Chapter 70 – Childhood Miracles (Live to See Another Day)
Sunday evening June 15, 2008 – 8:30 PM
Roughly twelve hours after we left Frank Newlan passed out on the carpeted floor of his living room there he remained, unconscious and dead to the world.
Could Newlan’s life have come to an end before either of his enemies ever got a chance to lay a hand on him? Could Newlan have finally succumbed to his own self-inflicted abuse? Could Newlan have finally laid down his burden once and for all? Who but the Man upstairs can say for sure? But what we do know is that Newlan possessed a strong spirit. What we do know is that Newlan possessed a strong will to live. What we do know is that Newlan was not about to give anyone, be they friend or enemy, the satisfaction of finding him checked-out in such a compromising position.
What we do know is that, even in his comatose state, Newlan’s shadowy vestige still roamed the Earth, a free man; and somewhere in the deep, dark, crevices of his inner being, his vision still shined on brightly, burning like a beacon of light, soaring like an eagle in flight.
What we do know is that, even in his near-death condition, Newlan’s torpid mind reflected itself waywardly onto an incident from his distant past, when he was no more than five years old; an incident which began, innocently enough, with him frolicking around in the tenement hallways of a rundown, squalid apartment complex where he and his extended family lived back in those days.
Newlan’s listless mind reflected back on the fact that they resided on the sixth floor, just as he did today; but of course, without all of the wonderful amenities which he could now lay claim to.
Newlan’s lethargic mind reflected back on a memory that, up until this very moment, he had dutifully repressed for all these many decades.
Newlan’s indolent mind reflected back to a simpler time; a lazy, hazy day from his pre-school aged youth; a day filled with fascination and wonder; a blissful day just like any other day…until his sister Rose tossed a big rubber ball in his direction that is.
Newlan’s dormant mind suddenly recalled how he dove for the spheroid like an all-star shortstop chasing down a ground ball. Newlan suddenly recalled how he flipped over the sixth floor stairwell like an Olympic gymnast dismounting from an uneven bar routine. Newlan suddenly recalled how his weightless frame began to plummet like a stone, like a sky-walker who slips off his high wire, spiraling downward to meet his imminent demise.
Newlan’s quiescent mind recalled how he closed his eyes and prepared for the end, how he blocked out his fears, and how a split second later he found himself dangling from the second floor railing; somehow, by some miraculous act of God, he was still alive.
Newlan’s hibernating mind ruminated over the recollection of how he pulled his forty pound body up over the railing and how he began to cry the tears of a frightened child.
However, like all children, Newlan was blessed with the fanciful recuperative powers of innocence and youth, and ultimately, within a matter of minutes, he block the memory out of his mind, seemingly for good…and from that moment on, he had never once reflected on the terrifying incident, never again, right up until this very day.
Perhaps the mishap never really happened, but in Newlan’s mind it was all too real. His sister, who would have been no more than an infant at the time, possessed not even the faintest recollection of the incident. But nonetheless, in Newlan’s mind, the apparition was real; as real as his worst nightmares; as vivid as his most pleasant dreams.
It is a well documented fact that Newlan suffered from awful bouts of night terrors throughout his younger years; night terrors which left him thrashing and screaming in his bed; night terrors which left him unable to wake himself up until it was almost too late; until his life was inches away from being snatched up by a murderous madman.
It is also a well documented fact that in the years that followed Newlan’s long since blotted out stairway tumble, he had endured countless nightmares where he found himself plunging endlessly through the sky, unable to wake himself up until the calling of death practically stared him in the face; until his body was inches away from being smashed down into the Earth below by the undeniable force of gravity. But never once did he, or anyone else for that matter, relate any of those awful dreams to a true-to-life event which actually did in fact occur back in his early childhood…and from there, left on its own to grow unchecked, the bottled-up memory slowly took root in the fertile soil of some hidden canyon, buried deep within his thought-provoking mind.
And so dear reader as unfathomable as it may be to comprehend, a lucent power, a power greater than any human being could ever hope to muster, saved the life of Frank Newlan, lo those many years ago. Some might call it a miracle. Some might conclude that he was spared for reasons known only to the good Lord above. Some might surmise that his time simply was not up. But regardless of what anyone thinks, Newlan did not die on that long forgotten day…and miraculously, he did not die on this day either.
Miraculously, an ethereal voice from beyond this world informed Newlan that there was still work to be done. Miraculously, a spiritual voice from the heavens apprised him to behold the dawning of a brand new day. Miraculously, a divine voice from the realm of the immortal instructed him to wake up and face his fears…and miraculously, that just what he did.
Miraculously, Newlan woke up with a new lease on life. Miraculously, he woke up with his soul intact. Miraculously, he worked himself up into a sitting position and he decided that he was famished. And just like that, he raised himself up off the floor and fixed himself a meal, as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened to him on this most extraordinary of days…even as all the while, somewhere out before him, silently loomed the bleak backdrop to his inevitable…end of days.
…
After a reviving dinner of stir-fried chicken, Newlan relaxed on his leather sofa and treated himself to a glass of wine as he intently took in Game 5 of the NBA Finals between the Boston Celtics and the Los Angeles Lakers. However, despite his fixation on the basketball game, major particles of Newlan’s mind remained lost in the clouds; still focused on the embarrassing episode from the early hours of this morning, as if he were being tortured by a piercing braid of thorns jammed firmly into his skull. And furthermore, despite his riveted attention on the unrelenting hoop wars, boundless particles of Newlan’s mind remained lost on a magic carpet ride; still focused on his unexpected sensuous encounter with Marianne Plante, as if he were being devoured by a voraciously provocative wet dream. Yes, despite his scrutiny of the fast-paced action on the basketball court, prodigious particles of Newlan’s cerebellum remained lost in freefalling tumble, swooping dangerously through the air; still focused on the stunning events of the last week and a half, as if he were being force to observe an agonizing rebroadcast of a life gone terribly wrong.
“How could my radar have been so off base?” wondered Newlan as he brooded over his violent encounter with Saeed Kahn.
“I actually tackled him. How the hell am I ever gonna face him again? How the hell am I ever gonna live this down?” pondered Newlan, but all the while he still stubbornly insisted that his erstwhile friend had been up to no good.
And while Newlan’s predicament regarding his treatment of Saeed Kahn may have weighed heavily on his mind, at the same time he remained consumed with a ravenous desire for his forlorn lover, Marianne Plante…and while he was well aware of the fact that his impulsive actions might have dire consequences somewhere down the line, he just couldn’t seem to let it go…and while he fretted over the possible repercussions of his illicit affair, not surprisingly, he couldn’t quite seem to get the John Breslin murder trial out of his mind either.
And yet despite his dark forebodings, Newlan’s hope was that perhaps once the albatross of the trial had been removed from his neck, once he had relinquished the dead weight of a man’s life which was still clinging desperately onto his shoulders like a baby in its moth
er’s arms, then maybe, just maybe, his suddenly tumultuous life might finally regain some semblance of normalcy.
Maybe over time, the incident with Saeed Kahn would slowly fade away and become a thing of the past.
Maybe over time, Marianne Plante would return to her husband and leave him alone to wallow in his empty, self-indulgent life just as he had always done.
Or maybe, just maybe, Frank Newlan was about to enter a haunted house of horrors, a perfect storm of irony, a confluence of killers, from which he would never escape alive.
What the future holds for Frank Newlan we cannot say, but what we do know is that his journey would not end on this night. What we do know is that, despite his many problems, on this night, the only thing Newlan truly desired was to witness a Celtics victory and another historic championship for his beloved hometown team.
As it has been so often stated by many a proud athlete, when it comes to the heat of competitive battle, the contestants tend to dwell on the gut-wrenching losses a lot more than they enjoy the rare victories, and Newlan was no different in that regard. As such, with a hard fought championship season standing on the brink of being realized, standing so close that an entire metropolitan region could practically taste it, Newlan expected the participants to seize the moment; seize the moment like there was no tomorrow; seize the moment just as he had done when the splendor of Marianne Plante’s enticing body lay before him for the taking.
But alas, unfortunately for Newlan, the moment was not to be seized, neither by him or the Celtics, but not for lack of trying.
Unfortunately for Newlan, regardless of what he may have believed, his encounter with Marianne Plante had been merely a scintilla of pleasure mixed in with a lifetime worth of pain; yes indeed, his rendezvous with his high school sweetheart had been merely a smidgen of sensual revelry stirred into a pot of never-ending heartache.
And in the end, regardless of the dizzying pleasure/pain quota, we must ask ourselves whether it is worth it for any man to take the risk of inviting the same misfortune which had befallen the luckless Fred Miller upon themselves? Newlan couldn’t say for certain, but now that the gauntlet had been thrown down, he fretfully decided that he was determined to keep his love alive by any means possible, be it by hook or by crook. Despite his philosopher’s heart, Newlan wasn’t altogether sure as to whether his impetuous decree was right or wrong, but in the end he waveringly decided that he was ready to fight to recapture the love of his life, even if it meant that he died trying.
As for the Celtics, unfortunately for Newlan, regardless of whatever levels of effort he expected his pro sports teams to exert of themselves, another valiant comeback bid by the men in green had fallen just inches short…and just as he himself had done, the Lakers lived…to see another day.
From the Eyes of a Juror Page 83