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Subject: {ASSM} Tom's Diary 4-6-02 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mf, cons)
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<1st attachment, "Tom's_Diary_4-06-02.doc" begin>
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The following is fiction of an adult nature. If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it. IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Official stuff: Story codes: teen, mf, ff, fF, inc, con.
If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2003, by Gina Marie Wylie.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots. All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.
Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/
My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/
And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http:// www.ewpub.org/
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Tom's Diary
Saturday, April 6, 2002
I awoke from sleep, looked over at the clock on the nightstand.
It was a little after one. In spite of our earlier unity, Mary
had moved off to one side of the bed. I rolled back to cuddle up
to her, reveling in the warmth of her physical presence, the
warmth of her soul in proximity to mine. I smiled to myself
remembering that once Mary had worried about being a
'Thursday's.' No, I thought as I settled back into sleep, you
are going to be a 'most every day' if I can find some way to make
it happen.
There was no discernable transition; I was sitting up in my bed,
alone. Almost alone, a small rotund man was standing a few feet
away; he bore a slight resemblance to Danny Devito, although this
man looked more Semitic. That and he was wearing a yarmulke.
"Hello, Tom," the man said.
I looked around. "Where's Mary?" I remember being a little
curious, but not as much as I should have been.
"Oh, she's still sleeping. No need to disturb her."
"What are you doing in my bedroom?" I asked.
He smiled, a wry, ironic smile. "I'm God, Tom. I pretty much go
where I please."
I smiled to myself. So, I was dreaming! I was going to make a
smart comment, but his level and serious expression changed my
mind.
"We need to discuss a few things, Tom," he went on.
Okay, a dream. I mentally laughed. Oh well, sure! Why not!
"The other night you talked to Joanna; confirmed something you
had begun to wonder about, concerning the first time the two of
you made love."
"She wanted me to make love to her," I agreed. "She was curious
about the questions she wanted to ask, but pretty sure what was
going to happen once the topic came up."
"That's right, Tom. Now I want you to think about why you made
love to Sue Ellen the first time; then think about why you made
love to her again yesterday afternoon."
I mentally winced. "I did it with my best friend's girl because
I wanted to and because she wanted to. We just wanted sex. I'm
not proud of the first time or today." It was impossible to
forget Sue Ellen and I earlier on Friday. If the first time had
been a desire for sex, this last time had been pure animal lust.
We'd made love furiously the entire time Tony was in the shower,
not twenty feet away; we'd both come the instant he turned off
the water.
"I can't justify either time," I said sadly. "I betrayed my best
friend twice, just so I could have sex with his girlfriend."
"Did you betray him with Sue Ellen at the party?" the man asked.
There was no way I was going to think of this guy as God. None.
"No. I knew they were apart; Tony had said I could if I wanted
to."
"Why do you think Sue Ellen wanted to do it, that first time?"
It was tempting to say because we were both horny, but a few days
later, at the orgy, I remember Sue Ellen telling me about Tony
and her problems; Tony knew one and exactly one way to make love.
The first time Sue Ellen and I had been together, I'd shown her
different. And the second time. Yesterday? Well, I guessed you
could call it different too.
The man stood silently, watching me. "So now you understand that
Sue Ellen and Tony had a problem." His voice was firm and
confident.
I'd thought it, there was no way he could have known what I was
thinking. Then I remembered that this was a dream. The dream
version of God would know anything I did.
"Do you think it was a good idea for Tony and Sue Ellen to break
up, even if for such a short time?"
Sue Ellen had me, Tony had Fleur. Mindy had said something about
long talks with Tony; I was pretty sure they did more than talk.
Mindy had also spent a lot of time with Sue Ellen at the party.
"Tony and Sue Ellen love each other," the man told me. "Right
now they are sleeping in each other's arms, blissfully happy,
with very large grins on their faces. A long time from now, Tom,
their children and grandchildren will gather at their graveside
and marvel at how they could build such an enduring love."
I contemplated that; it was, I was sure, my conscience telling me
the end justified the means.
"You have it backwards," I was told. "The means justifies the
end. Each time you made love to Sue Ellen, she loved Tony
more."
"Every time Sue Ellen and I have been together; we came, then she
gets dressed and leaves as fast as she can." I heard the
bitterness in my voice, and I was surprised. It was something
I'd noticed each time; I hadn't realized I was upset by it and
how much I was upset.
"One day in not so long, you'll figure out why." He gave a wry
chuckle.
"We should move on to other things. Monday you told Eleanor
Johannsen that you believed in God. You were quite positive
about it. Wednesday, you told Joanna that you weren't sure if
there was a God, and if there was, you didn't like him. What
happened in the two and a half days between the two answers?"
It was my turn for a wry chuckle. "That would be the two and a
half hours I hung upside down. I had time to think, really think
for a change. Nothing concentrates your attention like the
threat of imminent death.
"I thought about what happened to Jenny, Mary, Elizabeth, Shannon
and their father. Jenny's parents, her brother. Roger Parker
and Keith Driscoll. I didn't understand how a kind, loving God,
who is, according to what I've heard, all powerful, but who
allows these appalling things happen to people. And at that, it
doesn't take long reading the newspaper before you realize how
lucky we are." I was almost crying. "Lucky? Is that what we're
supposed to accept? That it's luck or God's Will that things
aren't a thousand times worse?
"Is it luck or God's Will that Sam Reese and his parents are
dead? Bill Leary? My older brother or sister, whoever it was,
cut from Mom's womb, instead of born like JR and me? God's great
and wonderful plan?" You can't spit in a dream; probably a good
thing, because it still looked like I was in my own bed.
The man shrugged. "I won't justify the nature and shape of the
universe. Someday you'll mention this part of our conversation
to Elizabeth, the part where I tell you that in not so very long
from now, she will put together all the clues from observations
in astronomy and cosmology about the shape of the universe, then
she'll have a good laugh at what your astronomers are seeing.
"Accept this, Tom: the universe was created. At one point in
time, it didn't exist. Then it did. The universe grows and
changes, Tom, each moment of its existence. Eventually, the
universe will reach an end state. That end state is my goal,
Tom.
"It's like taking your car down to the supermarket at the corner.
You go out, turn right onto the street, stop at the main
intersection, turn right again, go a mile, make another right
into the parking lot, park and go inside.
"Those are the steps you have to go through, to go from A to B,
Tom. Yes, you can change them. Go left instead of right at the
street; you can eventually get to where you're going, but only
after a whole bunch of left turns, instead of the much easier
right turns and a much shorter route. Or, you can simply start
taking random directions; maybe you'll get there, maybe not.
There is a best way to go there; there are a large number of
other ways to get there, and an infinite number of choices that
won't do the job.
"The universe, Tom, is the sum of its parts. Every event has a
cause, every cause an event that follows. Each event predicated
on the those that went before."
I contemplated that; unsure why I should care. What did this
have to do with JR coming into my room to get me in bed? Or
making love to my best friend's girl, twice, when I shouldn't
have?
"Tom, what is synergy?"
I knew the answer to that. It had come up in connection with
Shannon's music. "A plus B should equal B plus A. But with
synergy, you get a little something more."
"A sports team, an orchestra; they have synergy," he told me. I
nodded. "People have synergies when they work together, isn't
that so? In any endeavor."
"They can," I told him. "Although sometimes I think the synergy
can be negative." Sam Reese and Yolanda Melendez came to mind.
The man shrugged. "You've studied that, you should know the
importance of the sign of a change."
I nodded, yeah, that made sense. Just another direction.
"So, Tom, tell me: Can a person by him or herself have
synergy?"
I thought about it, "I guess."
"Michelangelo, Da Vinci. Every artist. A man building a
house; be it a lean-to of sticks, a straw hut or the Taj Mahal,"
he explained.
I had to nod again.
"Tell me, Tom, where does the synergy come from?"
"Inspiration and perspiration," I guessed.
"That's some of it. What's inspiration called?"
Hey, you say you're God. I can connect those dots! "The soul."
He nodded. "And tell me Tom; Monday, you believed in me.
Wednesday, you didn't. Why would God be happier with you today,
than on Monday?"
"Not a clue," I shot back. "It doesn't make sense."
"Because a person who believes, for the most part accepts those
things they believe in. A person who isn't sure, questions what
they don't understand. A person who accepts things isn't as able
to grow, to see new things or expand their understanding. They
just accept. A doubter doesn't get complacent; you've learned
lately how bad it can be, when the things you think you know turn
out not to be so."
I nodded ruefully. Oh yeah!
"The universe is made up of the sum of everything that is and
was. The present exists because of what's happened before. The
future depends on today. To get to where the universe should end
up, things have to happen. Objectively, some of those things
aren't pleasant. Some are horrible; too horrible to contemplate.
Yet for the universe to wind up where it's going, they have to
happen. It might not seem better at the time, but in the end, it
will make it all turn out for the best."
"How can misery and suffering make anything turn out for the
better?" I asked. "What good can come from the death of my older
brother or sister? A person who never got a chance to live?"
"Gone but not forgotten," the man's voice was gentle. "You
remember, and as a result, the things you do will forever be
changed by that knowledge. Sure, in a million or billion years,
no one will know or care that Tom Ferguson lived; nor that his
older sister or brother didn't. But your actions, Tom, will have
an impact on their lives; not huge, but it will be there. In
cosmology, a little change now means a great huge change a long
time later."
I shook my head. "This is just..." I was going to say bullshit,
decided I didn't want to find out what the penalty from God would
be for cussing to his face. Sure, it was a dream, right? "This
is a dream," I repeated my own thought. "I don't believe."
"And as I said, I prefer it that way.
"Once upon a time, Tom, I used some pretty spectacular things to
prove my existence. Humans are a particularly stubborn people.
Give them any amount of time and they come up with an alternate
possibility. Burning bushes and stone tablets written on the
Mount. Floods and fire and destruction!" He laughed, shaking
his head. "Even parting the Red Sea! That's my favorite!
People say it was the tides. Of course it was tides! They think
they understand, they believe they know. What they have
forgotten to ask themselves, is why there and why then?"
I blinked, and then swallowed. Oh. I could connect those dots,
too.
"So, why you?" I looked at him; that had crossed my mind. I was
crazy; this was a dream.
"It's very simple, Tom. Unbelievable, but simple. Why not you?
"I'll leave you with some additional things to think about. They
are things you can easily rationalize if you want. The first is
something your subconscious knows, but your conscious forgot four
years ago, today. Then two things that your subconscious
couldn't possibly know. A small, trivial gift, then two more
that add up to the greatest gift you will ever have, far
transcending the one your uncle gave you Thursday.
"First, four years ago today, you were standing in the kitchen,
having just gotten your allowance. Your mother was praising you,
having given you the agreed upon bonus for good behavior, four
quarters for video games, over and above the regular ten
dollars."
I remembered those days; I'd gotten the bonus nearly every week.
"You were standing there, the money in your pocket, basking in
the glow of good deeds and the anticipation of your just reward.
You stood with one hand in your pocket, rubbing one of the
quarters, imagining what pleasure it would bring. Your mother
decided to show you how to thaw meat for dinner that night, and
called you over to pay attention to what she was doing with the
microwave.
"She wanted you to push the buttons, so you would better remember
how to do it. You pulled your hand out of your pocket, after
letting the quarter go, so you could do what your mother asked.
"You heard it at the time, but were intent on something else.
You didn't understand until later; the tunk of a quarter landing
on the floor, the whisper of sound as it rolled, then a slight
ting as it hit the front of the grill at the base of the
refrigerator. It didn't make any more sound, because it was
swallowed up by accumulated dust."
I remembered, vaguely, Mom showing me how to thaw meat. I didn't
remember any particular first time, but obviously there had to
have been one. I didn't remember losing a quarter.
"The quarter is still there, under the refrigerator," he told me.
"Oh, and the two important gifts? When you were just three,
Joanna was due and your parents decided they needed a bigger
house. They bought the other half of the duplex." Not exactly
earth shaking news, I thought.
"They changed the kitchen. The refrigerator was moved from the
old kitchen to the new. The workmen found an accumulation of
dust under it, just three years worth. They didn't say anything,
just cleaned it up and went away.
"That was three years, this is thirteen years. No one has looked
since, Tom. Except it's not just a little dust now, it's a lot.
It acts, Tom, as an insulator. It makes the compressor that
operates the cooling system have to work harder; so it gets
hotter. The dust traps the heat as well.
"It's charred already, Tom. Your mother has mentioned on
occasion she smells something burning in your kitchen; your
father jokes about if it was last night's or tonight's dinner.
Two days from now, almost exactly, it will start to smolder. A
half hour or so later, it will burst into flame. A little later,
the overheated compressor will crack, allowing the coolant to
rapidly escape; that rapid escape will blow the dust all around
the room, Tom.
"Your father, Tom, is a good man; your mother has wanted things
that he thought weren't really a concern; one of those was fire
drills. Your mother was concerned, so he went along. Except, he
never thought about it. None of you ever did. The plan is that
you all come down both sets of steps and go out the front door.
"No one ever gave any thought about how to get out of the
upstairs if both sets of stairs were burning; the steps start not
ten feet apart, Tom. Two days from now, you'll get Elizabeth and
Mary to safety, then die trying to rescue Jennifer. Mary goes in
after you, and she dies. The smoke will be worse in the other
half of the house; only your mother wakes up. And she dies
trying to get your father awake."
I looked at the man, wanting to punch him in the nose. To rend
him limb from limb.
"Oh, and you might want to check the smoke detector in the living
room," he continued, offhandedly adding another thought. "Your
father put in a new battery on New Year's. Except the battery is
defective. None of you have noticed the LED light has been out
for two months.
"Sleep good, Tom."
I opened my eyes. I really was sitting upright in my bed; this
time I could feel Mary's presence. As always, it was comforting,
and I could draw strength from her and gather my wits just from
knowing she was there.
I carefully got out of bed, went out to the hall. The door to
Jenny's room was closed; she and Elizabeth were asleep within. I
went downstairs, peeked into the family room from the entrance
hall. Looked up the other set of steps. Mom and Dad, JR and
Shannon were asleep up there.
I walked the short distance to the kitchen, wiggled the grate at
the bottom of the fridge. I lay down, prone, to get a better
grip; finally found that if you lifted up and pulled, it
unhooked. Tufts of dust and dirt pulled away; I could smell the
faint odor of smoke.
I pulled handfuls of the mess crammed in there. Dust bunnies on
serious steroids. I saw the charring; I lost it.
I'd done so many things for so many; I was the rock. The hard
one; in all senses of the word. I'd been there for Jenny, for
Mary, Elizabeth and Shannon. All the others. I'd sat calmly and
quietly in the ruins of my car for more than two hours while men
worked to free me, smelling the gasoline that would have
incinerated me in a flash if someone goofed. I'd joked with
those men.
And now, laying on my stomach on the kitchen floor of the house
I'd grown up in, the tears came hard; buckets and gushers, more
even than the night Jenny revealed her soul to me.
I didn't hear my dad behind me; I did flinch when the light went
on. "Are you okay, Tom?" he asked quietly. He laughed lightly.
"I was going to ask something about a reasonable reason my son
should be laying on the floor, crying. I don't think I'll ever
make that joke again."
I opened my eyes; saw the silver shape, nestled in the dust. I
reached out, ignored the searing heat. Instead I flipped the
quarter towards my dad.
He fielded it neatly, then cursed and dropped it. "Damn, that's
hot!" I could see him sucking on his fingers.
I started pulling on the dirt, more of it. "Help me," I said
simply.
He saw what I was doing and silently went and got a paper grocery
bag from the cupboard and started stuffing the crud from under
the fridge in it. "Some of this is pretty warm," Dad said, his
voice thoughtful.
I handed him some of the charred material. He swallowed, looked
at me. "Guess I messed up pretty bad," he said quietly.
"Oh, when was the last time you skipped the 'clean under the
fridge' task on the list?" I asked, my voice bitter. "No, this
one goes to ignorance and complacency. To drive home the lesson,
it's what you think you know that isn't so, that is a bigger
danger than the true unknown."
Mom appeared, looking at us. "An odd time to clean the kitchen.
What's that I smell burning?"
Dad got up, went and hugged her hard, kissed her harder.
"Promise me," Dad told Mom, "that the next time you smell smoke,
you will kick my lazy butt into gear until I find out what's
smoking."
JR came in, yawning. She stooped down, picking up the quarter.
"Hey, someone dropped this. Can I keep it?"
"No," I said quietly, "we're going to frame it and hang it on the
living room wall, by the smoke detector."
"Smoke detector?" JR replied, looking mystified.
"Come," I showed them the dead detector that had nearly resulted
in a lot of dead family members. Long before a good battery was
in it, there were a lot of questions that I answered by shaking
my head.
I simply shook them off, smiled. "I'm going for a walk."
It was the middle of the night, but Phoenix nights in April are
summer nights most other places; almost balmy, in the 60's. I
walked.
I don't think I walked more than a hundred yards when I saw the
bright flash in the distance, a bit later heard the crash and
boom of thunder. I modified my planned route, harkening back to
what my dad had told me the Sunday we'd gone over to Mary's.
When he walked, we ended up back at the house. I'd gotten us
back there, but it had been a long walk indeed.
Now, I'd come another long ways. I started walking around the
block, not aiming to go far.
I didn't walk long. I'd been enjoying the growing lightning
display to the south; it was pretty clear it was headed my way.
I changed to just walking up and down the block in front of the
house.
A car pulled up next to me; I glanced at it. The police. I
laughed at myself. A month ago, I'd have been nervous and
flustered. Now, I was just curious to see if it was going to be
Joe Moss or Detective Harris who got out, or Surly and Polite.
"Kind of late, guy," one of the two men in the car told me,
leaning out the open window.
"I needed some time to think."
"You have ID?" the policeman asked.
"No." I waved at the house. "The lights are on, my parents are
up. We had a small kitchen fire. Close. Real close!"
"And we can just go knock on the door, and they'll know who you
are?" the cop asked.
I tapped my pants pocket. "I might have left my wallet in my
room, but I brought my keys."
It was I thought, not going to be enough. Still, I found I had a
question for them. I walked towards the police car, stopped a
few feet away.
"Can I ask you a question?" I asked the cop. He'd opened the
door and was getting out.
"About what?"
"What does it take, if I wanted to ride with you? To watch what
you do?"
"How old are you?" He was now facing me, looking at me closely.
"Sixteen."
"Not a chance, sorry. They let some Eagle Scouts do it, but they
have a special program for ride along. You an Eagle Scout?"
"No, sir. Just curious." I'd asked Johnnie Dugan about it, the
police seemed to have the same answer.
"It can get a little hairy, sometimes," the policeman went on.
"Couple of weeks ago, my partner and I got a call on a domestic
dispute. A guy beating on his wife. We got there, found her
beating on him." He waved at his partner. "Howie there, he
caught her arm, just before she was going to brain her old man
with a cast iron frying pan. The guy teed off on Howie. It took
six of us to bring them in."
I saw his eyes were on me. "And you don't even want to think
about rolling on a traffic accident."
"Wednesday it took Johnnie Dugan two and a half hours to cut me
from my car."
The policeman looked at me closer. "Ferguson?"
I nodded. "Joe Moss asked us to keep an eye on your place.
Looks like another of the rapist bastards is gonna make bail
tomorrow."
"Which one?" I was curious.
"Asshole Parker."
I could faintly hear his partner say something, and the cop
laughed. "Ah, that would be Mr. Parker, of course."
I smiled. "A stupid asshole; I know the guy."
The cop smiled, then his eyes went beyond me. I turned and saw
Dad.
"A problem, Tom?"
"No, we're just talking."
"You Mr. Ferguson?" the policeman asked.
"Yes."
"Quite a boy you have here."
There was a spectacular lightning bolt in the south. It had
branches and arms that seemed to fill the sky; the thunder was
just a few seconds later.
"I'd agree," Dad said, "except that in a few seconds, he's going
to be all wet."
The cop grinned. "And I'm getting back in the car and going back
on patrol. Have a nice day."
They pulled away, and Dad laid his arm on my shoulder.
"You should come in."
I nodded, turned and walked with him towards the house. We'd
just reached the porch, when there was a sudden rush of sound,
and it was raining buckets.
"Not a drip!" Dad said with pleasure as we stood in the
entrance.
"Thanks," I told him.
He waved at the kitchen. "I've watched you help people the last
few weeks. Never dreamed it would be me, next. Like you said,
the worst thing is when something you are sure is under control,
only to find out it isn't."
Not so very much later, I was asleep again. Unlike any other
time, I wrapped myself around Mary, hugged her really, really
tight, finding solace in having people who loved me, in close
physical contact.
When I woke up I found myself still holding onto Mary as tightly
as I could; somehow she'd rolled over and was holding me pretty
much the same way. Our eyes met, our lips met, and then our
tongues.
Mary put one leg over mine, pulling me tightly against her and I
squirmed to make the fit even better and Mary did the same. I
put both of my arms around her, flat against her back, putting
all the pressure I could, to weld her body to mine. It was way
too much; I came even before I was inside her, shooting streams
of milky white sperm over her abdomen and belly.
"God, I'm sorry, Mary!" I was embarrassed and frustrated; I
wasn't sure which dominated.
She just shook her head, keeping me tight against her. She
didn't have an orgasm, but like me, she wanted to be held.
Both of us relaxed, I lifted my lips from hers and kissed her on
the nose. "You are so beautiful!"
"Part of me tells me that I'm having a second childhood; wanting
to experience the wonderful sex I never knew I'd missed. Part of
me tells me that you're a wonderful man, that any woman would be
lucky to have you love her; once, twice, ten or a million
times."
She kissed me on the nose too. "That's all my heart and parts
lower talking. The gray stuff between my ears reminds me that a
few days ago I buried my husband of seventeen years. That I have
two daughters, one your age; daughters I love and am responsible
for." She smiled, and then bounced her hip against my mild
erection. "That this isn't something I should be doing."
Her gray eyes laughed, like I remembered from the first time I
saw her. "This wins." She turned, pressed her pussy against my
ready again cock.
This time it was slower, more deliberate lovemaking. Much
slower. I'd bring her close, fighting not to come early again;
then I'd back off and slow down for a minute or so, before
repeating. Finally Mary couldn't stand the waiting any more, and
started moving hard against me. I tried once more to slow down,
but my heart wasn't in it. My erection, though, that was right
where I wanted it to be.
Mary smiled at me, closed her eyes and was asleep again.
I kissed her eyelids as gently as I could, then stole out of my
room, a set of clean clothes in my hand so I wouldn't have to
disturb her later.
When I went in the kitchen after my shower, Uncle Craig was
standing at the counter, a coffee cup in hand.
"Ellen told me everyone was sleeping in late," he told me. "I
guess so."
I nodded to him, walked over and lay down on the floor in front
of the refrigerator again. I reached inside and felt the place
that had been the hottest before. It was warm, but not
unpleasantly so.
When I stood up, Uncle Craig was looking at me with a wry
expression on his face. "Let me guess, Ellen has something new
on the 'to do' list."
I went over to the sink and washed my hands. Otherwise I'd have
been tempted into a mistake.
I finished, dried them and turned to face my uncle.
"Craig, has anyone ever told you, you're an asshole?"
I could see anger in his eyes for a second, then they went blank,
shuttered and closed.
"More times than you might think; never before from someone as
young as you."
"You've made fun of Mom's to-do list as long as I've known you."
"Let's just say, I did my share of chores growing up, and now I'm
in a position where I don't have to do them if I don't want. And
I don't want to do chores, no more." Obviously, he was thinking
he was being clever.
"To learn how to manage money, you have to study business,
right?" I asked him.
"Sure, although Ellen did an end-around, studying economics,
which isn't quite the same thing. More of a big picture type
view of things, none of the little fiddling, day-to-day
details."
"And it's not something you can pick up in a few hours, reading a
book?"
"No, it's not, Tom. For one thing, business is a rather broad
topic. There's all sorts of aspects to it, ranging from
accounting, law, management, analysis, marketing... and that's
just a few areas of specialty. There are others."
I smiled to myself; once my uncle started to talk, it seemed like
he had no other desire in the world but to hear his own voice.
I'd thought about a lot of things, and he represented just one
more problem.
"Uncle Craig, you have until Friday to change your mind about my
having control of my trust money. If before Friday, at six in
the evening, you tell me that it would be better if I was a
little older first, then I'll sign it back to you.
"I don't know if I want to learn business and management or not.
But I am sure about one thing: it's not going to happen while I'm
in high school."
"And what happens after Friday?" he asked.
I smiled like I'd smiled at the banker, when he'd said a lot more
than he intended.
"I will talk to my account executive, look her right in the eye
and ask her if you've put limitations beyond the legal ones I
face on my use of the trust money. If she says no, and if I find
out later she's not telling me the truth, I'll run a newspaper ad
saying she lied to me. Ditto the banker. I'll look him in the
eye and ask him the same question; lying wouldn't be in his best
interest either."
"Why don't you ask me?"
I stared at him and smiled. "I could put whatever I wanted to
into a newspaper ad about you, and it wouldn't matter a bit,
would it?"
"Ellen would be unhappy with me," he confessed. "Except for
that, you wouldn't need to run anything in the paper."
His eyes widened slightly. "You don't want to ask because I have
no good answers, do I?"
"As in, can I confidently expect the truth?" I shook my head.
"Nope. And I'm not about to hurt my mom by finding out you
didn't tell me the truth."
He chuckled, "Well, there are caveats on your use of the funds...
but Tom, you need to think some more about this. I can have all
the caveats I want, but on the day your emancipation is signed
off on, they won't matter."
"So, to learn how to manage the money properly, I'd need to spend
time learning business, accounting, law, management."
"Economics," he continued for me, "psychology, and real
estate..."
"Can you learn all that on the job?" I asked him.
"Sure. Doctors and airline pilots could learn on the job, too.
Not sure as I'd want one trained like that working on me, but..."
He shrugged.
"I'm not going to spend years, at least not now, learning things
I have a general interest in. I like learning, don't get me
wrong, but those things aren't at the top of my 'to-do' list."
"Ah, back to that! Tell me, Tom, what's on your to-do list?"
I looked him right in the eye. "Mom wasn't as old as me, when
she learned that she didn't really understand about the facts of
life. I know she has tried to make sure JR and I didn't make the
same mistakes... but I think in a different way, she's neglected
our education in the facts of life."
"In what way?" Uncle Craig asked, his voice sarcastic.
"We live in our nice house, in a nice neighborhood, go to a nice
school, have nice clothes... my car was wrecked the other day,
hey, I have a new one today.
"In the last couple of weeks I've met people who haven't had nice
lives. I've seen Sam Reese twice in my life, one of those times
he tried to kill me; now he's dead. He hurt people I care about;
he killed others. I never met William Leary, but right now he's
dead and buried; that hurt some friends of mine. Terribly.
"Crazy bank robbers ran into my car. Uncle Craig, I saw it in
the paper, they stole less than a thousand dollars. There were
at least three of them; what kind of payday is that? They killed
someone, hurt others; caused thousands and thousand of times more
damage than what they stole.
"I've met some really good people along the way, too. People I
like, people I love."
"And this has what to do with a to-do list?"
I was my turn to be sarcastic. "I don't know why all the to do
about a to-do list. Chores, scheduled tasks that have to be
done. You have something to keep track of yours, too. An
appointment book or something."
"A PDA in my briefcase," he agreed.
"So, what I want to do is get some other viewpoints on the facts
of life."
"Life, Tom, can be the shits."
"Yes, I've noticed." I turned my back on him and went to the
fridge, poured myself some orange juice, went out to the family
room, kicked up my feet and picked up my latest book.
Quite some time later, JR brought me the phone. "Tom, a girl."
Once I'd have been curious; well, maybe a lot curious. Now, I
simply reached out.
"Hi, Tom!"
It was Marsha!
"Hello Marsha! How's life in Seattle?"
"It rained yesterday, it hasn't rained today, but it probably
will rain again tomorrow. Normal. How about Phoenix?"
"Warm today, tomorrow, next week, next month. Until maybe
Thanksgiving. We did have a thunderstorm last night, though."
She laughed, "Oh God, I'd die for a forecast like that!"
"You doing any good? Your basketball team?" I asked.
"Oh, we're doing kick ass! We've won every game since I got
back."
Once upon a time, I'd never have noticed that she stopped there.
I mean, why not? Her team was kicking ass! What more needed to
be said?
"And you, Marsha?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
"I met someone yesterday. Someone nice."
"I like to meet people each and every day," I told her. And had,
just about.
"I know we talked about things..."
"Marsha, we both had a good time when you visited. You had to
go, and I had to stay. It would be good to see you again, but
it's not going to happen anytime soon, is it?"
"My parents decided to buy a summer home on Long Beach."
"California?" I asked.
She laughed, "No, Washington. It's an island, down in the
southern part of the state, off the coast. Dad bought a couple
of condos, kind of like time share." Marsha laughed again. "You
have to see it one of these days, Tom! In the middle of the
summer, if you don't wear a rubber suit, you freeze to death in
the water in a half hour. In December, you have three minutes.
It's just a pretty beach that you can walk along; other than
that, it bites. He's crazy."
Leaving out of course, the someone nice Marsha had met. Then it
struck me; she was telling me that there was no longer the least
chance we'd meet again.
"We have a beach in Tempe. It used to be called the largest
flush toilet in the world; it's how they make the waves. Now
it's been cloned and is not that big of a deal any more."
"Tom..." Marsha started to say, then sighed.
"Marsha, you and I both wanted something. We both found it. I
have not a single regret, Marsha. None."
"In your letter you said..."
"I did," I told her. "And if we lived next door and you met
someone nice, I'd be pretty upset. On the other hand, Phoenix is
at least as big as Seattle; I've met a nice person or two
myself."
"Girls?" Marsha asked.
"Girls, women. A lot of nice people, Marsha. Sometime, maybe,
you'll be back, and I'll introduce you."
"More than one?" I could hear the surprise in her voice.
I contemplated life since Marsha. "Yes, more than one."
"You dog, you!" she laughed, "Tony was all wrong about you!"
"He wasn't wrong about you," I told her. "He told me you were
really nice, really beautiful. I thought he was BSing me."
"Tony's nice. Dad said Tony's in deep shit."
"Marsha, Tony's dad is in deep shit, not Tony." I gave her a
PG-13 explanation of the issues, leaving her laughing.
"You're not going to be... upset... are you, Tom?" Marsha asked
finally.
"No, I'm not upset. But I'm not going to forget you, and what
happened between us."
"I won't forget either, Tom," she paused, and then went on.
"Thanks."
"It's not something you owe me for," I told her, "it's the other
way around."
"I'm really glad you're not upset."
"I'm not upset."
Eventually, she had to leave and I went downstairs, returning the
phone to its cradle, pretty content, happy with life.
A little while later, JR appeared with the phone and handed it to
me. "Another girl." She was laughing and I stuck my tongue out
at her.
"Tom, Eleanor Johansen."
"Good afternoon, Eleanor."
"Are you busy?"
"No, not at all."
"I'd like to talk to you again. Can I come over in an hour or
so?"
"Sure."
"Thanks." And she hung up.
I went downstairs again, to return the phone, and JR laughed when
she saw me. "You might as well keep it in your room."
"Thanks, girl."
Then Shannon decided it was time to practice.
I've never seen my mother act like that. "First, Shannon," she
told Mary's daughter, "you will play something for all of us!"
So Shannon did, and it was beautiful. What had I told God? A
plus B equals B plus A, with a lot left over! I smiled at the
thought, but spent much more time, listening to Shannon.
Then she did practice, and again, none of us did anything else.
Still, towards the end, the doorbell rang, and I got up,
motioning everyone else to sit back down.
"Afternoon, Tom."
"Afternoon, Eleanor. Please, come in."
Shannon hit a really great series of notes then, and Eleanor
stopped. "That's Bach. Wer Wachtet auf Uns." A little pause,
then, "That was beautifully played."
"That's Shannon Leary," I told her.
We listened for another few minutes, until Eleanor shook her
head. "I could listen to that for hours and hours. Please, can
we talk for a few minutes?"
We went outside, and I waved at the sidewalk. "Would you like to
walk?"
Eleanor nodded, and we started off; only the fact that she would
need a long, involved explanation kept me from laughing as we
started down the street.
"The other day, you asked me about heart's desires. About what
I think about an organization to help kids on the street."
"Yes," I answered her, slowing a bit.
"So I got down on my knees and prayed, Tom." She stopped, and
touched my arm. "Do you understand what I mean? Do you have any
idea?"
"Yesterday, I'd have told you no, I didn't," I told her. "A
while ago, I was full length on the floor, crying, thanking God.
A God I no longer believe in, a God I have the most profound
doubts about. And that, according to God, is just fine with
him."
"Don't make fun of me, Tom."
"Eleanor, I never have, I never will. Not ever." Maybe she
could understand?
"I had a dream last night, Eleanor. God came to me, spoke to
me. A very bizarre dream. Yet, when I went to look, it wasn't
the bush that was burning. It was the crud underneath the
refrigerator." It was my turn. I reached out and touched her
arm. "I swear, Eleanor, it was charred. God said, two weeks
until it would have burned down the house and killed nearly
everyone."
We stood wrapped in our silences; I'm not stupid, I can connect
the dots. My silence had a far different cause than hers.
"Eleanor, this has been an educational week for me." Her eyes
held mine, as we stood on the sidewalk. "Everyone tells me no,
it's too dangerous. I wanted to ride with the fire department;
too dangerous. Leave out the fact that it took them two and a
half hours to rescue me the other day. The worked on Elizabeth
for a half hour, with me standing a few feet away. The police
say it's too dangerous to go out with them, too. I need to be a
Boy Scout or something. I think you just need to be eighteen,
and they are BSing me.
"So, Eleanor. People go out to help kids on the street. I'd
like to go along."
"Do you have any idea what you'd see?"
"People hurting," I told her. "Six days ago, Eleanor, a little
earlier than this, Sam Reese had a gun to my head. three days
ago, I was trapped in my car, smelling spilled gasoline, waiting
to be burned up. Two days ago, my uncle gave me a hundred and
fifty million dollars." I laughed. "I bet when you checked my
parents out, you didn't look at JR or me!"
"No." She was staring at me.
"Odd how I feel around you, Tom. I can feel your desire, like a
naked flame. Although it's pretty quiet today." She smiled at
me, and I shook my head. "I've met hundreds of boys your age;
none ever set my heart fluttering before. Made me doubt my vows.
Then you told me to check your parents again, and I did. I
swear, no one, no one at all, had any idea you should do more
than verify the accuracy of information. Now I know better.
"Now you say you've been given a substantial sum; I should laugh
and shake my head in disbelief. Except... when have you lied to
me?"
"I never have," I told her.
"About Jennifer, you'd cheerfully lie and lie and lie."
"Jennifer isn't part of this discussion," I said, a touch angry.
"And I've never lied to you about her."
"Yes she is part of this discussion, Tom. You helped her. I'm
not blind, Tom. I told you before; I'm not interested in how.
Just that you did. That was a fine thing, Tom."
"You have to have someone who's the first contact for those who
need help," I told her, trying to ignore her comments about
Jenny. "I'd like to ride along. I want to look over their
shoulder and see what they do."
"Would you really like to do that?"
"I really have asked twice now. If it wasn't important, if it
wasn't something I wanted to do, I wouldn't have asked once."
"Well, sure. I'll set up an orientation, then... next Friday
would be the best time to go out."
"That's fine."
"Tom... once, you might be lucky, and be able to make a
difference in an intervention. Two or three times out there, you
might be lucky. Tom, the streets are hell incarnate. You take
your victories when and if you find them. Sometimes it's just
one.
"And Tom, mostly you lose."
"My parents want to protect me, the whole education system seems
designed not to let people know about the underside of life." I
was more than a little upset. "Yet, when it counted, I was
there. I don't want to see a pile of shit, I don't. But every
day, each and every one of us, contributes our pile. It exists,
Eleanor. I take no joy in it, but I want to look at it, from the
bottom side."
"And then what?" she asked.
"And then I'll know what upside down shit looks like," I told
her. "I've seen it right side up often enough. Time for
something else."
"And my ideas to help kids?"
"Talk to me about them."
So, we walked and talked, finally ending up in front of the
house.
"I'll call you," she told me, "about this. Probably tomorrow or
Tuesday. Put you together with one of the outreach groups."
"I have school during the day, but I'm good any other time."
"Ok." She leaned close, to kiss me on the cheek. I ducked and
weaved, avoiding it.
"I'm being stupid," Eleanor muttered. "I'm old enough to be
your mother."
"And we're both old enough to take your oath seriously," I told
her.
She blushed, and then nodded. "Later, Tom."
I walked in the house, and Dad grinned at me. "Making time with
the nun?"
"No." I was upset; I wished he'd not make jokes about something
like this. I wished my dad made a whole lot fewer jokes about a
lot of things.
He turned to Mom. "De-stressing hasn't been 100 per cent, has
it?"
Mom shook her head.
"Tomorrow is a zoo day!" Dad announced, "You will all go look
into the faces of your aunts, uncles, cousins and distant
relations... anyone who takes anything seriously is grounded
until the end of school!"
Mom and Mary vanished off to go shopping a little later; then
they were back. "All hands on deck!" Mom said, her usual
laughter.
It was, I found, another full meal deal. She'd found a goose
and duck at Trader Joe's, and instead of debating which to buy,
they'd bought both. Mom and Mary had done nothing, I found
listening to them, but debate the best way to cook the birds
since they'd found the birds.
Dad appeared, listened, and then turned to me. "Son, your
education has been neglected! Let's take over from these
turkeys! Man the barricades! We're declaring the kitchen
revolution! Down with women cooks! Up with men!"
I'm not sure how it happened, but a few seconds later a dollop
of lime green jello flew my way, and I found a bowl of grape
jello in the fridge and massively retaliated.
Later, Dad was sternly lecturing Mom. "Massive retaliation
aside, you have responsibilities!" Dad pointed at the ceiling,
festooned with dollops of green jello. "That was wanton,
reckless disregard for the rules of civilized warfare! Tom and I
will cook the birds! You ladies will clean! Particularly the
ceiling!"
The goose was partly frozen; in spite of gallons of warm water,
my fingers were frozen to the bone, long before it was ready to
my dad's satisfaction. We'd rubbed a mixture of salt and garlic,
inside and out. For my goose, I'd diced a half dozen red
delicious apples and stuffed them inside. Dad stuffed his duck
with pineapple chunks from Costco.
Then they were in the stove, cooking, and Dad was introducing me
to the importance of glazes and basting. I had a small sauce pan
filled full of goose grease (there'd been a lot of it!), some
butter, and a lot of herbs, bay leaves, rosemary, oregano, basil,
sage. Dad used some of the same, but used cinnamon and ginger
instead of basil and sage.
Then he had me add a dollop of lemon juice, then some tomato
sauce. In his, he sliced in half a small can of frozen orange
juice, and added one of the halves to the sauce pan.
Only in the last half hour did we relinquish the kitchen to the
women of the family.
Later, we went in to check on the birds. Dad smiled at me.
"Smell that?"
I sniffed. I could smell corn bread, sundry vegetables and other
things. "Yummy!"
"Yep! Nothing like motivating the women folk to aspire! A lot
of men, Tom, limit themselves to slicing the birds up. Like,
what kind of job is that? Nine of ten of them use an electric
knife. Ick! Nope! This is heaven, Tom! People striving
together to do better than the next guy. Or gal!"
It was a delicious dinner; I could not remember better. And I
had great kudos from everyone about the goose, and Dad got not
nearly as many about the duck.
"What holiday is the sixth of April?" Mary asked.
Dad had laughed, "Not a damn one!"
Elizabeth spoke up, "Anyplace else, and tomorrow would be spring
forward!"
Dad guffawed. "This is Arizona! We're adults! We don't fiddle
with the clocks!"
"I fiddle," Shannon said, "and do it well!"
There were more laughs and jokes; jokes and laughs that carried
us well into the final clean up phases of the meal.
Some time later I was sitting on the couch in the family room,
between Jenny and JR, Elizabeth was sitting at my feet, Mary and
Shannon on either side of her. I'd have been upset, except Mom
and Dad were obviously happy and content on the floor, off to one
side.
We watched the movie Shanghai Noon, something that had even
Elizabeth laughing before the end. Actually, it had her laughing
from the first mention of 'John Wayne.'
Myself, I faded away when shortly after the bath scene; curious
about what I'd dream about.
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