The Two-Knock Ghost

by Jeff Lombardo

  “So now it is time for my little trick. This was developed while reflecting on your specific case during a recent night of ruminations. This is what I want you to do from now until forever whenever you need a drink. I want you to immediately think of the love that you have for Christine and your children and the love that they foster for you. Then, think of your clients, how much you care about them and how they need you to be clear headed when you contemplate how to help them. Then think about your music and how much you love to create songs for your beloved. I want you to think about new notes for your next masterpiece of music for her. Then I want you to flip the switch and start to think of all the types of creativity there are for you to tap into right at that moment. Think about what you and Christine will talk about that night, or what you might have for dinner or if she’d be interested in a game of 500 Rummy or Four Score. Think about what to buy your kids for Christmas or their birthdays. Consider if it’s time to begin your memoirs. I want you to flood your mind with every possible creative thought that you can summon. Those thoughts fused with your reflections on the people and the things that you love will help you feel connected to your Higher Power in a pragmatic way. This approach, I believe, will help to carry you through those difficult moments of craving.”

  When he finished, he seemed exhausted, as if as he was speaking, the gas was disappearing from the tank and now it was gone.

  “Thank you, Dr. Banderas. You’ve given me a great deal to think about. I am looking very much forward to our next meeting where we can theorize some more.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, I believe as much as you are. Yours is an interesting case. Every few years someone comes to me with a series of conditions I would rate unique. It is a person with an unusual reality which intrigues me, makes me think and question things more, causes me to have more sleepless nights. Your Two-Knock Ghost is one of those unique entities that I have contemplated deeply and will continue to do so in the future and as time passes I will share with you my perspectives as they evolve. Together we will expand our understanding of the ghost considerably.”

  I stood to leave, stretching my hand over his enormous desk to shake his much smaller hand.

  “Take good care of yourself, Dr. McKenzie,” he said as our strong grip was locked.

  “You take good care too, Dr. Banderas.”

  He nodded his head slightly as he often did and he smiled as if to say thank you. We released our clasp and on my way out of the office, I couldn’t help but to reflect on how beautiful it was there in the jungle.

  Once I was in the waiting room, Dianne quickly asked me, “Same time next week, Dr. McKenzie?”

  “Absolutely,” I said with a huge grin on my face.

  As soon as I left the waiting room, I began thinking creatively. I began by asking myself, where could I be the most creative in my life right now? The answer was that I needed to take care of business with Toby’s wife, Alicia. At first I thought I would drive to her home, introduce myself and present her with some type of magnanimous gift. Then I began to question my motives for wanting to see her in person. Certainly I had no romantic interest in the woman. But did I want to meet her to apologize somehow for having had a hand in causing the death of her husband? Certainly I could not begin to put myself into a position conversationally to even get close to suggesting that I had anything to do with Toby’s death. Resentment might be borne instantly within her and that might lead to defeating my reason for going there.

  As I drove across town toward the Serenity Club, I thought about nothing else, but how to give this deserving woman something of myself that would benefit her and the children while simultaneously assuaging my guilt for having put Toby on the path to meeting up with Reubin Tatum.

  My thoughts around this type of creativity were hurtful, even though I knew that ultimately whatever I gave her would be deeply appreciated and appropriate. As I approached the Serenity Club, I had not yet finalized my gift plan for Alicia. I decided to change my routine and drive to the live oak. There, maybe I could find peace to ease my chaotic thoughts that would absolutely distract me from whatever was going on around me at the meeting. I parked in front of the Church of the Assension and looked at the live oak. It was strong and muscular, like Toby. I not only began thinking about him but I started to consider saying a little prayer to him, ask for his advice. If he gave me some, maybe my consternation over the correct way to approach Alicia might dissipate.

  As I scanned the limbs of the huge oak tree, I thought, “What if Toby had told her all about me—everything that he could? Then I appear at her door and introduce myself. I could create a catastrophe.” At that moment I formulated a prayer to Toby. At the same time, I asked my Higher Power—my God concept—to work in tandem with Toby and help provide a solution to my problem.

  As I sat in the car gazing at the tree’s majesty, I wished Toby could have been buried beneath it. He would have liked that.

  “Do it anonymously,” he said.

  I thought I heard Toby’s voice.

  “Toby, is that you?” Then I heard it again, but not as Toby’s voice, but as we humans hear a thought that enters our head.

  “Do it anonymously!” It seemed louder this time than a moment ago when in my reverie I believed it to have been uttered by Toby’s voice.

  My reasoning now took over. Anonymity was the answer. This way nobody would be embarrassed, or angry, or hurt. I imagined Alicia receiving an innocuous letter in the mail, opening it and finding a cashier’s check in it with a typed letter that said, “Use some of this toward the kids’ college fund and use the rest for a vacation for you and the kids. Toby was my friend and he always spoke about how much he loved you three.” Unsigned.

  That was it. Done deal. I would put the plan into motion tomorrow. I was ready to leave for the Serenity Club when I heard another voice in my head.

  “How much?”

  That was a fair question. A thousand? Two, three, four thousand dollars. Hardly! School would not be cheap in a decade and even a jaunt to Disney World for a week could be kind of pricey. Five, six, eight? Those numbers sounded too puny for the situation but when I went around the corner of my mind and considered the right number for the first time, it sounded perfect. I would send Alicia a check for $10,000 with a letter suggesting, to some degree, what to do with the money; but knowing full well that Alicia would have the final say about how the money was used. I would never know how the money would be spent. I was okay with that. I had come to know and trust this woman through her husband who loved her, who adored her.

  My problem solved, I used a heavy foot to get me to the Serenity Club. There I opened up like a desert flower after a spring rain. When I got the opportunity to talk, I did—more than I ever had anywhere before, about myself. It seemed like I talked incessantly. I told everybody about my devil dreams and how I thought the Two-Knock Ghost was an evil entity before it revealed itself to be my parents. I told them about my psychologist, not his name of course, and how he encouraged me to willingly invite the ghost in to reveal itself. I told my story, as much of it as I could recall. You could have heard a pin drop in that auditorium. Everyone was interested. Finally I told my audience how happy I was that so many wonderful things around me and within me were happening. There was no part of me that acted cocky about what I was experiencing. Everything I said was coming from my heart. I concluded by encouraging everyone not to be afraid to meet their demons head on because that would be the only way to defeat them. Then I genuinely offered my help to anyone anytime if they felt they needed it.

  On my way home, I began thinking about Alicia and the anonymous check and letter I would send her tomorrow. Then I thought about calling Christine, asking her if she was still on the same weekend off schedule, and asking her if she would like to spend a third weekend in a row together. And finally, I thought about as many of Dr. Banderas’s opinions as I could, especially his comment
that every character in a dream is the dreamer. Of course I had known about the concept for decades but until he reminded me, I hadn’t thought of the concept in relation to my dreams. As I approached the Beaches of Paradise, I looked forward to the next time the Two-Knock Ghost would appear. I was developing some poignant questions for it.

  * * * * *

  I had another wonderful weekend with Christine. Friday night we drove all the way from Snell Island to Ulmerton and had dinner at Golden Coral. It was one of Christine’s favorite restaurants. Boy, could she pack it in for a tiny woman. It amazed me that she had almost the same figure she had when I met her over thirty years ago.

  Saturday we went to the north end of St. Pete Beach to an art fair where a variety of vendors were exhibiting their creations. For dinner we ate outside behind the Don Cezar.

  We ran together both Saturday and Sunday morning. Then Sunday we drove to Tampa and first went to Lowry Park Zoo, then capped off the day with a multi hour fun time at Busch Gardens. I think it was our best weekend ever, with Christine acting more or less as the activities director. During that weekend with Christine I was reminded how much there was to see and do and share with your mate if you were happily married.

  Every time we sat down to eat, I thought about ordering a rum and Coke but I dismissed those thoughts quickly, often using Dr. Banderas’s suggestions. I thought first of my love for Christine. What was worth more—a successful marriage or a drink? Then I would try to create some fun or stimulating conversation with Christine. It worked. We stayed busy together, and I kept the demon of alcohol locked deep in the basement of my mind. Genuine affection was returning to us. We held hands everywhere we went. We gave each other little kisses fifty to sixty times each day. We snuggled on the couch Saturday night and watched The Shawshank Redemption. We held each other tightly at night in our king-sized bed. Only one thing was missing. We had not made love since Christine had asked me to leave. I believed that would happen when I came home to stay, when Christine felt that all was right with us.

  * * * * *

  After the weekend, I got busy. By Tuesday lunch I had typed a letter to Alicia Magnessun and secured the cashier’s check for her. I typed her address on the envelope, walked the few blocks to the little Post Office in the tobacco store near Publix and mailed it. She would get the letter Wednesday, the same day I would see Dr. Banderas. Since I had not had any devil dreams and the Two-Knock Ghost had not revisited me, my primary question for the session would be, “What is your advice as to how to ask Christine when I can come home?” I knew I was a novice in my sobriety, but I also knew myself—I thought—and if I promised myself and Christine that I would never take another drink, I never would. I had never broken a promise to Christine and I wasn’t about to start now when I was so desperate to get back home and make things work better than they ever had before.

  * * * * *

  Tuesday night, the devil attacked me again. This time in my bedroom where I was wearing the cream-colored pajamas under the cream-colored sheets. He was sprawled back against the ceiling; his hysterical laughter woke the man in the cream pajamas. When he ceased his laughing, he started criticizing me. “You’re so prideful, aren’t you, Mr. Big Shot? Everything going your way now. Good times with Christine, haven’t had a drink in a few days, good sessions with your little psychologist, running every day, so many strategies for how to improve your life. You really think you’ve made it, but you’re just a baby beginning to crawl. You have no idea the torment and temptations I will send you through the years that will knock you off your cocky perch. I think I’ll come down there right now and eat your face off.”

  Knock, knock, loud and powerful. Both the devil and my dream self reacted to it.

  “Come in,” I yelled. And there they were emerging through the glowing door in all their splendor. My beautiful, powerful, loved beyond comprehension—parents, the Two-Knock Ghost.

  “Be gone, Satan,” they said in unison, in the name of the Creator of the Universe whose power commands you to hell.”

  The devil, still pinned to the ceiling, was no longer laughing. Instead, the look on his face recognized my parents’ power. Then an ever so slight altering of his eyes indicated that he really didn’t want another beat down from them. Without a fight he merely retracted through the ceiling and the room belonged to my parents and me. I sat up in bed as they sat on each side of the end of the bed facing me. We were a triangle of family.

  “Thank you for saving me again. It’s no fun having my face ripped apart.”

  “We understand, son,” my father said.

  “But we can’t come to rescue you anymore, Robert,” my mother said. “It’s time for us to go to our next level.”

  “But why so soon, only after three visits?”

  “We’ve told you everything we need to tell you son,” my father added calmly. “And we’ve watched you take hold of and run fast with the information.”

  “Your life is swiftly becoming what it should be, Robert,” Mom said. “No one can assure that you will never dream about the devil again or take another drink, but we both can assure you that you are in the process of taking control of your life again. As you gain strength in doing so, the devil dreams will lessen as will your dependency on alcohol.”

  “Our work is finished here, son,” my father tag teamed. “The Gate Keeper told us it’s time to leave Respite. You’re on your own now to find your own way with the information we’ve given you.”

  “I’ll miss you immensely,” I said. “It’s been kind of fun having you around for a while, knowing it was you who were knocking on my doors.”

  “We will miss you too, Robert,” Mom said sadly, “but just as I said, there are no guarantees about devil dreams or drinking, there are no absolutes that one or the other of us won’t appear as characters in your future dreams. We simply will no longer be the Two-Knock Ghost as you call us. Two Knocks’ work is done. You know we both love you dearly.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “It’s time to go, son,” Dad said as he began to stand. Mom rose also, and they both approached me as I was sitting up against the headboard. Mom bent down and presented her cheek and I kissed it tenderly then she hugged me. Then my father and I blew farts on each other’s necks and then he bear hugged me surprisingly. He walked to the opposite side of the bed and took my mother’s left hand in his right as I imagined he had done a million times. And without saying another word, a golden glow surrounded them as they floated backward through the bedroom door. The last acts of love they gave me were a smile from my father as my mother blew me a kiss with her right hand.

  My dream self sat upright against the headboard for what seemed to be several minutes. I was thinking about what had just happened. First of all, an entity I believed was a monstrous evil turned out to be a tremendous ally for self-realization. It had come three times and now it was gone. The man in the cream pajamas had a heart full of joy at having shared so much with it and a heart full of sorrow at its departure. Gradually, my dream self slid down beneath the sheets and into sleep.

  The next morning I awoke refreshed, looking forward to Dr. Banderas and spilling my guts about the week I’d had and about how I had considered his interpretation of my dream. I ran for a solid thirty minutes, mostly up and down the variety of streets in Five Towns. When I got back to the condo I immediately put a towel on the piano bench and played the song I had most recently written for Christine. While doing so, I felt vague and haunting notes inside my head trying to form themselves together—the initial seedlings for my next song for her.

  I felt great. The devil’s taunts of the night before weren’t lingering negatively like they used to. Satan was wrong. I and everyone who loved me and cared about me was right. I had too many wonderful things and people to live for not to develop myself into a better man. I would drink no more rum and Coke and I would not go to my bedroom for hours on end, ignorin
g Christine. I would no longer feel the loneliness as I walked to the bedroom each day, for now I knew that I had had a little sister and that when she died, I longed for her return. I thought that I might even try to forgive Sister Timothy for scaring me half to death, but not today. I was too excited to see Dr. Banderas.

  As I breezed across town I thought about my clients for the day and I wondered if Mary Bauer had taken her cruise yet with her husband. I hoped she was progressing well with her newly found peace of mind. I even looked forward to seeing Amanda, my eternally effervescent and efficient secretary. And lastly for the morning, I looked forward to my hot chocolate even though it was 92 degrees outside.

  “Hello my sparkly one,” I greeted Amanda.

  “Bon jour monsieure,” she responded from behind her desk.

  “Como talle vous, madame?”

  “Sava bien, boss.”

  I cracked up. We had fun like that almost every day. Another reason to be sober. She handed me a list of my clients for the day and as I walked with it to my office, she asked “hot chocolate?” And I answered, “Most definitely.”