Cross Roads

by William Paul Young

  “He doesn’t think it is.”

  “He doesn’t think it is?” interjected Molly.

  “That’s… comforting,” sighed the officer. “So here is what I would like to ask, and again, you can say no and it will be okay.”

  The three watched as this strong man visibly struggled with his emotions, not anything that appeared usual or customary for him. Maggie reached over and took his nearest hand, which about did him in, but he found control somehow and after clearing his throat in a husky voice, continued.

  “My mother has Alzheimer’s. A few years ago we finally had to move her to a home that provides round-the-clock care because we couldn’t. It came on much faster than we had anticipated, than anyone anticipated, and I was across the country completing a training course when she lost touch with all of us.”

  “I’m really sorry, Clarence,” offered Molly, reaching and taking his other hand.

  He looked up, his eyes glistening. “I never had a last conversation with her, nothing. One day she knew who I was, and the next time I saw her there was nothing at all, just this emptiness in her eyes that I wanted to fill.

  “Tony,” he continued, “I can’t stop thinking that if Maggie kissed her, you might be able to slide into her and find her for me and give her a message or something and let her know that we miss her, that I miss her. I know it sounds crazy, and I don’t even know if it would work or…”

  “He’ll do it,” announced Maggie.

  “He will?” Clarence looked straight at Maggie, his face relaxing from the strain of emotion held back.

  “Of course, he will,” stated Molly. “You will, won’t you, Tony?” She looked at Maggie.

  “Yes, he’ll do it,” repeated Maggie. “But he’s not sure if it will work. It’s not like he’s an expert at any of this.”

  “Tony, thank you for even considering it. I owe you big-time just for that.”

  “He says you don’t owe him anything and that his request has no strings either. You can say no.”

  “Understood,” replied Clarence.

  “So,” began Maggie, “let me try and put into words what Tony needs. He has this top secret spy office somewhere down by the river off Macadam Avenue. He’s not a spy or anything, but he has this office no one knows about and some of his really important stuff is in there. Clarence, he wants to know if you know someone who does industrial shredding?” She raised her eyebrows as if to communicate, “Don’t ask me, I’m only the messenger.”

  “Yeah, I got a good buddy named Kevin. He works for a big shredding company. I think they have the contract for the city, too. Why?”

  “Some stuff needs to be destroyed—not accounting stuff or illegal stuff, just personal stuff,” said Maggie for Tony. She stopped, then turned away slightly, as if speaking to herself. “Tony, why don’t you just wait until you get better and then take care of it yourself?”

  Concern showed on her face as she turned back to Clarence. “He says because he isn’t absolutely certain that he’s going to get better and he doesn’t want to take any chances.” She continued the translating. “Tony needs to get into his office. He has the codes and everything he needs to get what he wants out of there. He says that he needs you, Clarence, to make sure that we do it right without leaving any trace that we were there. You know how to do that?”

  Clarence nodded.

  “He says it’s really very easy. Quick in and out. He has to open a safe that’s in the floor and go through some of the documents. He’ll make one pile to be shredded and grab maybe a couple other things and that will be all. Probably less than half an hour tops. No one will see us and no one can ever know we were there.”

  “Not illegal?” mused Clarence.

  “He says nope, not as long as he’s still alive. This is his place and he has all the codes, so it’s not breaking and entering. He will be with us, and even though no one would believe you, you’ll know he is with us.”

  Clarence thought for a moment

  “Can you help us?”

  Clarence nodded.

  “Tony wants to know if we can do it this evening. Can we see your mom now?”

  Again Clarence nodded, checking the kitchen clock. “We have plenty of time. I’ll call ahead and make sure she’s ready for us. Who all’s coming?”

  “I have to stay with Cabby, so I can’t,” stated Molly. “But I want to hear about everything, and I mean everything, that happens, okay?”

  “I always tell you everything, darlin’. You take good care of Cabby while the three of us go play James Bond.”

  Clarence was already talking on his phone.

  Maggie hugged Molly deeply and tenderly. “Tony says you have his blessing,” she whispered.

  “About what?” Molly asked.

  “About his brother… if anything comes of it, you have his blessing.”

  Molly grinned. “You never know.” She leaned back in. “Thank you, Tony, love you!”

  Her words caught Tony by surprise, as did the emotions he felt in just hearing them. “Uh,” he said, his voice thickening, “love you, too.”

  Maggie smiled. “He says he loves you, too.”

  17

  LOCKED ROOMS

  A person isn’t who they are during the last conversation you had with them, they’re who they’ve been throughout your whole relationship.

  —Rainer Maria Rilke

  Your mother will be so glad to see you,” the volunteer said, smiling as she led Maggie and Clarence down the hallway toward a private room.

  Normally such a statement would have irritated Clarence, but not tonight. The anticipation was churning in his stomach, and the more real it became the more probable the disappointment. He wasn’t sure how he would handle it. Dear God, he prayed silently, you work in mysterious ways. Here’s a perfect opportunity. Thank you for walking in this with me, and for Maggie, and especially, tonight, for Tony.

  “Clarence, you never told me about your father,” said Maggie in a hushed voice.

  “Good man. My dad passed about ten years ago. He was everything a father was supposed to be, but it was my mom who was the force in our world. His leaving wasn’t as hard as this, this… whatever this is. He’s gone, but she’s stuck in between, and we can’t get to her.”

  Tony listened. Clarence’s use of “in between” made him smile, and he almost jumped into the flow of conversation but thought better and held his tongue. It wasn’t the time.

  Soft light filled the room they entered and an elderly elegant black woman sat dressed in comfortable reds and soft blacks. She was a handsome woman with high cheekbones and sparkling eyes that belied the absence of her presence within.

  After the volunteer dismissed herself, Maggie reached up and kissed Clarence fully on the lips, lingering and tender. When you only had one kiss, you had to make it count. Tony slid back into a place he had briefly been before, ordered and spacious, and he was looking into Maggie’s eyes, up close and personal.

  “All right, enough already,” he exclaimed. They both smiled as their lips parted.

  Clarence walked to his mother and leaned down.

  “Hello, Momma, it’s Clarence. I’m your son.”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked away, no recognition in her face. “Who are you?”

  “Clarence, your son.” And he leaned down and kissed her on her forehead. She smiled, and Tony slid a second time in as many minutes.

  This place was different from anywhere he had been, the light somehow muted and visibility masked. He was now looking into Clarence’s face, etched with hopeful anticipation.

  “Mrs. Walker?” His voice echoed off invisible walls, as if he were enclosed in a metal cylinder. “Mrs. Walker?” He tried again, but nothing, just the reverberation of his own voice. Tony could see through Mrs. Walker’s eyes that Clarence had taken a seat next to Maggie and they were waiting. He had carefully rehearsed the message that Clarence had asked him to deliver, but no one was home to receive it.

  He panicked as
a question came to mind: How was he going to get out of here? He hadn’t thought about that. No one had. Maybe he would be stuck here, how long? The rest of her life? Or maybe when his body was through fighting at OHSU, his soul would join it? Neither possibility was particularly pleasant. And he warred with a rising sense of claustrophobia. Maybe if Clarence kissed her he would return. He wasn’t sure, but the uncertainty made him uneasy.

  But being here was right. He could feel it. When Clarence had asked, he had known it was the right thing to do, and it still felt like a good decision. He calmed as he thought about it. When was the last time he had done something for someone else with no strings attached, no agenda? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he was trapped, but he accepted it with a sense of satisfaction, maybe even contentment.

  Then the little line-dance hop thingy Grandmother had demonstrated occurred to him. He tried it. Tony now faced a dark wall behind him. His eyes adjusted, and he could make out what appeared to be doors along a dim barrier. Without being able to see himself, as if in a barely lit room, he made his way to the first door. It opened without resistance. A blast of light caused him to look away until his vision adapted. When it did he stood at the edge of a field of ripening wheat that stretched away as far as he could see, grain heads dancing in the breeze to a rhythm known only to them. A path through the field was before him, stretching into the distance and disappearing near a grove of stately oak trees. It was wondrous and inviting, but he closed the door and was again plunged into inky blackness.

  Suddenly he heard a voice softly humming. He cocked his head from one side to another, trying to determine the source. It was farther ahead in the direction he was facing and he began to feel his way along. Glancing back in the soft and hazy light, he could still see Maggie and Clarence, holding hands and waiting.

  The voice was distinctly behind the third of multiple doors, complete with a familiar latch type that he recognized from his own heart. It made him smile to find it here. It swung open easily, and he entered a cavernous grand and open room. The mahogany and cherry walls were lined with shelves bursting with books. Memorabilia of all sorts, including photographs and art, cluttered the unoccupied spaces. The humming sounded closer and he made his way past another wall of protruding shelving until he rounded a corner and stopped. There she was, the woman he had seen, but younger and very much alive and active.

  “Anthony?” she asked, a smile brightening the room.

  “Uh, Mrs. Walker?” He stood there, stunned.

  “Amelia, please,” she said and laughed. “Come, young man, and sit with me. I’ve been expecting you.”

  He did as she requested, startled to now be able to see his own hands and feet. She handed him a large cup of steaming coffee, black, which he gratefully accepted.

  “How?”

  “I am not alone here, Anthony. I have lots of company. It’s all rather temporary and yet quite permanent. Hard to explain really, how one thing is woven into and yet an extension of another.” Her voice was pure and tender, almost like a tune as she spoke. “The body wants to hold on to its connections as long as it is able. Mine, it seems, like my personality, is rather tenacious. Tenacious, I like that word. Has a better ring to it than stubborn, don’t you think?”

  They both laughed. Their exchange was uncluttered and straightforward.

  “I’m not sure how to ask this, but are you able to leave here, this room?”

  “For the moment, I am not. Even the door you came through shut behind you and I have no way to open it from the inside. But I am comfortable here. Everything I could possibly need while I wait is available to me. All this you see”—her arm orchestrated the air widely as she looked around—“these are my memories that I am cataloging and storing for the time of speaking. Nothing is lost, you know?”

  “Nothing?”

  “Well, there are some things not brought back to mind, but nothing is truly lost. Have you ever witnessed a sunset and you know there is a depth in that moment that no camera could ever capture, and you want to hold on to it, to etch it into your remembrance? Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  Tony nodded. “I certainly do. It’s almost painful, the momentary joy and then the sense of its absence and loss.”

  “Well, that’s the wonder: it’s not lost. Eternity will be the speaking and celebration of remembering, and remembering will be a living experience. Words,” she said, smiling, “are a limitation when trying to speak of such things.”

  They sat for some minutes together, and Tony felt he could simply remain content here until it was time for something else, whatever that might be. Amelia reached over and touched his hand.

  “Thank you, Anthony, for coming to see an old lady. Where am I, do you know?”

  “In a care facility, a rather nice one, from what I saw. Your family has spared no expense it appears. I don’t know if you realize this, but I came with Clarence, your son.”

  “Really?” she exclaimed, standing up. “My Clarence is here? Do you think I might be able to see him?”

  “Amelia, I’m not sure. I don’t even know how to get out of here myself, not that I am in any hurry to leave. Clarence told me to tell you…”

  “Then let’s see, shall we?” she exclaimed, and grabbing his hand pulled him toward the door he had entered. As she had said, there was nothing that offered a way of exit, only a small keyhole head high. The door itself was old and oak, solid and sure, almost as if guarding the way. Tony could barely make out large figures etched on its surface.

  “Cherubim.” Amelia answered the question he had only wondered. “Marvelous creatures those. Powerfully comforting. They love to guard… doors and ways and portals and such.”

  It was then that it dawned on Tony. Of course! Reaching inside his shirt, he pulled out the key that he had chosen from the ring. Could it actually be? Hesitantly and holding his breath, he fit it into the keyhole and turned. A blue light pulsed through the thread holding it, and the door swung open, the inside light now spilling out into the room of her eyes. The key then vanished and Amelia and Tony stood, their mouths both agape.

  “Thank you, Jesus!” whispered Amelia, quickly moving past him and into the room. Her Clarence and a woman she didn’t recognize were clearly visible through the window.

  “Momma?” Clarence looked directly at his mother’s eyes. “Momma, did you say something?”

  “Amelia, your eyes are the windows of your soul,” Tony whispered. “Maybe if you talk they can hear you.”

  Amelia walked over and faced the transparent barrier, her feelings obvious. “Clarence?” she asked.

  “Momma? Is that you? I can hear you. Do you know who I am?”

  “Of course, I know you. You’re my sweet boy all grown up. Look at you, you are surely a handsome man.”

  Suddenly Clarence was in her arms. Tony didn’t understand how it worked, but it did. It was as if Clarence were inside with the two of them, and yet not. When she smiled on the inside, she was smiling on the outside. When she wrapped her arms on the inside, he was in her embrace on the outside. Somehow she was fully present, and Clarence was sobbing, months of loss all surfacing in a moment. Tony looked at Maggie, tears streaming down her face.

  “Momma, I have so missed you, and I’m sorry we put you here, but none of us could take care of you, and I didn’t get a chance to tell you good-bye or anything…”

  “Hush, child, hush now, my baby.” She sat down, a small, thin woman holding her man-son in a tender embrace, stroking his head.

  Tony cried. Everything he missed about his own mother rose in his memory. But it was a good pain, a right longing, a true connection, and he allowed himself to be carried by its substance.

  “My baby,” she whispered, “I can’t stay long. This is a gift from God, this moment, a treasure unexpected, a taste of what you can’t imagine. Tell me quick how everyone is. Catch me up.”

  And he did, telling his mother about the babies that had been born, the jobs changed, what her children a
nd grandchildren were up to, the everyday mundane news of life that seems trivial but has eternal weight. Only a breath came between laughter and tears. And then Clarence introduced Maggie to his mother and they became instant friends.

  Tony was overwhelmed by the holiness of the everyday, the bits and pieces of light that surrounded and embraced the simple routines and tasks of the ordinary. Nothing anymore was ordinary.

  An hour passed, and Amelia knew the time was approaching for good-byes. “Clarence?”

  “Yes, Momma?”

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Anything, Momma. What can I do for you?”

  “When you come to visit me, would you bring your guitar and play for me?”

  Clarence sat back, surprised. “Momma, I haven’t played a guitar in years, but if that is something you would like, I’ll do that.”

  Amelia smiled. “I would like that very much. To hear you play is something I miss terribly. Sometimes I am able to hear music when I can hear nothing else, and it is a comfort to me.”

  “Then Momma, I would love to play for you. It will probably be good for me anyway.”

  “I know it will,” she predicted. “Just remember that regardless of where I am wandering in my inside world, I can hear you in the music.”

  She told Clarence that it was time and he nodded, their final embrace long and affectionate. Inside, Amelia reached her hand back and toward Tony, who took it. She squeezed tightly, then turned from the window toward him and in barely a whisper said, “Anthony, I will never be able to thank you enough. This is one of the single greatest gifts anyone has ever given me.”

  “You are welcome, Amelia, but it really was God’s idea. It has been my honor to participate.”

  Amelia turned back and spoke. “Maggie, come here, sweet girl.” Taking both of Maggie’s hands, she said in the softest voice, “Maggie, you make a mother’s heart sing. I am not prophesying anything, mind you.” She said with a chuckle, “You are worthy in your own right.”

  Maggie put her head down. “Thank you, Mrs. Wal—”