with the rangers. But it was almost dawn before they got organized. Greg and I met them and we started the search. I didn’t remember exactly where your special place was, but I knew it was along a stream, high up. We followed the stream out of Sapphire Lake, then stayed with it when the trail left it. It was hard going, marshy, a lot of willows.”

  “Then I found your bathing cloth,” Greg added, “tangled in the willows at the edge of the stream. I recognized it. You’ve had that thing forever.”

  “My bathing cloth!” I exclaimed. “Where is it?”

  “In my pack, I think.” He looked over at me. “It’s pretty torn up.”

  “Oh.” I closed my eyes a moment, fe
eling again the pang of its loss.

  Robin was continuing their story. I brought myself back. “Once we found your cloth,” he said, “we knew we were on the right track. Some of the guys went downstream, looking for your body, and Greg and I and the others went up. I recognized your place from that time I went with you long ago, and there were your pack and boots and stick. We thought sure we’d find you then. We searched the whole valley, all day. Where were you?”

  I took a spoonful of soup. “I was there today. For a little while. But when I saw people had been there, I came down, knowing you were looking for me. Where were you today?”

  “Up higher,” Greg said, “and on the other side of the trail, down toward Sapphire Lake. ’Till the storms came. I kept telling them we should go back to the valley, that you couldn’t get very far without your stick. But now I think maybe you could.” He looked at me sharply.

  I nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “Tell us. What were your strange dreams?”

  I looked from one to the other. They were clearly brothers, sharing many of the features I had passed to them, alike in many ways, and also quite different from each other. Greg was the more extroverted. He’d made it big in the corporate world, then dropped out at age forty to homeschool his children and practice yoga and Buddhist meditation. He wore a faded green sweatshirt, frayed at the cuffs, and his brown hair, streaked with gray, fell in loose curls around his shoulders. He sat leaning back in his chair, his eyes, green like Dan’s, watching me keenly.

  Robin’s eyes were pure blue like Jon’s. He sat with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, leaning toward me. He was quieter than Greg, almost a generation younger, and so far following a more traditional path, working toward his Ph.D. at the university. He wore his hair cropped too close for curls and even his hiking clothes were neat and tailored.

  Both waited expectantly.

  Still I hesitated. “It’s such a strange story. I don’t know if you’ll believe me.”

  “Can’t be any stranger than what we’re seeing.” Greg straightened in his chair. “Come on, spill it.”

  So I told them my story—the lightning, the night I lay dying, the rescue, the spaceship, the strange, beautiful Elirians, their songs, their mission. The telling made it seem more like a dream than ever. I was so awed by the wonder of it that it was hard to find words to speak of the love I had felt, the ecstasy of my renewal, my return to Earth. I pulled the two pieces of metal out of my pocket and laid them on the table, and ended by telling them how I had discovered my young body when I undressed to dip in the stream.