Please read 'Convergence' (I, II).
Convergence (III).
I awake Saturday morning groggy and bleary-eyed from the persistent effects of the meds but heave my body, unwilling and lethargic, from the bed to greet the day with what enthusiasm I can muster. Rachael's side of the bed is empty. Sounds of activity come to me from the kitchen and I stumble in to find her viciously beating a bowl of eggs. She witnesses my shambling 'Dawn of the Dead' arrival and smiles.
“I was just about to come and kick your ass out of bed”.
“Sorry”, I say and walk over to give her a squeeze. “That stuff really knocked me out last night”. She accepts my show of affection and cuddles against me for a second before versing the bowl's contents into a simmering pan on the stove.
“Pour yourself some coffee and maybe we'll manage to get your eyes open today.” She looks over her shoulder and winks at me. I can't help but grin a bit at her little prods. “You slept through the night”, she remarks, starting to turn the eggs in the pan. “You tossed around a lot about 1:30 and woke me up but then you slept through it. That's a good sign”. I heap sugar into my coffee.
“You're right. I don't remember waking up at all”. I surprise myself with the realisation but feel the deadly fear of that dream on the periphery of my mind. I shake it off, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension and take a sip from the sickly sweet, steaming concoction I have created in my mug.
“Here we go”, says Rachael brightly, placing two plates on the table. “A breakfast made for champions”. The scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese melted over top pique my appetite immediately and I dig in avidly. She also places a glass of milk before me and dispenses three pills.
“What are we up to today?” I inquire. I pop the pills in my mouth and wash them down.
“We can go shopping if you want. Oh! And remember there's Jill's party tonight. Won't you please come with me?”
“Isn't that a bachelorette party?”
“Well, it is and it isn't”, she laughs at her own contradictions and I watch the smile grow across her face. “Some of the girls are bringing their significant others. I be really glad if you came with me”. I look at her sympathetically; she already knows my answer.
“I'm sorry, Rachael. You know how nervous I get at night, especially out. Look, here's a deal. You go and have your 'girls' night out' and enjoy yourself. You deserve it. I'll wait up for you and you can tell me all about it when you get home”. She looks dubiously at me for a moment. I sense that she is hurt by my resistance to going out and feel badly. I wish this crap would leave my head. Then she perks up and takes my hand.
“OK, it's a deal. But you better not fall asleep on me! I might need something from you when I get home”. She grins mischievously at me.
“Then you have yourself a deal”, I answer, returning my best lascivious look. We laugh and kiss over the table. Damn, I love this girl.
I go out to the garage. My wetsuit, fins, snorkel, weights, are all in a footlocker with my name on it; 'Salvatore' with a halo my buddy John had jokingly painted above the name long ago. I have to check the equipment out, get batteries for the underwater light beam. What else? I make a short list.
“I’m going to gas up my car,” I call from the doorway. I hear back from somewhere in the house, 'I’ll have lunch ready in an hour'.
The hour turns into two, three. I walk the bridge again, from all angles. Under, as far as I can go. The churning high water unrelentingly dashing against the bridge supports.
I’m gassed up, oil checked, equipment ready to go but, at home, Terri is fuming. She’s not going to like what I tell her tonight either, might as well get it over with. She tells me my lunch is in the refrigerator. She had made a chicken curry and rice. I love curry. I heat it up in the microwave, and enjoy it sitting at the table alone.
“Okay, you ready to tell me what is going on?” Terri asks, entering the kitchen as I finish eating.
“I have to see this out”, I say. “This is much more than a nightmare”.
“Sal, this is only going on until Monday. You are making me worry.” Okay, now, worse.
“I’m going back tonight, earlier. Don’t worry, if anything looks like it is going sideways, I will have a call out on the spot.”
“Oh, Sal, shaking her head, “Monday, I mean it.” She is huffy the rest of the afternoon.
I was busy checking and rechecking what I was taking with me. When I felt it was enough, I tossed everything into the back of my SUV. Then I found Terri brooding over seed catalogs.
“Lets go to dinner, okay?” She looked up at me, and patted the seat next to her.
“You would tell me if you had something to tell, wouldn’t you? We have been through so much together but, I just can’t read you now.”
“If I knew something for sure, I wouldn’t keep anything from you, baby. You know that. Today I have to make sure, I have to.” She looked at me with her eyes brimming.
“You are everything to me, Sal”.
I kiss her and say, “You are everything to me. Let’s go out for a while. I promise to put this out of my mind while we have a nice dinner”.
Terri (Theresa) was a librarian when I met her. At first glance she was a pretty girl. I went to the library often, just to see her. I noticed her patience and good humor working with others, I loved her laugh. I loved the way she moved, and dressed, and I finally asked her out.
I was a rookie fireman; three days on, three days off. I didn’t even have my own place. I stayed at the firehouse, bunked there, and kept all I owned in a locker. Terri still lived at home with her family.
After an exciting, romantic year of dating, Terri and I married in a small ceremony. She wore flowers in her hair. I don’t remember much else about the day. I wish I could have given her better, but we were happy. We moved into the rented second floor of an old Victorian house and luxuriated in our privacy. My job kept me busy, and away from home for a few days at a time. Terri was busy, too. Then the children came along; two boys and a girl - changing our lives and changing us. We moved to accommodate our new circumstances. Closer to good schools, further away from the convenient trendy neighborhoods of midtown. What you do for love. In time, children grow up - you hope you’ve done a good job. We did.
All this time I rolled with the rescue squads half of every week and my adrenaline rushed every time I heard a siren on the other days. I did my best to get people out of the bad situations they got into. I never let myself brood over the ones who didn't make it. I knew, every time, that I did my best.
Terri comes back looking wonderful. Her green eyes are accented by her makeup and gold earrings. She is wearing a dress with a low neckline and carries a dressy jacket. Maybe she is trying to get me to change my mind. The clothes demand a ‘nice’ place to go to, so I accommodate, changing into something suitable to be seen in public with her. I drive to an upscale restaurant which serves minute portions of delicious food. She totally approves, both for the taste, and for the portions. We smile and really make up over the candlelight and wine. She is quiet driving home, but the tension has abated.
I change into jeans, a sweatshirt and running shoes when we get home. I am anxious to get going.
Sal double checks his torchlight and makes sure he has his phone. Finally, he is going to see, what? Hopefully, nothing. The doctor will say he needs a prescription and the nightmares will go away. He will only lose a little sleep tonight. Everything will be fine.
He backs out of his driveway, drives out of his neighborhood and onto the access road leading to the old bridge. He has plenty of time. Oncoming traffic passes steadily. Sal’s hands grip the steering wheel. He is keyed up, as if this is a four alarm fire. Just as he is telling himself to take a few deep breaths, headlights start weaving in all directions just ahead. Sal starts to pull over, but the drunk driver has the same spot in mind. The impact seems to go on forever. The SUV stops across the road headed in the opposite direction. Sal shakes his head and climbs out, ignoring the other driver. He grabs his gear and begins jogging toward the bridge.
Rachael decelerates and slips onto the off-ramp, her yellow car alternating bright and subdued under the light standards. She coasts downward on the long curve, passing under the through-fare and then glides to a stop at the large red sign where the state road crosses. Before her there is the darkness of the river valley with the old railway bridge and then the sparse light of the suburb just beyond. She studies the cross-road for upcoming headlights and then accelerates slowly.
The car bucks and threatens to stall but then begins to pick up speed as though changing its mind.
'Oh shit', she whispers. She enters the darkness of the rural road and immediately notices the red 'engine' signal lit up like a flame on the dashboard. 'I hope that's nothing serious', she comments. The car bucks again in answer. 'It's only a few minutes to home, bee', she speaks in a comforting tone to the car and pats the console with her hand. The light turns off and then returns and she swears again under her breath.
The sound of surging, river water comes to her ears and the headlights pick out of the night the dull, iron and steel arch of the bridge. Crossing the bridge means only about ten minutes to home. Nearing, the sound of water grows louder, insistent and, at first, covers the echoing repeats of the car backfiring. Rachael grows impatient with the sluggish movement of the car and accelerates, entering the narrow two lane bridge. Here the roar of water descending the ripid, narrow valley drowns out all other sounds.
Instead of accelerating, the car bucks and chokes again and begins to stall. The dashboard and headlights grow dim and Rachael's face creases with concern, studying the span ahead of her. She presses the gas heavily and the car stalls out, rolling ahead for several yards and then stops.
'Oh my God', she says, looking up and down the bridge. 'I'm stopped in the middle of this thing'. She feels her fear of heights begin to grip her, becoming aware of the vast, open space underlying the bridge. The headlights have faded to a pale yellow, barely illuminating the cement and asphalt patched surface ahead of her. She tries the ignition again. The engine wheezes, catches and then fails completely. The clock dimly shows 1:04 am.
A bread delivery van approaches from the opposite direction. Rachael quickly rolls up the window and her elbow extends backward to push the lock down. The electronically assisted mechanism is slow to respond but seems to fall into place. The van stops abreast of her car and a young man with a 'Brewers' baseball cap leans out, peering into the darkened interior. Rachael fumbles in her purse, agitated and starting to feel very much alone. She finds her cell phone.
“You OK, miss?” shouts the young driver from the van. “You need help?”
Rachael waves back and indicates her cell phone.
“Y'all are calling someone?” he shouts in response.
Rachael nods and waves again, holding the cell phone to her ear.
“Alrightie then, miss. Y'all be safe”, he calls to her and touches the peak of his cap. The van draws away and she watches, feeling the vibration of its movement, as the tail-lights diminish and then leave the bridge.
The vibration continues. 'Oh, it's just the bridge', she comments to herself and presses the preprogrammed number to call home. 'Please be awake, Jack, please, please, please'. The phone rings on the other end.
“Jack!” comes Rachael's voice, urgent and strained, as I pick up the phone, barely awake but waiting for her arrival. My skin immediately prickles with tension and I spring to wakeful alertness.
“Rach, what's wrong? Are you OK?”
“I'm OK, but 'the bee' has died on me in the middle of the bridge! I'm a little scared.”
“Friggin' car!” I shout back, too loud. I look out the window, terribly aware of the darkness outside. “It's probably that alternator plug that was supposed to be fixed. Do you know where it is?”
“Jack, it's Rachael you're talking to”, she answers and laughs nervously.
“OK”, I answer, already beginning to crawl with visions of the past: concealed IED's and invisible assassins lurking everywhere and nowhere. My girl is out there and I have to get her. “Turn off the ignition and save your battery. I'm coming”.
“I'm so sorry, Jack...” she whispers, perceiving my tension.
“Nothing will stop me, Rach. Ten minutes”.
I throw on a heavy, dark coloured sweater over sweatshirt and sweatpants. 'That should make me sweat', I conjecture to myself, in a moment of perverse humour, but my skin feels cold. I leave, the house lights shining onto the lawn and, crouched, expecting tracers at any second, get into my black Jetta, firing the engine and back into the street. It is 1:12 am.
Convergence (IV) should appear shortly on stickman's blog.
Thank you for reading our story.
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