Awake Asleep Dreaming Dead (9 page)

That’s right. How’d you know that?

I read about things.

You seem to know an awful lot about it. I’m heading to Ellsworth where he started his architectural school to get some background on his life. It’s in the country. Have you ever been there?

Went there long ago. I remember it being a nice place, and felt alive. Alan Rogers was partial to low ceilings, and sharp angles. I’m not that tall, but remember ducking to get through some of the doorways in his house. I read the police searched the entire estate, and found no clues whatsoever. He just vanished into thin air.

Well, isn’t that curious.

Not so interesting, Tom said. You mind if I tag along? If it’s okay? I like to . . .

The tone Tom used when he said, I like to . . . sounded like he was going back to his hometown. For a moment Tom just stared straight ahead. What’s he thinking about? Sam wondered as he watched him. Maybe I should tell him he used to cut my hair.

They continued driving down the twisting country roads, then Tom clapped his hands, and said, Stop the . . . car!

Sam stomped on the breaks, and skidded to the side of the road. What’s wrong? You okay?

Yeah, I’m fine, he said. I’ve got to do some horse trading.

What?

I’ve got to take a leak, or I’ll piss in my pants, and all over your pretty car. Actually, I’m getting the feeling I might have to do more than just that.

We might be close to a town, maybe there’s a restaurant up the road, Sam said. Can’t you wait?

No, I can’t. Right here’s good enough.

Sam revved the engine a few times, then cut it.

You’re not going to drive off with my stuff and leave me here, are you? Tom said as he opened the door.

Why would I do that? I don’t need your junk. I’m the one who stopped to help you, remember?

Okay, only be a minute, Tom said, then strolled leisurely into the woods.

They were parked on a small country road, and the only traffic was an occasional car, or tractor pulling a wagon with a local farmer waving. It seemed to be taking Tom a long time, but in reality only a few minutes had past. Then Sam was stuck with the thought. What if he dies in the woods? What’ll I do, then? I’ve got his stuff in my car. I’d have to talk to the police. Have to tell them the whole story. Explain what happened. This could turn out to be a nightmare.

Sam’s nerves were on edge, and sweat trickled down his face. The quiet countryside was getting to him. No one had driven by for a while. He looked at his watch. How long has it been? Where is he? Sam got out of the car and walked toward the tree line. He couldn’t see Tom anywhere. He didn’t want to leave his car unattended on the roadside, so he waited, and edged closer to the tree line. He decided to head back to his car instead of the trees to look for Tom.

Come on you old fart, hurry up! Sam yelled, then cupped his hands, and shouted, Hey, are you okay? He hit the horn a few times, and a moment later, Tom came tramping out of the woods.

He waved, then gave the thumbs up. That was a close call, he said.

You all right? Sam asked.

Never better, never better, he said grinning.

For a while I thought something happened to you because you were taking so long.

Sam, you were worried about me. Maybe you were right, my friend, when you said I must have something special to do. Something special to do in my life. Tom turned and looked at Sam. Perhaps I’m here for some reason after all. Maybe to help you.

Help me? Sam said, surprised. I’m the one who picked you up, remember. I think you’re the who needs help. Then shaking his head, added, I don’t know what you were planning to do by that tree, but the thought of seeing your old carcass dangling and swinging from a branch crossed my mind.

You know, Tom said. It’s all been planned. He opened another beer, and took a drink. I’m supposed to help you, and you’re supposed to help me.

What’s all planned?

Everything, Tom said. Everything that happens is all planned.

Yeah, right, Sam scoffed. Planned? Planned by who?

Really, Tom said, then took another drink. I’m here to help you, and you have to help me.

That’s what this world is all about . . . people helping people, helping, not hurting.

Okay, Sam said, whatever you say.

He opened the door got into the car, started the engine, then asked, Are you coming?

I thought you were going to let me drive, Tom said.

Sam put his head on his arms which were on the steering wheel. Shaking his head, he whispered, Why me? Why me? Why did I get stuck . . . this guy?

You said I could drive, didn’t you?

I’m not letting you drive because you’re tanked. He reached over and opened the door on the passenger side. After waiting a moment, asked, Are you getting in?

Tom got in the car. You’re right. I’ve had too much to drink. You drive, and I’ll ride shotgun.

Sam scratched his head, looked at Tom and said, Okay, you ride shotgun, and let me know if you see any outlaws chasing us.

Sounds grand, Tom said, and let out a hearty laugh. Let’s hit the road, giddy up. Let’s get this horse galloping down the trail.

Sam stepped on the clutch, put the car in first gear, and floored it. A cloud of blue smoke from the squealing tires rose into the air. Sam left the smell of burning rubber behind along with a trail of tire marks tattooed on the road.

You know Sam, if you’re going to show off, then really do it. Don’t mess around, he said and laughed.

Sam looked at Tom puzzled. Go ahead and turn on some music. What do you like?

Anything’s okay with me.

Pink Floyd?

Sounds grand!

“Coming Back to Life” started playing, and Tom said, Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel, like I’m coming back to life.

HIS NAME

 

It was hot, the windows were down, and a breeze blew through the car. Tom’s white hair and beard hovered around his head as the car rambled through the sleepy countryside. Sam wasn’t gun-shy, he was back into driving, and pushed the car around the corners, opening it up on the straight and level parts—the incident just a distant memory.

This sure is beautiful country, Tom said, and reached into the cooler. Beer?

No thanks, maybe after we stop.

Tom grinned as he popped the can. That’s a sweet sound! Sure you don’t want it? he asked, holding and waving the can in Sam’s face.

No, not now, he said, and pushed it away. Hell, old man, it’s still morning, and I’m driving. You know there’s a big fine for drinking and driving?

I may look like an old man, and got snow on the roof, but there’s fire in the belly.

After a silent moment, Sam looked ahead while Tom guzzled more brew. What a bunch of bullshit.

Is it coming up on noon? Seems to be getting hotter and hotter. Going to be a real champ of a day, Tom said. I like these lazy days. I feel like climbing a hill, sitting in a grassy green field all day with a cooler of beer, and a good looking gal.

Just let me know when you want to get out. I’ll pull over anytime you say, and drop you wherever you like.

Oh—that’s not a nice thing to say. You should relax, take it easy, and stop worrying so much.

Sam looked over at Tom. He had a tranquil gaze, with his arm resting on the door, the wind blowing into his happy drunk face.

It’s going to happen, there’s no doubt about it. It’ll creep up, and bite you in the ass sooner than you think.

At first he didn’t get what Tom was referring to. What are you talking about? What’s creeping up on me?

You know, time, old age, the big farewell—Auld Lang Syne—the end.

Then nodding in agreement, Sam said, Yeah, you’re right, I know, but I don’t have time to think about it now.

Don’t have time to think about it, Tom growled. It comes fast, and I’d think about it if I were you.

Hey! I’m not your kid, and don’t need your advice. I’ve got plenty on my mind. Thinking about a lot of things. Not because of you, but because something happened this morning before I picked you up. Be happy I stopped for you, that you’ve got a ride, and lay off the lectures. Okay?

Tom had a sad gaze in his fair eyes. Okay, Sam, whatever you say. Doesn’t matter to me if you want to hold everything in, he said. I’ve been around the barn a few times, and just thought I could help, that’s all.

Just lighten up and enjoy the ride. I’m in the middle of something, and working it out.

Tom held up his can of beer. Cheers, and here’s to everything working out for the both of us.

Stupid old fart, Sam thought, then smiled, and looked at Tom. What do I have to do to get rid of him? He’ll need to take a leak again after drinking all of that beer. I could just drive away, and leave him.

Tom looked at Sam, and gave him a nudge. You’re thinking about a girl aren’t you, Sam?

Sam turned to Tom. What? he asked.

A girl, Tom said. You’ve got it . . . I can tell you’ve got the sickness.

Got what?

You know—the girl thing because your melancholy is overflowing, and dripping off you like Niagara Falls.

I don’t know what you mean. He can’t read people at all. He’s just a mindless old fart. Why should I bother telling him what I’m thinking.

Oh, yes you do, Tom said with a smile. What’s her name?

Whose name?

The girl’s name? Tell me the girl’s name.

Guess I’ll tell him about Esther. Can’t hurt. It’s either that or listen to him ramble on. Okay, her name’s Esther.

Esther. Nice name, Esther, Tom repeated, then he closed his eyes, and was silent a minute.

Sam couldn’t figure this old guy out. A moment ago I grilled him with questions, and he blabbed on and on. Now he’s sitting back smiling, looking calm, with the same drunken gaze he had after drinking the whisky.

So, what’s she like? Tom asked.

Why do you want to know?

I used to write poetry, about love, romance, so tell me about her. Maybe I know, or have met someone like her.

Okay, I’ve known her for a long time. In fact, most of my life. We went to the same school, played together, and I feel like time doesn’t exist when I’m around her.

Oh, boy, now we’re talking. Now-we-are-talking. I knew a girl, and felt the same way about her, so we are alike.

I don’t think so, Sam said. You’re nothing like me.

No, we’re the same, exactly the same. You just don’t know it yet. Don’t get it, don’t understand.

What’s that supposed to mean?

It’ll seep into that thick skull of yours sooner or later. Things will happen, then you’ll see and know everything. The one good thing about getting old is that you get a little smarter, like wine gets better as it ages. I’ve seen a lot of crap in my time, and discovered a lot the hard way before I finally opened my eyes. Sometimes it takes tragedy to move forward.

I have no idea what you’re talking about, then asked, Do you have any family?

No, can’t say I do.

You lose someone close?

Yes, sir, I did. She had my heart, and gave me a lot of love.

What happened to her?

I don’t know.

Would you like to find her?

I don’t know, just don’t know, he whispered in a forlorn tone. Tell me more about your girl, Esther.

We met on the playground in school, she had just moved to town. I fell for her the first time I saw her going down the slippery slide at school. We’ve been together ever since, and we celebrated my birthday yesterday.

Really! Mine was yesterday.

We had the party at a park on the river, and a few of us stayed up all night. I watched the sun rise this morning. Took some pictures of it.

How old are you, now?

Thirty, but I feel older, and I’m tired from staying up all night, and need some sleep.

Think you’re tired now wait until you’re as old as me.

Here’s to you and Esther. Tom raised his beer as they drove down valleys, over hills, watching clouds float by in the sky. You haven’t told me your last name, Sam. What is it?

It’s Young,

Young, great name, Young is. A great name indeed, then laughed. You’ll be forever young, Sam, Tom said, and took a swig.

That’s what I tell everyone. What’s yours?

Tom.

I know, you said that, Sam said, tell me your last name.

Doesn’t matter. Just call me, Tom.

The name Tom was carved in the big oak tree that’s in the middle of the playground at my school. I remember because I carved mine right below it, and Esther’s too.

Yeah, when I was a kid I carved my name in lots of trees, put it in wet concrete, too.

Sam looked at Tom, and said, This is a special tree. A huge old oak, and you’d remember it. The school’s in a small town called Four Corners.

Yeah, now it’s coming back to me. I believe that could be my name. Tom said. Yeah, there’s no year below it, right? Only the name.

That’s right. Why not?

Guess it wasn’t important, and I was too young to think about carving the year. There was no good reason to carve it, really, because it’s a beginning, and sooner or later what begins comes to an end, then it’s time to move on to something new.

What? What do you mean, coming to an end?

Oh, you know what I mean, Sam. There are a lot of folks who want to get the most out of life, or change it as time passes, and finally there’s nothing left for you to do. You’ve gotten most of what you want, or none of what you dreamed, and all that’s left is time. Eventually we run out of that. People scheme, and figure how to get more of their desires, but can’t.

Everyone gets a certain amount of time and that’s all.

Sounds bleak, Sam said.

Some people speed up the process, burn the candle at both ends, or give up, and end it before their time. Jump off a building, maybe, or walk in front of a bus or train.

Sam looked at Tom. Why? Why would someone be afraid of tomorrow?

I guess because they believe it’ll just be more of the same old tough row. They’ve had enough, and think its time to call it quits.

Yeah, for some it’s just more of the same, and never changing, never anything new, fresh, or different.