The Ghosts of Autumn

After most of the guests left, around five in the morning, the handful that remained helped Dan clean up. Trixie, John, Bill, KZ, Brian, Jeff, Adam, Donna, and Laura were the only ones still there. Ronnie had gone home to pack and was due back around nine so Trixie could drive her car back home for her. Bill and KZ weren’t doing much cleaning; they were back at in again in the spare bedroom. Of course, only Dan and John really knew what KZ was doing. The rest of the party thought she was just being lazy. John lied and told them it was the mushrooms that had made her sleepy and that it couldn’t be helped. “Everybody reacts differently to them” he had told the remaining guests.

Trixie hadn’t said much to Dan since the confrontation in the bedroom, but at least they weren’t at each other’s throats, he thought. She’d managed to be in whatever room Dan wasn’t and Dan didn’t force the issue. They could talk later. He knew now because of Ronnie that he would have to maintain some sort of relationship with Trixie.

Adam and his wife Donna were cleaning up the dining room with Trixie while John and Laura picked up the living room. Dan and Jeff and Brian were filling bags of trash in the kitchen and, as they filled up, depositing them outside in the plastic tubs for pick-up. The music was still going, though Dan had lowered the volume considerably so that it was now just background noise. When they had finished and the house looked presentable again, they all congregated in the living room again to say their goodbyes. All except Adam and Donna that is, who actually had to go to work in a couple of hours.

So the six of them sat around the dying fire, sipping coffee that Laura had made. Dan said back, relaxed, and took in the events of the past week and especially the previous night. “You know what this is?” He announced, waving his arms around to indicate everything, but it wasn’t clear enough.

“What’s this?” Jeff asked. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know, all of it. As Douglas Adams would say, ‘Life, the Universe and Everything.’” Dan explained.

“Wait, I know this.” John shouted. “It’s 42!”

Everybody laughed.

“Good guess.” Dan admitted. “But no, I was thinking of something more local. Something I remember seeing when I was a kid.”

“What’s that?” Laura asked.

“Remember those billboards for that Ford dealership in Kutztown?” Dan reminisced. “There’s good, there’s very good, and there’s Jaindl-Good.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that.” Everyone but Laura exclaimed.

“No, I don’t remember that.” She said.

“And you said the absolute, tip-top, highest near perfect best must be Jaindl-Good.” Brian recalled. “You couldn’t get any better than that. You must have said that a thousand times for at least a year.”

“Exactly.” Dan said. “And that’s how I feel right now. Everything is Jaindl-Good.”

“It’s the mushrooms.” John said matter-of-factly.

“Maybe.” Dan allowed for the possibility. “But then again, maybe not.”

“Trust me, it is.” John insisted.

“Okay mister buzzkill. Them I love.” Dan said waving his hands around the room at everyone. “You? Not so much.”

“Hey, man. I’m just trying to help.” John defended himself. “By the way, I’ve been wanting to ask you. What are you planning on telling Abby?”

“The truth.” Dan replied flatly. “She’s always been very understanding. She married me, didn’t she? What more proof do you need? But seriously, I do think she’ll be okay with it once she’s had a chance to process it. It will be a shock, I know. I can tell you that one from experience.” He glared at Trixie.

“Are you going to punish me for this for the rest of my life?” Trixie asked sarcastically.

“That’s my current plan.” Dan replied in kind, turning back to the rest. “It was a good party, though. Lots of fireworks. Lots of old friends. Lots of drunken revelry. It was a blast seeing you guys, and everybody else. Come out to California. Seriously. It’s a great place for a vacation. You can stay with us. We’ve got room. I don’t want to wait another twenty years to see all of you.”

“I’m game.” Laura said.

“Cool.” Dan encouraged. “That’s one.”

The other gave mumbled ‘maybes’ and “we’ll sees’ so Dan knew he’d have to work on them. The morning light from the rising sun was beginning to peak in through the windows.

“What time is your flight?” Brian asked.

“Around 1:30. Something like that.” Dan answered.

“What time do you get in?” John asked. “Around five?”

“Nah, not until seven.” Dan told him. “We have a layover in Denver. But enough of this chitchat, I have to pack.”

“That’s cool, Brian and I should get going, too.” Jeff said.

Dan hugged them both and said his goodbyes by the door. Not counting KZ and Bill in the back bedroom, that left only John and Trixie. They both joined him in the master bedroom while he filled his suitcase.

“I have a conference in March in San Jose.” Weaver told Dan. “I’m going to try to take a couple of days off at the end to come up and see you. I don’t know the exact days yet, but I’ll send you an e-mail and let you know.”

“Excellent.” Dan said.

“Now I’m going to get out of your hair, as well.” John said, as he put on his coat.

“I’ll walk you out.” Dan said, heading for the hallway. When the reached the back door, they hugged. “Thanks for coming down, John. I appreciate you being here.”

“My pleasure.” John responded. “I was glad I could work it out. By the way, say goodbye to Bill for me.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dan remembered. “He’s still back there with KZ. Is that the weirdest thing, or what?”

“Fuckin’ a, man.” John agreed. “If the last couple of days have taught me anything, it’s that we shouldn’t get too locked into our belief systems. If you had tried to just tell me about Bill I would have seriously worried that my friend was going crazy, not that I would have blamed you. But having actually seen, felt and talked with Bill, well that changes everything. It’s such a mindfuck that it shatters the way I’ve viewed the world my whole life. And I can’t really share that with too many people. You and KZ, I guess that’s it. The world is never going to look the same again. Thanks, buddy.” He said sarcastically.

“My pleasure.” Dan replied. “Welcome to my hell.” He laughed manically.

They hugged again, and just as quickly John was gone. Dan looked around the now-clean kitchen and smiled. He had a couple of hours before they had to leave. He ducked back into his bedroom. Trixie was sitting, staring out the window.

“You okay?” Dan asked.

She looked away from the window quickly, as if caught doing something. “Oh, sorry. I was just daydreaming. I think I zoned out there.”

“You’re probably just tired.” Dan offered.

“No, it’s more than that.” She admitted. “You know, I often wonder how different my life would have been if I had gone with you to California. I can hardly imagine it, you know? We can only do the best we can. Every hard choice I’ve ever made, I always thought at the time that I was making the best decision. But how can you know for sure? How can you know if you made the right choice? I know I defended my choices pretty strongly, but to be honest I had doubts all along, too. And you brought all of that doubt up again.”

To be continued. Please come back later today.

on to Afterward

DAY EIGHT: SUNDAY

2005-11-30T14:22:00.000-08:00

Sunday, November 7: Anniversary of the Date Lewis & Clark Reached the Pacific Ocean (1805)

Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week.

- Joseph Addison, The London Spectator (July 9, 1711)

The world is like a ride at an amusement park. It goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills and it's very brightly coloured and it's very loud and it's fun, for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time, and they begin to question: Is this real, or is this just a ride? And other people have remembered, and they come back to us, they say, "Hey – don't worry, don't be afraid, ever, because, this is just a ride ..." And we ... kill those people. Ha ha, "Shut him up. We have a lot invested in this ride. Shut him up. Look at my furrows of worry. Look at my big bank account and my family. This just has to be real." It's just a ride. But we always kill those good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok. Jesus murdered; Martin Luther King murdered; Malcolm X murdered; Gandhi murdered; John Lennon murdered; Reagan ... wounded. But it doesn't matter because: It's just a ride. And we can change it anytime we want. It's only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings and money. A choice, right now, between fear and love.

The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love, instead, see all of us as one. Here's what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money that we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace. Thank you very much, you've been great.

[ Sound effect of three shots, Hicks pretends to fall down dead, lights go down. ]

- Bill Hicks, Revelations (1994)

on to Chapter 34

Chapter 33

2005-11-28T11:53:00.000-08:00

The Phoenix riddle hath more wit
By us, we being one, are it.
So to one neutral thing both sexes fit,
We die and rise the same, and prove
Mysterious by this love.

- John Donne, The Canonization (1633)

He began another loop through the dining room and then the kitchen again. So far, so good, there was not a relative or septuagenarian in sight. Bill was gone and so was KZ. Dan moved on through the hallway and back to the living room. It still looked clear. He checked the back rooms and out back. He ran into Jeff and asked him to do an independent verification. He came back with the same conclusion. It was time. Jeff, John, Brian and Adam took their positions.

Dan pulled his iPod out of his pocket and walked to his grandmother’s old console stereo. RCA jacks were plugged into the auxiliary with a headphone jack on the other and he pushed it into the top of the iPod. He spun the wheel to turn up the volume. Then he pushed the menu button and spun the wheel again to find the song he was searching for, pressing the center button to start the music. Fishbone’s “Party at Ground Zero” leapt out of the speakers and filled the house with its loud, driving beat. People came to the living room to investigate with his friends pushing the uncurious into the living room to join everybody. KZ winked at Dan as she filed past him to stand alongside him. Dan thought. “Well that was certainly odd. I wonder why she did that?”

When everyone was crowded in the living room, Dan stood up on an ottoman and pressed pause on his iPod. “Is everybody in here?” he called loudly, so people in the rest of the house could here.

Jeff called back. “Almost. One more person’s still in the bathroom.” A flushing sound was heard and a minute later a woman Dan didn’t know came tentatively into the living room full of people. She appeared confused, like she’d missed something.

“Come on in.” Dan called to her, and she blushed.

“Hey, don’t pick on her.” KZ smacked him from behind, laughing.

“Hey everybody. I just wanted to say a few words.” Dan began. “The wake is officially ending and the real party is about to start. All of the extreme ages have left. The youngsters are gone and the oldsters, too. They’re not a blue hair in sight, so we can bring out the keg, let our hair down, and kick up the jams. I wanted to thank you all for coming, especially those of you who haven’t seen me in twenty years. Oh, wait, that’s almost everybody, isn’t it.” Dan didn’t have Bill’s consummate skill as a comedian. Luckily, the crowd was very forgiving because most had been drinking for a while already. So he got a few laughs, at least.

He continued. To those of you I haven’t met before tonight, you’re obviously a friend of a friend and most welcome in my home. There have been many parties in this house over the years, though not for a long time, of course. Ask someone here about those days. If Todd Morgan was here, he could tell you about the time my grandmother came home early and found him in flagrante delicto. Anybody remember who it was he was with? Dan called.

“I know.” Someone raised a hand and started moving forward. As he neared the front Dan saw who it was.

“Oh, shit.” Dan cried. “Todd!” He jumped down and hugged his old friend. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were in Texas or some other shithole like that.”

“I just got in this afternoon. I’ll tell you about it later.” Then he turned to the crown and shouted. “It was Gail Gallagher, by the way.” More laughter.

Dan jumped back on his perch. “Anyway, I leave tomorrow for California again. I’m not planning on sleeping tonight. So this party will be going as long as you can take it. Only one rule: let’s restrict anything nefarious to the back bedroom. I invited Trexler and I don’t want to put him in awkward position.”

Someone called out. “Don’t worry, he’ll join you.” More knowing laughter followed.

“Okay, okay. Settle down. Let’s get the keg up from the basement. If I haven’t had a chance to talk you or meet you, please don’t be shy. Find me. I’d like to meet everybody here tonight. I don’t know when I’ll be back. It may be never. I don’t know. Of course, nothing’s stopping you from visiting me in San Francisco. In California, we’ve got awesome beer. So without further ado, let’s get this party started.” And with that spun the wheel one more time and started the party mix playlist on his iPod. The room filled once more with music, this time it was the B-52’s “Love Shack” and the room roared their approval.

The room, which had been pretty packed a minute before, dispersed back into the other three rooms, distributing people more evenly so there was room to walk around. Weaver was standing in the hallway beyond the large opening that acted as the border of the living room. He unrolled the Ziploc baggie of mushrooms with a snap, holding his hands outstretched, palms up to ask Dan if he was ready for another trip? KZ was still hanging around a little too closely, and Dan thought he should find out why.

“I’ll be right there.” He called to John, who started for the back bedroom. Then Dan turned his attention to KZ. “Kathy. You want to do some mushrooms with John and me?”

“Sure. I guess so.” KZ replied.

“C’mon then, I have to ask you something.” And they started for the hallway. They passed Bill in the hallway. He had a big, shit-eating grin on his face. He was pointing to KZ again and giving Dan the thumbs up sign. After they passed him, Dan looked back and waved at Bill to join them.

The three of them joined Weaver in the spare bedroom that faced the backyard. The window was opened and the Christmas tree farm was visible beyond the yard. John had laid out the mushrooms in small piles representing one dose. He set out larger does for himself and Dan, since they had tripped the night before.

Dan turned to KZ. “Why were you winking at me before?”

She looked around furtively, and bumped into him with her shoulder. “You know.”

“I do?” He questioned.

“Yeah, you know. Before. In the closet.” Kathy told him.

“What, tonight?” He asked, starting to figure it out.

“Of course, tonight. It wasn’t that long ago. How much have you had to drink?” She was starting to sound cross.

“Indulge me. Pretend I can’t remember. Tell me what we did in the closet.” Dan said, staring over at Bill, who was fiddling with his fingers over his pursed mouth.

KZ looked around the room, and at John, not sure what to say.

Dan saw her looking toward Weaver. “Don’t worry about John. We’re all adults here.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” She began tentatively. “I was walking back from the bathroom. When I passed the first closet, the one right outside of here.” She pointed to the bedroom door. There was a hall closet just outside the door, to the right of it. She continued. “And then you grabbed me and pulled me into the closet.”

“Then what did I do?” Dan urged her to keep going.

“Um. We kissed for a little while. Then things got more serious.” She admitted.

“What do you mean?” Dan asked.

John was starting to catch on. His face was trying to stifle a laugh.

KZ went on. “Well. You put your hand under my sweater. Then we took off our clothes and made love.”

“In the closet? Tonight?” Dan repeated.

“Yes. Tonight.” Kathy said, looking around the room and seeing the pained look on John’s face. “What’s going on here? Am I being made a fool?”

“No. No.” Dan tried to sound soothing.

“Was it Bill?” John asked at last.

“Bill?” KZ cried. “Who the fuck is Bill? I don’t know a Bill. Are you telling me it wasn’t you in the closet?”

“I’m afraid it wasn’t” Dan admitted. “I’m sorry. I’d tell you if it was. Really I would.”

“But then who’s Bill?” Kathy demanded.

“Well that’s a little complicated.” John offered.

“Complicated!” KZ shouted. “Somebody better tell me what’s going on. Who the hell did I just fuck in the closet?”

“I think you better sit down.” Dan suggested. “Just try to relax and I’ll tell you about Bill. Now would be a good time to take the mushrooms. Believe me.”

“Okay.” KZ sat in the stuffed chair by the bed. John handed her a pinch of the dried mushrooms. “Do I just eat them?”

“Yep.” John told her. Just chew them and swallow. They’re not the tastiest in the world, but they’ll do the trick. Here’s a glass of water.”

Kathy swallowed and drank the glass dry. “Okay, now can you tell me what’s going on?”

Dan told her all about Bill with John chiming in to confirm what he knew and his experience from the night before. Dan could hear Bill laughing from time to time from the bed, where he had laid down.

KZ looked at times incredulous, then horrified, then amazed, then back to horrified. When they were finished, she sat there not speaking for a few minutes. Eventually, she had a few questions. “So you’re saying I had sex with a dead guy?”

“Yeah.” Dan replied. “Although he seems alive to John and me. It’s just that I know who he was and that he died of pancreatic cancer around ten years ago. I’d even met him once when we was doing a show in San Francisco.”

“But that’s when he was alive, right?” Kathy clarified.

“Right.” Dan agreed. “Then, as I said, he was just there next to me on the plane here.”

“Well that is just fucked up.” Kathy was clearly out of sorts, not that Dan could blame her. “I really don’t know why you’re playing with me like this. I won’t tell anybody about it. I won’t tell Trixie, if you don’t want me to. But do you really have to go to such lengths to come up with such an obviously outrageous lie?”

“Wait.” John offered. “I really didn’t believe Dan either last night. But after the mushrooms kicked in last night I could see him, too. We talked all night. He’s real alright. He’s probably here in the room right now.”

“What!” KZ jumped up. “Where?”

“Thanks John.” Dan gave Weaver a look.

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “Just trying to help.”

“Actually, he’s on the bed.” Dan admitted.

“Really?” John said.

“Really?” KZ repeated, near to tears.

“Yes, really.” Dan said firmly. “Just wait. I don’t know how this whole thing works or why it’s happening but it worked last night for John so perhaps it will work for you too. How long has it been, John?”

“About fifteen minutes.” John guessed.

“Okay, last night it took around twenty minutes or so for the ‘shrooms to kick in.” Dan calculated. So in the next five minutes or so, you should be able to see Bill. At least I hope so.”

Kathy walked over next to the bed. “So he’s here on the bed?” She asked.

“Yeah. Lying down.” Dan told her.

Bill looked confused, unsure what he should do.

“In the middle of the bed?” She continued.

“Yep.” Dan said.

Without warning KZ balled her hand into a fist and thrust it down onto the center of the bed. But she never reached the quilt covering bed. Her fist instead found the soft, fleshy part of Bill’s stomach. She gasped and jumped back from the bed. “Oh my god.” She exclaimed.

“Oww.” Bill yelled, bolting upright in bed and holding his stomach in pain.

“Was that him?” She asked. “Did I hit him?”

“Oh, yeah.” Dan laughed. “You got him pretty good.”

“Hey!” Bill yelled, jumping off the bed.

“I actually felt it.” She admitted. “That was really weird. This is impossible.” And she slammed her fist on the bed again, this time hitting only the mattress.

“Missed me.” Bill called.

“He got up after you hit him.” Dan informed her.

Just then, the mushrooms must have kicked in because KZ was pointing at Bill, who was standing next to the bed, on the opposite side as Kathy. She was backing away, until she reached the wall and was pressed against it with her back. “Is that him?” She asked, shaking.

Bill walked over to her. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Bill.”

She slapped him across the face. Dan and John laughed.

“Hey!” Bill cried out again. “Why do you keep hitting me?”

“Why do you think?” She replied sarcastically, and ran out of the room.

Bill followed her out of the room, stopping when he reached the door. He turned back to John and Dan. “Oh, I like her.” He told them, and was gone.

“Well that wasn’t too weird.” John offered, still laughing. A few more revelers wandered into the room and he gave them each a pinch.

“I better see what’s going on out there.” Dan told John, and wandered down the hall toward the living room. The music was shuffling through Dan’s party mix playlist and Nirvana’s “Rape Me” from the unplugged sessions was coming from the speakers. That must be how KZ’s feeling, he thought. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Bill’s deceit toward his friend. He guessed he’d wait to see how things played out tonight before deciding what to do about it.

Dan found Todd in the Living room talking with Brian and Jeff. “Hey, man, how are you doing?” He said, as he hugged Todd. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“It was sheer coincidence.” Todd told him. “My sister’s getting married next week and I came in a week early to help my parents out. I ran into Adam at the Giant and he told me you were here and what was going on.”

“Maybe it was fate?” Dan suggested.

“I didn’t think you believed in fate.” Todd said. “Didn’t we talk about this one night? You said something about fate being counterintuitive with free will.”

“That sounds like me, alright.” Dan laughed. “My opinion on that may be evolving. I’d tell you all about it, but then you’d need mushrooms.”

“You’ve got mushrooms?” Todd’s face lit up.

“Not me.” Dan told him. “But Weaver does. He’s in the back bedroom.”

“Cool.” Todd said, and was down the hall in an instant.

Someone tapped Dan on the shoulder and he wheeled around. “Laura!” He yelled and threw his arms around Laura Bausher. After letting go of her, he asked. “Aren’t you in DC?”

“Home for the weekend.” Laura explained. “KZ told me she ran into you. So here I am. Where is KZ?”

“Oo. That’s complicated. She’s here somewhere.” Dan said tentatively.

“Complicated?” Laura looked confused.

“Never mind.” Dan told her. “You just get here?”

“Seconds ago.” She replied.

“Well beer’s in the kitchen. Help yourself.” He offered.

“Thanks, I believe I will.” Laura spun around and was gone.

Trixie was talking with someone in the dining room. From the little of her Dan could see, she was a younger blonde. It looked like she was arguing with Trixie.

Dan shrugged and joined Brian and Jeff who were sitting on the sofa by the fire. Adam was in the chair closest to the fireplace. He was stoking the fire, trying to get the flames higher. He flopped down in the stuffed chair opposite Adam with the coffee table in between. “Evening gents.” He said. “I haven’t seen you guys more than a few minutes at a time all day. That’s just wrong. You guys are my best friends. And I never see any of you. So it’s only been about twenty, you guys been up to anything?”

They laughed.

“The usual.” Brian began. “Wife. Kids. House. Job. I think that’s it.”

“No kids.” Adam interjected. “Dog. But the rest is right.”

“Same here.” Jeff admitted. “’Cept I’m Kids and Dog.

“Pathetic.” Dan chided them. “Just pathetic.”

“Look who’s talking?” Jeff shot back. My wife thinks you’re Peter Pan?”

“What?” Dan was surprised.

“Mine too.” Brian said. “Weaver’s wife, too. I heard them all talking about it years ago.”

“It was right after we got that Christmas card with you and the teenager.” Jeff remembered.

Adam turned from the fire. “I remember that picture.”

“She was nineteen. I mean she was an adult, for chrissakes.” Dan defended himself.

“Barely.” Adam laughed. “Don’t forget, John met her when he was out in San Francisco. He told us all about her. We heard all kinds of stories.”

Dan could see this was getting him nowhere. “But that was ages ago. They can’t still think about me, can they?”

“As far as I know, they do.” Brian said. “I think they see you as threatening. You know what I mean?”

“Not really.” Dan scratched his head. “I’m not following that.”

“We’d talk to you and you’d be at the beach with some bimbo half you age. We’d mention it to the missus and the next thing I know I’d hear them discussing your being unable to grow up and face your responsibilities. I’d see them whispering about it at parties for years.” Jeff explained. “I think they thought we’d chuck them out and go live with you in California.”

“You know John almost did it?” Brian asked.

“Did what?” Dan was confused again.

“Left Amanda and moved to California. He was talking about it. I think he told her it would be a quote-unquote ‘trial separation.’” Brian told him.” Brian told him. “But then he didn’t go through with it in the end. Decided to stay with her and move to New York. That’s right. That’s when it was; right before they moved to upstate.”

“Oh my god.” Dan suddenly realized. “That was over ten years ago. No wonder Amanda hates me. Every time I call for John and get her on the phone, she sounds like she can’t stand me. Now I know why.”

“John never said anything to you about it?” Adam questioned.

“No, never said a word.” Dan said, shaking his head. “Why didn’t he ever tell me?” Out of the corner of his eye, Dan saw someone come in that he hadn’t seen before. “Excuse me, guys. I think I just saw Deb Mohn come in.”

Dan made his way to the kitchen. Sure enough, taking off her coat was Deb Mohn. “Dan!” She called. “How’ve you been? I hope you don’t mind. KZ told me about your little soiree. Sorry about your grandmother.”

“Oh, thanks.” Dan said sincerely. “Now, I’m glad to see you. It’s been a good quarter-century.”

“Too true, too true.” Deb repeated, as she opened the refrigerator and helped herself to a Yuengling Porter. “Have you seen KZ?”

“She’s around somewhere.” Dan told her, ducking into the dining room.

Trixie was still in the dining room. Dan grabbed a plate and put some food on it, coming over to where Trixie was standing. She looked clearly vexed about something. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Oh, Dan.” Trixie jumped. You startled me.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing. Just thinking, that’s all.” She lied.

“Oh.” Dan wasn’t convinced. “Who was that I saw you talking with a few minutes ago? You looked like you were yelling at her. But I didn’t recognize her at all. Friend of yours?”

“Yes, sort of.” Trixie half admitted.

“She still here?” Dan asked.

“She left. We had a fight.” She said vaguely.

“Ah. Okay.” Dan gave up. “You need another drink? I do.”

“Sure. Yeah, I could use another. “She replied. “Gin and tonic.”

“You got it” Dan said, and ducked back in the kitchen. As he was making her drink, Adam’s wife Donna came in the back door.

“Hey Donna.” He called to her.

“Hey Dan.” She replied. “Where’s Adam?”

“In the living room last time I saw him.” Dan said, pointing out the door and down the hall. “Through there and make a left. He’s by the fireplace. You want a beer?”

“Sure.” Donna said.

“In the ‘frig.” Dan nodded toward it with his head, as he picked up the mixed drink in one hand with his pint glass in the other. Donna opened the refrigerator and helped herself as Dan disappeared into the dining room. Dan gave Trixie her drink, and then went to look for Bill. He found him in his grandmother’s bedroom, the master bedroom talking with someone Dan didn’t know.

“Hey Dan.” Bill called as soon as he saw him. “I want you to meet somebody. This is Old Henry.”

Dan shook his hand. “You don’t look old.” He told him.

“I’m older than I look.” Old Henry replied.

“Wait.” Dan turned to Bill. “Didn’t you tell me Old Henry was the devil?”

“Pleased to meet you.” Old Henry bowed.

Dan looked at Bill again. “Seriously?”

“That’s what he says. He’s not on mushrooms.” Bill informed Dan.

“What happened with KZ?” Dan asked.

“We made up. I did her from behind in the other bedroom. She’s asleep in there now.” Bill told him.

“Unbelievable.” Dan shook his head. “So why is the devil here?”

“Beats me.” Bill admitted.

“I have a message for you.” Old Henry said.

“Oh, great. Just what I need.” Dan said facetiously.

“You will meet your flesh tonight.” Old Henry revealed. “Do not be fooled by the Trickster.”

Dan looked at Bill, then at his arm. “Hello flesh.” He said. “Is that it?”

Old Henry looked back at them as he headed for the doorway. “Yes, my task here is done. Farewell.” And with that he disappeared down the hallway.

Dan turned back to Bill. “The devil?”

Bill shrugged his shoulders. “He just showed up. I kept him in here so he wouldn’t — I don’t know — mess up the party. Start stealing souls? Who knows? Remember, I know as much about what’s going on as you do, which is nothing.”

“You know a little bit more than I do.” Dan challenged.

“Maybe.” Bill admitted. “But not by much. I tell you what.”

Just then, they could hear a commotion out in the hallway. Dan heard Trixie’s voice yelling at someone to stop. The voice, whoever it belonged to yelled back. “How could you tell me he was dead?”

Dan looked over at Bill. “She talking about you?”

Bill shrugged again. “I don’t recognize the voice. It’s not KZ.”

The noise in the hall was growing louder. More voices had joined the heated conversation. They could hear sounds of a struggle. Weaver came in through the adjoining bathroom from the spare where’s been holed up.

“What’s going on?” He asked. “Sounds like a fight. Should we check it out?”

“We were just trying to decide.” Bill replied.

Just then the door swung open. Standing in the doorway, with Trixie trying vainly trying to hold her back, was a young woman who was, apart from the blonde hair, the spitting image of Trixie in her early twenties. Dan’s mind reeled. “Was it the woman Trixie was arguing with in the dining room? Was that the woman he saw briefly in the car as she was pulling out of the funeral hall parking lot?” Dan silently wondered.

He looked back at her again. This time he studied her face more closely. Then it hit him. “Hey.” He shouted. “You’re the girl in the photos on my grandmother’s mantle.”

The girl nodded. “Chulkie.”

“That’s what I always called her.” Dan told her.

“Me, too. She was my Chulkie, too.” She repeated.

Dan felt like a dog who’d been shown a card trick. He tilted his head in complete confusion. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Trixie let go of her hold over the girl and she bolted toward Dan. She covered the few feet almost instantaneously, as if she’d been uncorked from the doorway. When she reached Dan, she leapt onto him, throwing her arms around her. We was barely able to maintain his balance and put his arms around her just to steady himself.

“Daddy!” She shouted.

The room went silent. He released her grip on her and she sank to her feet, standing up in front of him. “Trixie!” Dan yelled, bust she was still standing in the doorway, just a few feet away.

She sighed deeply. “I have been dreading this moment, Dan. I honestly thought it might never happen, but this girl is as stubborn and willful as you are.”

“Who is she?” Dan demanded.

“Dan, this is Ronnie. Veronica. Veronica Zinn. My daughter.” She paused to let that sink in and then added. “Our daughter.

Dan’s face drained of color. He began shaking. His mind was racing with a million questions. When the color returned, it was a deep, beet red. He felt like steam was escaping through the top of his head, like an old Warner Brothers cartoon. “Our daughter. My daughter.” He thought, repeating it in his mind like a mantra. Trying to get it to sound right. He looked at her again. He could now see what he’d noticed in the photographs before, signs of his family’s resemblance.

His daughter was standing in front of him with many different looks on her face. She was waiting to see what Dan’s reaction would be. She was looking back to gauge her mother’s reaction. She seemed like she wanted to reach out to Dan again but was unsure if she should.

Luckily, John still had his wits about him. He addressed the assembled crowd. “C’mon people. Let’s give these three a little privacy.” Then he herded everyone out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Dan could hear loud murmurings out in the hallway, but they began to fade, presumably, as Weaver moved everyone to the living room and kitchen.

Once they were alone and it had finally become quiet, Dan looked at Trixie. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the room. “Could somebody please tell me what’s going on?” He pleaded.

“Don’t you know?” Ronnie looked confused.

“He has no idea.” Trixie said at last.

Her daughter shot a look over at her that was both menacing and deeply hurt. “What!” She cried. “But …”

Trixie interrupted. “I know what I told you, but it’s not true.” She bowed her head. “I’m sorry. I wanted to protect you.”

“From what?” Ronnie demanded.

“From me?” Dan interjected.

Trixie looked up, as if she’d forgotten Dan was still in the room. “Let’s all sit down on the bed. I’ll tell you both about it.” She sighed heavily again, as if resigned to a fate she hadn’t counted on. The three of them sat on the edge of his grandmother Veronica’s bed, with the young Veronica in the middle between Dan and Trixie.

“Okay, Mom.” Veronica said tersely. “What’s going on? Is this my dead father?”

“Hey, I’m not dead.” Dan protested.

“Yes.” Trixie began. “This is your father and no, as you can see he’s very much alive.”

“But then why did you …” Ronnie tried to interrupt.

“Hold on.” Trixie stopped her interruption. “Let me say my peace then you can ask me whatever you want. Fair enough?”

“Sure, Mom.” Ronnie conceded. “Let’s hear it.”

“Yeah, let’s hear it.” Dan echoed sarcastically. “This should be good.”

Trixie gave Dan a pained look, but continued. “Honey, remember how I told you a man shot me twenty years ago, when I was pregnant with you?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“Well that man was Dan here’s stepfather and in addition to me, he also shot his mother. And she did die. It was very hard on me and it was very hard on Dan. His stepfather, Rick, fled and threatened Dan’s life. Dan didn’t know what to do so he got as far away as he could, and that’s how he ended up in California. He asked me to go, but at the hospital when they were treating my gunshot wounds, they also discovered that I was pregnant. I freaked a little and I wouldn’t talk to Dan or anybody else, except your grandparents, my Mom and Dad. I didn’t know what to do but I knew I couldn’t leave here while I was carrying you. So Dan left without me. We talked on the phone a few times after that, but I was so closed off by that time, that we fought every time we spoke. I told him about you and he also freaked, not that I can blame him for that now. But at the time I couldn’t handle it so I told him to send me money for an abortion, which he did. And that was the last time I spoke to your father until last night.”

“You were going to abort me?” Ronnie looked hurt.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Trixie hemmed and hawed. “I was confused. You’re nineteen now. What would you do if you found out you were pregnant?”

Ronnie thought about that for a minute. “I don’t know what I’d do.” She finally replied.

“See, that’s how I felt.” Trixie emphasized her point. “I didn’t know you then, don’t forget.”

Ronnie turned to Dan. “But how could you let her have an abortion.”

Dan held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, there was nothing I could do about it. Nobody told your mother what to do. If she was going to do something, she did it. It was a pretty complicated time. I couldn’t see myself having a kid any more than she probably could.”

“So then why did you tell me he died?” Ronnie asked.

“Yeah, I want to know that one, too.” Dan added.

Trixie sighed again. “I thought it would be easier if you weren’t always wondering when you could meet your father. I thought it would distract you. After a number of years went by, it was pretty obvious Dan wasn’t coming back to Pennsylvania, even after his stepfather was put behind bars for life. So I thought it was make things easier for you. I talked about it with your grandmother, Dan, and we agreed it was for the best.”

“My grandmother knew all about this? And agreed to it?” Dan said angrily.

“It was her idea, Dan.” Trixie told him softly.

Dan was shaking his head. “I can’t believe you even named her Veronica.”

“Dan, your grandmother was good to me.” Trixie sighed yet again. “Unlike my family, or most of my friends, she never judged me. She was supportive at a time when I really needed that. She was there for me. It seemed like the right thing to do. I knew you loved her so to name your daughter after her seemed like exactly the right thing to do. And Ronnie grew up playing here on the weekends, just like you did. Everybody was happy. I think your grandmother felt like a part of you was still here, because of her. Hell, she spoiled her rotten. So I think she thought not telling Ronnie about you was better for everybody concerned.”

“But you lied to me.” Ronnie accused, not letting that pass.

Trixie looked over at Dan. “You can help me out anytime here.”

“Not me, I’m dead at this point, don’t forget. I agree with her.” Dan chastised, pointing at Ronnie. “How could you and Chulkie tell her that? How could you both not tell me I had a daughter?”

“Honestly Dan, what would you have done?” Trixie charged.

“I guess we’ll never know, now will we.” He retaliated. “I never had a chance, did I?”

“But I knew how you’d take it. You always made it pretty clear you never wanted kids. And don’t forget your reaction when I told you on the phone.” Trixie reminded him.

“So you gave me one chance to react the right way, with everything else that was going on at the time?” Dan replied angrily. “It so happens I love kids.”

“Since when?” Trixie laughed sarcastically.

“Since my son was born.” He informed then.

“What!” Trixie’s mouth fell open, and turned toward him, raising her voice. “When did you have a child? Wait a minute, with who? One of your bimbos?”

Dan laughed. “You all assume that because I used to date a lot of younger women, that I still do. You assume I’m still exactly the same as you remember me. That I’ll never change. I’ve been here a week and not one person has asked me if I have kids or even if I ever married. Isn’t that curious? Are you still the same person you were twenty years ago?”

“Well, no.” Trixie admitted. “Not by a long shot.”

“So why do you assume I am?” Dan countered.

“So I have a brother?” Ronnie asked excitedly. “How old is he? What’s his name?”

“Brewer is four.” Dan informed his daughter. “You also have a little sister, she just turned one a few months ago. She’s 15 months now, I guess. Or she will be tomorrow.”

”Oh my god.” Ronnie and Trixie said in unison.

“What’s her name?” Ronnie was even more excited now.

“Now this is kind of funny.” He began. “Her name is Veronica.”

Trixie laughed. “No wonder you were so funny about her name.”

“That’s not funny.” Ronnie protested. “We can’t both be Veronica.”

“Don’t worry, honey.” Dan soothed. “We’ll get it all sorted out when I get back to California.”

“Does this mean I have a wicked stepmother, too?” She asked.

“Well, I don’t know about the wicked part, but yes, I guess you do have a stepmother.” Dan told her.

Trixie jumped in. “Yes, Dan. Tell us about her. What’s she like? Please tell me she’s older than Ronnie.”

“Mom!” Ronnie protested.

“Well.” He began. “Abby, um, Abigail, is my wife. We’ve been married almost ten years now. She’s in her mid-thirties, thank you very much. So she’s much older than Ronnie. She’s an architect for a pretty big firm in San Francisco.”

“How’d you meet?” Ronnie asked excitedly.

“At a party. A Halloween party. One of my best friends in California, Kevin, throws the most amazing Halloween parties.” Dan told her.

“Why isn’t she here?” Trixie asked.

“It all happened so fast.” Dan explained. “We got the news about Chulkie and I had to get her fast. With the kids and her work, it just made more sense for me to come alone. Plus she’d never met Chulkie and she didn’t know anybody here so we decided she should stay there.” Then Dan tried to change the subject. “Hey Trixie, how come you never married?”

“She did.” Ronnie answered for her. “Edward Wanninger, of the Philadelphia Wanningers.” She affected a snobbish accent.

“What happened?” Dan asked sincerely.

“It was a bad idea from the start. I guess I was looking for a father for Ronnie. But he was such a pompous ass that it didn’t last a year. I couldn’t take him any more.” She admitted.

“He was a total jerk.” Ronnie added.

“You know she had already had a father.” Dan reminded Trixie sarcastically. “Maybe if you had bothered to tell me. How could you not tell me this for almost twenty years!” Dan’s voice was becoming angrier.

“Calm down, Dan.” Trixie yelled. “I told you why I didn’t tell you before.”

“Before?” Dan bellowed. “You wouldn’t have told me anything now unless our daughter hadn’t forced you to. How could you do that to me?”

“To you?” Trixie screamed back. “This isn’t about you. It’s about what was best for Ronnie.”

“I’m her goddamn father.” He shouted. “I should have at least been part of the discussion, don’t you think? How could I not have been a part of what was best for my own daughter?”

“We didn’t think you could handle it.” Trixie said softly.

“What was that?” Dan asked forcibly. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“We didn’t think you could handle it.” Trixie repeated more loudly.

“You mean you, your parents, my grandmother, pretty much everybody? Is there anybody is this god-forsaken town that didn’t know about her? Did all my friends know, too?” Dan was becoming apoplectic.

“Come on, Dan.” Trixie retaliated. “Be honest with yourself. Think back to when you left. Could you have handled being saddled with a baby? You had just escaped all your burdens. What would a baby have meant to you at that time? Not freedom, I can tell you that.”

Dan tried to calm himself. “But you didn’t even give me a chance. You all assumed I wouldn’t have done the right thing. You assumed a lot, don’t you think? And forget about twenty years ago, what about every year since then. What about continuing to keep me in the dark about my own child. I’m watching my kids with Abby grow up right now day by day and the thought that I missed Veronica’s — not my veronica, I mean Ronnie’s — entire childhood is just killing me. Can you even imagine it if you hadn’t watched her grow up?”

Trixie’s face was frozen in thought, turning pale. She lowered her voice. “No, I have to admit that sounds like pretty much the worst thing I can think of.”

“Well then maybe you can imagine how I feel.” He said sternly.

“But …” Trixie sputtered.

“But what?” Dan interrupted.

“But I didn’t mean to hurt you, I thought I was trying to help you.” She explained.

“Help me?” Dan was perplexed. “How were you helping me?”

“I thought by keeping Ronnie from you, then you might actually get the chance to escape this place. I figured you deserved at least that after all you’d gone through. Even if you somehow didn’t see her as a burden or responsibility you would have at least felt terribly guilty. Maybe you really would have come back here and tried to do the right thing, so to speak. But would you have been even remotely happy? And I know you’ll say we’ll never know now but come on, you know yourself, how do you honestly think you would have felt?” Trixie flopped backwards on the bed, exhausted.

Dan was shaking his head, not sure what to say. “I don’t know what to say.” He admitted. “This is all so surreal. The fact that I’m tripping probably isn’t helping, either.”

“You’re tripping?” Ronnie and Trixie said in unison.

“On what?” Trixie asked.

“Mushrooms.” Dan replied.

“Oh, can I try some.” Ronnie asked. “I’ve always wanted to.”

“No.” Dan and Trixie both said sternly in stereo. They all laughed, releasing some of the tension that had been building up in the room.

“Look, I don’t want to keep fighting about this.” Dan said. “I’m really angry about what you’ve done …”

“Dan …” Trixie tried to interrupt.

“Hang on.” He held up his index finger to stop her talking. “Let me finish.”

Trixie fell silent.

Dan repeated. “I am very pissed off about this, but there doesn’t seem to really be anything I can do about it. We can’t go back in time, can we? So what’s done is done. All we can do is try to figure out what to do now. I want to get to know my daughter. My nineteen-year old daughter. How fucking weird is that. Beatrix, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to forgive you for this. It’s just so big. I feel like you’ve taken just about the most important thing away from me. I know you thought you were doing what was best. I believe you when you say you didn’t mean to hurt me. But. Well… You did. And I think in the end you may have robbed Ronnie of something very important, too. I didn’t know my real father growing up, because mine really did die. So I know what that was like. It kills me to think she had the same experience when in fact she didn’t have to.”

“So when can I meet my little brother and sister?” Ronnie asked, trying to change the subject.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Ronnie.” Dan told her. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?” Ronnie looked confused.

“I mean, do you have any plans for tomorrow that can’t be changed and for the foreseeable future?”

“Why?” Trixie asked tentatively.

“Because I think Ronnie should come and stay with me for a little while. Maybe she should go to school in California. What would you think about Berkeley, Ronnie?”

“Wow, mom, could I?” Veronica looked over at her mother for approval.

“I don’t know …” Trixie began.

“It’s not up to her, Ronnie.” Dan interrupted again, anticipating Trixie’s response. “You’re over eighteen. You’re an adult. What do you want to do? Would you like to get to know your father, your little brother and sister, and even your stepmother, who, I can assure you, is not wicked? She may be a little surprised, of course, but we can hardly blame her for that. Your mom has had you for nineteen years. I think now it’s my turn. What do you say?”

She hesitated, thinking it over in her mind. “Yes.” She said at last, throwing her arms around her father and hugging him again. This time, Dan returned her hug, burying his head in her shoulder to muffle his cries of joy.

A Bang on the door broke the moment and a voice rang out. It was Weaver. “Everything okay in there?”

“Come on in, John.” Dan called, and the door swung open. A dozen pair of eyes peered in.

“What happened?’ John asked.

“I have a daughter.” Dan declared. “Ronnie, this is John, one of my best friends.

“Oh my god.” Weaver declared as he reached out to shake her hand. “She looks just like Trixie when I first met her. And I see bits of you in her as well.”

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Dan suggested. “Can you believe Trixie kept her a secret from me for all these years? It’s like some god damn soap opera.”

“Come on, Ronnie. There are some people I’d like you to meet.” Dan left the room with his daughter in tow, leaving John and Trixie alone in the bedroom.

“Well this is some pretty big news.” John offered.

“I’d rather it had not been news at all.” Trixie sighed.

“Yeah, I’ll bet Dan didn’t take it all that well.” John offered. “Is that why we hardly ever saw you around after Dan left?”

“In a way.” Trixie admitted. “But that was only part of it. Like, Dan, I wanted to have a new life, too. But I couldn’t bear to leave this place, or my family for that matter. And I wanted Ronnie to know at least some of her family so that meant living not too far away.”

“It must have been a tough decision.” John tried to be sympathetic.

“It was, John.” Trixie told him. “And those people out there are going to crucify me. I’ll never be welcome here again when Dan gets through with me.”

“Don’t be too sure about that. He may be mad as hell at you right now, but I’ve seen him in his new life in California. I know the mature, middle-aged Dan. He’ll forgive you. He’s probably just thrilled at the prospect of having another daughter. Is her name really Veronica?”

“Yeah, why?” Trixie asked.

John laughed. “You know that’s his baby girl’s name? The one he had last year. I met her over the summer. She’s really cute. Dan’s wife, Abby, is really great. You’d really like her. Everybody does.”

“Yeah, he told us.” She replied wearily.

“He has two daughters with the same name.” Weaver repeated, and started laughing again. “Now that’s funny.”

Bill was still sitting in a corner of the room, and he started laughing along with Weaver. He gave John the thumb’s up sign when he looked over at him.

Back in the main part of the house, Dan was proudly introducing his daughter to everyone he knew and even those he didn’t. Despite his lingering anger toward Trixie and the circumstances, he was absolutely delighted that he had a daughter he just met. There was so much he wanted to show her and tell her. It was as if one of the ghosts of his past had suddenly come to life. Something good had finally come out of his past. The apparition made visible. As a result, he no longer feared the dead ones as much. And unlike with Bill, he was sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Dan felt better than he had in a long time. And tomorrow he was going home. Not his former home here, but his real home in California. Where his heart lived. Where his life was. And Dan felt for the first time like he could once and for all, leave the ghosts here in Dutch Wonderland, where they belonged.

on to Day Eight, the Last Day

Chapter 32

2005-11-24T10:15:00.000-08:00

L'enfer, c'est les autres
(Hell is other people.)

- Jean Paul Sartre, No Exit (1944)

Dan found Rich Buchanon easily in the viewing room where his grandmother had been the night before. He was the first to arrive, Rich told him, but it was still almost twenty minutes to noon. Dan was only expecting the pallbearers, John, Brian, Adam, Jeff, Dan’s Uncle George and his cousin Saul. Perhaps their families would be with them, but everybody else would likely be meeting at the cemetery.

Sure enough, everyone was there on time and they loaded Chulkie’s casket into the hearse with a minimum of pomp. Dan rode in the limo behind the hearse alone, not counting Bill, and there were less than a dozen cars in the procession. Even at a dignified speed, it only took a few minutes to make the journey to the cemetery. Dan could see as they approached the entrance that there were quite a number of cars parked along New Holland Avenue.

The hearse and limo pulled into the cemetery along with the cars in tow. As they pulled up to the open grave, surrounded by Astroturf and covered by a temporary canopy in case of rain, there were more people there than he had expected. He could identify most of the faces in the crowd, but there were still several whom Dan did not know, or at least did not recognize.

The sun had gone behind thick winter clouds, which washed out the day in a dull gray. Rich tapped on the glass and slid open the partition between the front of the car. “Are you ready?” He asked.

“Give me a minute, Rich.” Dan said. “I just want to collect my thoughts. Thanks.”

Rich got out and began collecting the pallbearers around the back of the hearse. Dan could see peoples’ breath in the cold air. It must have grown colder again, he thought.

Bill sat opposite Dan in the limo, facing him. “You ready?” He asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Dan replied.

“This is what the week has been leading up to.” Bill suggested. “It’s not only time to bury your grandmother, but also to bury your past and all of its negative connotations. It’s time to let go of all the bad stuff that ties you to this place. Release yourself. The ghosts here still haunt you because you let them. You give them that power. Let go. Just let go.”

Dan just nodded his head and sighed deeply. “Showtime.” He said under his breath, and opened the door. Cold air rushed into the limo as he stepped out into the cemetery. His feet crunched on the frost that clung to the grass as he made his way to edge of the grave, under the canopy. He silently nodded to friends and family he passed along his way. The casket was carried from the hearse and set down gently on the thick straps suspended above the open grave. Once in place, the pallbearers dispersed and stood next to wives and kids and other family and friends. The casket containing his grandmother seemed to float above the open hole.

Someone handed Dan an “In Memoriam” program with Chulkie’s name and birth date, etc. on it, along with her favorite passage from the bible. It also listed the service to be performed today. The pastor Rich had gotten was from Adam’s church, so Dan was happy about that.

The reverend stepped up the lectern and opened the service with a prayer. Everyone present bowed their heads, except for Dan who defiantly held his head high and his eyes open. He always did that during any public praying, regardless of the event. It tended to piss off the more exuberant christians, which was fine by Dan. He felt that freedom of religion also meant freedom from religion, if that was your choice, but most people he debated this with disagreed. They thought he should just go along with the crowd and be respectful of their religion. But Dan couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just go along with any crowd if he didn’t agree with the underlying principle behind it.

Dan didn’t really pay much attention to the service. It was for the people there, and it was what Chulkie wanted. So he kept it traditional for their sakes, and in the end thought he had been as respectful as he could to something he disagreed with whole-heartedly. Instead he spent his time looking around at the assembled crowd. He divided them into three camps. People he knew, people he didn’t know, and people he could make educated guesses about.

People Dan knew made up about sixty percent or so. They included his remaining relatives, old friends and their families and curious old acquaintances that Dan had not seen or spoken to since he’d left Shillington. Trixie was there, keeping to herself near the back. The educated guess folks included the doctors and nurses from the Hassler Home, neighbors Dan didn’t know, and people from his grandmother’s church, no doubt perplexed by Reverend Dreher’s absence. That was probably another twenty or thirty percent. So left ten to twenty people that Dan didn’t have a clue how they were connected to his grandmother. Did they know about the wake? He didn’t like the idea of strangers at the wake, but he kept reminding himself that the wake was for his grandmother; to honor her memory. It was not about Dan.

He looked done at the program to see they were about halfway through the short ceremony. Good, he thought, and his thoughts drifted once more away from the present. He was picturing this same spot twenty years before, when they buried his mother. The crowd was a little bigger, but not by a much. And quite a few of the people here today were also there with Dan twenty years before. For a few of them, that was the last time he’d seen them since he’d left for California not long afterwards.

Someone nudged Dan gently in the ribs. Dan turned to see his cousin Saul. “It’s time to throw the dirt on the casket.” He said softly.

“Oh, right. Sure.” Dan said, trying to regain his composure. There was a pile of dirt right next to the grave and he knew he should take the dirt from there, but it just didn’t feel right. He walked a few yards away from the group to the tree where his step-grandfather Wilbur had stood during his mother’s funeral and stopped. He was aware that all eyes were watching him and all of them were confused, to say the least. But Dan’s reputation for eccentricity often allowed him to easily act first, explain later, since acting unusually was, for him at least, normal. In a way, it was expected. Though perhaps no one would say so, most probably expected that he would do something out of the ordinary today. Dan knelt down and dug up a handful of earth near the base of Wilbur’s tree. He then walked it back and sprinkled it on Chulkie’s casket. A few other people added dirt of their own and then it was done.

A man from the funeral home lowered the casket into the grave and the pastor concluded the ceremony. He announced that the wake would take place immediately after the ceremony. Dan thanked Rich Buchanon and Reverend Moyer, the pastor from Adam’s church. People milled around for a while and Dan shook a lot of hands and accepted condolences from many more. It was still quite cold and Dan got the crowd’s attention to say they should all follow him back to Chulkie’s house, where it was much warmer and there were food and beverages.

He led them back down the road and onto Broad Street. It was like a small parade. The only thing missing was the marching band. Dan would have liked having a New Orleans style band to play dirges on the walk back. He was kicking himself for not having thought of it before now.

When they reached Chulkie’s house, several people were waiting there ahead of him. Dan was surprised to find that the door was already open and the food and drinks spread out in the kitchen and living room. Trixie was inside in the dining room. She was arranging things on the table when Dan approached her.

“I hope you don’t mind.” She said. “But I knew you wouldn’t do anything until you got here and then everyone would just be waiting around. So I stopped by this morning and started putting everything out.”

“Wow.” Dan said. “Thanks. You really do know me, don’t you? I appreciate this a lot.”

It was strange how easily Trixie had slipped back into his life, Dan thought. And not only that, she seemed to be at home here in his grandmother’s house. It was as if she had remained a part of his family when he effectively left it, like they’d traded places. She seemed to know where everything was in the drawers and cabinets and moved around the place with a practiced ease. There was a time when that might have pissed off Dan, but he was actually grateful for the help. Everything was laid out very nicely, and much better than Dan would have done. He left her to it then, and returned to greet his guests.

His relatives, for the most part, had taken seats in the living room and had plates of finger foods perched on their laps or knees. His friends, by contrast were mostly in the kitchen where the drinks were. Dan could see the house was starting to fill up so he began making the rounds and talking to each person in turn.

His Uncle George and Aunt Amy were seated at the sofa alongside his Great Aunt Helen. Not surprisingly, George made a reference to god’s plan. His aunt and uncle were good salt-of-the-earth people, but Dan was glad he wasn’t subjected to even the passive preaching that their newfound faith engendered. His Aunt Helen mercifully was as cranky and lucid as ever. She was in her mid-nineties so he was very glad she hadn’t succumbed to the same dementia that Chulkie had at the end of her life. It seemed like she had been robbed of the remaining years of her life. He thanked them for being there and moved on.

Aunt Mary and Uncle Jacob were seated across from George and Amy with his cousin Saul standing behind them, with a beer in his hand. He chatted with his aunt and uncle amiably before turning his attention to his cousin Saul. Dan thanked him for being a pallbearer.

“No problem, dude.” Saul replied. “I haven’t seen you since I was a kid.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Dan admitted. “How old were you when I left?”

“I had just started junior high so I was probably around thirteen.” Saul told him.

“Jesus, does that mean you’re thirty-three now?” Dan asked.

“I will be in a few months. I’m still thirty-two now.” Saul answered.

“Wow. I guess I missed a lot.” Dan shook his head. “What are you doing these days?”

“I live in New York City, near the village. I’m just home for a visit.” He explained. “I went to NYU and just ended up staying. I work for a publishing company. I’m a low-level flunky but I really love it in New York. Not like this place. There’s nothing to do here.”

His father, Dan’s Uncle Jacob started to disagree. “Now that’s not true. You just never liked it here. But there’s plenty to do here.”

“Whatever, Dad.” Saul said dismissively, pulling Dan aside so his parents could no longer here him.

“For a while there, you were my hero because you got out of here.” Saul confessed. “I couldn’t wait to get out of this place but you were the only family I knew who made it. My parents always talked about you like you’d be coming back any minute but I always secretly hoped you wouldn’t. Not that I didn’t want to see you, just that it gave me hope. You know what I mean?”

“Wow. Did they tell you why I left?” Dan asked.

“Not really.” Saul admitted. “They said it had to do with your mom and your stepfather. But I didn’t find out your mom was murdered until I was older. In fact, I was out of high school before somebody told me, and even then it was a friend’s dad who was surprised that I didn’t know about it. I guess it was big news around here at the time. But I didn’t know anything about it. I was mad at my folks for a while after that. I hated that they had tried to shelter me for so long. It was infuriating, you know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I do. It must be a Pilger family thing.” Dan speculated. “My mom did the same thing to me when I was a kid. She had a really hard time letting me grow up. We fought all the time. To be honest, I really wish we’d had the chance to patch things up before she died. I don’t want to sound too much like an oldster, but you should try to get along with your parents while they’re still around. Otherwise, you may regret it later, when they’re gone and it’s too late. You know what I mean?”

Saul shuffled uneasily. “Yeah. I know. We get along okay now. It’s been much better since I live in New York. I can visit them pretty regularly but it’s also far enough that I can be myself. By the way, you live in California, right?”

“San Francisco. Yeah.” Dan answered tentatively.

“Could I visit you out there?” Saul asked excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to go to California.”

Dan was relieved, expecting another ignorant misunderstanding about his adopted city. He had long ago tired of people thinking it was a crime-ridden, AIDs infected, gays on every corner kind of town that threatened Dan with every step he took out of doors. “Yeah, of course. You can crash at my place anytime. I’ll even pick you up at the airport, unless you’d rather take BART, which is our subway system.”

“Cool.” Saul said.

Dan shook his hand and, seeing more people demanding his attention, left Saul in the middle of the living room. He ducked into the kitchen and poured himself a drink. Neighbors he didn’t know introduced themselves to Dan, as did a few nurses from the Hassler Home. Dr. Arzt expressed his sympathies as he left, explaining he had the evening shift at the home. Even Rasta Granny had a few words for Dan, in something approaching civility. It was probably the best she could manage. Her husband, who looked long-suffering, ushered her out of the house after she’d spoken to Dan.

A contingency of blue hairs that identified themselves as being friends of his grandmother’s from Grace Lutheran interrogated Dan about why Reverend Dreher had not performed the ceremony. He tried to be as polite as he could without coming off as a complete heathen. There were few things scarier than an angry mob of old women. Especially christian women. He told them he’d know Reverend Moyer before and since Sutherland wasn’t at their church anymore — everybody had liked him — he’d asked the pastor he knew. Anyway, they seemed to buy it and he got the hell out there.

Dan checked out who was in the dining room and tried to grab a bite to eat. He found Jamie there. He had remembered to come after all, Dan thought. He walked up to as he was filling his plate. “Hey Jamie.”

Jamie jumped. “Geez, you startled me.”

Dan laughed. “Sorry about that. Good to see you. I’m glad you came. Thanks. I really mean it.”

“Hey, no problem. Wouldn’t have missed it. I wanted to see the one who got away.” Jamie explained.

“What do you mean?” Dan was perplexed.

“Well …” Jamie began. “C’mon. I work in a factory. I didn’t get out of here, did I. Hell, I still spend my free time with the same people I did in high school. We still reminisce about our glory days, as if our lives were over when we graduated from high school. I don’t mean to complain. My life is okay. I have fun. Tom and Barry and Mike are, good loyal friends. I have enough money, I’m not rich but I’m not living in the street either. But it’s pretty god damn dull; let me tell you. I can’t remember the last time something extraordinary happened. Maybe never. Then you disappeared. I didn’t see you for a couple of years. Every now and then, I’d wonder what happened to you. Eventually, somebody tells me you’re in California. They don’t know why or what you’re doing. I was immediately intrigued. I imagined all sorts of adventures you were having. Every now and then I’d hear something more. A snippet here, a rumor there. I couldn’t tell you the other day because the guys were there. I don’t think they’d understand. Anyway, I started to live vicariously through what I imagined you were doing.”

Dan was very surprised to hear Jamie go on about this. It had never occurred to him that his leaving would have a positive effect on anyone. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You can start by telling me some juicy tales about San Francisco. What are the women there like?” Jamie laughed. “No, I’m just kidding. Do you have e-mail?”

“Yeah, of course.” Dan told him.

“Maybe we could keep in touch. I’d like that. Just to know what somebody was doing outside of this hell would make it easier on me.” Jamie wondered. “Would that be okay? Is that too much? I know we weren’t the best of friends but I did always admire you. Though when we in high school there was that weird hierarchy and it’s all I knew. When I look back it was pretty stupid but then it was very important to me, I can’t even remember why. Anyway, I should have been a better friend to you.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It was a long time ago. To be honest, you weren’t a bad friend. I always knew you had responsibilities and obligations because you were popular but you were always cool to me. We hung out once and a while, you were never condescending or pretended not to know me. In a way, you risked your popularity to be my friend. Anyway, I always appreciated it.” Dan remarked sincerely. Dan pulled out his notebook and wrote his e-mail address on it, handing it to Jamie, who did the same.

“It all seems so fucking ridiculous now.” He admitted. “If I knew how things would turn out, I might have done things differently, made different choices. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do.” Dan confided. “I have plenty of regrets.”

Jamie leaned in closed. “Do you mind if we keep this conversation to ourselves? I know it’s stupid but my reputation is all I have left. I don’t want people around here to know any of this.”

“This is between you and me. Nobody else. Wild dogs couldn’t drag it out of me.” Dan laughed.

Jamie laughed, too, but sounded a little relieved. “Thanks man. I really appreciate it. Did I see KZ here? And Trixie?”

“Probably. I ran into her a couple of days ago and invited her. She’s divorced, you know?”

“No, I hadn’t heard that.” Jamie said. “That is good news, indeed. And Trixie?” He repeated.

“That one’s pretty weird. It’s been twenty years since she’s talked to me. Last night she shows up here after the viewing and we talked most of the evening. It was good, but also strange after so long. So I don’t know what’s going on with her yet.” Dan explained.

‘Well good luck with that.” Jamie offered. “You’re going to need it.”

“Tell me about it.” Dan knew. “It was really good seeing you, man.”

“I can’t tell you what it’s meant to me. Thanks.” Jamie shook Dan’s hand vigorously but Dan moved in and hugged him. He seemed startled at first. Dan suspected he wasn’t used to being hugged, but to his credit Jamie accepted it and hugged back.

Dan moved on to the kitchen, seeing Bill sitting in the corner. As he entered the room, Bill pointed at KZ standing nearby. He reached up and squeezed the air right in front of her breasts. Dan could see him laughing as he did it. He just shook his head and grabbed another beer out of the refrigerator. At least Bill was having a good time, he thought.

Weaver Came up to Dan and asked. “Is he here?”

“Who, Bill?” Dan half pretended not to know.

“Yes.” John sounded exasperated. “Who else?”

Dan laughed. “He’s in the corner pretending to fondle KZ.”

“Really?” John seemed excited.

“Yeah, really.” He’s waving to you now.

“Cool.” Weaver exclaimed. “Right back at you buddy.” He said, raising his glass seemingly to nobody.

“Hey John.” Dan said seriously. “Thanks a lot for being here. You’re a kindred sprit, man. I really appreciate it.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.” John replied, but he’d had enough to drink already that serious reflection was beyond him.

So Dan let it go at that, patting him on the back warmly and moving into the hallway towards the living room again ending his first slow loop around the party. He would make many more such loops over the next several hours. During that time Dan would make idle chitchat with more neighbors and field more questions from church members. Most, if not all, of the guests from the Hassler Home stayed only a polite amount of time, which was quite understandable. They felt close to their former patient but knew virtually no one else at the wake. The other people who were there in their official capacity, Dan’s lawyer Jim Anwalt and the Rich Buchanon, the funeral director, among others, had also left as early as they could, which was fine with Dan. He kept waiting for all of his relatives and the remaining neighbors to leave, so the real party could begin.

John finally introduced Dan to his wife Amanda and his daughter Polly, who was now nine. They had met at college but Dan had left by the time they’d married and like most of the important events in his friends life after he’d moved to California, he was unable to attend the wedding. Whenever he talked to Amanda on the phone, Dan always had the impression she held it against him. She clearly didn’t like Dan for some reason. But she was polite to him and it was certainly nice to put a face with the voice. Dan thought there was a chance that meeting her in person might soften her animosity toward him. Polly was really a sweet kid, though. Apparently she’d developed a crush on Jeff’s son Dominick, or was it the other way around? He wasn’t exactly sure. But they were clearly flirting in that adolescent way that could still be called innocent love. Amanda and Polly were leaving, and much to Polly’s embarrassment they were taking Dominick and Jeff’s daughter with them to spend the night. Dan said his goodbyes and returned to the wake and his loops.

He thanked Trixie again when he ran into her taking with Adam, Jeff and Brian. She had been telling them what she’d been doing for the last twenty years and was probably tiring of telling the story over and over again. Stepping back from that scene, Dan could also believe he’d been transported back in time. It was such a familiar sight; all his friends and his girlfriend chatting at a party. It made him a little nostalgic. In the years before he moved to California this scene was nearly ubiquitous on any given weekend. He spent a lot of times with friends and it was hard to be so abruptly cut off from them when he left. He had friends in California, and some very good ones, but it had taken a considerable amount of time before he felt as comfortable with them as he did with this bunch.

on to Chapter 33

Chapter 31

2005-11-21T00:56:00.000-08:00

Nature, to be commanded, must be obeyed.

- Francis Bacon, Novum Organum (1620)

After the spectacular sunrise, Dan went back in the house to wake up John and Bill. He put a pot of coffee on, and turned on the television.

Saturday morning cartoons were on, and Dan tried to find the best one on, like he’d done a thousand times before every Saturday morning at his grandmother’s house as a child. Of course, today most cartoons sucked and were often merely infomercials to sell the merchandise tie-ins.

In Dan’s day, Jonny Quest was king. He and his cousin always made time for that one. But there were many other favorites over the years, like Rocky & Bullwinkle, the Impossibles, the Lone Ranger, and George of the Jungle. Then there was Hoppity Hooper, Atom Ant and Secret Squirrel, The Beatles cartoon, Cool McCool, The Pink Panther, Quick Draw McGraw, Space Ghost, the Star Trek cartoon, Touche Turtle, Top Cat and Wally Gator. And while after school TV was ruled by Sally Starr, Wee Willie Webber, and burgeoning Japanese animation, Saturday morning was owned by Hanna-Barbera, MGM and Warner brothers.

Then there were the local shows, particularly Gene London. Originally it was called Cartoon Corners, but the name that Dan associated with it was the Gene London Show. That show was shot in Philadelphia. It featured a guy who worked at a corner store and every day a box of confetti fell to the ground and he’d spend the entire day sweeping it up again, like some modern day janitorial Sisyphus. In between they’d show cartoons or Gene himself would get embroiled in some adventure in the store owner’s home, Quigley Mansion. Occasionally Gene would sit at a large tablet and quickly sketch out a story. As a child, it seemed like magic and he was devastated when he’d later learned that all Gene London did was trace the pictures that had been prepared before the show in light pencil.

A lot of childhood was like that. Magical at first but gradually you learned the truth. Little by little the onion of life was peeled away to reveal an ever-increasingly stark picture of what the world was really like. From the tooth fairy to Santa Claus to Jesus, the uncovered myths went by year after year until one day — who knows exactly when — you finally realize your childhood was one big lie. It’s a wonder kids ever believe anything their parents — or indeed any adults — have to say. The amount of ‘white lies’ that are routinely heaped on children is truly staggering. They range from the benign like the Easter bunny or stepping on sidewalks cracks causing back pain to your mother to the downright abusive like religion, fabricated history lessons that omit unpleasant facts, and harsh obedience training. That many of these lies are justified by the slimmest of reasoning is doubly problematic.

In Dan’s experience, children can handle far more that adults are able to give them credit for, in part because they are such tabula rasase. They have no pre-conceived notions that impair them from coping. Their lack of experience is in fact an asset that allows adaptability to degrees many adults find impossible for themselves. So our coddling of children based on them not having the ability to handle things is nothing more than the adult’s inability to either handle it or handle telling the truth about it. To understand how far we’ve come in our pandering to children, just read some of the original Grimm’s fairy tales and their brutal realism. Now compare them to the latest Disney movie or hit kid’s TV show.

Dan remembered his childhood and how he thought as a child with uncanny precision. He had not forgotten how it felt to be helpless and unable to control your actions or decisions. He refused to forget, because he thought it would weaken his resolve to act differently as an adult as the adults around him as a child. But he couldn’t help noticing that when he observed people interacting with children that so many of them appeared to have completely forgotten what it was like to actually be a kid. Perhaps that was hard-wired in the brain or was a necessary part of maturing process. Whatever the reasons, it didn’t seem good for the children.

Dan couldn’t find anything remotely decent on television, so he switched it off and headed to the back bedroom. John was still snoring loudly when Dan walked in. He shook John gently than increasingly harder until at last he started to stir. “Time to get up,, man.”

John rubbed his eyes and rolled over slowly. “What time is it?” He said softly and slowly, as if he was having a rough time of it.

“I don’t know.” Dan admitted. “Probably around seven, I guess. The sun came up about half an hour ago.”

“Seven in the morning?” John bolted up. “Fuck. I’ve got to get home before Amanda fries my bacon.”

“Fries your bacon?” Dan repeated, confused.

“It’s just an expression we use.” John explained. “It means she’ll be pissed at me.”

“Ah.” Dan said, a little sarcastically. “Of course.”

John was up and straightening his clothes and putting on his shoes. “So did I dream what happened last night or did that actually happen?” He asked, as the memory of the previous night returned.

“It was real.” Dan told him.

“And Bill?” Weaver wondered.

“Asleep on the couch, though I’m not sure if you’ll still be able to see him now that you’ve come down. And before you take off, we should probably talk about that.”

John walked into the bathroom and began to take a leak. “Good idea.” He called.

Dan continued from the hall. “I think it would probably be best if we keep this to ourselves. Completely. I’d rather nobody else finds out about this. I have enough trouble with being thought of as eccentric, I don’t need to add crazy to my list of adjectives.”

“No problem, buddy. Mum is definitely the word.” John agreed. “It’s not like anyone would believe me anyway. And you’re right. Everybody would just think we’d lost our minds. I don’t need that, either.”

The flush covered his last words, but Dan knew they had agreed on a strategy of silence. When John came out of the bathroom, they walked the hallway back to the living room. Bill was up, but with his head in his hands, looked like he’d had a rough one, too. He looked up when he heard the footsteps coming up the hall come to a stop as they entered the room.

“Damn.” John muttered. “I can still see him.”

“Well good morning to you, too.” Bill chided. “You know I can hear you?”

“Sorry.” John apologized, sounding confused.

“Don’t worry about it.” Bill replied. “Dan here acted the same way the day after I first appeared to him, too. I imagine I would have done it myself.” He stood and walked toward the kitchen. “You start the coffee?”

“Yeah, should be done by now.” Dan said.

“Oh, brilliant.” John shouted, joining Bill in a race to the kitchen.

By the time Dan arrived, trailing behind, they both had cups of coffee in hand and were sitting at the table. Dan refilled his cup and joined them. The three of them moaned silently with the effects of last night’s drinking.

“So how long ‘till you have to be fully functioning?” John asked.

“Let’s see. A little over four hours.” Dan guessed. “Piece of cake.”

“Did you sleep at all?” Bill wondered.

“Nope.” Dan admitted. “Not a wink.”

“You’re going to be hating life tonight.” John told him.

“Not as much as I’m hating it now.” Dan responded, holding his head. “I need some Tylenol or Advil or something.”

“Well good luck with that.” John offered, getting up to leave.

“Fuck you, this is your fault.” Dan moaned.

Bill and John both laughed.

“I gotta motor.” John said, heading for the door. “I’ll see you and your hallucination in a few hours. Later.”

“Hey!” Bill yelled, but it was too late. The storm door slammed shut and he was gone.

“I liked him, too.” Bill told Dan. “Everybody here gives you a hard time.”

“Yeah, we’ve known each other so long that we can get away with shit like that and not be ‘offended.’” Dan made the quote-unquote sign in the air with his hands. “I can’t really do that with most of my more recent friends.”

“You don’t have any trouble giving me a hard time.” Bill said. “What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Bill. Plus, you’re dead so what are you going to about it if I offend you?”

“I can do plenty.” Bill said, and demonstrated by smacking him on the back of the head.”

“Ouch.” Dan cried. “A little consideration, here, please. I’ve got a massive hangover.”

“Sorry.” Bill said sarcastically, smacking him lightly on the back. “That better?”

“Much.” Dan said mockingly, standing up. “I’m going in the living room where the chairs are more comfortable.”

“Good idea, Dan.” Bill said, joining him.

They passed the next couple of hours moving as little as possible, except when it was absolutely necessary: to piss, to refill coffee or to get out the way of the sunlight streaming into the room that kept moving across the room as it rose higher in the sky outside. A few people called during that time, so Dan brought the phone over to the sofa so it was within reach and he wouldn’t have to keep getting up to answer it. Mostly, some friends were checking in who found out about the party and wanted to confirm details like time or whether or not they were invited.

Finally, a little before ten, Dan decided he needed to take a shower and start getting ready. He dragged himself down the hall and took a long, hot shower. By the time he was finished, he was feeling more like his old self and the effects of the hangover were virtually gone. He put on the Boscov’s blue suit again with a new shirt and tie.

We he emerged from the back, Dan was surprised to discover it had not taken him very long to get ready and it was only a few minutes after ten, meaning there were still almost two hours until the funeral.

Bill was still lounging on the sofa but also appeared more himself. “You want to go for a last walk?” Dan asked.

“Sure.” Bill answered. “Why not.” And stood up, stretching.

They left through the kitchen door, and Dan locked the door, dropping the key into his coat pocket. The cemetery was just a short walk west of the house, so he decided on a looping walk that would take them around the majority of town. This was probably the last chance he would have to see his hometown this trip, and he was unsure whether or not he’d ever have a reason to return. So it was with the thought that this might be the last time he’d see much of childhood haunts that he steered them away from the cemetery and down Fourth Street toward the Memorial Park where they went the day he arrived.

Walking was really the way to see a place, Dan thought. That was one of California’s biggest failings. It had an automobile-based geography, because most of its growth and expansion came after the car became the primary mode of transportation. So whole towns were laid out in deference to the automobile. They were spread out, sprawling areas that lacked a center, a hub. There was no utilitarian Jeffersonian town planning. They were laid out without any thought beyond where was the open space. Since any place could be reached by car, where it was located began to take on less importance and required less planning. It might have made growth more rapid, but the loss of neighborhoods was devastating. Only a few places in California towns were conducive to walking, and most of them had to be driven to in the first pace, defeating the purpose. There were plenty of wonderful places to go for a hike in nature, but not in the city. Those were for cars in the minds of most Californians.

One irony about this was that the opposite happened in Europe, an arguably more civilized place in many ways. In most European cities, the wealthy stayed centrally located in the urban areas, while the poor ringed the cities in ramshackle suburbs. Of course, Europe had a comparatively excellent mass transit system and universal health care.

Dan never caught the car bug that he felt infected so many people. Cars were tools, transportation, in his mind. Nothing more. He definitely didn’t think of them as an extension of his personality. But the amount of money, time and energy people lavished on their cars he felt was positively obscene and a complete waste of those resources. That so many people felt so strongly about something that was essentially a large toaster convinced Dan that his society’s priorities were completely out of whack.

Dan’s grandfather, his mother’s father, was an auto mechanic and bought a new car every year from the time Dan was little. He stopped eventually, but Dan really couldn’t even remember when. Probably once he retired. But every year, he’d trade in last year’s model for a new one. Even as a child, it seemed foolish. That small changes were made to each year’s models was, in and of itself, a sign that people were fickle and had been completely won over to the capitalist propaganda system. Rick, who’d also been a mechanic, could identify almost any car from it’s little differences, a skill he took no small delight in demonstrating. It was remarkable, to be sure, but certainly that memory could have been used to remember something infinitely more important or universal, like perhaps hitting people was bad.

As Dan and Bill walked down Broad Street, he pointed out who used to live at each house they passed. Who were friends, who were enemies, or who were inscrutably unknown. Where something had happened, like places he’d had sex, or had been drinking or a party had been held. There were few places where Dan looked that did not hold some story, no matter how small. It was like walking a life size map of your life. Every blade of grass, or so it seemed, had locked within it some memory of Dan having tread upon it.

After a week of these walks, Bill had started to recognize some of the more familiar spots, so Dan tried to confine his narration to new information. And as the days rolled by, he found his memories increasing and he kept finding fresh sights to remember, and old sights spurred more and more of his memory to return. Long forgotten experiences were jarred into the present by a simple return to the scene of it. In this one square mile, there were more memories than the rest of the world outside. It was pure concentrated hell.

They passed the old toboggan run that had been such great winter fun, the man-made skating pond where he threw up in the snow, and the open picnic lodge where he and Trixie met the last time he saw her. She had wanted to meet there because it was public and open. Dan just thought at the time that she was being melodramatic. A couple of people were there now, sitting and talking; perhaps another couple in the throes of disintegrating.

When Dan looked through the chain link fence surrounding the empty swimming pool, he could see and hear the pool during the dog days of summer, a bright sun warming the air. The sounds of laughter and people talking and water splashing were thick in his ears. People in various stages of undress dotted the sloping hills around the pool. He remembered particularly the string bikinis that had so commanded his hormone-addled attention. How many crushes had he developed here only to be dashed moments later?

Down the hill, there were now buildings where the old tennis courts used to be. How many times had he John played tennis there? It was where he was when his great-grandmother passed away. Then there was the time they were playing and out of the corner of their vision, they watched two planes collide over a nearby forest. Both John and Dan had been Boy Scouts, so they went to offer their help and so found themselves one odd summer day combing the woods for bodies and pieces of airplanes. They didn’t find anything but they did happen upon one of the bodies being carried to an ambulance. The two adolescents watched in horror at the person’s intestines uncoiled and fell off the gurney. One of the paramedics picked them up and shoved back into the man’s chest cavity. Dan lost his lunch in the woods that day, and John came close.

The two grey stone pillars at the bottom of the hill marking the entrance to Memorial Park were left intact. They were one of few reminders of the early, more genteel days of Shillington. Beyond them was Philadelphia Avenue, or Route 724. A few hundred yards along which was the Hassler Home, where Chulkie was living until last week, when she passed away in her sleep.

Turning right again on Waverly, they passed the Immanuel U.C.C. Church where Tom Stauffer’s funeral was held. He was a star football player. Dan knew him because he was dating a good friend of his, Lois Hornberger. They were in band together, and she was also his neighbor Skip Siegelman’s cousin. Anyway, she and Tom had been dating for a while and had spent Christmas Eve at the Siegelman’s place, which was out in the country. On the drive home his car slid on a patch of ice into trees lining the road, killing him instantly.

“Fuck!” Dan yelled under his breath, as they passed the church.

“What’s wrong?” Bill asked.

“No wonder this place is getting to me. Everywhere I look there’s another death staring me in the face.” Dan whined. “I can’t escape them. I shudder to think how many deaths per square mile are in this place. It’s got to be in triple digits, for chrissakes. And why am I here again? Because someone I care about died. I’m starting to think it’s this place. Maybe all I have to do it stay away from here and no one will ever die again.”

“You weren’t here when you grandmother died.” Bill countered.

“So what. She was here.” Dan continued angrily, then sighed, defeated. “No, you’re right. It’s not really this place. It just feels like it sometimes. It’s like that stupid statistical fact insurance companies spout; that most accidents happen within some small distance from your home. But so what? What does that really mean. Does it mean you should stay away from your home? Does it mean you’re not driving carefully enough as you near your destination? No, of course not. It’s just a reflection of how much time is spent in a small radius of your home. That’s it. If you have to leave from a fixed point and return to a fixed point day in and day out, a pretty healthy percentage of your driving time will be within that fixed radius. So it’s no surprise more accidents happen where you spend most of your driving time. It just sounds like it means something profound. But it doesn’t. Like most insurance information, it’s all useless propaganda to steal even more of your money. There are few motherfuckers I hate more than insurance companies. Those people give marketing a run for its money.”

“But I guess it’s the same with where you’re from. You spend so much of your time, especially your childhood time, in one place that you’re bound to have most, if not all, of your early memories of that place, too. It will be inevitably intertwined with the people and events, an integral part, really.”

“Take the school, for example.” Dan began as they walked past the high school on his right and the middle school — which was the old junior high — on their left. “From age five to eighteen, you spend about one-third of your life in school, not counting the summer, or half your waking life, if you discount sleeping. So you’d expect half your memories from that period of your life to involve school. It would be exception if that weren’t the case.”

“I know I’ve talked about this before, but you know how I was saying your world expands as you grow? From your backyard to your block to the neighborhood and so on?”

Bill nodded.

“Well that’s true of your memories, as well.” Dan continued. “They follow the same pattern, of course. So my adult memories have likewise increased in their scope after I moved and started traveling.”

“So it’s back to your ‘move or die’ diatribe?” Bill chided.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Dan admitted. “It does seem self-limiting to stay in one place your whole life when there’s a big world waiting to be explored.”

“But what about people like Trixie?” Bill contradicted. “Doesn’t she shoot holes in your theory? She’s not ignorant or stupid in any way yet she very much wants to stay put in one place. She sees the value in putting down roots.”

“Whose side are you on?” Dan asked, half jokingly.

“Hers.” Bill laughed. “She’s better looking.”

“It always comes down to appearance, doesn’t it?” Dan laughed sarcastically.

“Seriously, though.” Bill’s tone became more sober. “She seems pretty well adjusted, all things considered. She knows what she wants and she definitely knows who she is. I think you’re not so much discovering universal truths as figuring out yourself. It’s what everybody does. Do you think it’s a coincidence that people’s visions are almost always in their own language and are always interpreted in the context of their own belief systems?”

“Take UFO sightings. They didn’t really start until the atomic age. The first ones were in 1947. Before that the same phenomena was almost certainly interpreted as something else, as a religious experience, for example. Ezekiel described in the bible what sounds eerily like a UFO sighting, but they couldn’t conceive of that. But they could interpret it as a divine sign or the work of god. It’s about what you’re capable of imagining. It has to fit into the context of your own life and experiences.”

“You imagine it’s having moved away from here that’s made all the difference in your life, and so you believe that’s what everyone must do, too. In fact, you believe these people are bumpkins because they remained here and didn’t do what you did. Okay, maybe some of the people who live here aren’t the most sophisticated folks god ever created, but how do you explain Trixie? Or Adam? Or any other person who’s at least as well adjusted as you are yet chose not to follow your master plan for happiness? My brother Steve went off to college but right afterwards, he did all the ‘normal’ things he was supposed to do; he got a job, got married and had kids. Was he less happy than I was? Not by a long shot. If anything, I was the one who lost out on having it all. I didn’t realize that until I knew I was dying. I thought staying in one place was death, but it wasn’t anything of the sort. It’s what’s inside that really matters. What you do with what you have, or where you are. You can’t keep wishing for somewhere or something different as the cure that will make everything all right.”

“Well, somebody’s cranky.” Dan interjected, laughing awkwardly.

“Look, Dan.” Bill sighed. “I’m being serious here. I’ve been listening to your proselytize all week, and you made some very good points. I honestly agree with a lot you have to say, but I’m beginning to question some of the conclusions that you’re drawing. That’s all. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. You found out how to turn your own life around and I know it wasn’t easy. You made sacrifices, you lost people you care about, you left everything you held dear in exchange for a freedom you only dreamt about. You had no idea the cost it would exact. How could you know? But you’re doing what everybody does. You’re rationalizing. You’re taking that experience and judging everybody else against it. But everybody has to make their own decisions. You can’t rail against religion and government and society for taking away people’s choices and free will if you’re doing exactly the same thing. Do you see what I mean? You’re not L. Ron Hubbard. You don’t really want people to follow you. Trust me on this one.”

“Look what happened to David Koresh. That one’s a pet peeve of mine. David Koresh thought he was Jesus. His real name was Vernon. Can’t imagine why we wanted to change it.” Bill chuckled to himself. “Okay, let’s let that one go for a second. He found a number of other people who also thought he was Jesus. To me, they’re the nutty ones. There are mental hospitals full of people who think they’re Napoleon or Cleopatra or whomever. The real trick is getting others to go along with you. So he got a bunch of ‘believers’ and bought some land and started businesses and for the most part, they really didn’t seem to be hurting anyone. But there were rumors about rampant sex and children in some unspecified peril. Oh, and their business involved selling guns. We can’t have religious nuts and guns under the same roof, now can we? Who started these rumors? I’ve never seen that investigated, but those yahoos have blood on their hands, as far as I’m concerned. Of course you know what happened next. Rather than find out if the rumors might have even a grain of truth to them, the FBI just fucking annihilates the place. They were cleared of any responsibility, big surprise, but I’ve never seen such a show of totalitarianism in the so-called land of the free. I was down there during the standoff and it was a fucking joke, I can tell you.”

“My point is only that you’re going about this in the wrong way. You don’t want everybody to think and act the way you do anymore than you want people to lockstep with a religion or a political ideal that they didn’t think about for themselves. If people ask you for your advice, the best you can do is tell them what worked for you. You can’t even expect that they’ll follow your advice. They might just be looking for a sounding board, someone to listen to. You know what I mean?”

“Wow” was all Dan could manage. “I guess I had that coming to me. Let’s go down State one more time.”

They crossed Lancaster Avenue and walked down the leaf-strewn street Dan had grown up on. Most of the trees had very few leaves left on their wooden skeletons. There was a sharp chill in the air as the wind whipped the dead leaves into a colorful swirl of debris, as if they were walking through a festive ticker tape parade. The morning sun was just beginning to warm their skin, but it was still quite cold. Dan and Bill walked silently for a block or two, their breath visible in the morning air. Dan was deep in thought about Bill’s reproach.

Bill broke the silence. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Dan replied. “I’m fine, I’ve just been thinking about what you said. I got wrapped up in my own problems, like you said, and ignored the bigger picture. Are we all this selfish, or is just me?”

“It’s not just you, believe me.” Bill told him. “I was about as selfish as they come. I thought about only myself. My career came first. I wanted the love of a good woman who would support me unconditionally, but that was almost impossible with my schedule. So I sacrificed that ideal for my career. Of course, once I started smoking, drinking, taking drugs my self-destructive behavior helped that along, but I couldn’t sustain a relationship even before that period of my life. So yeah, I think we’re all pretty much selfish creatures. Certainly we’ve created a society that rewards self-interest above almost anything else. We don’t really value things that can’t have a dollar amount put on them. We pretend we do, but our actions say otherwise, and that’s where it counts.”

“I agree.” Dan jumped in. “Corporate greed is shown as a model to be emulated. Newspapers report on box office numbers as if the general public had a stake in them. Who really cares how the latest movie did? And star’s salary negotiations are fodder for the news hour, too. You see news stories asking questions in all seriousness about whether or not so and so is worth two million dollars per show or some other bullshit. How the fuck is that news? Why the fuck is that news? Anytime you watch a football game, the discussion turns to how much a star athlete is being paid or wants to be paid or is pissed off because he’s not being paid. Everything is talked about in terms of its cash value, its worth in monetary terms. If that’s the only place you get your news, would you even know that there are other ways to determine value? It bodes damn poorly for the future.”

They reached the corner of Reading Avenue, Dan’s first boundary. This was as far as the world extended for him until he was six, when he was finally allowed to cross the street on his own, doubling his worldview at a stroke. His parents didn’t have too much choice in the matter. They lived too close to the elementary school for a bus to take him to school, so Dan had to walk the five blocks each day to class.

Dan looked down and smiled, shuffling his feet slightly to the center of the corner. Then he punched Bill hard on the shoulder.

“Hey!” Bill yelled. “What was that for?”

“Punching block.” Dan called.

“What?” Bill looked confused.

Dan pointed at his feet. “You see that small square?” In the center of the corner sidewalk block of concrete was a square that was a different color than the rest and also looked to be made of different stone. It was about four or five inches square. “That’s a punching block. As long as my foot is touching it, I can hit anyone with impunity who’s within my reach.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bill said.

“No. That was the rule. That was a game we played on the way to school every day. I have no idea who made up the rules, but I suspect they’d been around for ages handed down from older to younger kids.”

“You played some twisted games.” Bill told him.

“They weren’t that bad.” Dan defended. “I’m sure you had your own immature little games when you were little.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. But I don’t remember hitting people.” Bill said, rubbing his shoulder.

“That would surprise me.” Dan offered. “Kids are cruel as shit. Especially once they hit school age and have to compete with their peer group. They’re animals, literally. They act on instinct, not reason or enlightenment. When I was in junior high, a popular form of combat was something we called muckers. I can’t remember where the word came from, all I know is I think we combined two other words. Anyway, you would put a spitball on your finger and then snap your thumb across it, flinging the spitball across the room. You could get some pretty good distance that way and it was surprisingly easy to aim so with practice you could hit a target most of the time. Well, are target were each other and anyone we perceived deserving, which meant mostly the shy, nerdy, unpopular kids. I don’t know how long it went on, close to a year maybe. It was during the brutal ninth grade. I remember some kid we were pissed at for some reason in chorus. When the teacher turned around, we all threw muckers at this boy. I mean we basically just spit all over him. I can’t imagine a crueler fate. He must have cried himself to sleep that night. We were animals. In retrospect, we were horrible. Yet, we were just normal kids. The two go hand in hand.”

“We only gradually become civilized as we’re indoctrinated into society. And what’s meant by civilized is different in time and place. It changes. We train kids to act how we want them to behave in order to function in society today. I think that’s why it’s always so hard to change people’s fundamental behaviors. Take racism, for example. Even though almost every thinking person can admit racism is undesirable in today’s society, it still persists, especially in the United States. Why? It’s because so many people inadvertently pass on their racism to their kids. Sometimes it’s malicious, I know. The Klan is alive and well. I don’t think we’ll be able to eradicate assholes any time soon. But more often I think parents don’t necessarily mean to do that, but it happens anyway because they can’t overcome the way in which they were raised. The earlier we learn a lesson, especially a bad lesson, the longer it takes to un-learn it, I think. The only way real social change happens is when generations die out who thought a certain way and are replaced by new ones with a different view.”

They crossed the street, but when the reached the sidewalk on the other side, Bill was on the lookout for a punching block. He found it and took a swing at Dan, but Dan had known where it was and walked out of range where Bill’s punch couldn’t reach him.

“Ha.” Dan laughed as Bill’s arm hit only air.

“You fucker.” Bill exclaimed.

“Sorry, dude.” Dan replied. “You’re on my turf now.”

They walked up to the front of Dan’s old house and stopped. Dan took a last look up the cement steps to the front porch. His eyes swept up to the roof and down again. He turned to Bill. “You know I once tried to jump out of that attic window.” He said, pointing up at the gabled window just below the top of the house.

“What happened? You chicken out?” Bill asked.

“No, I was prepared to do it. I think I was around seven or eight. I had an umbrella with me. I was going to float down, using the umbrella like a parachute. Damn neighbors saw me climb out onto the roof with the umbrella and figured it out. They called my parents who rushed in to stop me and talk me down. I still think I could of made it.” He laughed. “Hell, when I was older, I used to jump down from the porch outside my room on the second floor, and I didn’t even use the umbrella. That was my escape route, my back door out of the house. I always felt a little better knowing I had another way out.”

Dan turned around, surveying the block in a 360-degree arc. It was easier to see everything now, because there were fewer trees. At one time, he knew everybody who lived in every house on this block. His first kiss was the girl across the street when he was six. He’d had a crush on the little red-haired who lived three doors down from his own. When he finally told her, she’d laughed and ran back into her house. It had not gone exactly as he’d hoped.

“C’mon. Let’s keep moving.” Dan said, and resumed walking down the block again. They turned again up Pennsylvania Avenue. Dan was retracing the steps he took everyday on his walk to elementary school. When they’d gone about a block, he pointed to the sidewalk.

“You see that spot?” Dan asked.

Not seeing anything but another concrete sidewalk block, Bill answered slowly and tentatively. “Yeah.”

“One day I’m coming home from school, so I’m walking in the opposite direction.” Dan says, pointing back the way they’d just come. I was in second grade. On this spot on the sidewalk, someone had scrawled in chalk the letters f-u-k.”

“F-u-k?” Bill repeated.

“Yeah, fuck.” Dan said. “Whoever wrote it wasn’t a very good speller. Anyway, I didn’t know the word at the time. It’s hard to believe there was a time when we didn’t know the word fuck, isn’t it? That night we were having supper and I thought to myself, ‘maybe my mom knows what f-u-k means.’ So I just asked, very matter-of-factly, since I had no idea it was word with so much negative baggage attached to it. I’m sitting at the dinner table and I just say to my parents. ‘What’s fuck?’ You could have heard a pin drop. But my mother shifted into nurse mode and within the week she had bought a sex education textbook, complete with the teacher’s edition for her. For the next six months, I had to read about birds, bees, eggs and once we got into the later chapters; vaginas, penises and human sex. I may have been the only second grader to know what a clitoris was. I may not have had any better luck finding it than the average male, but at least I knew what it was. It made me very popular for other kid’s questions about sex, at least for a little while.”

Where Pennsylvania ended and after a slight turn the road picked up again as North Sterley at the corner of Elsie. It was a strange asymmetrical intersection. On one corner there was a house that used to be a neighborhood grocery, but now it was just another house. A block on there was an old textile factory. At six stories, it was the tallest building in sight by a wide margin. Every other building was two-story house. Dan couldn’t tell if the factory was still in business or not. It was hard to tell on a Saturday morning. When he was a kid you could see large, colorful spools of yarn and big machines that looked like looms though the windows. But now the windows only reflected the light and were like mirrors.

One of the houses along Sterley past the factory on opposite side of the street, had been where Sue Merkel. Dan told Bill her sad story. “She had been the director of Shillington Summer Theatre for a number of years. The theater was in her blood. She went to New York to make in on Broadway. A few months go by, and there are rumors that she’d moved back home. She never said a word about what happened. She went to work for Hickory Farms and became a manager of one of them. I ran into her there a few years later. She was a different person. She took all her acting ability and used it to sell cheese. It was so sad. Maybe she ended up happy — I don’t know — but it seemed like she had such high aspirations and something just crushed her dreams. Whatever happened in New York defined the rest of her life. She had to know the exact moment when her fortune changed, when she lost all hope. That could have been me. I was lucky. That’s all that separates us.”

Dan pointed out the spot where the bully stole his flags and then they approached the main drag, Lancaster Avenue, where the old chief of police doubled as a crossing guard and the stone wall on the other side where Dan would wait with Mac.

The old elementary school still had “Shillington Elementary School” carved into the top of the building. It was a strange sight to see the two-story brick building sitting in the middle of a macadam parking lot, which at one time had been the playground. Around the back was the Dolphin swimwear factory and the old firehouse. Dan used to go bowling in the firehouse basement but in a fit of irony it burned down when he was in junior high. Along Lancaster Avenue was the community center, where many clubs and groups held meetings. Today it appeared to have been taken over by religious fanaticism, like much of the country. The old Siegers variety store was now a convenience store with something on the order of one-tenth the stock the old store carried. The rug cleaner and jewelry stores were rare holdovers from Dan’s era at the end of the block. Opposite the jewelry store was the barbershop. Across the street from that was a restaurant. The building had always been a restaurant but seemed to change names every few years. Across the street again was Flanagan’s Pub, whose name had only changed once; right after Ron Kemp stabbed the wrong person coming out of the bar.

They were only one block from the funeral home and Dan’s eyes kept darting around like a condemned man, as if looking for a way to escape. There was a brick house in the middle of the block that used to be a hobby shop. Then it was open until almost the end of the block, where the bank stood. In between was grass and parking lot. The other side of the block was all row homes with a sandwich shop in the middle in a basement walk-down. On the end was where Ibach’s Pharmacy had been. As they closed in on the bank, the town hall came into view across the five-way intersection. This was the dead center of town. From here all five roads radiated out. You could see a lot of the town from this spot. It must have been quite a sight when it was all shiny and new, Dan thought. But the promise that the Fifties and Sixties held had long since left. So there was very little growth or new building in town. It gave the place a odd feeling, like being back in time but with seemingly anachronistic touches here and there. Most of the buildings looked their age. They weren’t dilapidated or falling apart and for the most part there was evidence of upkeep. Everything just looked run down or used up. There was no shine, no gloss. All was dull and drab.

Dan crossed the street slowly and walked to the entrance of the funeral home. A very tall giant of a man was at the entrance. He stopped Dan abruptly as he reached for the door.

“Sorry, you can’t come in this way. There’s a private funeral today. The employee entrance is around the side.” The giant said.

“Is Ron here yet?” Dan asked.

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll tell you the same thing. That’s just procedure.” The giant told him.

Dan held his tongue and explained. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t work here. I’m here for my grandmother’s funeral. The Schaeffer funeral.”

He stiffened. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were one of the new people. I’m Rod.” He said, extending a hand.

Dan shook his hand. “Uh, that’s okay. I’m Dan. Dan Pilger. Don’t worry about it. I’m a little early. Can I go in?”

“Yeah. I mean yes, of course.” Rod became more polite. “Mr. Bachman is inside. It’s the same room where the viewing was last night.”

Dan and Bill went inside. When the door shut behind them, Dan leaned over and whispered to Bill. “More like Nimrod.”

on to Chapter 32

DAY SEVEN: SATURDAY

2005-11-21T00:51:00.000-08:00

Saturday, November 6: Festival of Total Submission

Satire is what closes Saturday night.

- George S. Kaufman, (1889-1961)

Implied.
Subjection, but requir’d with gentle sway,
And by her yielded, by him best receiv’d,
Yielded with coy submission, modest pride,
And sweet reluctant amorous delay.
.
- John Milton, Paradise Lost (1620)

on to Chapter 31

Chapter 30

2005-11-19T21:00:00.000-08:00

Truth gains more even by the errors of one who, with due study and preparation, thinks for himself, than by the true opinions of those who only hold them because they do not suffer themselves to think

- John Stuart Mill, On Liberty (1859)

Dan pulled another beer out of the refrigerator and poured it in a glass, watching the billowing head rise up above the rim. He sat down at the table in the kitchen.

Bill joined him. “How you doing, buddy?” He asked sympathetically, patting Dan lightly on the back.

“I’m exhausted.” Dan replied. “That was tiring. I feel like I just talked for twenty years, not just about twenty years.”

“It was a marathon.” Bill agreed. “Was it worth it?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t bad. It was good to see her after all. She’s still feisty, maybe more so. She never let me get away with anything and it looks like she’s not planning on starting now.”

“That was cracking me up.” Bill laughed.

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Dan smacked Bill on the shoulder with the back of his hand. I thought I was going to start laughing. You fucker.”

Bill laughed harder. “Sorry about that.” But he didn’t stop laughing.

“Thanks, man.” Dan said sarcastically. “I’m feeling the love.”

“C’mon, man. You have to see how funny that was.” Bill offered, trying to be persuasive.

“To you maybe.” Dan suggested. “But not to me. That was my life in there, once upon a time.”

“But what can you do? You have to laugh about it now. What else is there? You want to end up like me?” Bill asked.

“I guess you’re right.” Dan admitted, giving up. “I certainly don’t want to end up like you.”

“Hey.” Bill said, just figuring out he had been insulted.

Just then there was a knock on the door. Dan and Bill exchanged glances, both silently shrugging their shoulders to indicate they didn’t know who it could be at the door. Dan got up and began walking to the door.

Bill called to him, laughing. “If that’s Muhammad, tell him I’m not here.”

Dan parted the curtains to see who it was, then turned toward Bill. “It’s Weaver.” He said, opening the door.

“John! Hey, man.” Dan said, letting him in. “What are you doing here.”

John hugged him and began to explain. “My in-laws live in town, Reading actually, so I left Amanda and Polly there with her parents. I figured I see what you were up to since I figure tomorrow night there will be more people here.”

“Excellent …” Dan said, affecting his best Mr. Burns voice. “You want a beer?”

“You bet.” John accepted. “What do you have?”

“Let’s see what’s left in here.” Dan replied, opening the refrigerator. “Yuengling Lager, Victory Hop Devil, Stoudt’s Scarlet Lady or Dogfish Head 90-Minute IPA.

“How about the Yuengling.” John chose.

Dan pulled out another glass from the cupboard and emptied the beer into it. “Here you go.” John took his first sip, at which point Dan added. “You just missed Trixie.”

John almost choked on his beer. After regaining his breath, he asked. “Really? She was here.”

“Scout’s honor.” Dan said, holding up his hand in the three-finger Boy Scout salute.

“Oh my god.” He said. “So how did it go? What was she like? How did she look? C’mon, tell me, tell me.” John pleaded.

“Alright, alright. Calm down. Let’s go in the living room. The fire’s probably still going. Dan cautioned.

“But this is huge.” John continued. “You’ve been talking about this day for a long, long time.”

“You mean I was, a long time ago that’s all I talked about.” Dan corrected.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” John admitted. “That was in the old days, right after you first got out of here. When I was living in Manhattan.”

“Before you got married and moved to the suburbs.” Dan ribbed.

“Look who’s talking.” John replied.

“Hey, I live in a city. A pretty big city.” Dan said defensively.

“It’s the mindset I’m talking about. We’ve both gotten pretty settled.” John explained. “Neither of us do anything wild anymore. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Dan admitted. “I’m having a pretty wild week. You have no idea and I really can’t tell you about all of it.”

John just stood there smirking.

“Wait.” Dan stopped. “You’re getting at something.”

John’s smile broadened.

“What.” Dan pleaded.

John produced a small ziplock bag from his pocket, unfurling it with a snap. Inside were small light brown pieces of something unfamiliar to Dan, at least from where he sat.

Bill knew right away, though. “Mushrooms.” He shouted.

“Really?” Dan said out loud.

“Who are you talking to?” John asked, looking a little confused.

“So are those mushrooms?” Dan asked, trying to get back to the subject at hand.”

“Yeah. They are.” John admitted. “You game?”

“Yes, please.” Dan replied.

“But who were you talking to?” Weaver continued, not letting go of his confusion. “Is there someone else here?”

“Well, no … and yes.” Dan began cautiously, unsure of how to proceed.

“It’s one or the other, buddy.” John told him. “There’s no grey area on this one.”

“Trust me.” Dan contradicted. “There’s a lot of grey area on this one, and every other one. I’m not sure how to tell you this, but I have a feeling it will go better after we take the mushrooms.”

“Okay.” John conceded. “I’ll wait. Here, take some, not too much. I got them from my sister. She says they’re pretty potent.”

Dan grabbed the bag and pinched a small amount between his thumb and forefinger, washing them down with his beer. “Ask me again in, what, ninety minutes?”

“Something like that.” John guessed.

“What about me?” Bill looked at Dan with a pleading expression on his face.

Dan held up his finger to indicate Bill should wait. He tried to do it slyly, but Weaver saw the gesture anyway.

“What was that?” John demanded.

“Okay.” Dan started. “You caught me. Give me your keys.”

“What?” John didn’t understand.

“Give me your car keys.” Dan repeated. “I don’t want you taking off while you’re on mushrooms and what I’m about to tell you might freak you out.”

John fished in his pocket, pulling out his keys and handing them to Dan. “Sure. Here you go. I’m too curious now. How is there someone here and not here?”

“Sit down.” Dan commanded. “And give me the bag of mushrooms.

“Alright!” Bill yelled excitedly, coming over to sit next to Dan.

“Now watch this.” Dan said, pulling out another dose of mushrooms from the bag. He handed them to Bill, who took them willingly. Bill swallowed them immediately.

From John Weaver’s perspective, they appeared to float in the air for a few seconds, then disappeared completely. “What the fuck? Where did they go?”

“My friend Bill took them.” Dan said as flatly as he could.

“What are you talking about? There’s nobody there.” John exclaimed.

“You can’t see him, but I can.” Dan added.

“He’s not a six-foot rabbit, is he?” John chuckled, assuming Dan was pulling his leg.

Dan told John the entire story, from the LSD to the plane ride to the whole week with Bill. John wasn’t sure he believed any of it, but he was listening intently, trying to poke holes in Dan’s story. Bill kept throwing in details to add, and offered to answer questions, but John didn’t seem quite ready for that, yet.

But then, as the Psilocybin in the mushrooms began to take effect, Bill became visible to John, too. He jumped back and pointed, and began asking more questions. “Is that him sitting there? Is he wearing black? How come I can’t here him?”

“Yes. Yes. Because he hasn’t said anything.” Came Dan’s responses.

Bill stood up and walked over to John, whose jaw was open and reaching to the floor. “Pleased to meet you.” Bill said, extending his hand for John to shake it.

Almost in a daze, John took Bill’s hand and shook it. “Hi” was all he could manage. Then, turning to Dan, said. “Holly crap. This is some amazing shit.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s really here.” Dan repeated. “I don’t really understand it, either, but he’s been with me for almost a week now. It doesn’t make any sense whatsoever and it breaks almost all my understanding of how the world is supposed to work, but there it is. Or rather there he is. As real as you or me.”

“Dude, this is so fucked up.” Weaver offered. “This is huge.”

This went on for about an hour, until John finally had exhausted himself on why what was happening was impossible and remarkable at the same time. Then he started to relax and just enjoy himself. They talked about Trixie, of course, but also life and death and everything in between and even the notion that the concept of in between life and death no longer seemed relevant. From time to time, John would lean over to Bill, saying. “Hey, you’re dead.” Then he’d laugh.

They all three had a great time and it lasted for many hours. Eventually, the effects of the mushrooms started to wear off and they began to feel very tired. John started nodding off so Dan put him in the back bedroom. He passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When he got back to the living room, Bill had already passed out on the sofa.

Dan sat in the kitchen until the sun came up, thinking about everything that had happened tonight and what tomorrow would bring. The conversation with Trixie had left him feeling unsettled. Overall it was good and he was happy he’d finally had the chance to see her again, he was also left with the feeling that something was missing. Something was still left to do. But what?

Dan remained wide-awake and watched the sun come up from the back porch. It was a beautiful sight. He knew he, too, would have to start the day as well.

on to Day Seven

Chapter 29

2005-11-18T11:45:00.000-08:00

The Truth has come and falsehood has vanished, for falsehood by its nature is bound to perish.

- Mohammad, (570—632 C.E.), The Qu'ran 17:18 al-Isra
[Translated by Muhammad Farooq-i-Azam Malik]

Dan froze, gazing up at Trixie standing on his grandmother’s porch. She looked good, he thought. She’d be forty-two now. She had the red hair she’d always had, but now it was streaked with grey in places. Or perhaps it was silver. It looked like the fire in her hair had started to fade. But it still seemed to glisten in the moonlight. She had on jeans and a thick jacket, so no other clues about how she looked were visible. She was holding a key in her hand, which Dan thought was surprising. He couldn’t conceive of any reason why she’d have a key to his grandmother’s house.

“Hi.” Dan said, as nonchalantly as he could.

“Hey.” She replied. “I though you’d be home already.”

“I went out to get some food. To the Peanut Bar.” Dan explained, as he walked up the three large stone steps to the back porch. “Do you have a key to Chulkie’s house?”

Trixie hesitated before answering. “Um. Yeah, I do.”

“Why would you have a key to my grandmother’s house when we haven’t spoken in two decades!” Dan’s voice was getting excited and even a little angry. This was not going as he’d expected.

“Look, let’s just go inside and I can explain.” Trixie said calmly.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Dan said apologetically. “Sorry about that. I’ve had a few drinks. I think we got off on the wrong foot, or rather I did. I saw you with a key and for some reason it struck me the wrong way.”

He opened the door and let her in. She took off her coat, revealing a pale blue sweater with a v-neck. Trixie was in pretty good shape. She looked like she’d taken care of herself. She wasn’t skinny, but looked fit. As she removed her scarf, he noticed the sweater showed off her modest cleavage quite well.

“Here, let me take your coat.” Dan fumbled, reaching for her jacket. “Let’s go in the living room. I’ll start a fire. Do you want anything to drink?”

“How about some port?” Trixie suggested. “I gave your grandmother a nice bottle of port a few years ago.”

Dan’s mind should have zeroed in on why she was exchanging presents with his relatives, but instead he was remembering how he and Bill had murdered a bottle of port Monday night. “I think I may have drank that already?” he said a little sheepishly.

“By yourself?” She sounded accusatory.

He couldn’t very well tell her about Bill, so he figured all he could do was try to not sound like a drunk. “Well not in one night. I finished it over a few nights. It made a good nightcap. That was a really great bottle, 1977 was a great year for port. I don’t think I realized you knew so much about wine.”

“I didn’t before, I mean when we were together.” She explained. “But I worked at the state store a few years back and learned quite a bit. I thought you only liked beer?”

Dan realized that over the last twenty years they had both accumulated a lifetime’s worth of experiences that neither of them knew anything about. “I still prefer it. But I have learned to appreciate other things, too. It’s hard not to in California, they have some incredible wines there, of course. But I’m sure you know all about that, if you worked at the state store.”

“Yeah, we got a lot of the bigger ones here.” Trixie said.

“Have a seat.” Dan suggested. “Anything other than port?”

“What have you got?” She asked.

“Well beer, of course.” He laughed, a little uneasily. “I got a bunch of liquor for mixed drinks, mixers, soda, some box wine. Like that. I stocked up for the wake tomorrow night.”

“How about a gin and tonic.” Trixie requested.

“That we can do.” Dan replied, excusing himself into the kitchen. Bill was waiting for him when we got to the kitchen. He handed him the gin and a glass. Dan grabbed the tonic water and made the drink. Then he grabbed himself a beer, pouring it into a pint glass.

“What are you doing?” Bill asked sternly.

“What do you mean?” Dan whispered. “How do you think it’s going?”

“Are you kidding?” Bill roared, holding his thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch apart. “You’re this close to talking about the weather. You’re just making chitchat. You’ve been waiting for this moment for twenty years. Don’t talk about nothing.”

“Okay, okay.” Dan replied forcefully. “We just started. I was working up to it.”

“Sure you were.” Bill rolled his eyes, as Dan returned to the living room. He handed Trixie her drink and set his down to start a duraflame log in the fireplace. He grabbed the matches from the almost empty mantle and lit the fire.

“Thanks.” Trixie said, accepting the drink. “What happened to all the photographs that were on the mantle?” Then as she looked around at the blank walls, added. “Actually, where are all the photographs?”

“I shipped them home.” Dan explained, sitting down in the chair opposite the sofa where he and Bill had talked earlier in the week. “I boxed up all of the stuff I wanted to hang on to. The rest will be auctioned off by Pennypackers before they sell the house.”

“You’re not keeping the house?” Trixie sounded surprised. “But your father and your grandfather built this house. How can you get rid of it?”

“This isn’t my home any more.” Dan reminded her. “I don’t mean this house, I mean Dutch Wonderland. Shillington. My home is in California now. I’m sorry. Here there are only reminders of …” He stopped himself.

“Of what?” Trixie demanded. “Reminders of what?”

“Lots of things. Everything. Well, not absolutely everything, obviously.” Dan stammered, trying not to say the wrong thing. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do. Do you mean me? Us?” She asked point blank.

“Well, yes. That’s part of it.” He admitted. “A big part. But it’s more than that. This place reminds of me Rick, my Mom, so many unhappy memories. Just being here this week has been very difficult. Everywhere I look something reminds me of something bad I would rather have forgotten.”

“So there was nothing good here?” She challenged.

“I didn’t say that.” Dan answered testily. “Yes, there are some good memories here, too. A few. They’re just overwhelmed by all the rotten ones, that’s all.”

“So if your grandmother hadn’t have died, would you have come back here?” She asked.

“Not if I could help it.” He answered quickly, without thinking. “I mean, it was inevitable that she would die. She couldn’t live forever. Although she came closer than the rest of us are likely to, didn’t she? So I knew at some point I’d have to come back here and … and …”

“Find closure?” Trixie finished for him.

“No.” he cried. “I hate that term. It’s too new age bullshit.”

“But you live in the capitol of new age bullshit.” Trixie chided him.

He heard Bill laughing from the other room. “I do not.” He said petulantly, eyeing the kitchen for a glimpse of Bill. “Well, it’s not all like that. There are plenty of normal people there, too. Anyway, I wasn’t going to say closure. Something more like” — he paused to think about it — “a way to put it all behind me, to deal with it, to move forward without it being a dead weight around me.”

“Closure.” Trixie repeated, to additional laughter coming from the kitchen.

“Alright.” He sighed. “Whatever. Why do you still live here?”

“I don’t. I live near Lancaster. For me, it’s far enough away but close enough to my family and other people important to me.” Trixie told him.

“How are your folks?” He asked.

“Well, mom died a few years ago, in 1998. Cancer. It was a long, slow death. They diagnosed her about two years before. I spent a lot of time taking care of her during that time.” She sighed now, too.

“I’m sorry.” Dan said sympathetically. “I didn’t know. Sometimes people send me news clippings but I never saw one about your mom.”

“I thought about calling you, because you two used to be close.” She admitted. “But in the end, I just didn’t know what I’d say to you so I decided not to call. Too much time had passed, you know what I mean? It was just easier to not talk.”

“Yeah.” Dan began, sighing again. “I do know what you mean. After that last time we talked, I thought about calling you almost every day. Then after a while, it was every week, then once a month or so. Eventually, so much time had passed that it would have seemed more awkward to call than not call.”

Trixie nodded her head with recognition. “Exactly. That’s exactly it. After a while, I just needed to get on with my life. So eventually that’s what I did. It was hard at first, but little by little it got easier.”

“So what have you been doing with yourself for the last twenty years?” He asked.

“Getting by.” She said, a little sadly Dan thought. “I went back to college and got a teaching degree. It made my dad happy for a short time, but you know how he is, it didn’t last. But I found I really like teaching. I felt like I was doing something good in the world. I liked that about it. Of course, the pay sucks.” She laughed.

“What grade are you teaching? And where? Dan asked.

“Oh, elementary school mostly. This year I have sixth grade. A great bunch of kids. I’ve been at Warwick now for, geez, what is it, ten years. I’m in Lititz. That’s where I live there, too.”

“I think I remember Warwick.” Dan said. “Didn’t we play them in football back in high school?”

“Yeah, I think we did.” Trixie explained. “But we don’t anymore. Something about restructuring the divisions throughout the state a few years ago. I don’t really pay attention to sports.”

“So, I hope this doesn’t sound accusatory, but why do you have a key to Chulkie’s?” Dan asked, changing the subject.

“Well …” She hesitated again.

“Well?” Dan repeated.

“Now don’t get mad, Dan.” Trixie warned. “Let me finish. I stayed in touch with your grandmother ever since you left. I came to see her, I don’t know, probably something like once a week.”

Dan choked on his drink, and started coughing. “Once a week. Jesus Christ. You’ve seen her more than I have. That’s like, I don’t know, twenty times 52, a thousand times. She never said a word to me. Nobody did. What the hell?”

“Calm down, Dan.” Trixie soothed. “The first couple of times, I just stopped by to see if she was alright. Although in reality I was just fishing to see if she’d tell me anything about you. That way I could still know how you were doing without having to suck up my pride and call you. Anyway, what I though was going to be the last time I came to see her, she sat me down and asked me if I’d keep coming to see her. You now how she was, you couldn’t say no to her. She was always so sweet, such a giving person. And she really missed you. I think I may have been a kind of substitute for you in the beginning.”

Dan stopped being pissed, and just listened.

“But after a little while, we just developed our own relationship.” She continued. “I’d take her shopping sometimes, and to church every once in a while. Just us girls; it was really nice. I never knew either of my grandmothers so this was exactly what I needed after the trauma of that day at your house. She was a rock; she was always there for me. I loved her, Dan. It was like she was my grandmother, too. I also feel like I just lost a dear member of my family.”

Dan had to fight back the tears. That sounded exactly like Chulkie. It’s exactly the sort of thing she would have done. She always did fight for people. She gave people her time and treated them like they were the only people who mattered. She would have made a great politician. Chulkie made everybody around her feel a little better. It was a gift. “Sorry.” He said finally. “I had no idea. Nobody said a word to me.” Dan was shaking his head.

“We decided from the very beginning not to tell you.” Trixie explained.

“What do you mean we? Why?” Dan’s anger was returning.

“Well, okay. It was Chulkie’s idea.” She admitted. “She said we should just keep this to ourselves. I don’t know, maybe she was protecting you. Maybe she thought you wouldn’t like it.”

“Well you have to admit it’s a little weird.” Dan remarked. “No offense, but she wasn’t actually your grandmother. She was mine, and you dumped me twenty years ago. I didn’t keep up a relationship with your mom.”

“Hey.” Trixie interrupted. “I didn’t dump you. You left. You went to California. You dumped me.”

“I did not.” Dan said defensively. “I wanted you to come with me. I begged you to come along. It’s not like I was trying to get away from you.”

“No, just everybody else.” Trixie said. “This was our home. My family was here. Our friends were here. I like this place. I didn’t want my kids to grow up somewhere else, some place I didn’t know. I wanted to stay here. You never did understand that.”

“I couldn’t stay here. My life was in danger. Did you forget Rick had threatened to kill me. And you know as well as I did that not only was he capable of it, but he had plenty of lowlife cronies that would have done it for him. So it was definitely not safe for me here.”

”But did you have to go so far away. Did you have to pick California? Why wasn’t the next county far enough, or the other side of the state, or even New Jersey or Maryland or New York? Why did you always have to be so extreme? Trixie countered.

Bill could still be heard laughing in the kitchen. It wasn’t helping Dan’s mood any to be heckled by a dead guy. Dan was thinking there must be some way to beat up a ghost when this was over.

“I don’t know.” He replied. “I felt like I had to get as far away as possible, just to be safe.”

“You were a coward.” Trixie accused. “You never did well with confrontation so at the first sign of real trouble you cut and ran.”

“At the first sign of real trouble?” Dan was getting angrier still. Trixie really knew how to push his buttons. “You don’t count years of beatings to myself and my mom as real trouble?”

“Of course I do.” Trixie sounded exasperated. “But compared to murder, those things aren’t nearly as severe.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dan retreated into his old line of defense. They’d had different versions of this same argument many times before.

“Let’s not do this.” Trixie begged, hanging her head low.

Regaining his composure, Dan replied. “Okay. You’re right. We should be able to move the arguments from twenty years ago. I felt that I had no choice but to get out this place. It was killing me, figuratively and then almost literally. I needed a fresh start so badly I can’t even tell you. And yes, I though about places closer than California but they just didn’t seem far enough away to guarantee a fresh start. If it was easy to get home from, I figured that’s what I’d do as soon as it became difficult there. I was afraid I’d retreat back home with my tail between my legs. Plus if I could get home fast, Rick and his cohorts could get to me too easily as well.”

“And I thought I deserved a fresh start, without all the baggage that’s littered around this place. I wanted a new start for us, too. I thought we also deserved one. It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t come with me. I really thought you’d stay with me no matter what. It was very hard on me that you wouldn’t.” Dan continued. “But by the time I found that out, all the plans were set and you weren’t talking to me. I couldn’t get to you at all. So I couldn’t even tell you what I was doing what I was doing. When I got to California I never felt so alone in my whole life, and I think I blamed you a little bit for that. I know it wasn’t fair, I mean I know that now, but at the time I had these big ideas that we’d be able to be together without fear, without the pull of the past, and without any responsibilities, except to one another.”

“When you put it that way.” Trixie admitted. “It doesn’t sound half bad.

“So why wouldn’t you see me?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “It seems silly now, but at the time I wasn’t thinking clearly. I mean, I’d just been shot by my boyfriend’s stepfather and witnessed him killing your mother. I just went into a kind of shock. Not the shock from the wound, but a mental shock. I just shut down. I locked myself in my room and wouldn’t talk to anybody. My parents didn’t know what to do, but they thought by respecting my wishes they were doing the right thing. In retrospect, they should have ignored my shock-induced coma-like behavior, and forced me back into life. That would have been the best thing for me. I figured that out eventually and got on with my life. One day a few weeks after you left, I got a big wake up call, of sorts. And I picked myself up and got on with it. It was too late by then for us. And I know you won’t believe this after what I’d told you on the phone that day, but it was really hard on me, too. I still” — she paused — “cared for you a lot. But I couldn’t follow you. I knew that much. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn’t.”

“No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see myself in California. I think I’m more attached to this place than you are.” Trixie hypothesized. “This place is in my bones. I’d feel like a fish out of water any place else.”

“How do you know?” Dan demanded. “Have you been anywhere else?”

“What do you mean?” Trixie sounded defensive.

“Well I’m not trying to pick another fight, but how can you say you wouldn’t feel the same way about another place if you’ve never lived anywhere else? Don’t you think at some level, that’s just a convenient cop-out? I mean, be honest with yourself. How can you be so sure?”

“I’ve traveled a bit.” She said, still sounding defensive. “I went to Europe a few years ago and the Caribbean before that. And I’ve been up and down the East Coast antiquing. I love antiques now. It’s a hobby of mine. So I’ve gotten to see other places.”

“But you haven’t ‘lived’ anywhere else, have you? That’s the difference, I think.” Dan explained.

“Okay, maybe I haven’t. But I know what this place means to me. I love it here. I can’t conceive of being anywhere else. I don’t want to live anywhere else, isn’t that enough?” Trixie sounded exasperated.

Dan could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. No matter what he said, she wasn’t going to budge. This has become an intractable position for her. Perhaps she needs to believe it because it makes her decision easier for her in the end, Dan thought.

“I guess so.” He offered, though he obviously didn’t believe it. “At least you’ve traveled a bit and thought about it. That’s still more than most people have done.”

“Thanks.” She said at last, visibly relaxing and sinking back into the chair. “I really love this room.”

“Yeah, me too.” Dan agreed. And they finally stopped accusing each other and just talked about nothing. Not laughably nothing to amuse Bill in the kitchen, but just talked like old friends who hadn’t seen one another in a very long time. After several hours it had grown quite late and Trixie said she needed to go.

“Are you coming to the funeral tomorrow?” Dan asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” She said. “I was hoping to come to the wake, too, if that’s all right. I mean, if I’m invited.”

“Sure. Yeah, of course you’re invited. It’s right after the service at the cemetery but it will probably be going all night. I talked to a few old friends and a number of people you know will be there, too. Adam, John Weaver, Brian and Jeff. Oh, and I ran into Kathy Zook on the sidewalk. I think she’s coming.”

“Do I know her?” Trixie searched her memory.

“I sort of went out with her the year before we started dated. She went by KZ, most of the time.” Dan explained.

“Oh, yeah.” Trixie remembered. “I know who she it. I don’t really know her, I mean we weren’t friends but I don’t have anything against her either.”

“I don’t know who else is coming.” Dan added. “I only talked to a few people and they agreed to spread the word since I didn’t know how to get a hold of anybody anymore, at least no one around here. So it’s anybody’s guess. If there’s anybody you want to bring, feel free.”

“When are you leaving?” She asked as she reached the back door.

“Sunday morning I have a flight out of Philly.” He told her.

“Ah.” She replied. “So tomorrow is pretty much it then.”

“Unless you want to visit me in California?” Dan suggested.

“Maybe.” She reached out and gave Dan a long hug, then was out the door and down the stairs without another word. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she called back. “See you tomorrow.” She waved and then was gone in the dark night. Dan shut the door and turned around.

Bill was standing directly in front of him. “Well I liked her. She was nice.”

on to Chapter 30

Chapter 28

2005-11-16T20:24:00.000-08:00

The unity of freedom has never relied on uniformity of opinion.

- John F. Kennedy, State of the Union Address (1962)

Music poured out of the bar as Dan opened the heavy wooden door. Inside the light was bright and loud. Their feet crunched on the peanuts that thickly littered the floor, and Bill gave Dan a look of confusion.

“What the hell is all over the floor?” He demanded.

Dan surreptitiously pointed to the bowls of peanuts on every table and along the bar, but continued making his way toward the rear of the long, narrow bar. Along the larger right side, tables were filled with customers. In the back were booths, and Dan found an empty one around the corner. “Perfect.” He said, telling Bill to get in first.

He ordered two Yuengling Lagers and asked for a menu. Their waitress was all business and didn’t bat an eye at the double order. In the corner and behind Dan, Bill could also drink. Dan felt like he wasn’t drinking alone that way, even though to everyone else that’s exactly what it looked like.

“So what’s the deal with the peanut shells all over the floor?” Bill asked.

“That’s their shtick, their gimmick. Their t-shirts say ‘Sorry, No Elephants’ on the back, which is cheesy but a little funny. They’ve always had the bowls of peanuts everywhere, and there are signs all over the place saying to just throw the shells on the floor. The place has been here as long as I can remember. I think since the 1920s, at least.”

“Rick used to bring my Mom and me in here all the time. I think he knew the owner or at least some of the bartenders. Of course, Rick seemed to know all the bars in town. I think we ate more than half of our meals out at bars, or at least restaurants with bars. I spent a lot of time in bars as a kid. They were a lot of fun. Nobody worried if I spilled, there were pinball machines and other games, they were loud so I didn’t have to be quiet, and they always had food I liked. I still love pub food to this day. Anything fried and greasy, I love it. So when I told my friend’s parents, they often seemed appalled by my being in bars. But that was one of the Rick things that didn’t bother me at all. Of course, that was when he was relatively still a ‘good drunk’ meaning he hadn’t progressed to the more psychotic, violent behavior that marked his later years, when I was in junior high and high school.”

“Admittedly, some of the places we went were a little on the skanky side, but for the most part the drunks in the bars were usually pretty nice to me. They taught me to play pool, shuffleboard, and even how to throw darts. And I wasn’t always the only kid in the bar. In those days, it seems like it wasn’t all that unusual for there to be several families at any given bar. So I even had playmates at the bars, which was sometimes better than being at home alone. To this day, most bars seem very comfortable and almost homey to me. In a way, it’s like I grew up in bars.”

“Once I was twenty-one and was living back in this area, I started going to some of the bars I remembered from when I was a kid. Birch Tavern, Stanley’s, Nick’s and the Wagon Wheel, to name a few. I wanted to join the Pennwyn Club in Mohnton, but I had no idea how to go about it. I was only in there a couple of time with Rick. It was a key club, meaning you had to be a member to even enter the place. Your yearly membership literally included the key to the front door, which is why they called them key clubs.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool.” Bill interrupted, enthusiastically.

“Not only that.” Dan continued. “They were open twenty-four hours a day, even on holidays. They were, or are — I don’t know if they’re around anymore — holdovers from before a lot of the blue laws. So their hours were grandfathered in and they could stay open whenever they wanted. There are a number of these semi-exclusive clubs all over the city. Rick belonged to at least three of them that I knew about.”

“How did you get into them? I mean how did you get to be a member? Was it hard to in?” Bill asked, clearly interested.

“I don’t think you had to take a test of anything. As far as I could tell, you just had to know somebody who was already a member. Then they sponsored you to be a member and you were voted in. But since it was all about the annual dues, I think they took anybody who seemed okay to the group. There was this one in Reading — I can’t remember the name of it — Rick took me there a few times when I was older, during a period of time when we were trying to get along. Anyway, once we were there on my birthday and Rick sponsored me for membership. I think it was his way of trying to be a decent guy. Who knows? Anyway, a few weeks later I got a letter in the mail about it. All I had to do next was show up at a membership committee meeting, and I think it said they were held once a month, or something like that. I told Rick about it, and he told me they just wanted to make sure I wasn’t black or Puerto Rican. Needless to say, I never followed up on it. There was no way I was joining a club that was so blatantly racist.”

“Maybe it was a generational thing, maybe it was just Rick, I don’t know. But he grew up in the inner city of Reading, and had lots of black friends but he always called them the “N” word, even to their faces. I remember cringing every time I heard him say it. This might not have been the most liberal or enlightened place to grow up, it is a very conservative place, politically and socially, but none of my friends used the term and I don’t think I grew up with any prejudices like that. I never heard any of my friend’s parents use the term, either. So it was only Rick and the people he ran around with that I heard use it. They were often blatantly racist, but acted like it was perfectly normal. It was very strange. I was growing up in this largely homogeneous white suburban environment probably like any other suburb in America, but when I went just a few miles into the city of Reading with Rick, it was like entering another world entirely. Here there were people of all colors with ethnic speech patterns and in some cases their own patois. I found it fascinating but I also felt a little uneasy because it was so different from what I was used to. You grew up in a suburb of Houston, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Bill answered. “It was called Nottingham Forest.”

“No, seriously?” Dan said, shaking his head.

“No kidding.” Bill admitted sheepishly.

“And were you Robin Hood?” Dan chuckled. “No, wait. Will Scarlet?”

“Funny.” Bill replied, taking a swig of his lager.

“I thought so.” Dan beamed.

“It was probably a lot like your experience was, although the racism was perhaps a bit more blatant, I imagine. It was Texas, after all.” Bill offered. “The more I traveled around the country, I found that most people’s experiences were pretty similar, especially across class lines. And with the rise of chain stores, shopping malls and cable television, even the physical look of towns all over the place was becoming more and more the same.”

“You’re probably right. I couldn’t say, but while it seems like the ignorant are everywhere, they seem to be headquartered in the south somewhere, and most likely Texas.” Dan agreed.

“That’s probably true. I met some real yahoos in the south. But they were everywhere you looked, really. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of your fair share right here.” Bill waved his hands to indicate the bar.

“No doubt.” Dan agreed, taking a long look around the room.

“So, are you bummed Trixie didn’t show?” Bill asked point blank.

“In a way, I suppose. There was a part of me that thought if I was going to see her at all this trip, this was going to be it. This is where she’d put in an appearance, I figured. So I guess it’s over, I can stop waiting for it to happen. I don’t mean over between us, that happened a very long time ago. I thought maybe we’d get a chance to end things differently. Not closure, really, I hate that term. But I thought just maybe we could talk like adults about what happened and put it behind us. We were very good friends once upon a time, I don’t see why we shouldn’t still be friends, at least.”

“Maybe she blames you for being shot and traumatized for the rest of her life?” Bill suggested.

“Yeah.” Dan laughed sadly. “I guess that’s possible. I know it’s not my fault what happened, but I could see how it would be very easy to blame me as a way of coping with it.”

“So you don’t blame yourself?” Bill asked.

“Oh, sure. I used to, believe me, but not anymore.” Dan replied. “I used to do nothing but talk about it. It’s a wonder I have any friends at all in California. But eventually, I got to a place where I no longer thought it was all my fault, and I stopped talking about it and got on with my life.”

The waitress returned to take their orders. Dan ordered two Prima Pils from nearby Victory Brewing Company. He had been excited to find it on their draft list because it was one of the best pilsners made on the East Coast. He then told her was very hungry and ordered two dinners. She was too busy to care, and was gone before he could tell her the well thought out cover explanation he’d come up with.

“Well that was easy.” He said, to no one in particular.

“What?” Bill asked.

“I had a whole story worked out about why I was ordering so much food to avoid any suspicion. It’s bad enough I can see and talk to Bilbo the Friendly Ghost, I don’t need anyone else to know about it. People think I’m eccentric enough without adding seeing things to my nutball resume. But she couldn’t have cared less.”

“Hey, I’m not that friendly.” Bill retaliated, feeling a little insulted. “Are you ashamed of me?” He asked, now pouting.

“Dude.” Dan replied, rolling his eyes. “What are you talking about? I’m not trying to insult you. You are my friend. But there’s no getting around one fact. You’re my ‘dead’ friend and that probably won’t sit too well with the average living person. I’m taking a risk just sitting here talking and drinking with you. Did you think of that?”

“Can I get another beer?” Bill said, ignoring Dan, but smirking all the same.

Dan looked over at Bill, a little incredulously.

“Gotcha.” He blurted.

“Yeah, you did.” Dan admitted. “I thought you were serious. Bastard.”

“Well I’m feeling pretty good.” Bill admitted. “Oh, sure I could dwell on the fact that I’m dead. But for whatever reason, my soul is alive and well and living on after all. I’ve had a few beers and I’ve got food coming. I’m with my good, live friend, Dan the man. What more could I ask for?” He paused for a few seconds, adding. “Okay, maybe some mushrooms and a pretty brunette? That would be nice.”

The food and a third round of beers arrived. Dan waited until the waitress had left before handing Bill his beer. He ordered Hot Roast Beef for himself and got Bill a Pork BBQ sandwich, which was one of the blue plate specials. They dug in and started eating almost immediately and a short silence fell over the booth. This silence continued while they finished most of what was on their two plates.

At some point during the feast, as he was just about clearing off his plate, Bill looked up and saw a middle-eastern looking man sitting opposite him in the booth. The man smiled and made eye contact with Bill. Bill stopped stuffing himself, and poked Dan in the ribs with his elbow.

“Hey!” Dan exclaimed. “Watch it.”

Bill ignored him, saying. “Can you see him?”

“Who?” Dan replied but saw who Bill meant as he lifted his head from his plate.”

“Him.” Bill said, pointing. “Cause I think he can see me.”

“Yeah, I can see him.” Dan said tentatively.

“Hello.” The man said. He was wearing a non-descript white robe of some kind. It could have been from anywhere, but it definitely looked out of place in Dutch Wonderland.

“Hey.” Dan said. “Can you see my friend?”

“Of course.” Said the stranger. “I, too, am dead, and have come among the living.”

Bill stretched his arm across the table and offered to shake the man’s hand. “Hi. I’m Bill.” He said matter-of-factly. “Who are you?”

“I am Muhammad.”

Bill turned to Dan. “It’s Muhammad.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too.” Dan said sarcastically. He looked around, but nobody else seemed to see Muhammad except for the two of them.

“So how come you know English?” Bill asked.

“Allah never sent a messenger save with the language of his folk, that he might make it clear for them.” Muhammad told them.

“Oh, well that makes sense.” Dan was not taking this seriously. Of course, neither was Bill, and he at least had reason to believe this was really happening.

“Why do you mock me?” The stranger asked. “Do you doubt I am who I say I am?”

“Well, sort of. Yeah, I do. Bill here is weird enough and I could believe he is a hallucination or that he lives inside my mind.” Dan explained. “But I don’t really know very much about Islam, but what I do know I’m not terribly fond of, at least I’m not any more fond of it than the other sky-god religions. I think they’re all hogwash and collectively are the single worst idea in the history of mankind. So I’m not picking on you specifically, but here you are, so you’re getting the brunt of it. If Jesus were sitting next to you, I’d be giving him a hard time, too. So you shouldn’t take it personally. I’m just not having a very good week, that’s all.”

Turning to Bill, Muhammad asked. “Why is he damned?”

“Who, Dan?” Bill clarified.

“Yes, of course, him.” Muhammad said, pointing at Dan.

“He’s not.” Bill said flatly. “I’m leading him through hell. It’s okay. I’ve got special permission. You want to see my pass?”

Dan turned immediately to say something to Bill, but he raised his finger to indicate he should wait a minute.

“That is truly remarkable.” Muhammad said, as he dangled his foot off the side of bench. “The dead among us will simply not believe it.”

“You’re probably right. It is unique, I’ll grant you that.” Bill admitted. “It’s certainly my first time. So you’re a messenger. Do you have a message for us?”

“I do.” Muhammad began. “Beware of schisms. They will be your undoing. The devil will spread divisiveness. You must change what is in yourself. The present life is naught but a diversion and a sport; surely the Last Abode is Life, did they but know.”

“I always thought of it as a ride.” Bill interjected.

“Hey, that’s right.” Dan remembered, turning toward Bill. “What he said is awfully close to what you used to say at the end of your act.”

When they both turned back, Muhammad was gone. “Well that was rude. He didn’t even say goodbye.” Bill pouted. “Just when it was getting interesting. Well, I guess he was finished. He probably has lots of vague, cryptic messages to deliver.” They both laughed at this, though Dan thought to himself he must look a little strange laughing to himself so loudly.

“Should we get out of here?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m finished. You?” Dan shot back, though he already knew the answer.

Dan left cash along with a good tip, and they stood up. The place was now more crowded and a group of four quickly took their place in the back booth. They appeared a little annoyed that Dan had been taking up a large booth by himself and one of them bumped into him purposely as he passed each other. Dan steeled himself against the inevitable confrontation that would follow, and he turned to meet the large man’s angry stare. They stood about a foot or two apart and just as the man began to speak, Bill smacked him in the head, knocking him back. He looked disoriented and had a surprised look on his face.

“How did you do that?” He demanded. “Your arms were at your side.”

His friends rushed back to him, shouting. “Bert, what’s going on?” One of them asked.

But Bert just waved them back, with a look of shock still on his face. Bill smacked him again, and this time Dan was even farther away. His friends froze as they saw his head snap back as if he’d just been hit.

“C’mon, Dan. “Bill said to him. “Let’s get out of here.”

They left the puzzled gang in the back and went outside to the rental car. Once in the night air, Dan turned to Bill. “You hit that guy.”

“Yeah, I did. I didn’t know I could do that either. I just gave it a shot, and it worked. Cool, huh?” Bill said excitedly, as he started bobbing and weaving on the sidewalk adopting a boxer’s stance.

Once in the car, Dan finally got a chance to ask Bill that question that had been troubling him since shortly after the guy claiming to be Muhammad showed up. “So …” He began. “A pass? You have special permission? What are you not telling me?”

“Slow down.” Bill interrupted. “I just made that up. I don’t have any special permission or a hall pass. Are you kidding me? A pass? I can’t believe he bought that.”

Dan laughed, a good guttural, cleansing laugh. It felt good. It released his tensions. “Things sure are getting weirder. But I’m feeling good.”

Dan drove back to his grandmother’s house a different route than the way the came. He took 422 over to Lancaster Avenue and got off there at the Queen City Diner where they began their journey on Monday, five days before. A lot had happened in that time, but it was almost over, Dan thought. Bill was quiet, which left Dan to reflect on the week. Get some sleep tonight, go out with a bang tomorrow, and then get the hell out of here. That was the plan.

He was still thinking those same thoughts, when he drove up the small sloping driveway at Chulkie’s house. He was jarred back into the present when he found the same Honda he’d seen leaving the viewing as they arrived was parked in the driveway.

“Isn’t that the car we saw at the funeral home?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it is.” He replied. “At least now maybe I can solve one mystery. I wanted to know who was in that car, so now maybe I’ll get my wish.

He left the car in the driveway, too, and walked up the stone staircase into the back yard. There, standing on the porch looking down at him, was Trixie.

on to Chapter 29

Chapter 27

2005-11-15T14:30:00.000-08:00

In this country superpatriotism rests on the dubious assumption that the United States is endowed with superior virtue and has a unique history and special place in the world. For the American superpatriot, nationalistic pride, or “Americanism,” is placed above every other public consideration. Whether or not superpatriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels, as Dr. Johnson might say, it is a highly emotive force used by political leaders and ordinary citizens to muffle discourse.

- Michael Parenti, Superpatriotism (2004)

Dan and Bill entered the funeral home through the back entrance. They went through the building to the front so they could find out which room Chulkie’s viewing was in. There was only one other viewing that night, and it wasn’t until eight. So it was a simple matter to find it. Rich Buchanon was already there with, as he was later introduced, Rich’s assistant Roy something or other. The two of them would be working the viewing that evening.

Dan was the first to arrive, Rich told him. Roy started to add something, but Rick stopped him. Dan wondered about the car he saw leaving but said nothing. When Dan looked up at the back of the room, he saw the casket lying there, with the figure of his grandmother inside.

Rich saw Dan look up, stopping cold, and asked him. “Do you want to have a look?”

Dan didn’t say anything; he just nodded and slowly walked up the casket. He’d always felt uneasy about seeing the dead, and he had to fight that tendency now, as he always had. No matter how many of these he came to, it never got any easier. At his mother’s viewing, her mother, Granbecca, was so distraught she’d tried to climb into the coffin with her. She had to be physically restrained and pulled away from the coffin. That was the last funeral he’d been to in Dutch Wonderland.

As he approached the casket, he could see his grandmother’s face. She looked much older than he remembered he looking the last time he’d seen her. Of course, that was twenty years ago. It was hard to tell what was her natural face and what was a trick of the embalmer. There were many more wrinkles and liver spots, but she looked otherwise like his Chulkie. He was flooded with memories of being at her house, her easy laugh, the smell of her cooking. His mind made the sight of her more animated than the dead shell of her body would allow.

He closed his eyes and saw her alive again, standing in her back yard, the Christmas trees behind her. She’s smiling at Dan and calling him over to see something. He remembers this moment now. He knows what’s coming next. He was maybe nine or ten. It was spring. She’d found a robin’s egg that had fallen from the nest. He ran to her and she placed it in his hand. He stared at the pale speckled blue and rolled it around in his hand. It was heavy. She explained to him that they could not put the egg back in the nest. Now that they had touched it, the mother robin would not go near the scent of a human. He cried to think that the bird inside the egg would never be born. Chulkie put her arms around him and pulled her tightly into her dress and the tears poured out of him.

He found when he opened his eyes in the present that the tears were still there. She had been his rock, the one person who fought for him, who did her best to make his life a little more bearable. Without her sanctuary, Dan wasn’t sure where he’d be today. He felt a little ashamed that he had abandoned her along with everyone else when he fled town for California. She had already slipped into dementia by the time he’d left, but somehow that excuse seemed hollow now. He squeezed her hands, which were folded across her midsection. They were surprisingly cold. Rationally, he knew they would be but emotionally he had half expected, or at least hoped, they would be warm and that he was still ten years old, standing in her back yard on a bright spring day. But the cold jolted him back to the reality of the situation and he stood up stiffly. He bent down again and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

Wiping the tears from his face, he turned to walk back to the other side of the room. He was surprised to see that there were now other people in the room. Several of his relatives and a few of his old friends had arrived while he was paying his respects to Chulkie. His Aunt George and Uncle Amy were there, along with his Aunt Helen. Also Jacob and Mary, which was most of the Pilgers, his mother’s side of the family. By rights he should have been a Schaeffer, but after his father died, his mother started using her maiden name again and for convenience sake, so did Dan. So at age three, his identity was irrevocably altered and he considered himself a Pilger what for him seemed his whole life. It was a strange circumstance, but it rarely was a problem since nobody except those closest to Dan really understood that Pilger had not been his father’s surname.

Adam was there, and so were his friends Brian Kendall and Jeff Screpsi. The people with them were undoubtedly their wives, who he’d never met. One of the wives moved, and he saw John Weaver standing there. That was unexpected. John lived in upstate New York, many hours from here and when he’d e-mailed John about his travel plans he never expected that he’d drive down for the funeral. John was in the computer business and so he regularly came to San Francisco and Silicon Valley, which was Santa Clara County, a short distance south of the city. He was one of only a handful of friends from Dutch Wonderland who had seen anything of Dan’s new life in California.

Dan went up to John first, and embraced him warmly. He then hugged the rest of his old friends, and was introduced to each of their wives for the first time. It was almost a surreal experience and he would have preferred to stay talking with his friends but he had to make time for his relatives, too. So he spent some time talking with them, as well. Over the course of the two hours the viewing had been scheduled for, only a few dozen people came and went. Dan knew all but a few of them. The ones he hadn’t known had been caregivers from the home, neighbors that had not been there before he’d left and a couple whose connection to his grandmother remained a mystery.

No Trixie, he realized as the end of the viewing drew closer. She had not shown up. He wasn’t sure he had wanted to see her again, but she had been on his mind all night, all the same. It was inevitable, but he tried not to think about it. He tried to concentrate on his friends who had made the effort to be there, even though they had not seen Dan in twenty years. That made him feel pretty good, actually, like he had made a difference in their lives, too. A few other friends had came and went and all had promised that they’d be at the wake tomorrow. It was sounding more and more like he might actually get a decent turnout after all. A last hurrah, he thought. After all the parties he’d gone to and all the parties he’d thrown, there was going to be at least one more Shillington soiree.

As the viewing drew to a close, he said his goodbyes to the people who’d lingered to the end, mostly relatives and just a few friends. As he was leaving the viewing room, he saw them close his grandmother’s coffin for what was going to be the last time. He excused himself and walked back in for one last look. Then he joined everybody in the lobby of the funeral home and they all walked out to the parking lot together. The darkness was now complete, but the smoke of the fires could still be seen in the hills. The air was thick the burning leaves and smoke swirls could be seen wherever they intersected with the light from the lampposts in the parking lot and streets. The night seemed eerie as a result of the fires.

As he reached his car, Bill caught up to him and they both got in. “Well, that was a dandy viewing, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it went pretty well, I guess.” Dan reflected. “It was really nice that so many people showed up. I wouldn’t have guessed at the number who came. I guess the word got out and people I haven’t seen for two decades came to pay their respects. That felt good, it really did.”

“Of course, it could have been the novelty of seeing what you looked like after so much time.” Bill speculated.

Dan laughed. “You sound like me now. Yeah, I thought about that, but if that were the case they would have just come tomorrow night for the wake. That way, they wouldn’t have to see a dead body and pretend to be sympathetic. They could just get drunk.”

“Hey, yeah.” Bill replied, impressed. “That’s a good point. You’re right.”

“I’m feeling like I inspired some long term loyalty. After twenty years, those people felt strongly enough that I was a good enough person to spend some time with me.” Dan beamed.

“Yeah.” Bill began. “So where was Trixie?”

“Damn.” Dan muttered. “You couldn’t let me have my moment? Not even for a little while longer.”

Bill ducked, expecting to be smacked at any moment. “Sorry, dude. You were getting a little too full or yourself. I had to bring you back to reality.”

“Shit, I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.” Dan declared. “And a beer.”

“By the way, why did you use the word ‘loyalty’ about your friends?” Bill asked. “It’s not like you were their leader or they’re rooting for the home team. It just seemed like a strange choice of words, that’s all.”

Dan drove through Wyomissing and West Reading toward downtown Reading in search of food. “I don’t know.” He finally admitted. “I guess it was a poor choice of words.”

“I wasn’t trying to pick on you.” Bill assured him. “You just usually choose your words so carefully that it sort of stood out. Loyalty is almost always to either a ruler of some kind or an institution.”

“But you can be loyal to your friends.” Dan countered.

“Sure.” Bill agreed. “Absolutely. But you’re usually only loyal in a specific instance, like if somebody insults a friend and you stick up for them out of loyalty.”

“Isn’t that like them showing up tonight out of loyalty?” Dan asked.

Bill shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s the same. They came out of friendship, for old times sake, or because you were someone who was once important to them. It can’t be loyalty. No matter how much you wish it were otherwise, your friends of twenty years ago can’t be your friends in exactly the same way they used to be. It’s just impossible. Maybe if you’d never left and you’d kept up the same level of contact with them you had when you were in high school. But otherwise the nature of the friendship has to change. People change. And they change differently.”

“That’s why so many marriages end. It’s not always someone’s fault. Sometimes one of them just changes at a different rate or in a different direction than the other. If the two new people are no longer compatible, you’ve got a problem. Part of my problem, and most likely the real reason I’m giving you such a hard time is because I hate the word loyalty. Loyalty is such bullshit. It starts really early in a person’s life. You’re taught to be loyal to your school, to sports teams, to your state, your country, to whatever organizations you belong to like the boy scouts or your church. And they’re totally irrational. Who cares if your high school football team beats some other high school? Why should you root for them? Do you know anybody on the team? Why is it important in any way for your school’s team to win? Most likely you didn’t choose the school you’re going to, so what’s the rationale for giving them your loyalty?”

“I agree with you, wholeheartedly.” Dan offered. “But I’d even take it a step farther. I think that’s precisely what brainwashes you into a mindset that allows you to be used in all sorts of ways throughout your life. It’s what allows jingoism and superpatriotism. That’s how we get hoodwinked time and time again into going to war. There has not been one war in modern history that the people asked for, absent any propaganda from the government. Our leaders, both political and business, are the ones that want war. It’s good for them. But the people who actually have to fight the war only support it because of the massive propaganda machine. In modern times, it probably started with the Spanish-American war when we used the accidental explosion of the battleship Maine to foment a war with Spain. But it was really perfected in World War One. They even set up a department of the government with the express goal of propaganda. That’s when the whole public relations industry started. They took everything they learned getting the masses to hate the Hun, even though a very large percentage of Americans were of German ancestry, and turned it toward business and advertising. It was so effective, Adolf Hitler used it as the model for his propaganda machine in Germany. And it’s been that way with every single war America has been in since, including World War Two.”

“But it’s the irrational fealty we’re taught when we’re young that makes it possible in the first place. If children were taught to think critically and for themselves, they could draw their own conclusions about what is presented to them. It would also give them the tools to examine, recognize and analyze propaganda, which would help them in all sorts of ways. But business would suffer. It would be harder for advertisers to persuade people of their questionable claims, not to mention what it would do to the entertainment business. If people had the skills and confidence to decide for themselves what they liked, what would happen to the critics and award shows and sales charts that are to essentially people what to like? They would be ignored like the cheap hacks and fraudulent shills they are. An entirely useless group would have nothing to do, no one who would listen to their pronouncements from on high. They would be reduced to creating something of their own instead of tearing down the work of others. That they’re paid any respect at all is a testament to how well the system works.”

“That anyone pays any attention whatsoever to charts like the Billboard 100 is an even greater mystery. I guess it’s the herd mentality. Why the fuck do people care what other people are listening to? Are they really that insecure that they need to be reassured about their taste in music? How pathetic. And the really sad thing is that assumes that the charts are a true and accurate reflection of what’s actually popular? They’re not. The charts have always been are still are completely corrupt. How can anyone take them seriously? But I guess people will always believe it if it’s in print. And why are we so gullible? Because we’re trained to be obedient from the day we’re born.”

“I know I sound like a broken record, but we’re simply taught facts, and many of those are simply wrong, especially in history. We’re taught not only not to question them, but usually not even the background on how they were arrived upon. Just remember this and shut up. You learn that, and you’ll do well in school. You do well in school, and your life may turn out okay. But all they ask for in exchange is your soul.”

“Man, I really wound you up again, didn’t I?” Bill heckled.

“It doesn’t take much these days.” Dan admitted. “I feel like the world is just a fraud everywhere you look at it honestly and openly. So much of our society is based on a foundation that’s a lie. Most of our cherished traditions have their roots in something awful, if not downright evil. The fact that we can function as a society with all this hypocrisy is just baffling. How can so many people be so ignorant? Part of it is we’re lied to so often and so openly that we can’t tell the difference. So we simply don’t question anything. I think many people have just decided to not think too much about anything and take it all at face value.”

“Take the attacks on September 11th, for example. Right afterwards, any dissent about our response to it was considered practically a treasonous act. People lost their jobs for their opinions. And the rhetoric at the time was that they hated our freedoms. And our reaction was to limit them? Could that have been more obviously contradictory and hypocritical? Yet the press never mentioned it all. They just goose stepped along on the march to war, and there was never any serious public debate at all. The attitude was we have to be together on this, so there can’t be any disagreement. But that was precisely the time when disagreement would have shown how a healthy democracy is supposed to function. Of course, the fallacy in my argument is we don’t actually have a real democracy. That’s one of the open lies I was talking about. It’s just everything. It’s very depressing.”

Dan turned the car onto Penn Street and after a few blocks they were on the Penn Street bridge heading into downtown Reading. Downtown Reading fit Dan’s mood perfectly. It too was depressing, a once great industrial city reduced to boarded up buildings, rampant homelessness, and crime. Everyone that could afford to had long ago moved to the suburbs, leaving the city to rot and decay. Dan hoped the Peanut Bar was still in business, because he needed a drink and he remembered their food as being at least decent, if not world class.

He was in luck, the dancing peanut still adorned the wall in relief outside the bar and the lights were on. He found a space on the street and parked the car.

“C’mon, Bill.” Dan said. “You’ll love this place. And I need a drink.”

on to Chapter 28

Chapter 26

2005-11-14T15:24:00.000-08:00

And after all, what is a lie? ‘Tis but
The truth in masquerade; and I defy
Historians -— heroes — lawyers — priests, to put
A fact without some leaven of a lie.

- Lord Byron, Don Juan, 11.37 (1819-24)

Time was beginning to run short. There were only a few hours before the viewing and less than two days before his flight back to California would take him out of this hell, possibly forever. Dan was feeling like there would not be enough time to take it all in, to put it all behind him, once and for all. Of course, he still wasn’t sure that was even possible. The flood of memories was almost non-stop now. When he wasn’t confronting them head on, he was reminded of something indirectly. As a result, a kind of momentum was building but Dan couldn’t be sure where it was leading. He was feeling comfortable being back home, perhaps a little too comfortable. It was like putting on an old sweater you’d forgotten about and finding it still fit and was just as cozy as you remembered it. But something still wasn’t quite right, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He was just driving around now, unsure of where to go. It was too early to go home and get ready but there wasn’t enough time to do much else. He wished there were more people from his past he could talk to now, but he had no idea where most of them were so that was all but impossible, especially with only a few days left of his trip.

As they slowly drove down yet another non-descript suburban street, Dan saw a woman walking along the pavement who looked oddly familiar. He slowed down even more to get a better look, and sure enough, she looked a lot like a girl he’d once known, Kathy Zook, or as everyone called her, KZ.

Dan pushed the button that lowered the window, letting in the brisk November air. As pulled up even with the woman, he called out to her. “KZ! Hey KZ!”

She turned immediately toward Dan. It was her. She looked a little older, of course, but it was definitely Kathy. At first she looked a little unsure, like she was caught off guard. As she walked up to the car, he could see a look of recognition cross her face.

“Dan? Oh my god, Dan. Is that really you?” She said, her voice growing louder.

Dan stopped the car and got out. “Yeah, it’s me. How are you?” He asked her.

“I’m good. Good.” She replied, walking up to the car and giving him a big bear hug. When she finally let him go, she slapped him across the face. Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to let him know she was serious about whatever made her hit him. “Where the hell have you been? You disappeared.” This time she lightly punched him in the shoulder.

Dan recoiled in mock terror. “Geez. Stop beating me up. I live in California now.”

“Really?” She looked surprised. “How long have been there?”

“About twenty-five years.” Dan replied. And then he reminded her about Trixie and his mother’s murder and Rick and all those past events.

“Oh, wow.” She said when Dan was finished. “I’d forgotten all about that. That was a long time ago, wasn’t it? I can’t believe that it was twenty-five years ago.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Dan agreed. “It sure doesn’t seem like so much time has passed. I mean I don’t really feel that much older, do you?”

“Sometimes. But no, most of the time it feels like just yesterday we were still in high school, going to keg parties, or making out in somebody’s parents bedroom.” KZ chuckled to herself.

“Ouch.” Dan recoiled. “I’d forgotten all about that. Not my finest hour.” He and KZ had once sort of dated for a few weeks in the fall of their senior year. It was just basically fooling around at parties when they were both drunk. They occasionally did stuff sober and even during the day but not very often. After a while, Dan had slid out of the relationship and gone back with Donna. It was a pattern he’d often repeated throughout his high school years before he’d met Trixie after graduation. KZ had taken it pretty well at the time, and they’d remained friends. But Dan was getting the impression now that it had not been as smooth as Dan thought.

“No. It was fine.” Kathy repeated. “I mean I was pissed at the time. But now, who cares?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Dan asked.

“No point. I wasn’t in love with you. We were just having fun, that’s all. I thought it might turn into something, but it didn’t. What would I have said?” KZ pondered.

“I was really immature back then. I don’t know why, but I had a hard time growing up.” Dan admitted.

“Tell me about it.” She laughed. “No, you were about average in my experience. We were just kids, that’s all.”

They talked for a while longer, catching up and trading the highlights of their respective twenty years. It turned out KZ had married Bob Hoffman, a guy Dan knew pretty well from band. But it only lasted about ten years. They had a daughter, Ellie, that lived with KZ now. She sounded pretty happy, Dan thought to himself. He invited her to the wake Saturday night and she promised she’d try to make it.

When he got back in the car, Bill was all questions. “She was pretty hot, who was that?”

“You should have seen her twenty-five years ago.” Dan told him.

“She going to come to the party?” Bill asked, a little too lasciviously.

“Maybe.” Dan replied tentatively. “Why?”

“Hey, no offense, but if I’m going to haunt someone I’d rather it be her.” Bill drooled.

“I guess I can’t blame you. You want me to pass her a note and ask her how she feels about necrophilia? Dan smirked.

“Everybody’s a comedian.” Bill said, shaking his head, but still laughing along. “By the way, are you going to know every woman we happen to see? Doesn’t that seem a little strange to you?”

“No. There have plenty of people, women and men, who we’ve walked past, driven past or been in line with that I didn’t know. In fact, odds are most of the people we’ve seen I don’t know. Though I’m willing to bet the degrees of separation for almost everyone here in Shillington is only one or two degrees. With only around five or six thousand people, if you grew up here you’re bound to have met a pretty healthy percentage of the population. And the ones you haven’t met, you almost certainly would know someone they knew.” Dan explained.

“I guess so. That almost makes sense.” Bill agreed. “I hadn’t thought about it like that before.”

“That’s what makes small towns so unique. Well, maybe unique isn’t the right word. Perhaps it’s one of their defining qualities. There are no secrets in a small town. Everybody knows everyone else’s business. That’s both a positive quality and a negative one. It’s positive because people can look out for one another. They can make sure each other’s kids are safe. They can make the town in a real sense how they want to through local politics, or perhaps they could have many years ago. I’m not sure that’s as true today as it once was.”

“But for me, at least, the negatives outweigh the positives. It’s also not necessarily good that everyone’s business is an open book. Some stuff you might want to stay private. When everyone knows your entire history, the mistakes you’ve made, your failures, well that makes it a lot harder to overcome them because it’s not enough for you to work past them and become a better person. Everyone else has to, in a sense, let you overcome them. And the other problem with small towns is small-mindedness. Remember when I said being in a small towns means people can look out for one another? Well that’s true, but only if they actually do look out for you. And in many cases, they won’t because of some slight perhaps ten years earlier. My grandmother, for example, not Chulkie, the other one, Granbecca, she once had a fight about me when I was maybe a few years old with her sister, who lived on the other side of town. The disagreement was incredibly mindless; something like her sister thought it was a bad idea to let me stand up in the front seat of the car while she was driving. Granbecca didn’t talk to her sister for over twenty years, not until just before my aunt passed away did they make up. And that, in my experience, was just typical small town behavior. People in small towns seem to hold grudges forever. Think the Hatfields and the McCoys. That was just an extreme example of small town behavior.”

“Now I don’t think urban cities are better, just different. In a city, you’re largely anonymous. That, too, is both good and bad. You don’t get any of the positive aspects of small town life, but of course you don’t get the negatives, either. Nothing is that simple, naturally, and cities have their own set of benefits and problems. The benefits are that you can escape your past, even your recent past. There’s enough of a population that not everyone can know about, much less hold you accountable for your failures. So you can, in effect, more easily recover from missteps. But you’re also apt to be less careful about what you do, too. One-night stands are easier because there’s much less social stigma attached to them. You’re much less likely to see that person day in and day out or know all of their friends like you would in a small town. When I was a kid, if you went out with a person one time, you were going steady with that person. There was no such thing as dating around. You had to essentially break up with a person even if you’d only gone on one date. It was weird. But if you didn’t, no other girl would go out with you because they thought you were attached. So in an urban setting, you’re less cautious about your standing in society, especially when you’re younger. That can be liberating. I know it was for me when I first moved to San Francisco.”

“But of course, nothing is perfect. In cities, precisely because of the anonymity, it’s harder to make new friends. The very transiency of cities makes close ties take much longer to form. When we first moved to Shillington from Mohnton, it took about a year for the neighbors to accept us as one of them. When I moved to San Francisco, it took two or three years before I felt like I had an equivalent kind of acceptance. So the first couple of years, I felt very alone. That was a crucial time for me. I thought about coming back a lot. I was miserable much of the time, and it felt like I’d never adapt to living in such a populous place. But of course eventually I did. And the funny thing was, over time I met a lot of people who were originally from Pennsylvania. It was weird, at first, but there were maybe a dozen people I met in very different circumstances who were all transplants from the Keystone State. It helped a little to know I wasn’t completely alone, at least psychologically.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” Bill interrupted, smirking.

“Well, I had a lot of time to myself those first few years.” Dan explained. “And I have a predisposition for over self-reflection.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Bill chastened.

“Nobody’s keeping you here.” Dan rebuffed him.

Bill stuck out his lower lip comically. “Don’t you want me here?”

“I didn’t say that.” Dan said defensively. “I’ve actually grown quite accustomed to having my own ghost. I think I’d miss you if you were gone.”

“Aw-shucks.” Said Bill, pretending to kick the ground with his boot.

Dan reached over and smacked Bill in the shoulder with a flip of the back of his hand. “Alright, alright. Let’s not get carried away.”

“What time is it?” Bill asked, rubbing his shoulder mockingly.

“It’s just about five.” Dan said, checking his watch. “We’ve got about an hour before the viewing. I guess I should head back to the house. I can’t say I’m in a big hurry to get to the viewing.”

“Why not?” Bill asked.

“A room full of all my remaining relatives is not my idea of a good time. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them that I honestly don’t know what we have in common anymore. Plus there’s the lingering Trixie problem: will she be there? And if so, what then? If not, what does that mean? You’re here because of Trixie, which means something involving her should happen, but what? Then there’s the church trying to steal from my grandmother.”

“Man, you really are a ‘glass is half empty’ person, aren’t you? Bill said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I guess I’m not really a fucking ray of sunshine, am I.” Dan replied, quoting Bill.

They both laughed at that, and Dan pulled up the driveway and parked the car at the house, leaving the car outside since they’d be leaving again shortly.

The house seemed more empty than usual, probably because Dan had removed all the photographs to ship back to California. Many of the walls and tabletops were bare where a picture had been. He had taken all of the photos, even the ones of people he didn’t know, like the young girl with the obvious family resemblance that he didn’t recognize. He figured it might come to him later. There were a few of Chulkie’s knick-knacks that he associated with her that he also boxed up, because he wanted a few mementos to keep around the house that reminded him of the innocent days he’d spent at the house his father helped build.

Dan went into the bedroom to change, while Bill got himself a beer of the refrigerator. Dan hung the hanger on the mirror and unzipped the Boscov’s bag, pulling out the plain blue suit. He found the ironing board in a hall closet and pressed his shirt. Then he took a quick shower, shaving again to look his best. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to impress but he felt he shouldn’t show up for Chulkie’s viewing looking like a slob.

He dressed and surveyed himself in the bedroom mirror. He looked a little out of place in a suit, but overall he didn’t think he looked too bad. He looked respectable, at least; whatever that meant. He took off his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair in the kitchen, and got himself a beer.

“Wow, you clean up nice.” Bill joked.

“Thanks.” Dan said sarcastically. “How bad does it look?”

“You look fine. Really. I’m sure Trixie will think you’re still very handsome.” Bill told him.

Dan looked over at Bill with a look that said “drop dead.”

“Sorry.” Bill backpedaled. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Really.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dan reassured, standing up and downing the rest of his beer. “I’m going to brush my teeth and then we can get out of here.”

Dusk was out in full force as they got back in the Minotaur to drive to the funeral home for the viewing. It would be dark within the hour, Dan guessed. Throughout the neighborhood, people were burning their leaves in big metal drums. Smoke rose above the houses everywhere they looked. The occasional orange and red flames could be seen peeking between the homes. The fireflies were coming out in force, giving the scene an eerie glow of smoke and fire. It only took a few minutes to get to the home. There were only a few cars in the parking lot. Most likely they were employees, since it was still about fifteen minutes before six o’clock.

A car was pulling out of the lot, just as Dan shut off the engine and put the Taurus in park. Two women were in the late-model car, which looked like a Japanese car of some kind, Dan thought. Perhaps it was a Honda. The woman in the passenger seat looked like a dead ringer for Trixie, but not how he expected to see her. The woman looked like she was eighteen, maybe a little older. It was hard to tell from the quick look Dan got as the car drove past him but it was definitely not a woman who would be in her early forties, as Trixie would be now. But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

on to Chapter 27

Chapter 25

2005-11-12T19:46:00.000-08:00

The greater the number of laws and enactments, the more thieves and robbers there will be.

- Lao-Tzu, Tao Te Ching (c. 604-531 B.C.E.)

Dan turned the Minotaur onto Mifflin Boulevard and gunned the car past the eastern edge of the field, turning left onto High Street. This part of Shillington used to be in Cumru Township but was eventually absorbed into the borough. Most of the homes in this area, which was known as Mifflin Park, were built in the mid-1950s and 1960s during the infamous baby boom.

And though Dan was technically a boomer, having been born in 1960, near the end of what is generally considered the boom years: 1946-64. Dan never seemed to share the concerns of boomers and he had few, if any, of the defining experiences. In fact, birth rates actually began declining around 1957. This is why Neil Howe and William Strauss, in their groundbreaking book about generational patterns, Generations, remarked that persons born after that time had different cultural and political ideals than the baby boomers.

Dan hated baby boomers. They were the biggest bunch of whiners he’d ever encountered, being responsible for the biggest social swindle of the century. In Dan’s opinion, baby boomers embraced the rebellious age of the 1960s with wild idealism that promised social reform and a broad opening of many new boundaries with civil rights, feminism, sexual morality, religious freedom and tolerance including room for secularism, gay rights and may others. But two things happened then, which forever robbed Dan’s generation of their moment in the sun.

First, baby boomers refused to grow up. Now this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. And to Dan, he wasn’t sure anyone really should grow up. But the baby boomers’ numbers meant that society and the media continued to watch what they did and most trends identified during the Seventies were driven by this so-called called “Me” generation, a nickname that fine them perfectly; selfish and self-centered. And to Dan, that should have been his generations’ time to define itself, to make its own mark and to carry on the legacy of the 1960s. But the boomers wouldn’t get out of the way and continued to hog the spotlight. Aging hippies and counterculture continued to be the driving force of the Seventies. Dan’s generation sat in the sidelines and watched, with a mixture of cynical anger and bemusement.

Second, and by far the most egregious, when many boomers did finally get on with their lives, they became the 1980s yuppies and corporate money whores that defined that decade. So many of these supposed idealist ex-hippies renounced their legacy in favor of the god money that it was if the Sixties never happened. But Dan and his generation had been raised at an impressionable age with that idealism and hope. And for Dan, at least, he was unable to shake off those high-minded ideals, as they were deeply a part of his very being. Perhaps that what so offended him about so many boomers’ defection? It was as if they weren’t really serious about what they stood for then because they seemed so easily to cast off their idealism and become far worse than the grey-suited establishment they so reviled in their youth. Their decadence and lavish spending and keeping-up-with-the-Joneses affluence had been taken to new heights of greed.

To be sure there were still plenty of idealists from the Sixties who were still active in social and political movements and for whom their radical values never left them. But they were a tiny minority. The vast majority buried their idealism deep enough that they appeared untroubled by their hypocritical transformation. The only time they even seemed to think about it was to wax nostalgic about Woodstock, Altamont, the march on Washington or the summer of love even if they never even took part in any of them. They might still listen to Bob Dylan or Joan Baez but no longer pondered the meaning of the lyrics. Their sprawling suburban homes were likely replete with expensive purchased memories from that bygone era, like limited edition prints by Andy Warhol or framed album covers by Jefferson Airplane. People would admire them at the lavish cocktail parties they threw. Yet nobody seemed to notice the stench of deceit that tainted the mockery of authenticity their lives had become.

Mifflin Park was a mixture of boomers and older homeowners. Dan’s music teacher had lived here and he used to ride his bike there from fourth grade on. One of Dan’s best friends growing up, Adam Abrams, lived just around the corner from his old piano teacher. It had been twenty years since he’d seen Adam. In fact, the last time was when he was a pallbearer at Dan’s mother’s funeral. But he was one of the few people he’d kept some semblance of contact with. At first they would simply phone one another from time to time, maybe a couple of times a year. The advent of the Internet had made it easier to stay in touch via e-mail, so now their correspondence was closer to monthly or at least bi-monthly.

Adam had also gone into the Army, like Dan, but he had been stationed in a different place so their experiences in the military were somewhat different. After that, Adam also came back to Shillington but in his case it was to stay. His parents moved to Florida but he stayed put, got a job with the post office and got married. Adam had no kids, only a dog. But he did have a house in Mifflin Park and though Dan knew pretty much right where it was, he could not picture it in his mind. Even though Dan must have ridden or drove past the house hundreds if not thousands of times he did not specifically remember it. It was like the phenomenon of driving a particular route over and over again and then suddenly noticing something, as if for the first time, that you couldn’t conceivably have missed before. From that point you always noticed it and you marveled at how you hadn’t noticed it before. The same thing occurred whenever you bought a new or different car. It was if suddenly and magically everywhere you looked you now saw the same make and model of your car. They were always there before, of course, it’s simply that they didn’t register in your conscious mind.

Dan found the house easily and it looked like most of the Mifflin Park homes in this area. It was in the older part of the development, and looked as it had been built for Leave It to Beaver. It was a handsome, modest two-story brick home that sat centered on a large manicured lawn. It was the kind of house people in California would kill for, and here it commanded something like a little less than half of what it would go for where Dan lived. The median house price in Shillington was something like $90,000; in San Francisco, California it was approaching $500,000 or more than five times as much. Dan had looked at the real estate listings is in the local paper, the Reading Eagle, and was amazed at how cheap houses were in comparison to where he lived. That location mattered to that degree seemed almost criminal.

Where Dan lived, only a small fraction of people could ever afford to own their own home. This was yet another by product of the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer. A skyrocketing housing market was good for the economy and in fact was now seen as propping it up. But the inflated prices were an illusion, just like the majority of features in our economy. They worked simply, and perhaps only, because enough people believed in them. It was in this sense he believed the worship of money actually had become a religion. Money was no longer backed by gold or anything else. It was worth what it was worth only as long as it was accepted as a form of currency. Our money, like most of the world’s monetary supply is often referred to as “fiat money” which means that it is essentially useless because it can only be used as an exchange medium. That means you can trade it for other goods. You can give a store a dollar and get a loaf of bread in exchange. Your money has value as long as the store is willing to exchange it for bread. If, for example, all the stores decided not to accept dollar bills they would become worthless. Admittedly, it’s hard to visualize that actually happening anytime soon, but it’s still a disconcerting fact that our entire economy is built on a house a cards. Wealth is a magician’s trick.

Dan parked the car in front of Adam’s house and killed the engine. Bill shifted in his seat and turned toward Dan.

“Who is this again?” He wondered.

“Adam. Adam and I have been friends since we were pretty young. We went to the same church and school, of course. We were in band together. He was a grade ahead of me. He also went in the army after high school, just like I did. When I left for California, we lost touch for a little while, but then hooked up again a few years later. Adam got married to woman he worked with named Donna, but I’ve never met her.” Dan replied.

“Where does he work?” Bill asked.

“The post office.” Bill told him, adding. “No going postal jokes. Adam always had a great memory for numbers. He knows zip codes like the back of his hands. It’s hard to stump him; it’s pretty amazing in a cocktail party trick sort of way.”

“Who, me?” Bill gave Dan his innocent, surprised face.

Dan rang the doorbell and waited. A few second later, the door swung open and Adam was standing there. He looked almost the same as Dan remembered. A little greyer, perhaps, but he was still tall and lanky. Adam now had a beard, which made sense, since he always had a lot of facial hair that he was constantly fighting to contain. Wearing a Flyers jersey and jeans, Adam stepped forward and hugged Dan, wrapping his arms around his back. Dan returned it easily and the two locked in a back pounding embrace.

“Dude!” Adam said when they disengaged. “It’s great to see you. I can’t believe you’re here. Come in, come in.” He gestured him inside. “I want you to meet my wife. Donna, this is Dan. Dan, Donna.”

They shook hands. “I’m glad to finally meet you, Donna.” Dan said.

“I feel like I already know you.” She blurted out. “Adam has told me so much about you.”

Dan blushed a little. “Nothing too terrible, I hope? They all laughed. Dan could see Bill making faces, trying to get him to laugh.

“Let me show you around.” Adam said, and led Dan on a tour of his house. Much of it was as he expected: a nice suburban home. It had a lot of Adams passions on display, his love of sports, and especially all the Philadelphia teams, and music. The basement was filled with wall-to-wall shelves of records with Adam’s drum set in one corner. Seeing the drums, Dan remembered that Adam had been a pretty good drummer, but he didn’t realize he was still at it.

“I didn’t know you were still playing.” Dan said, nodding toward the drums.

“Yeah, a little.” Adam admitted. “I never really stopped. I’m even playing in a band, sort of. We get together about once a week and practice. We actually do mostly originals. It’s a lot of fun.”

They marched back upstairs and sat in the living room. Adam and Donna took up what were probably their usual seats in the sofa while Dan sat in a Barcalounger situated nearby. They chatted amiably for the better part of an hour, catching up, trading stories from the past two decades and occasionally falling in to earlier reminisces that probably made Donna feel left out. But she seemed to know most of them, and even asked for Dan’s elaborations of events, presumably since she knew just her husband’s take of the story.

Bill just sat on an opposite chair and made faces, prompting Dan to shoot him looks whenever he thought the Abrams weren’t looking. Eventually, of course, Adam caught him.

“What are you looking at?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Dan stalled. “Just taking it all in. Some of this furniture looks familiar. Wasn’t it in your folk’s house in West Hills?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Adam responded. “Good memory. This sofa and your chair were both from my parents’ house. So are some other pieces, bookshelves and tables, stuff like that. Did I tell you they moved to Florida?”

“Uh, I think you did.” Dan lied. He was just happy he’d deflected the topic from his making faces at Bill, who had gotten up and gone out the back door.

“I thought I did.” Adam continued. “Anyway, they got a much smaller place down there so they left a lot of their stuff here. We figured it was cheaper than buying new stuff.”

“How are they doing? Your parents, I mean.” Dan asked, remembering Adam’s parents fondly though he knew Adam’s relationship with then had been strained at one point. Dan had a pretty good relationship with most of his friend’s parents. He wasn’t sure if they took pity on him because they knew all about his situation at home or if he just genuinely got along with older people. Either way, he ate dinner at his friends’ houses a lot. It was much easier on him then playing the lottery of going home to find out whether it was one of Rick’s good days or bad days. He’d been especially fond of Mrs. Abrams’ cooking so Dan spent more than a few evenings at their house.

“Pretty good.” Adam answered cautiously. “My mom, anyway. Dad passed away. I think it’s been at least five years now.”

“Oh, man.” Adam jumped in sympathetically. “I didn’t know that. I missed that one, I’m sure. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s been five years now. He went quietly, in his sleep.” Adam said soothingly.

“How’s your Mom taking it?” Dan asked, concerned.

“She’s got a boyfriend now.” He laughed. He saw the look of shock on Dan’s face and added. “Yeah, I can’t believe it either. It’s pretty funny, in a way. He’s 84 and they’ve been dating for over a year.”

They all laughed at that. Then Dan remembered something he’d almost forgotten. “You remember your Dad’s advice about driving?”

“What was that?” Adam said, clearly not remembering.

“We were going to some concert or something and we had to drive up the Pottsville Pike. What was that, route 61? Anyway, before we left, your Dad sat me down and told me that whatever I did, stay out of the middle lane. Never go in the center lane. It’s the most dangerous place to be. He was very serious about it.” Dan chuckled.

“I do remember that.” Adam said, nodding his head. “Didn’t we drive most of the way in the middle lane?”

“Yeah, I think we did; just to be defiant. And to prove we could, I suppose. But I always remember that when I’m driving on a road with a center lane like that. So in a sense, your Dad is always with me.” Dan said sentimentally.

“Wow. Cool.” Was all Adam could say.

“Are you guys going to be able to make it to the viewing tonight and the funeral tomorrow?” Dan asked, changing the subject.

“I’ll be there for sure.” Adam promised. “Donna’s got to work both nights but tomorrow she can meet me at your grandmother’s house afterwards. The wake should still be going on late into the evening, right?”

“I hope so.” Dan told him. “I bought enough stuff for a small army. But I’m honestly not sure who’s coming. It’s been quite a while since I’ve thrown any kind of party in Shillington. Have you spread the word at all?”

“I told a few people. There aren’t a lot of people who still live around here from our era. And fewer still that I see very regularly. I don’t even go to Grace Lutheran anymore.”

“Really?” Dan was surprised.

“Yeah, there’s another Lutheran church that’s closer, in Grill. Christ Lutheran Church. It has the added advantage of not having Reverend Dreher as a pastor.” Adam offered.

“Is that who replaced Sunderland?” Dan inquired.

“Yeah, after the scandal with Johnny Perchmann.” Adam started. “They pretty much had to clean house after that.”

“Why. What happened to Old Fish Head?” This had been their nickname for Perchmann, the director of education for the church.

“They caught him with another man.” Adam replied matter-of-factly.

Dan started to laugh uncontrollably. If he’d had a drink, he would have spit it out in that ridiculous sitcom way. “What, they didn’t know he was gay?” Dan said through clenched teeth, trying to suppress his laughter.

“Apparently not.” Adam laughed, clearly loosening up.

“That’s like not realizing Liberace wasn’t just a nice man who loved his mother and dressed real nice. How could anyone have not known he was gay, for chrissakes. We knew it when were ten, and we weren’t even sure then we knew what it meant. But it couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d worn a sign around a neck. How could our parents be so universally clueless?” Dan’s voice went up as he, too, was feeling more comfortable with his old friend.

“I think they all pretended not to realize it after it came out because otherwise it might have meant they thought it was okay.” Adam theorized. “But they had to know, it was just too obvious.”

“I think you’re right.” Dan agreed. “They just couldn’t bring themselves to accept that a homosexual was living among them and was teaching their children about the bible. It was too much for their suburban sensibilities. That sort of thing happened in San Francisco, not Shillington. So they went into a kind of social shock that allowed them to keep their hallowed notions of right and wrong intact and not have to confront uncomfortable truths. It happens all the time. Look at people who couldn’t accept that O.J. killed his wife, Kobe raped that girl, or Michael Jackson was a pedophile. Despite the fact that all the evidence pointed at those conclusions, people were simply unable to believe it. I don’t mean they couldn’t conclude from the evidence what happened. I mean they refused to even look at the evidence so they wouldn’t have to make a judgment. They just buried their heads in the sand like an ostrich. I loved hearing fans on the street talking about the accused celebrity as if they knew him, saying shit like ‘so-and-so would never do that. He’s just a too good a person or too talented’. What an absolute crock of shit. It wasn’t just that those people couldn’t believe what was obvious to everybody else; it was that they simply refused to even look at objectively. They were fans therefore he was innocent. What a great way to look at the world. Whatever I like is good and whatever I don’t is evil. What an excellent moral compass.”

“By the way.” Adam interrupted, exchanging a nervous glance with his wife. “I wanted to ask you, are you planning on seeing Trixie?”

“I don’t think so.” Dan said flatly. “I haven’t spoken to her since shortly after I left for the west coast. I don’t have any idea where she is or even how to get in touch her. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s still around her. Do you?”

“No idea.” Adam told him. “I haven’t seen her for a number of years, at least ten. Probably more. And the last time I saw her, it was across the mall and I didn’t even talk to her. So I don’t know if she still lives here or not, either, to tell you the truth.”

Bill had come back in the room and was grinning. He was also pointing at Adam’s wife Donna. Dan hadn’t noticed before she looked a little uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. Then a strange sound, low and almost human, could be heard from the basement.

“What was that?” She jumped.

Bill stretched his hands out, palms up, and shrugged his shoulders to indicate to Dan that he had no idea, either.

“It was probably just the dog, honey.” Adam reassured her.

Dan stood up, seizing the opportunity to make his exit. “I should probably be going. I still have to stop by my aunt and uncle’s place over by the middle school.”

“You mean on Governor Drive?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Why?” Dan replied.

“That’s not the middle school anymore. Now it’s the Intermediate School, which means grades four to six.” Adam corrected him.

“Where’d they move the middle school?” Dan wondered, and then added. “Wait, you mean elementary school isn’t first to sixth anymore?”

“No, it’s not. It’s first to third, then intermediate is fourth through sixth. The middle school is now where the junior high school was and it’s grades seven and eight. The high school is now all four grades, ninth through twelfth.” Adam continued.

“Wow. How bizarre.” Dan said. “Talk about shaking things up. Well anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Any chance of coming early to help me with things? There’s probably not that much to do but I’d love to have a little more time to spend with you. We haven’t seen each other in a long time. Assuming Donna doesn’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind at all.” She interjected. “I’ll be at work. Adam can come over whenever you want.”

“Yeah, totally.” Adam agreed. “The funeral’s at noon, right.”

Dan nodded his head.

“I can be there around eleven.” Adam suggested.

“Perfect.” Dan told him, and he headed out the door. “It was nice to meet you.” He said to Donna. “See you tonight, Adam.”

Bill joined Dan again outside, looking a little sheepish. But Dan just took it in stride. He was getting used to having a ghost around, even as sarcastic a ghost as Bill. “What was that noise in the basement? You know as well as I do that the dog was out back in the yard, so it wasn’t her.”

“It definitely wasn’t the dog.” Bill agreed. “I went downstairs to check it out. But I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“No more unexplained demons?” Dan quizzed him.

“Well, not that I could see.” Dan said, a little sheepishly, as if he was hiding something.

They got back in the Taurus and continued on toward his Uncle Jacob and Aunt Mary’s place on Governor Drive, where he had a not too unpleasant reunion with his grandfather’s brother and his wife. Technically, they were his great aunt and uncle, like his Aunt Helen, but Dan never thought of them that way and had gotten along with them just fine before he’d left. He’d had very little contact with them since he’s left, apart from exchanging Christmas cards. But that was fine with him. They seemed genuinely glad to see him and promised that they’d be there for the viewing this evening as well as the funeral on Saturday. They had also already let what few remaining relatives Dan had know about the funeral, thus saving him more awkward phone calls. And for that, he was very grateful.

on to Chapter 26

Chapter 24

2005-11-06T10:32:00.000-08:00

All stealing is comparative. If you come to absolutes, pray who does not steal?

- Ralph Waldo Emerson,
Essays: Second Series (1844)

As they turned onto Lancaster Avenue, the high school came almost immediately into view. It was set back beyond a large rectangular field. The field was used for all manner of things including practice for the marching band, field hockey and other sports. There were two baseball diamonds on opposite ends of the large space, and many of Dan's little league games were played here. Pick-up games of football were often played here when Dan was in high school. This was also the spot Dan and his friends carried DiFazio's Porsche into the mud.

But it was the weeks of band practice during August and the fall that Dan spent the majority of his time in this field, usually the eastern end that bordered Mifflin Boulevard. This was where the band learned the routines they'd use throughout the year at halftime for Mifflin's football games, which were held at Albright College in those days because the school did not have its own football stadium. There was one now, behind where the old junior high school had been, but Dan had no idea how long it had been there.

The giant stage door for the auditorium opened up to the side of the field, with a large truck bay for deliveries. This was generally where the band came and went for practice during the school year. The band room and other music rooms were all located behind the auditorium, in a separate corner of the building, bordered by the cafeteria and kitchen. This location presumably was chosen so that any noise made by the various musical groups would not filter into the classrooms in the main part of the building.

Dan did reasonably well in school with almost no effort. His home life made homework virtually impossible to do and he spent as little time there as he could, especially once he could drive. Luckily, he was adept at remembering what he needed to and he usually wrote his essays, book reports, or whatever in the hours before school began. He once wrote an assignment for his 8th grade English class in the last fifteen minutes of his science class the period before English, which had ended early for the day. A jealous busybody who was also in his English class ratted him out to his science teacher, but he simply told her that if Dan could do his work then, there was nothing wrong with that and she should mind her own business. He very much enjoyed rubbing his "A" in her face when she received only a "C+" for her efforts.

Dan usually became involved in school programs that required him to be there early and/or be there as long as possible after regular school hours. That's how he came to be involved in Spring Swing, his school's annual Broadway musical production. It's why he played on the tennis team, was on stage crew and volunteered for as many band and choral groups as he could. That's also how he came to be the uniform manager for the band in his senior year. This position gave him his own tiny office in the school and because of how expensive the uniforms were. Besides himself, only three people in the entire school had a key to the uniform room. His senior year, Dan kept his books and other personal effects there and had his own desk there. He took to having his meals there sometimes as well. And on a couple of occasions, he and Donna had fucked there, too. On the top shelf of some very tall wooden shelves where the band helmets were stored, they kept the old drum major hats, which were fuzzy oversized affairs. But every year they bought a new one for band, so the previous ones were stored out of the way. They made an ideal hiding place for Jack Daniels, since so few people had access to the room and fewer still ever had a reason to climb the ladder to the dusty top shelf. So it came as quite a shock when he discovered the bottle missing one day after the room had been painted without his prior knowledge. A group of delinquents with loads of detention were painting rooms in the school after hours in lieu of just sitting there doing nothing. He assumed one of them had found the bottle and stolen it. He was pissed, but he couldn't exactly report that a bottle of liquor on school property had gone missing.

His senior year, he also had Mr. Herzog, Jodi's father, for social studies. One week, Mr. Herzog, who was also the audio-visual instructor, brought a video camera to class and each day filmed a few of the students, asking them banal questions and then the whole class watched the videos the next day, generally laughing at the efforts. Supposedly, the point of the exercise was to show how people were seen by others versus how one saw themselves. But at the time, Dan thought it was just an excuse to waste a week. When it was his turn to be on camera, Mr. Herzog began his usual line of questioning, about what your interests were, how you spent your time, inconsequential stuff like that. When he asked Dan what he liked to do on the weekend, he hadn't thought much of it, at least not until the follow up questions veered sharply from the normal questions.

"Do you like to party?" Mr. Herzog asked, in a flat tone.

"Yeah." Dan had answered sheepishly.

"What about alcohol. Do you like to drink with your friends?" This time Mr. Herzog's tone was more upbeat, but also more accusatory.

Dan froze. No one else had been asked this question, he thought. "Um ... sometimes." He admitted.

"What do you like to drink, beer? Or perhaps something harder ... like Jack Daniels? "Mr. Herzog speculated.

Later, when he watched the tape with the class, he could see his face go white at this question. He was convinced Mr. Herzog must have been the teacher supervising the delinquents who had found his bottle of JD. Thoughts raced through his head. If he knew, why was he just toying with him. Would he be expelled? What would his parents say? What was going to happen next? The next couple of days, Dan was in a perpetual state of uneasiness and anxiety expecting to be called to the principal's office at any moment. Load noises made him jump for no reason. So did booming voices. He had become jittery. The few friends he'd told kept a wide berth so as not to be implicated with whatever happened to Dan.

But nothing happened. No punishment was meted out. Mr. Herzog never said another word about it, though he simply had to know. To this day, Dan never knew why he got off so easy. Perhaps Mr. Herzog thought putting Dan through such fear and anxiety was punishment enough. He certainly didn't bring any more alcohol to school after that. Mr. Herzog was a very large bear of a man; tall and hairy and a little overweight. He was an imposing figure. People didn’t cross him. Maybe that was why his hot daughter Jodi didn’t have a boyfriend.

For as long as Dan could remember, he’d had a love/hate relationship with school. He loved learning and knowledge of almost any kind, but the regimented nature of school and the naked, unquestioning obedience that was not only expected but demanded made Dan want to rebel at every step. It was just in his nature to question all things, and this won him few friends in high places at school, at church or anywhere adults didn’t want to answer to mere children. Where this nature came from was a mystery to Dan. Neither of his parents were particularly rebellious and in fact as childhood sweethearts they were pathetically conformist in almost all things. His grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, in fact everyone he knew was as normal as Dan wasn’t. It had always been a disconcerting fact that he never fit in to his own family. He always felt like the black sheep although he never really did anything particularly terrible to earn such an appellation. Perhaps everyone felt that way? Or maybe it was being terrorized by an alcoholic psychopath for a stepfather? He never be sure what cause it, Dan only knew that he rarely fit in anywhere, despite his best efforts.

Dan remembered reading that when mandatory school provided by the state didn’t actually start until shortly after the industrial revolution. And it was done then to create semi-literate workers for all the factories that were springing up everywhere. And at the time, people knew it and many rebelled against it. They felt that their sons and daughter were being stolen from the farm and trained to be factory workers, which, as it turned out, was true. After that time there was a mass exodus from the country to the city and most of these urban immigrants were employed in the new industrial economy.

So once again, business was the catalyst for an unprecedented social change. And that’s why to this day children are not taught how to think for themselves, how to judge critically or any of the basic practical skills they’ll need as adults. Instead kids are taught to memorize facts and regurgitate them usually out of context, how to follow instructions, how to sit still for long periods of time, how to behave and how to be loyal to an arbitrary organization, in this case the school itself. All of these so-called skills translate directly into those needed to hold a factory job or any unskilled or semi-skilled job. And today as budgets for education are slashed the programs to go first are invariably the arts and humanities. What little attention that’s paid to creative learning is not necessary in business and thus may effectively be discarded by their training facilities. Dan shuddered to think what would happen to a generation raised ignorant of any real knowledge of art, music or poetry. How many cultural features of our society that in many cases defined us as a people would simply die away as the only remaining practitioners did likewise.

But it also seemed like every generation whined that subsequent generations were wicked and ignorant of traditions that mattered to their parents. Was that merely a natural course of events or did history move in patterns as some argued. Morris Berman, for example, in his “Twilight of _______’” wrote persuasively that that was exactly what was going on and that we were just beginning the long slide into another dark ages. It certainly was a tantalizing theory that explained much. The rise in religious fanaticism and the suspicions cast on anything intelligent came to mind. We now lived in a society that virtually celebrated ignorance and stupidity. It was reflected in our elected officials at the highest levels, the lack of sophistication in almost every media intended for the masses, and in our entertainment and pop icons. At all levels the intelligent or clever was marginalized or pushed completely out of the way.

And all this ignorance had its roots in our education; our public school system. It was always quite a shock to hear how much emphasis was placed on education for all sorts of opportunities in the world, from colleges to jobs to choosing friends. Yet there was absolutely no correlation between intelligence and education. Take an idiot and send him to Yale and you won’t create an intelligent person. At best, you’ll get an educated idiot. That this is not more widely acknowledged speaks to how well this indoctrination into a flawed system works for a certain class of people. It truly isn’t what you know, it’s who you know and it’s always been that way.

Dan rebelled against this indoctrination at every turn. He refused to be obedient. He wasn’t so rebellious that he was expelled from the system. He knew he had to work somewhat from within it as opportunities were next to nothing outside of it. So he found little ways to be his own man and not conform. He noticed the tendency in his peers to do just the opposite. Give them the chance to be free and choose for themselves and they invariably went along with the herd. Even most people who considered themselves to be non-conformists were in many ways conforming to some alternative conformity. Take Goths, for example. Most, if not all, Goths strive to an ideal look and attitude and so most are simply conforming to that ideal rather then the preppy, or jock, or nerd, or whatever. They may consider themselves non-conformists but they’re just fooling themselves. Real non-conformity is just doing what you want and answering to no ideology, which is difficult in a world that seeks to categorize and label everything.

Not that Dan was immune to peer pressure. He also wanted to have friends and not be ostracized in his world, which largely consisted of his neighborhood, his church and school. So, like many people, he cultivated a few close friendships and sought his way through the many cliques that existed in his school without really belonging to any of them. And it worked to a point. In elementary school he had not yet learned how to do this and instead was ridiculed by many for his individuality. Children are, of course, savage and incredibly cruel. It’s one of those hard truths that confounds our sensibilities. It’s a lesson we forget at our peril because those same children become our peers as adults. At any average PTA meeting you’ll find former bullies, former jocks, former nerds, and former band geeks all more or less mixing with ease. But look more closely and their natures likely haven’t changed all that much. This will be especially true if they all went to the same school their children now attend. Under those circumstances, most will never escape the bounds of their place in the school hierarchy.

Change seems to require relocation. In feudal times, people rarely traveled more than a few miles from where they were born. And look how long it took for feudal society to change. Ignorance kept people in an unhealthy and unfair system. It wasn’t until after the plague killed off much of the working stock and out of necessity people began traveling farther distances that things began to change. So while it may not be intuitive, travel appears to be an absolutely essential part of personal growth. Dan shuddered to think what he’d be like today had he stayed in Shillington. But speculation was impossible. He was who he was today specifically because he had left town. He could never undo that. It was part of who he was now, as much a part of him as his past that he was now confronting. And it occurred to him that he’d been away about as long as he’d lived in Shillington. He’d lived there from age five until he was twenty-five, or about twenty years. It was twenty years ago that he’d fled to California. So half his life had been affected by small town Pennsylvania and the other half by big city California. And much of his past was confronting his new self in ways which were making Dan feel increasingly wearisome. He was no longer comfortable in his old skin, but people he knew before his slow transformation could only see the old Dan. They could not even comprehend the new one. For them, his identity was frozen at twenty-five with all the immaturity and insecurity that implied. So while he could understand why people treated him a certain way, the new him was driven crazy by it. It was that same feeling you got when visiting an old teacher years after you were in their class. You could never shake the feeling that they viewed you in exactly the same way as when you were seven or ten or however old you’d been. Given the chance, people wouldn’t or couldn’t allow for changes in people.

Dan viewed graduation with his usual duality of feelings. He was, of course, thrilled to finally be able to escape the cage of his home life, his small town and small-minded surroundings and the stifling conformity. But he was also nervous about leaving the comfort of familiarity. It’s the old saw about the devil you know. Sometimes, the unknown seems far more dangerous. At that time, he had no idea that his escape then would not be successful. He could not have known that Trixie and his family would pull him back in little more than a year after his high school graduation. It would take another six years and his mother’s murder to finally make his liberation permanent.

The other complication brought on by his graduation was the growing feeling as he reached the age at which he was considered an adult, that he had been robbed of his childhood. When he looked around and saw the happiness of the parents and other kids in his class, he felt he could not share their innocent enthusiasm for their future. Perhaps this was because of what had gone on before for Dan. He and his mother shared a rare détente at the ceremony and while she seemed genuinely happy for him, she knew, as he did, that the event also marked his imminent departure. He knew he should be sensitive to her feelings at this time, but his sense that she had played a part in stealing his childhood by marrying, and then staying with, Rick made it all but impossible. In hindsight, he realized that was an immature reaction but, like many regrets he had about this time in his life, he could do nothing now to change it.

on to Chapter 25

Chapter 23

2005-11-05T15:35:00.000-08:00

We are always making God our accomplice, that so we may legalize our own iniquities. Every successful massacre is consecrated by a te Deum and the clergy have never been wanting in benedictions for any victorious enormity.

- Henri Frederic Amiel, Journal, Oct. 6, 1866

After composing himself, Dan straightened himself up in his seat, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Sorry about that." He said to Bill, starting up the car. "I guess I can put that behind me, now."

"No problem, man." Bill offered, as the car lurched into the road and they drove on toward Lancaster Avenue.

After they'd gone about two blocks, Dan pointed vaguely to the intersection they were passing. "You see that street?" He asked, not waiting for an answer. A good friend of mine, Larry, lived there on the corner so I spent some time there as a kid. Behind his house lived this guy, Mike Morrow, who became a bully, a real asshole. He had an older brother – I don't remember his name – who died when we were all still pretty young. Mike's parents made it abundantly clear in their grief that they thought the wrong son had died which marked him for life, quite understandably. Even at the time I felt sorry for Mike. But he decided the way to deal with it was to bury his feelings and treat the world like he had something to prove. He became the neighborhood bully and beat up or terrorized every kid who was smaller than he was. He never quite grew out of it, either. He was a complete jerk in high school, too. He ended up marrying a friend of mine's daughter, which is weird. So for a while there, I'd be stuck in the same house as him when I'd be visiting my friend over the holidays and he'd be there. He tried to me nice, I guess, but he continued to talk about when we were kids and still bring up insulting names he used to call me without even realizing how completely insensitive he was being. I don't even think he was capable of empathy. He got locked into this immature way of dealing with the world that he couldn't escape. And the really scary part is he's a pilot for a major airline now, one I make it a point never to fly on principle. I don't want to put my life in his hands for fear he'd crash the plane out of spite."

"That reminds me of the Lion and the Mouse." Bill remarked. "From Aesop's Fables."

"I don't think I know that one." Dan confessed. "I only know the ones that were on Rocky and Bullwinkle. On Aesop and Son."

"Well let me see if I can remember it." Bill began.

THE LION & THE MOUSE

An Aesop's Fable

Once upon a time in the jungle there was a fierce, brave lion who all acknowledged was the king of the beasts. One day he was sleeping in the sun when a small mouse accidentally walked over him, waking him with a start. The lion roared with rage, thrusting out his paw and quickly pinning the mouse to the ground by his tail. "I shall now devour you." He growled. But the little mouse squeaked. "Stop! Please don't eat me, Mr. Lion. You are so big and I am so very small. I'm really not worth your trouble. If you do me this favor, perhaps I can do you a favor someday." The lion laughed at that, and at the mouse's chattering on, and he magnanimously decided to let the mouse live. He lifted his paw, releasing the mouse, and he disappeared into the forest as quickly as he could.

A little while later, the lion was caught by some big game hunters and put in a cage before he knew what was happening. He let out a blood-curdling roar that reverberated throughout the jungle. When the little mouse heard the cry, he knew at once it was the lion to whom he owed his life. So he sped off toward the sound as fast as his little legs would carry him. When he reached the lion, he gnawed at the rope that held the cage shut until he had broken through, releasing the lock on the door and setting free the lion. The lion was very grateful and he recognized at once the importance of his earlier kindness. He resolved at that moment to be a just and benevolent ruler for the rest of his days.

“And what was the moral of that?” Dan asked.

"Well, the original moral was something like 'little friends may prove great friends' but I always thought it applied to bullies, like this Mike guy or even your stepfather. Because the bully's way would have been to devour the mouse which in the long run would have led to his own demise. Another way to look at the moral of the story is 'no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.' So bullies are just shortsighted, which makes sense. Most of the bullies I've know have been ignorant, small-minded, little people for whom violence was the only way they knew how to express themselves. In the end, I think bullies are hypocrites. All they really need is a hug but they do everything they can to alienate the people around them by acting tough. It seems like they just don't know how to deal with their emotions, either because they're not terribly bright or because of how they themselves were treated, I don't know. Maybe it's a combination of factors. But by essentially preying on other people they're creating a more violent society. And not just for themselves, but also for their victims, who invariably also become more violent as a result of being bullied. But naturally our society glorifies violence and as such tacitly endorses it and by extension bullying itself."

"To this day, I fucking hate bullies." Dan spat. "I think they're basically big, dumb people who prey on the weak. Bullies don't pick fights with people their own size, that's not bullying. Bullying is going after the small fry. And this may seem like a tangent, but U.S. foreign policy is all about bullying, our modern strategy analysts all propose we restrict our wars to much weaker enemies we can overwhelm almost immediately like Grenada or Iraq. You talked about this one all the time, Bill. We arm the world then go to war because so many little countries have weapons, thanks to us in the first place."

"I just hated the hypocrisy of it all." Bill chimed in. "Our pretending to be in favor of democracies when really we supported any stable regime that was friendly to our business interests, regardless of how brutal or totalitarian they were to their own people. Our conservative government is just filled with hypocrites of the highest order. They attack anyone who disagrees with them and ignore any fact that doesn't suit them. They fuck the poor and enrich their friends all while talking in platitudes. Switch around from conservative radio show to television show and back and you'll hear the same phrase repeated over and over again. If there's one thing the right is good at, it's staying on message, no matter how fucked up that message might be."

Dan made a left at Lancaster Avenue and they headed toward downtown Reading.

"Where to now?" Bill asked him.

"I've got to visit some people. Say some goodbyes. And spread the word about the funeral and the wake tomorrow." Dan began. "I'm not sure when, if ever, I'll be back here again so ..."

"By the way." Bill interrupted. "What was going on back there at your house?"

"Sorry about that." Dan apologized. "I was reliving some painful memories. Trying to exorcize them, I guess. You don't seem to be only ghost here, just the only good one."

on to Chapter 24

Chapter 22

2005-11-03T17:17:00.000-08:00

The more ignorant the authority, the more dogmatic it is. In the fields where no real knowledge is even possible, the authorities are the fiercest and most assured and punish non-belief with the severest of penalties.

- Abraham Myerson,

"Well that's twice today now that something very, very strange has happened. And both times you were involved, Bill." Dan said, in a not exactly accusatory tone.

"Are you saying this was my fault?" Bill countered, pushing out his lower lip in a mocking fashion.

"I didn't say that." Bill replied defensively. "It's just an observation, that's all. It's like we've over-stayed our welcome and whatever cracks there were in my own personal hell are now enlarging and letting in the real demons. Is there anything you know about all this you're not telling me?"

"No, man. Absolutely not. I know about as much as you do. Trixie was dreaming about you and wanted to make sure you were okay. Somehow, I honestly don't even know how, I was tapped to lead you through this place. Nobody gave me any instructions. Hell, nobody even really talked to me. I just knew what I was doing as if I learned it through osmosis. One minute I was alone with my thoughts, the next I was on the plane staring at you looking like you'd seen a ghost. Heh heh heh." Bill laughed. "Which, I guess, in retrospect you had so I shouldn't have been so hard on you. Sorry about that, man. But you should have seen you face. It was priceless."

Dan ignored Bill. He flipped on the radio and tried to find something decent on but only found crap; oldies, bad pop or faux country. "I should have brought my iPod." He thought, then said out loud. "Man, there is nothing good on. What the hell happened to music."

"Tell me about it." Bill agreed. "I haven't heard anything made after I left that's worth a damn. I thought corporate rock couldn't get much worse, but I was wrong. What the hell happened?"

Bill backed the car out of the parking lot, and headed back to Shillington. He wanted to get one last look at the house he grew up in since it was unlikely he'd be back here again. He certainly couldn't conceive of any reason to come back after tomorrow. Returning from his thoughts to Bill's tangent of a question, Bill looked over at him with quizically.

"Consolidation mostly, plus the internet which wasn't quite here yet when you snuffed it. There are fewer media companies now than even ten years ago and that means less and less choice or even anything approaching artistic integrity. And then there's Clear Channel. That's a horror story in itself. They now own I think most of the radio stations in America plus billboards, concert series, ticket sales, you name it. If it has to do with music or advertising, they own it. And they play and promote what sells, what makes them money. Period. Nothing that’s not a sure thing ever gets a break anymore. There are no more surprise hits. They've rigged the system so that can't happen. It's like all businesses today. They've evolved such sophisticated models of ways to maximize their profits that literally nothing else matters. So music now sounds like everything else, homogenized, safe and boring as shit."

"If you're a musician today and you want to be famous, you've got to sell out from the word 'go.' Luckily, we're rearing a generation of people who don't know the difference between commerce and art so they don't seem to have any ethical concerns whatsoever. At least it seems that way. Most up and coming so-called rock stars nowadays start shilling before they're even a household name. It's so sad. And talent is certainly no stumbling block. Britney Spears is a good example. She can't sing, can't dance, can't read or write music. But she's attractive in a teen girl-next-door/slut way and then next thing you know, she's an international superstar. Within minutes of that happening, she was doing Pepsi commercials. So she goes from no talent mouseketeer to no talent celebrity. All her music sucks so completely that it makes Debbie Gibson seem like the next Bob Dylan. Style over substance has effectively won the day and you're a talented musician who has the unfortunate circumstance to be born to less than beautiful parents, you're pretty much out of luck. Image is of such primary importance anymore you wonder if the record execs even listen to the music. Like much of the rest of life, it's just a beauty contest."

"And with the school budget cuts, many schools no longer teach the humanities so kids today have almost no real appreciation for the different forms that music can take. So they listen to whatever is on, whatever they're told is good. And it's not just kids. Look how many people think Michael Bolton and Kenny G are talented. Those are adults whose musical sophistication can best be described as deficient, if not totally absent. But if those people never take piano lessions, learn to play a band instrument or even take a dance class they may never be exposed to what music can be in a positive way. So most people seem completely ignorant of music and into that vacuum, the record companies pour whatever crap they want. Then they buy radio airplay and critics who write glowingly about their bands that suck and people, not knowing any better, think they're listening to cutting edge music. It's all so insidious. The whole critic thing in general is such a farce. Do we really need this legion of hacks to tell us what's any good?"

"People can judge for themselves." Bill interrupted. "They usually don't believe it because of the "expert syndrome" where they think that only so-called experts have the ability to decide what's good and what's bad. But that's simply not true. So they defer their choices to them, which serves business interests perfectly."

"So most underground music has moved to the web, the internet. But that option wasn't really around in 1991." Dan explained. But there are literally thousands of bands promoting themselves on the internet, selling their own CDs and other merchandise and reaching their fanbase directly, without any need whatsoever from record companies. Some are even making a living doing it that way. In fact, your buddy Kevin Booth is selling Marblehead Johnson on the internet along with his own music."

"Really?" Bill lit up. "Cool."

They were just coming down the hill at the curve where the road they were on meets up with Lancaster Avenue, Route 222. To the left was the diner they ate breakfast at this morning. Dan, changing the subject, pointed to the spot where the diner was. "When I was a kid, there was a restaurant there called Tiny Tim's. It wasn't a chain or anything. It was just a small silver aluminum-looking box, like one of those old style diners but more boxy. It was small inside with just a counter and room to stand and order. It was strictly 'to go' only. There weren't any chairs or tables to eat there. My grandmother used to take me there once a week after my music lessons. They had the best fries around. I don't remember what made them so great now but at the time I didn't know any better fries anywhere. They were thick and fresh and very flavorful. I just love fries. There's this great line in an otherwise forgettable movie, Men at Work with Charlie Sheen and his brother, Emilio Estevez. How does that go? Oh, yeah."

There are several sacred things in this world that you don't EVER mess with. One of them happens to be another man's fries. Now, you just remember that and you'll live a long and healthy life.

"Now that's a food philosophy I agree with. I just love pommes frites. Almost as much as potato chips."

"So explain to me again why you're alive and I'm dead?" Bill chided Dan.

"I'm a non-smoker." Dan quickly replied, with a smirk.

"God dammit." Bill swore. "You sanctimonious, self-righteous ..."

Dan's uncontrolled outburst of laughter stopped Bill in mid-epithet. "You're kidding, right?"

"Gotcha!" Dan laughed. "I don't actually smoke, though. I tried it once when I was a kid but I never got hooked. I think I smoked for maybe a week or two in junior high just to be cool. But I didn't feel cool. Not at all. It just wasn't me. But on the other hand, I've never cared much if other people smoke. Not in my face, of course, but then I don't want people in face doing lots of things."

"So you don't mind if I smoke?" Bill asked, pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket.

"Have I said anything about it once all week?"

"No. But you could have just being polite." Bill suggested.

Dan laughed again. "You don't really believe that, do you?

"No, I guess not." Bill said sarcastically and he punched Dan lightly in the arm.

"Hey!" Dan cried out in mock injury, rubbing his arm for effect. He turned left onto Museum Road and a short time later was turning right on State Street. He was feeling oddly comfortable with Bill. There was something strange in that, of course, but the dead comedian had become his traveling companion on this confounding odyssey into his past. He knew he should continue to be scared or something like that, but he felt more at ease with Bill than virtually anyone else he'd been with since he'd been back in Dutch Wonderland. He guessed that said a lot about him and less about Bill, but there it was. What could he do?

Dan slowed the car as the crested the hill at Pennsylvania Avenue and pulled over mid-block just opposite his old house. It was the same spot his friend Laura parked his car with him passed out in the back seat. He'd drank a fifth of Jack Daniels at a party in West Hills in about an hour after one of his more outrageous break-ups with Donna. Not only was he in no condition to drive that night, but he was in no condition to walk or talk, either. So Laura drove his car home, followed by another friend driving her car and left him there to sleep it off. Laura was originally a friend of Donna's, but as the years after high school progressed, Dan and Laura remained friends and in fact grew quite close despite being on opposite coasts. They spoke on the phone occasionally, exchanged cards and e-mails, and she was one of the few people to have visited him in California, when she came out for a week several years before. Neither of them had the faintest idea what became of Donna, but they had both escaped Shillington and had not looked back. When Dan woke up that morning in his back seat, the sun had already come up and was blinding him and his quite massive hangover. He'd struggled to open the door and stagger in the house to sleep it off.

The view now was not radically different, but for the absence of all those trees whose ghostly images still haunted the landscape. The seven steps where he'd made up games of stepball with the neighborhood kids, the small steep grassy hill that ran next to the steps and was a bitch to mow, and the top level with its small patch of rectangular grass and cement walkway that led to the house proper. Four more cement steps led up to the wooden porch that was still covered in an unnatural green of Astroturf. The awnings were down for the winter and the metal pipe bones of its frame jutted out into a grey sky. There was very little color anywhere. Halloween decorations had been taken down and Christmas was still almost two months away. It would be a few weeks before the street would be awash in tiny colored holiday lights. The houses here were a dull brick with grey and white trim. Most porches were bare, their chairs, tables and hammocks put away until spring. The sccreen doors had been replaced with storm doors to keep out the cold and maintain the furnace-like temperatures inside. Except for small details, they were all interchangeable.

He remembered the first time he'd seen this house like it was yesterday. It's where all his memories begin. Prior to that, he only remembered faint images and vague events. But at five, when his mother remarried Rick, Dan's stepfather, she'd bought this home with high hopes for their future. It was as if his life began with that house since he remembered so little of his life before that time. His first glimpse inside was before they painted and all the walls were dark shades of grey, black and maroon. Looking back, they seemed strange uninviting colors for the inside of a house. Repainting was job one and it was done in about a week by Dan's mom, his stepfather and Grambecca, which is what he called his Mom's mother. Her real name was Rebecca and so he'd only been able to pronounce Grandmother Rebecca as Grambecca. Rick and she began arguing almost at once and for all Rick's faults, Grambecca was a very difficult woman, to say the least. She was an uneducated, manipulative person who kept her daughter under her thumb most of her life, including her adult life. After Dan's father's death, they had lived with Grambecca for a few years, which gave her powers over her daughter that Dan recognized as unhealthy even at an early age. Dan's mother tried desperately to get out from under her mother's manipulations but in the end she was never able to.

Once they moved into the State Street house, life became very different for Dan and everything there was new. He had a new neighborhood to play in, he had new friends (once they accepted him), and a new school. He spent the summer exploring his new world and getting to know his neighbors. That fall he started school for the first time. At that point, Rick had not yet started drinking; at least not to the degree that he became violent, abusive, and ultimately psychotic. So those early years were comparatively idyllic for Dan, especially when viewed backwards by his future self in the turbulent years that followed.

Every one of the nine rooms of the two-story house held deep memories for Dan. Some were good, most bad. He could navigate them blind, even today. The first room you entered was the small living room. It was bordered by a dining room, which had no door between the rooms and so gave the area a larger feel to it. At the back of the house was a modest kitchen from which you could also reach the basement or the back yard.

The focal point of the living room, then like as now, was the television. When they first moved in they had a large console black & white set. Opposite it sat the sofa and a coffee table. Just to the right of the television was an upholstered chair that was at an angle that faced away from the TV. This chair was Dan's punishment. In the days before "time out" entered the parenting lexicon, whenever he misbehaved his mother would put him in that chair for varying lengths of time, depending upon the severity of his transgression. The TV would undoubtedly be on – for it was almost always on – but from that chair Dan could not see the TV screen, he could only hear it. For Dan, this was a horrific torture of the highest order. To him, the Spanish Inquisition was a walk in the park compared to this. Each moment was agony. He tried to imagine what was depicted on screen, but not being able to actually see it, and especially his favorite shows, was excruciating.

Normally, Dan watched television from a rocking chair that was in the middle of the room, but off to one side near the front door. It was kid size and fit him perfectly. It was an old wooden rocker that had been in the family for generations. Outside of his bedroom, it was Dan's only piece of furniture that was truly his, since nobody else could fit in it. Several years after they moved in, Rick had smashed it to smithereens in a drunken rage as yet another piece of his heritage was stolen by his stepfather.

The opening in between the living room and dining room had built in bookshelves about four feet high and were flat on top to allow for displaying knick knacks, which is mother adored. This was where her precious china dolls normally were kept, along with a small bookcase just inside the front door. The number of times those dolls were destroyed is incalculable but they were always replaced if not with the exact doll then a suitable replacement. Sometimes his stepfather replaced them out of guilt. And more perplexingly, sometimes his mother replaced them so Rick wouldn't remember having smashed them the night before. This last bit of twisted logic was always a mystery to Dan. It meant Rick had no responsibility of consequences for his actions. Since as a child he was being taught just the opposite, this represented for Dan a conundrum that he never quite understood as a child.

It wasn't until he had escaped his environment that he started to understand his mother's logic. Rick's tirades generally took place during period of blackouts. As a result, he never remembered – or at least claimed to never remember – his drunken periods. Sometimes entire days were lost down the memory hole. Because of this and Rick's particular brand of alcoholism and psychosis, seeing the destruction that he'd wrought the previous evening elicited two possible responses. In one, he'd feel very guilty and try his best to make amends. When this happened, several relatively calm weeks might follow, as if they were riding in the eye of the storm, before another episode would reveal the storm that had been around all along. Also during these periods, Rick would replace or fix what he'd broken. He'd even attempt to treat his mother contritely, taking her out, giving her money or just staying home and sober.

But the other possible reaction was that it would serve to infuriate him even more, for reasons that defy any common sense. On those occasions, the frequency and fury of Rick's pent up rage would just come uncorked and destruction, both physical and emotional, would rain down on Dan and his mother for days on end. Rick was as smart as he was mad, for he was always careful that any marks on Dan or his mother's skin was not visible, confining his blows to areas of the body normally covered by clothing. But the house was another matter. Furniture was routinely smashed to bits, china and glass broken, books ripped to shreds, phones ripped from walls, clothes torn and food flung about, among much else. That Rick kept guns in the house was a constant source of trepidation.

In one of the more tragically funny incidents, Rick cleared a TV tray of food, which sent plates, silverware, and food flying. On one of the shelves in between the two rooms, his mother had a large dollhouse, with rooms filled with miniature furniture and household accessories. It was months later that Dan discovered a piece of meat from that night had wound up resting in one of the tiny beds in the dollhouse. His mother and he shared a rare laugh when he showed her the sleeping rib steak.

The kitchen, the scene of the infamous burned carpet, also had its share of moments. It's where Dan received his education from Rick about women as he entered puberty. Late, and drunk, one evening he sat Dan down at the table to talk to him about girls, telling him this sage advice. "All women are pigs." Then, after a pregnant pause where god only knows what was going through Rick's mind, added quickly. "Except your mother."

The steps that led to the second floor, which Dan tended to loudly bound up two at a time, much to the consternation of his neighbors, the Douglases, had a full-length mirror at the landing at the the top of the stairs. It was there that Dan hit his mother for the first, and only, time. He was in high school at the time and, as was not uncommon at that time, was having a heated argument with his mom. They were standing at the top of the stairs and Dan's mom had her back to the mirror and Dan noticed, for the first time, that he was no taller than his mother. Looking into the mirror, he could see his head over hers and this realization gave him undue confidence. He boldly said something that he could no longer remember but which, at the time, must have really pissed her off because she slapped him across the mouth. In that moment, brimming with the new found knowledge that he was bigger than her, he instinctively slapper her right back. To say this surprised his mother would be an understatement. He remembered the look on her face today sitting in the rental car across the street as well as if it were on that fateful day. Her face took on a look of astonished surprise mixed with an anger he had never before seen in her. Her face literally turned beet red. It didn't take longer than a few seconds to decide on his next course of action. He fled down the stairs and walked the several blocks to his Aunt Helen's house and slept the night there, apologizing to his mother the following day after she'd had a chance to cool down.

But after that day, regardless of his apology, things were different with his mother. Although they continued to fight bitterly until the day she was murdered, she thereafter treated him with a small element of fear. It was as if she worried that he might be picking up the habits of his only male role model, his stepfather. In fact, Dan worried about this, too. He worked very hard to cultivate interests that were distinctly different from Rick, things that he could not intrude upon. He read voraciously, wrote for the school paper, played tennis and golf, played a musical instrument and became active in band and theatre. These were all pursuits that Rick was wholly ignorant of, and he could only mock Dan and try to undermine his confidence and self-esteem. And while Rick was quite gifted at this pursuit, he could not fully take away Dan's growing independence.

When Dan was young, it was easier to get along with Rick. He was less of a threat. He may have been a constant reminder of MaryJo's first husband, who Rick always felt jealous toward, but he was a child. He was small and powerless. As Dan grew, Rick's paranoia kept pace and he seemed increasingly threatened by Dan. He took great pains to keep him down and in a constant state of fear. Perhaps he had seen Hamlet and feared the prince's vengeance.

When sober, Rick acted like a child and when Dan actually was a child they could get along quite well. They could interact like two kids playing though perhaps only Rick knew the difference. As Dan matured and Rick did not, and in fact regressed as the alcoholism overtook him, their relationship progressively disintegrated so that by the time Dan left home his life had been threatened several times and he honestly feared for both his own and his mother's safety. It was a difficult decision to leave his mother alone with Rick when he finished high school but their relationship had soured so much and he was unable to persuade her to leave him that he felt he had no choice but to save himself. So it was a bittersweet day when he no longer lived under Rick's roof. He felt liberated and free, but nagging at him was the thought that he had betrayed his mother and sacrificed her to his hard won freedom.

When Rick did finally murder her several years later, he felt at least a twinge of guilt that he had not tried to do more to get his mother out of her predicament. Tears welled up in Dan now, as he sat in Minotaur staring up at his old house. The flood of memories that just being here produced was overwhelming. He felt was powerless to move. He was thankful Bill was quite, for once. Dan shut his eyes tight and let the emotions wash over him, letting himself cry uncontrollably.

on to Chapter 23

Chapter 21

2005-11-02T11:02:00.000-08:00

This mournful Truth is ev'ry where confest,
SLOW RISES WORTH, BY POVERTY DEPREST:
But here more slow, where all are Slaves to Gold,
Where Looks are Merchandise, and Smiles are sold,
Where won by Bribes, by Flatteries implor'd,
The Groom retails the Favours of his Lord.

- Samuel Johnson, London (1738)

It still wasn't raining when Dan and Bill made it back to Chulkie's house. Even though it was still fairly grey outside, the sun was fighting to let its presence be known and streaks of light shot out of the clouds like laser beams from time to time, bathing small sections of the world in brilliant golden light, all the more remarkable for the muted colors that surrounded it.

Dan was shaking his head in disbelief as he climbed the back stairs and opened the door to the kitchen. "I still can't believe those fortune tellers or whatever they were could see you."

"It was pretty weird." Bill admitted. "But they couldn't hear me, which was even weirder. I can't believe they were somehow in touch with the spirit world or some shit like that but I don't how else to explain it, either. Unless they were on mushrooms."

"I don't know about you, but I tend to think of astrology as bullshit." Dan began. "So it's hard to take seriously people who claim to be able to tell my fortune based on how the stars were aligned when I was born. It's easier to accept the personality traits since they seem, at least to me, to be based more on years of collected data then the position of the stars. But the forecasts are so vague as to be generally meaningless. There's this evolutionary biologist, Richard Dawkins, who hates the fact that society in general and in particular the scientific community sees astrology as harmless and openly tolerates it. He, on the other hand, thinks that it undermines rationality, which makes it easier for people to believe all kinds of other crap and therefore he thinks there should be campaigns against it. I never really thought much about it until I read his speech, but it kind of makes sense to me. By not calling all that new age crap what it really is, the silence of the scientific community lends a certain legitimacy to it. There are whole industries to part people from their money from pyramid power to crystals to astrology. And not one of them has ever been shown to have a shred of evidence to prove their claims. I suppose the irrationality of religious belief also makes the acceptance of all manner of other fairy tales possible, too. So it's not just the scientists on the hook for this one."

"Yeah, it is bizarre what people will believe." Bill agreed. "Stuff that makes no rational sense plenty of people easily accept but the more rational, the more convincing people need if indeed they ever are willing to believe it. Take evolution and my rant on dinosaur fossils not being mentioned in the bible. The lengths that people will go to protect their cherished beliefs in the face of overwhelming evidence that contradicts it is remarkable, but I think that says a lot about the people themselves. Hell, there are people who still believe the Earth is flat and we're the center of the solar system. What the fuck is the matter with those people. Can it really be it's more comforting to be ignorant? I just don't get it. By the way, what's next on the agenda. Didn't you say you had a lot to do today."

"Geez, aren't we a nag?" Dan laughed. "You'll love this next place. Boscov's. It's a local department store. I've got to pick up a suit for the funeral and I should be able to find something not too horrible there."

"Cool. We walking or driving?" Bill asked.

"It's too far to walk." Dan told him. "I'll get the car."

The drive to Boscov's West took them into Sinking Springs, a suburb next to Shillington. At one time, there were only a few Boscov's in and around Reading so they were each referred to by a compass point. But there were now something like forty of them in five states, so that no longer worked. Dan had not been to the newer stores but the ones he was familiar with, like the Boscov's West, looked the same to him now as they did over twenty years ago. In that time it appeared precious little money had been spent on their upkeep or on modernization, which was to his mind both good and bad. It was good in the sense that a small piece of the past had been preserved but bad because the type of store Boscov's had been could no longer compete. When Dan was a child, Boscov's seemed to carry everything and it all looked shiny and new. Today is seemed to present a completely different message. It looked past its prime, like an old thrift store with old wooden fixtures and poor selection. Because of this, the goods they carried looked shoddy and cheap. This was largely Dan's perception, he noted, because the actual stuff they carried was new and the brand names were familiar. It was just that the overall presentation gave that perception. Inside the store it was hot, very hot. Like most cold weather places Dan had lived, they tended to overcompensate in indoor winter heating. But Boscov's had gone a step farther. Inside the store it was downright tropical. The layout and where things were located, oddly, seemed the same to Dan. He was more used to stores changing their layout every few years, at least, in order to maximize space and, Dan Suspected, force customers to get lost shake them out of their shopping routines and look at more items in the store. But the men's clothing section was still on the left-hand side just inside the store. He found the suits easily though they had very few in his size. Luckily he was able to find a simple blue suit that met his needs. He chose a couple of button-down white shirts and two modest ties. Next stop, shoes.

As Dan made his way to where he remembered the shoes department was, he passed the many jewelry counters that were centered in the middle area toward the front of the store behind the entrance and the customer service desk. Behind one of them, was a woman who looked near Dan's age with dark raven hair who looked remarkably like a girl he'd had a crush on in high school. Of course, everybody he knew had a crush on her, so that wasn't too surprising. Jodi Herzog was a tease. She was beautiful, and she knew it. She was also the daughter of high school social studies teacher, Mr. Herzog, who Dan had as a senior. If anybody actually went out with Jodi, Dan never heard about it. She could usually be found hanging out with the little sister of Dan's old friend Max, herself a knockout. Tammy Hess was the feather-haired blonde counterpoint to Jodi's jet black hair. They were thick as thieves and every boy wanted them. This they exploited to the fullest. They could pretty much count on any male they knew to do favors for them; give them rides, buy them food and drinks, or whatever all in the hopes that the pair might deign to pay them some attention.

Dan and a friend of his had memorably given them a ride one time in Dan's van. In high school, Dan had a Ford van with windows in it. His Mom had made red, white & blue curtains for it so that he might have some privacy. It wasn't exactly the tricked out love van with a carpeted bed in back that were all the rage in male fantasy vehicles during the Seventies, but it did have a folding metal cot and a cooler so he was able to make do. One day Dan and his friend, John Snyder, were crusing around and drove by the swimming pool just as Jodi and Tammy were coming out, still wearing string bikinis. They flagged down Dan and asked for a ride, which Dan and John were only to glad to give them. The two of them sat on the cot in the back and the four of them chatted. Dan offered them a can of beer, which he had on ice in a cooler in the back. They accepted and he drove to a spot to park so they could all have a beer. Since they weren't too far from the road to Cedar Top and many rural and remote forest sites, Dan headed up past the cemetary. He found a secluded spot on one of the wooded back roads and parked the van. He left the radio on but cut the engine and he joined John and the girls in the back, helping himself to a can of Genny Cream Ale. While nothing much happened that day, he still remembered it quite fondly as the closest he'd ever get to seeing Jodi naked. In her string bikini, very little was left to the imagination and when she bent over you could catch a glimpse of her nipples and full breasts as the loose bikini top momentarily revealed the prize it held.

It was these thoughts that made him skirt the jewelry counter and not find out if indeed it was Jodi. It was unlikely she would remember him after so much time and the idea of her life being reduced to working retail at Boscov's seemed a little sad and pathetic. Dan saw her doing so much more with her life, though in truth he had few retained memories about her character, intelligence or personality so perhaps this was where she was meant to end up. He did remember her as scheming and little bit of an airhead, which is what a scatterbrained woman was called in his day. So maybe karma had reduced her to these circumstances.

At any rate, the shoe department was exactly where it used to be and Dan found a pair of unassuming black loafers in short order. They were even on sale, as part of a red tag sale, which he guessed was a way to have a sale when they couldn't think up a better gimmick. Everything in the store was decorated red and there were displays of red devils undoubtedly left over from Halloween throughout the store. In fact, now that Dan noticed them, they seemed to be everywhere. Devils were all over the place and all the employees were wearing red so the whole store had a devilish look to it. From behind a display rack, Dan and Bill heard a loud barking spider, a nwonk, a trouser trumpet followed by adolescent giggling. At the sound of the cheese being cut, red devils seemed to be all over the place. Dan wasn't sure if they were real or if the store was putting on some kind of show.

Bill told Dan to stay put and hidden behind a rack and stepped up to a man dressed like a dog of some kind, and said to him. "Listen, man. Don't be an evil prick."

To which all the demons cried out. "Let Old Harry go!"

The Dark Poet then told the demons. "I'm allowed to be here. I'm escorting him through here. I have permission from the highest authority."

At that, a large, handsome man in a black wool suit and red tie, but holding a pitchfork, stepped forward. "I'm Old Harry." He said to Bill. "You can pass. They won't hurt you." Bill waved Dan over and they got out of there with Dan's purchases as quickly as they could.

"What the fuck was that?" Dan asked, as soon as they got outside. "Was that real? Am I really in hell? Was that really the devil?"

"I don't know." Bill admitted. "But they could all see and hear me but nobody else in the store seemed to notice them. Did you see that? I was just winging it. I don't even know who Old Harry is. Do you?"

"Yeah, I do." Dan said, starting to breath hard. "That's one of the names that the Pennsylvannia Dutch call the devil. I don't even believe in all that shit, so to say I'm a little scared here is an understatement. This just keeps getting weirder and weirder, and less comprehensible."

"Don't worry, man. Chill out. I've got everything under control. You leave in two days. We'll be fine until then. Promise." Bill reassured.

They jumped the small muddy ditch that appeared to ring the parking lot and got in the Minotaur.

"Did you notice that ditch when we came in?" Dan asked, as he started up the car.

on to Chapter 22

Chapter 20

2005-11-01T09:46:00.000-08:00

A preoccupation with the future not only prevents us from seeing the present as it is but often prompts us to rearrange the past.

- Eric Hoffer, The Passionate State of Mind

The late morning sun was rising in the sky and it was surprisingly warm in its glow. The shaded areas were still quite cold and the contrast was a little eerie. Stand in one place where the sun reached you and you were pleasantly warm. Take one step to the right where the sun no longer touched you and you were uncomfortably cold. As you walked along you were alternately warm then cold then warm again.

Dan took Bill up to Walnut Street, which was parallel to State Street and they headed west toward the creek that ran along Museum Road. On the corner of Walnut and Reading Avenue stood the weird house where the missionaries lived, not two blocks from Dan's house. A missionary couple, recently returned from Africa, moved into the house when Dan was six or seven. Somehow they enticed a dozen or more of the neighborhood kids around Dan's age into their basement for daily bible study classes in the early summer weeks after school had finished. Dan vaguely recalled cookies were involved but the couple was generally harmless. When Dan's mother and other neighborhood moms discovered what was going on, a hue and cry went up throughout the neighborhood. Fears of abduction, molestation or worse were fanned by the couples' indifference to neighborhood criticism. They simply maintained they were doing the lord's work, which outraged those who had their children were lured into their basement without parental consent. In truth, anything could have happened in that basement and in a less innocent time, perhaps it would have been worse. Dan could not understand what all the fuss was about and his parents made him go to summer bible school at their normal church for several weeks.

Further down Walnut Street was the Griffith home, where Dan's little league coach had lived. He was a miserable little man that Dan held a deep grudge against. Growing up with an alcoholic stepfather and no real male role models, no one had taught Dan to play baseball. No one played catch or pitched balls to him so he'd learn to hit the ball over the fence. Dan's biological father had been an athlete and Dan had some natural ability but with no training and low self-esteem it was completely untapped. Dan played little league for four years, third through sixth grade enduring Jim Griffith's coaching style. Coach Griffith had two children of little league age, and, of course, they started every game. Dan not only never started, he rarely ever played in a game. The idea of little league was for every kid to get a chance to play but that was not Coach Griffith's style. In fact, when Dan's inexperience and lack of training made him the object of ridicule, Coach Griffith not only did not put a stop to it, but instead actively encouraged the other kids to make fun of Dan, as indeed he himself did at every opportunity. It was a miserable experience but he refused to quit mostly out of spite. Dan believed a just god would reserve a special place in hell for people like Coach Griffith. It was just one of billions of injustices in the world that made it impossible for Dan to believe there was a god.

They headed up Wyomissing Avenue the five blocks to Lancaster Avenue and turned onto the main thoroughfare. About half the businesses were new and the other half had been there forever. The next block held many memories for Dan. The elementary school was now an office building a dozen small office tenants. The macadam playground that ringed the building was now used for parking. The corner itself at Lancaster and Sterley was where the kids crossed the street. In the morning and afternoon, the Chief of Police in his white hat (the rest wore black), personally acted as crossing guard. Chief DeHart made it his personal responsibility to ensure the safety of the town's future from the busiest, most dangerous road.

Unfortunately, he wasn't able to stop the bully who beat up Dan a block out of sight from the Avenue. He was about eight or nine and carrying home a display of miniature flags he'd used in a school report. A bigger kid he didn't even know stopped him on the street and demanded he hand over the flags. When Dan refused, he punched him in the gut, took them and ran off.

He'd waited on the stone fence in front of the school, as he often did, with his friend Thomas McNamara. For reasons unclear to Dan, Mac went to this elementary school at his mother's insistence even though he should have gone to a different one. As a result, his mother picked him up everyday but about an hour after school let out. Dan felt bad that he'd have to sit there alone so he'd wait with him and they'd talk. Then his mom would pick him up and Dan would walk home alone. It was on one of those days the bully jumped him.

Mac had been one of Dan's best friends in elementary school. In first grade, Mac told stories about a group of puppies with the names of his friends, including Dan. His teacher, Miss Rheingold, had been Dan's father's teacher as well. Once, during one of the many occasions Dan could not stay in his seat and got up and walked around in the middle of class, Miss Rheingold had tied him to his chair with a length of rope. Dan stood up with the chair tied to him and walked around. Miss Rheingold retired the following year.

Dan's fourth grade teacher taught him the valuable lesson of discrimination. She actively discriminated against the boys and appeared to believe the girls could do no wrong. She was even older than Miss Rheingold and wore colors ranging from charcoal grey to black. She was the stereotypical schoolmarm and like many such teachers Dan encountered, had grown to hate children. In her case, it was limited to her male students who she believed were all satan's spawn. It would have been funny had it not been so blatantly obvious that she was grading in this gender biased manner as well. Up until that point, Dan had loved school but after that year it lost its magic. He had decent teachers after that year, even a few favorites, but none could undo the damage of that one hateful, intimidating, pernicious woman. She had, in effect, ruined school for Dan. Did she know that was the effect she'd have or was she simply beyond caring about the students at all.

Across the Avenue from the elementary school had been Sieger's Variety Store, one of the last of the great mom and pop grocery/convenience stores. About the size of a small home, they carried about ten times the average modern convenience store. In addition to virtually any grocery item you might want, they had gift items, hobbies, toys, and a newsstand. And best of all, although sometimes the same was worst of all, everyone there knew Dan's name and vice versa. The downside was going in only to find his mother had previously revealed some embarrassing development in Dan's life that he would have preferred remained private. But now it was gone and with it a part of society was sorely missing. The impersonalness of modern business has led to a standard of service so low it's barely there. This has been bad both for ordinary consumers and the employees themselves who are treated like interchangeable commodities with no intrinsic value. As a result, price is virtually the only thing people shop based upon. They may claim to want to good service, helpful staff, etc. but the overwhelming success of Wal-Mart and other discount chains proves otherwise. People have been conditioned to care only about price and thus very few people even insist on being treated well. Marketing had convinced them that they can't have both and thus have willingly given up civility. Never mind that this has led to the destruction of whole towns due to the predatory practices of these discount chains. The same people who might mourn the passing of a vibrant downtown filled with locally owned businesses will travel an extra fifteen minutes or more out of town to save a few pennies thinking they're smart to be such price conscious shoppers. The fact is that decision is directly responsible for their local business closings, rising unemployment and ultimately higher prices once the chain store has effectively put all competition out of business. All to save a few pennies. But until people are truly willing to put their money where their mouth is and actually spend a little more on local goods and services then the landscape of America's small towns will continue to be destroyed by the very people who care most deeply for their loss. Dan figured they get what they deserve for being so selfish and shortsighted.

At the end of the block was Anthony's Barber Shop and the pub they stopped in Wednesday night. They began the slow climb up Miller Street past Dan's Aunt Helen's house. A block past her house, Dan turned into the alley that had been his shortcut home since forever. This was the alley he knew almost as well as his own. He had not been down it in thirty years. The ghost of Ellen Eisenbrown had been lingering here for over thirty-eight years. Ellen Eisenbrown was a perfectly nice person who had the unfortunate luck to look different. She wasn't a barbie doll but instead had dark olive skin, curly hair and was considered the most unattractive girl in Dan's class in elementary school. During Valentine's Day at school when it was common to exchange cards with virtually all members of the opposite sex, she would often get only a handful of cards. The cruelty of children was hard to take, but was even more difficult when Dan recalled he too had acted cruelly toward Ellen. One day, when Dan was in the fifth grade, he was taking the alley shortcut when he happened upon Ellen also walking the alley. He stopped to talk to her and during that fateful conversation somehow he told her that, in effect, even though he had nothing against her that he couldn't risk being nice to her in public for fear of what his friends might say. They never spoke again. He had no idea what her fate had been or where she was today. But that day continued to nag at him as one of the lowest things he'd ever done. That he was only ten at the time and immature for his age didn't make Dan feel any less guilty about it. And walking the alley again now made the ghost of her memory seem omnipresent in the air around him, taunting him. He tried to pick up the pace, but Bill lingered, making a hasty retreat all but impossible.

"Come on, slowpoke." He said, egging Bill on.

"Feeling guilty?" Bill asked.

"Yeah. I am." Dan admitted.

"Good." Bill chided him. "It was a shitty thing to do."

"I know. I even knew then it was a shitty thing to do and I've been beating myself up about it ever since."

"So why do you think you did it then?" Bill wondered aloud. "You don't seem like that sort of shallow person."

"I don't know." Dan answered with a sigh. "My only real defense is that I was myself not all that popular and like anyone else with self-esteem issues I wanted desperately to be liked so I thought throwing my support for the most unpopular girl in school would undermine my own. That's not an excuse, just a reason, and it certainly doesn't make matters any better. Frankly, it makes me feel worse, to tell you the truth. If anything positive came out of it, it was that I never did that again. I may not have become the champion of the underdog but I also never again was their enemy, either. In fact, many of my later friends were cast-offs from the social hierarchy. And while I was never truly popular in school, I was never a social pariah, either. But, of couse, I couldn't predict the future and that wasn't my plan but I did make a conscious effort after that incident to not treat people based upon their perceived class in society, or at least in social hierarchies like school, church, etc. So I guess it did inform my way of thinking afterwards."

"Okay, okay. Stop crying about it already, will you." Bill interrupted. "How do you know she wasn't unpopular for other reasons and you just thought it was because of her looking different? Maybe some people really are born to lead, others follow, and other stay out of the way."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Dan asked, looking at him incredulously.

"No. I don't know. Probably not." Bill hedged. "In theory I do believe we're all the same and should have the same opportunities, etc. I believe that none of us are better than any other yet at the same time it's hard to deny that there are some idiotic people in the world. And yet we all have our idiotic moments, don't we? What if we're only witnessing the stupid moments of truly gifted geniuses when we judge someone harshly based on a limited encounter? Of course, there are people that when you get to know them have far too many of those less than stellar moments to be anomalies so really that theory doesn't work, even in just my experience."

"I know how you feel." Dan agreed. "I go back and forth on this one, too. I hate the idea of class yet it's always there hanging in the air. People with money today consider themselves better than everybody else in the same way the aristocracy used to in centuries past even though there was absolutely no evidence to support it then, either. But opportunity and access to resources will make up for personality defects every time. It's always been more important who you know than what you know and it likely will always be that way, at least without a radical shift in societal thinking. But the more people you come in contact with, the more you also can't help thinking some people really are not gifted or talented or whatever and would likely get left behind even if they did have the same opportunites as everyone else. But until that's a reality how can you ever know? I think it's safe to say that not everyone can be Einstein or Da Vinci. There has to be a range of intelligence, it just can't be a flat line with everyone having the same potential. That just wouldn't make sense and it runs contrary to basic observation. In the same way, athletic ability or a singular aptitude like being good with numbers is not the same in every person, regardless of environmental factors it must be the same with general intelligence, too."

"There certainly do seem like there are a lot of idiots in the world." Bill admitted. "But you're right that it's hard to know what made them that way. Was it preordained or was it because of poverty, geography, apathy, their parents and social group, schooling or lack therefore, religious bias or whatever? I used to rail about them in my act but I also believed there was a basic goodness in people that you could reach if you tried hard enough. I think I had to believe that or it would have made getting up on stage each night unbearable. I had to think it was possible to reach at least one of them. If I could change the way just one person thought and made them question the world or look at it in a different way, then I felt I was successful."

"Yes!" Dan exclaimed. "That's it. It's that dichotomy that makes it so confusing and also so easy for the power structure to maintain control by manipulating that uncertainty. If they can convince people they deserve their lot in life, they won't try to change their circumstances and will in fact become more passive. I think religion is perfect at doing just that, especially the ones that preach being meek and waiting for your rewards in the next world. The less engaged each individual is in the world, the better it is for the people in charge because the less they'll question what's going on. It's like you always said, 'go back to bed America.'"

"Yes, but you can't be responsible for every one of them and that's why you shouldn't feel bad anymore about what you said to a girl in this alley thirty-eight years ago. So knock it off feeling sorry for yourself. You can't fix it, you can't make it right and you can't even make amends so you have to let go of it." Bill admonished.

"I guess you're right." Dan reluctantly agreed. "Let's get back to the house. We still have a lot to do today."

They moved through the alley and came out onto Broad Street, turning left toward home. They passed two homely looking women with large features. As they passed them, Bill chuckled to himself, although Dan heard him.

“What.” He asked.

“Are you kidding? They were both guys, either transvestites or transsexuals." Bill said, matter of factly.

"Really?" Dan asked rhetorically. "Well I guess that would explain the ugliness factor. But it's not the sort of thing I'd expect to see here in Shillington. This is a pretty conservative place."

"And Britain isn't full of S&M freaks." Bill countered. "The more repressive the society, the more closeted the fun. There's all kinds of people everywhere. They just stay more hidden in certain places. You can't force people to abandon their nature. You can only force them to keep it hidden for fear of being ostracized or worse."

As they neared Spruce Street and the turn to Chulkie's house, one of the houses on the left-hand side of the block had a sign in the window that read:

FORTUNE TELLER
ASTROLOGY READINGS
LEARN YOUR FUTURE
MON-FRI 8-4, SAT 12-4

On the porch were several people, sitting on wicker chairs. They were talking amongst themselves and sipping from mugs that had hot steam swirling out of them. Bill took no notice of them at all until they grew closer to the porch. They were all pointing at Bill, as if they saw him and began whispering to each other.

Dan stopped and stared up at them. They were all wearing the same t-shirt, grey with white lettering he couldn't make out from where he was standing. But on the back was a drawing of a man weeping. "What are you pointing at?" Dan asked.

"You've got an apparition following you, a ghost." They gasped in unison.

"You can see him?" Dan asked, incredulously.

One of them stepped forward and introduced himself as Michael Scot. "You mean you can see him, too?" He asked.

"Sure, that's Bill." Dan said nonchalantly.

Another Italian-looking man stepped forward, saying his name was Guido, and asked. "Does he talk to you?"

Bill, looking a little hurt, spoke up for himself. "Of course I can talk. I can also take a swing at you."

"Sure, he just talked to you, too. Can't you hear him?" Dan added.

The three women all said at once. "No, we can't hear anything." Then one of them added. "I did see his lips move, though. At least I think that's what I saw."

Then Michael Scot chimed in again. "You need to get as far away from him as you can. I see nothing but trouble."

But a strange looking man who up until now had been silent stepped forward and spoke in what appeared to Dan and Bill to be an affectation. "I am Asdente. I believe this ghost to be benevolent. I believe he's here to help you. But be warned, do not let him overstay his welcome and do not anger him in any way."

Bill and Dan peeled over with laughter, though Dan was secretly glad Bill was laughing as hard as he was.

Bill, still struggling to stop laughing managed to get out one sentence. "See, don't piss me off, buddy." He then immediately began laughing again, holding his gut.

"Thanks. I'll be careful." Dan promised, though he was still laughing when he said it and was pretty sure they thought he was making fun of them which, of course, he was.

"Your future is uncertain." Asdente continued. "Do not take this warning lightly."

"I won't." Dan said, regaining his composure. Thanks for the advice. But I ... er, we've got to get going. We're runing late." They hurried past the strange porch and it's stranger occupants. As they turned onto Spruce they passed two tall men who looked awfully familiar to Dan.

Bill chimed in as they passed. "Hey, isn't that the two drag queens we saw before?"

"You know, I think it is." Dan confirmed. "They certainly clean up nicely. They make much better men than women."

"Maybe they're going to have their future read." Bill speculated and both he and Dan began to laugh again, uncontrollably.

on to Chapter 21

Chapter 19

2004-11-28T10:57:00.000-08:00

There is something in corruption which, like a jaundiced eye, transfers the color of itself to the object it looks upon, and sees everything stained and impure.

- Thomas Paine, The American Crisis

After parking the Minotaur in the garage, Dan and Bill hauled the food and beverages for the wake up to the kitchen. It took several trips to empty the car. Dan finally made the calls he'd be putting off to a few relatives and friends to let them know about the viewing, funeral and wake. He asked some of them to help spread the word so he wouldn't have to be on the phone all day.

The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle and Dan was itching to get out and walk. He found some hooded raincoats in the hall closet and they set out for a morning walk. This time they walked west on Broad Street. Dan pointed out the house Joanie grew up in as the passed it, before turning right to go down the hill at New Holland Avenue. The homes in this part of town all had a very similar look. They were modest brick and wood buildings, either single family or semi-detached. Semi-detached meant two homes would share one common wall. Every home had a covered front porch of some kind with a small front yard. The porches were all set slightly aboveground, usually three or four steps. The space in between houses tended to be long and narrow. A cement path usually led to a long back yard with a detached garage in the back. Beyond that was an alley used to drive cars to and from the garages. This design created an "H" alley pattern inside each one-block radius. There were, of course, plenty of exceptions to this rule but most blocks did follow some similar pattern modified only because of geographic features or space constraints.

Bill and Dan arrived at Lancaster Avenue, with the space previously occupied by Ibach's Pharmacy. The Ibach family had operated a drugstore on this spot well before Dan was born and it had been a fixture of the town for many years. They crossed the street on the light and walked down Liberty Street between the bank and the funeral home. Grace Lutheran Church stood tall behind the bank, its tall brick facade reached about three stories to the heavens. At least that was the effect they were going for. It was built at the turn of the century. A half dozen or so wide stone steps led up to the red double doors that led into the church proper. Stained glass windows, tall and narrow, were everywhere on three sides. A large stone marker held the church's schedule of up-coming events for all to see.

Around the right side of the church on the corner of Liberty and Walnut Street stood the church offices, library and the gymnasium that doubled as a theatre. All the buildings in the church were attached and connected by hallways that resembled tunnels, although they were not underground. The entrance on Walnut was the one Dan used most often. He and his friends spent a lot of time here from Sunday school to summer theatre to church dances to Friday night basketball. The church then provided quite a few social functions in the community and at least one unintended one.

To reach the Sunday school classrooms, you walked through the gymnasium into the hallway outside the large kitchen to an open corridor that led to a maze of rooms on two stories. This area housed the many classrooms, as well as the administrative offices for the church and pastors. Each grade had its own room, and the oldest catechism class, usually the largest, used the oversized table in the kitchen. It was from here, they began the exercise in trust that was so ill conceived. Whoever created the exercise did not understand the inner workings of pre-teen boys. They spread open tables, chairs and other junk throughout the gym and then paired off the kids. One wore a blindfold and their partner led them around. The idea was to teach about trust. Instead, boys were led under a table and then told to stand up. Some walked into chairs or told to sit down where there was no chair. The teachers had been very disappointed in us but Dan thought they were wrong to expect too much.

The gym was just slightly larger than a full size basketball court and there were basketball hoops on either side. They could be stored on the ceiling via a pulley system when not in use. Every Friday evening from around dusk until about eleven, the church hosted an open house where kids of all ages could come and play basketball. They collected a nominal fee at the door, something on the order of a dime or so. They used this to defray the costs and to provide free chips and pretzels. The kitchen boasted a coke machine that dispensed seven ounce bottles for fifteen cents. Pick up games were played all night long, with players opting in and out throughout the evening. Older, better players got preference, but even younger kids could get some court time, especially if they were regulars.

At the far end of the gym was a small stage. But it boasted a multi-curtain and sophisticated lighting system that made it ideal for small plays. Shillington Summer Theatre had been putting on plays there for many years using only kids from age thirteen to twenty-five, though the average age was probably around sixteen or so. Even the directors and producers were under twenty-five though they tended to climb the ranks and were almost always the experienced older kids. Dan had been involved in about half a dozen productions from the time he was fourteen and some of his most enjoyable times there. It was a great productive way to keep the kids busy during the summer. It taught many good lessons, including responsibility, self-reliance and, of course, an appreciation for music and theatre. And they threw some of the best parties anywhere.

During the school year, the gym was used Saturday nights for church dances, which were for junior high age kids. There was a DJ audio system set-up on the stage and the gym was kept dark with a mirror ball and colored lights. The perimeter was lined with chairs on which boys and girls tended to separate doing these most awkward of years. Fast dancing was the exclusive domain of the girls as few boys had the self-confidence for it. Slow dances were more co-ed, but not by much. Some girls were bold enough to ask a boy to dance, but the boys were hard-pressed to find equal courage. One or two attempts a night was usually considered a lot. Most of the time the boys spent merely fantasizing about the mysterious girls on the other side of the dancehall's great divide. The dances ended every time with Frijid Pink's House of the Rising Sun. As soon as the last chord rang out, the bright overhead lights would be turned on, dousing the gym with light like a camera flashbulb that produced the same temporary blindness until your eyes adjusted to the new conditions. To this day, whenever Dan heard that song, on the last note his pupils would instinctively contract in anticipation of the increased light. It was positively Pavlovian.

Behind the gym was the church library, which was also where the youth group as well as other would meet. Dan and friends discovered at some point that one of the latches on an interior window was broken, which meant it could not be locked. This knowledge was used time and time again to enter the church when it was locked and no one was there. They never stole anything but just would use the gym as a place to hang out or use the bathroom. Eventually, it became a Thursday night ritual to sneak into the church and play basketball. They did this off and on for months before one Thursday a note was waiting for them at the edge of the stage. It read: "To whoever is using the gym Thursday night. Please remember to turn off the lights when you leave." The boys ran out there as fast as their young legs would carry them. It was the last time they went in through the back window.

Across the street from the church was the old post office. It was built in 1958, the year before Dan was born so it was likely many people did not consider it the old post office, but the new one. However, it was no longer the post office at all. That had been moved to a shopping center in Cumru Township in one of the new housing areas east of Shillington. Liberty ended where it met Elm Street so the turned left and then a quick right onto Miller Street. From there, it was about three blocks to State Street, which they walked past from the other direction on Monday.

After only one block on Miller, they came to a three-way intersection where Miller ended and Reading Avenue began. Here, more of the streets had all their trees, or at least more than on Dan's street. As a result, the block seemed older and somehow more distinguished than a block with mostly stumps. This where the house was located where a man attacked them with a bat during a Halloween raiding party one year. They were sneaking up to knock on the door and run away, a popular 'trick' back then when they noticed the storm door was missing its glass. At that same instant, the homeowner leapt from the bushes with a baseball bat convinced we were the culprits returning to the scene of the crime. We fled in all directions and though he'd grabbed Dan's arm pretty hard, he was able to wriggle free and join the mass exodus.

The homes here looked remarkably unchanged and if weren't for the newer model cars parked here and there, Dan could have imagined he'd stepped into a different time. Some homes already had their Christmas decorations up, even though Thanksgiving was still a few weeks away. That was a noticeable difference between small towns and big cities; the smaller the tow, the more visible and ornate the Christmas lights and other decorations. By Christmas week practically every house on the block. In the same way many men were competitive about their lawns, the decorations they put up were likewise a source of family ego that demanded ever greater expressions of Christmas spirit. It was crass commercialization at its most expressive and garishly attractive.

They reached the corner of State and turned left. Dan's house was a little past halfway on the opposite side of the block. They passed Huntzinger the bank manager's old house and the Hill house, whose daughter had been Dan's first kiss in first grade. The house next to that one, the biggest on the block, was directly across the street from Dan's house. This had been Dan's world, for better or worse, from age five until he left to join the military at eighteen. The kept walking a little further, to the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and peered down the steep hill.

This next block held almost as many memories as his own. Three friends and one enemy lived there. Jimmy Hinkle was a year or two older than Dan and a neighborhood bully. He made life difficult for the younger kids until one day when Dan decided he'd had enough. He snuck into his kitchen and grabbed as large a knife as he could find, a long wide bread knife. He tucked it in his sleeve and carefully went back outside. He found Jimmy in a back alley. When he was about ten feet or so from him, Dan pulled the knife and held it up. Jimmy saw it and immediately turned tail and ran. Dan went home and less than hour later the police knocked on our front door looking for him. Even at the age he was then, Dan thought it was ridiculous that the bully who terrorized people who were smaller and weaker than he was would so quickly run to his mommy the first time anyone stood up to him and tried to level the playing field. But that's what happened. He got in trouble and the bully got off scot free. As Dan's experience grew, he realized that's how bully operated. They rarely, if ever, took responsibility for their own actions but always were the first to complain about every little wrong done to them. To this day, Dan passionately hated bullies and could not understand why people tolerated them or what made them think bullying was a good way to live's one life. Perhaps bullies kept bullying because they were successful at it or perhaps it was the only way they could function since mental acuity seemed to be lacking in most. Whatever the reason, the kids in the neighborhood were never bothered by Jimmy after that day.

Dan and Bill turned into Pennsylvania and walked the half block to the back alley. The alleys were not paved as finely as the streets, and instead were a fine grey gravel. The garages that lined them were miniatures of the homes and were set directly against the road. Garbage cans lined the alley as well, as waste was collected here, which made the front of the homes free of garbage cans. Dan showed Bill where his car was parked when the windows were smashed by his stepfather. The middle of the alley's "H" pattern began at Dan's house and another long gravel road was perpendicular to Dan's alley. In between the brick garages were narrow walkways barely wide enough for an adult to fit through. Every few houses had no garage and there the lawn extended up to the edge of the alley.

Next to Dan's was the Douglas house, where his neighbors Doug and Vera lived. They were a generation older than Dan's parents and in fact their youngest son, Danny, was ten years to the day older than Dan. They shared a name and a birthday. Birthdays were fun. It was the only time the Dans got to say "same to you" as a response to "happy birthday." But when Dan was fifteen, Danny Douglas married an attractive single mother he'd met in New Orleans. On their honeymoon in Atlantic City, Danny drowned in the hotel swimming pool, a few blocks from the ocean. Ten years later, when Dan was twenty-five, he decided not to go swimming the entire year, just to be on the safe side.

On the other side of Dan's house was the Sieglemans, an old fashioned couple with two kids, one of whom, Tammy, was in Dan's class. The other kid, Skip, was a few years older than Dan but was one of the first kids to accept him into the neighborhood. Last he'd heard, Skip had never left home and was still there after both his parents passed away. Nobody ever saw him with girls, so people talked about Skip; because that's the way small towns are. Essentially, you have no privacy. Whatever Skip's story, he was a good person and didn't deserve to be ostracized.

Attached to the Siegelman's house was the Morgan's. Mike Morgan was the local postman and he and he wife, Mrs. Morgan, nobody ever knew her first name, were the neighborhood babysitters. They had no children of their own, and they just opened their home to all the neighborhood kids. Mrs. Morgan would always have fresh baked cookies or some other treat. And perhaps most importantly, they were the first house in the neighborhood to have a color TV, which made their house a magnet to the otherwise black and white world we knew. The Morgans were some of the warmest people Dan had ever known so it was doubly upsetting the fate that awaited them years later. After Mike retired from the post office, they bought a home in West Hills, a newer suburb in southwest Shillington. One night, several years later, they carried out a suicide pact killing one another by electrocuting themselves in the bathtub. The note they left indicated that the church they belonged to, had effectively tricked them into signing over their home and all their savings to them. When they realized what happened they'd appealed to the church's Christian values and asked them to return their home and savings. They were told their 'gift' was final and could not be undone. Then the church stopped returning their calls. When they received the eviction notice in the mail, they lost all hope as their faith was shattered. Seeing no other way and having no family to help them, they decided to end their torment themselves. It was a cruel end to such a giving couple.

Dan and Bill exited the alley on the opposite street, Reading Avenue, and walked around to the front of State Street on the same side of the block as Dan's house. The morning sun bathed the street with an amber tint. The sky glowed like a golden fire. It was such a stark contrast to the grey, wet days they'd been used to that Dan gasped aloud.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Bill asked when he heard Dan gasp.

"Check out the light." He said, pointing up at the sun.

"Wow. Makes the whole place look on fire."

"That's just what I was thinking." Dan agreed. "It just reminded me of the time I burned a hole in the carpet in the kitchen."

"How'd you manage that?" Bill egged him on. "Smoking?"

"It was in sixth grade. We were studying South America and we each had to do a report on a different country. I got Peru and decided to do mine as a news report on Peruvian television."

"You really were a geek, weren't you?" Bill chided.

"Hey, I ...." Dan began, then paused. "Yeah, I was. Still am. Deal with it. Anyway, we got points for creativity, I think. Anyway, in the course of the report I was going to make the phone ring...."

"What phone, geek boy." Bill interrupted.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Dan answered. "I built a news desk out of cardboard with propr, including this toy phone that I stuck on the desk. I used a magic marker to write the station logo on the phone. Anyway, the plan was to build a replica of the capitol building in Lima out of paper and then put in a box lined with tin foil. Then I'd make the phone ring, announce a breaking story that we'd break to live. I'd open the front of the diorama with the paper capitol and insert one of those long fireplace matches into the back and burin it to the ground. Did you know Peru has two official capitols? Lima and

"Geek" Bill reiterated.

"Dead cynic." Came Dan's retort.

"Fair enough." Bill agreed.

"Anyway, I was testing it a home on the kitchen table. I lit the paper building from the hole in the back and it caught on fire just fine. But I'd forgotten one thing."

"What" Bill played his part.

"I forgot that the fire would create wind and the things was so light that it lifted off and flew into the air, dropping to the floor right in front of the refrigerator. I stamped it out as quickly as I could, but it kept burning and left a black mark on the floor about the size of a grapefruit."

"You mean a burn mark?" Bill corrected.

"Yeah, but I didn't realize it at the time. I was in sixth grade. I grabbed every cleanser I could out of the basement and scribbed and scrubbed."

"But you can't clean a burn." Bill laughed.

"I KNOW!" Dan grew mock perturbed. "But I didn't know it then. And even though I couldn't 'clean' the burn mark I did succeed is making it look like anything but a burn mark. It was just this moist black spot. When my mom got home I feigned ignorance and a day or so later we had throw rugs in front of all our major appliances, I guess so it looked like that's what she intended to do all along and not like she was covering this hideous mysterious black mark. It wasn't until I was out of high school and in the army that I finally told my mother about what really happened. We shared a rare laugh over it."

"It's funny. Even though I have all this lingering resentment over our relationship during my teen years, we were very close before that. And when I'm able to look past the bad stuff, there were many warm moments during my teens as well. I just forget about them. Why is it that bad memories stick with us like they're glued there while good ones slip away like water through our fingers? The bad ones are always with me, like white noise or the sounds of the city that are constantly there but that you filter out over time. They're always there if you stop for a moment and listen, but otherwise it's just background noise. But good times are virtually gone completely from your day-to-day life. You need to consciously remember them. You have to go searching for them like an expedition, set off to rediscover them. But being home where I've been reminded of bad memories and telling you about those, the truth is the flood of memories doesn't discriminate; there are almost as many good ones, too. That was unexpected."

"My mother was trying to do the best she could but all she did was end up becoming her mother, who was a manipulative, unhappy person who rarely did anything nice for someone unless it meant they'd be indebted to her. I guess my mom couldn't escape that fate. It scares me that I might be that way today if I'd stayed here. Every now and then I'll catch myself doing something like one of them and make a conscious decision not to act that way. But if I still lived here would I even notice it? I think I needed the physical distance of living three thousand miles from home to give me the perspective to notice these patterns of behavior in my family. Of course, I had many lonely years to obsess about it and over-analyze it so that's got to be a factor, too. But ultimately, I'm who I am because of all the shit I went through."

on to Chapter 20

Chapter 18

2004-11-27T19:14:00.000-08:00

Mountains of gold would not seduce some men,
yet flattery would break them down.

- Henry Ward Beecher, Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit

The liquor store was open now so they stopped to pick up the remaining items for tomorrow night's wake. Bill searched the parking lot for Gary or other lizards but found nothing. Dan went inside the state store and began filling a shopping cart with alcohol. A woman shopping in the far aisle looked familiar but she ducked out of sight so he could no longer see her.

Dan checked out and put his purchases in the trunk of the Minotaur. He then returned to the store to see who or why somebody was avoiding him. Aside from Trixie, he couldn't think of anyone who might hide from him. He was puzzled and wanted to get to the bottom of it. Even though he wasn't sure he wanted to see Trixie, he sure as hell didn't want to come this far to miss her because she hid from him in a store. He pretended to be shopping for a specific bottle so he could search the entire store without looking like a stalker.

He found her easily, still crouched in the back. She was a short, thin woman with jet-black hair. She was pretty but her other features were hidden under a thick, winter coat. She could have been at home with the trio from the diner if not for appearing a little older and the air of class she exuded. She stood up straight when she saw Dan and realized she was caught. It took a little time before Dan finally recognized her and there was an awkward silence between them until that moment of realization. "Joanie?" Dan asked tentatively.

"Hi Dan." She replied much more surely. "Yep, it's me." And then she flipped her long hair back, revealing more of her delicate features. When she and Dan had known one another, she'd been a timid, shy girl who very unsure of herself. She wore unflattering glasses and plain clothes. She stooped and rarely asserted herself in any situation. People called her mousy. But she was a sensitive soul, a very good artist and a lot of fun to be around. Dan had spent many pleasant hours in her company and thought of her then as a good friend. Unfortunately, he was an idiot and missed signals as big as a sledgehammer that she had a crush on him. When Dan started dating Trixie, she had been devastated, or so he'd been told by a mutual friend he'd run into at a party. Their mutual friend, Robin, had asked him to leave the party before Joanie saw him there and became more upset. Because he did care for her, he reluctantly agreed. Dan had not seen her since, not until this very morning. "What are you doing here?" She asked. "I heard you were in California."

"Yeah, I do. My grandfather passed away. The one who lived around the corner from your place." Dan replied. Her family had lived on Broad Street, only a few blocks from Chulkie's house but they hadn't met until right before Dan had left Shillington the first time, when he went into the military. She played violin in the pit orchestra of the summer community theatre youth group Dan was active in at his church. They put on a Broadway-style musical play on the stage in the gymnasium attached to the church each summer and it was open only to kids under twenty-five.

"Oh, yeah. The stone house." She remembered. They talked for a few minutes and it was obvious she had grown out of her shyness. She displayed a self-confidence that would have been surprising twenty years before but which suited her now. Dan thought he sensed an underlying apprehension but put it down to the uncomfortableness of the situation. "I thought about calling you in California. I lived in L.A. for a few years and Robin, you remember Robin? She got your number from somebody and gave it to me but I never did. Things got very busy and I never seemed to find the time."

"That's too bad. I wish you had. The first few years sucked pretty bad. I didn't know a soul there. A friendly voice or face would have been very, very welcome." Dan said. "Listen, I know this is a little awkward, but I want to apologize for everything. I know it's been a long time, but I feel really bad about it and I never got a chance to tell you that I was sorry. I was such an idiot."

"Oh, that." Joanie said. "It was a long time ago, Dan. Don't worry about it. It's no big deal now. But thanks."

"No problem. I mean it." Dan said, and they talked warmly for a few more minutes.

"Well, I should really get going." Joanie said at last. She reached out to hug Dan and when she did, her coast fell open revealing a tight, sexy little black cocktail dress. It was a little rumpled in the morning, but Dan imagined it looked stunning the night before. She hugged him tightly and the warmth of her body felt good against his own.

"So what are you doing these days?" Dan asked instinctively, intrigued by the little black dress.

She hesitated before answering. "Well, I, uh, was a dancer for a lot of years. And now I, um, well, now I sort of supervise some younger dancers. In fact, I'm late in meeting them. They're waiting for me over at Dempsey's.

Dan's expression must have visibly changed because she asked what was the matter. "Nothing." He said quickly, apparently unable to conceal the realization he'd just had.

"No. What." Joanie insisted.

"Well." Now it was Dan's turn to hesitate. "Their names wouldn't happen to be Britney, Aurora and Georgia, by any chance. Would they?"

Joanie's face turned white then crimson.

"Sorry. I just came from there. We spoke briefly." Dan explained.

She began backing away. She looked embarrassed and like she wanted to be anywhere but here at this moment. Dan thought about trying to tell her it was no big deal but thought letting her leave with her dignity was probably the best course of action. So he called a final goodbye to her, saying, "it was nice to see you again." She waved back but hurriedly checked out and left the store. Dan stayed put until she was safely out of sight, not wanting to embarrass her further. Then he went to look for Bill in the parking lot.

Bill was right where Dan had left him. Searching the waterlogged ditch for more lizards. "Did you figure out who she was?" He asked.

"Yeah. Joanie Lawrence. She had a crush on me once upon a time and I screwed her over without even meaning to when I started dated Trixie." Dan explained.

"So that must have been a happy reunion." Bill said sarcastically. "She seemed like she practically ran out of there."

"Well, it started out fine. I was actually glad I ran into her." Dan began. "But then I accidently realized she was with those other three girls at Dempsey's"

"You mean the ho's?" Bill said incredulously?

"Dancers." Dan corrected.

"And porn stars are actresses." Bill chided.

"Okay. okay." Dan cautioned, throwing up his hands. "I really liked that girl at one time. I felt really bad when I found out I'd hurt her. I even thought of stopping seeing Trixie and dating her instead. But I couldn't do it. I wasn't attracted to her that way even whan I actively tried to be. I guess you can't force that kind of thing."

"Hey, I just figured it out!" Bill shouted, jumping out of the ditch. "You think you had something to do with her becoming a ... 'dancer'. That's it, isn't it?"

"Well, apparently she was crushed when it happened." Dan started.

"Dude." Bill interrupted. "Get over yourself. You had no more to do with her becoming a stripper than I did. You can't be responsible for the choices other people make; only the choices you make."

"But the choice I made was to dump her, in effect. That affected her. My choice caused her to make other choices, perhaps different ones than if I hadn't made that choice." Bill argued.

"Well, that's a good point, but only up to a point. I agree that everything is connected. But if everything is interconnected, then your choice was, in a sense, preordained. You said it yourself, you consciously tried to choose a different path, but you couldn't. You really had no choice."

"Are saying I have no free will?" Dan demanded.

"Well, that's a bigger argument." Bill replied. "I'm saying your personality which was made up of all your experiences including your past, everything you'd seen, read, done, felt, etc. made your choice somewhat predictable. You might have been able to choose her over Trixie under some pretty extraordinary circumstances but it would have been an almost unnatural choice. And you probably would have regretted that decision even more than you do this one now. I think people can and do occasionally choose against their nature but they have to force themselves to do it. It's not an easy decision. Look at all the bad marriages or even relationships in the world. Look at politics. A Bush has been elected three times now. Clearly people can make unnatural choices against their best interests. "

They both laughed, breaking the tension a bit.

"So are you saying no matter what I did, she would ended up where she is today?" Dan asked.

"Not exactly." Bill continued. "But there's no way you can ever predict what the effect a choice you make for yourself will have on a person that far down the line. All you can say for sure is what choices your decision might leave the other person next. Beyond that, it's more difficult. You know how hard it is to think of chess moves more than a few moves ahead because of how many permutations there are? Well imagine a near infinite number of choices for each possible decision. Very quickly it becomes impossible to predict anything. Even if you know a person well, which may give you a certain edge, the sheer number of possibilities will overwhelm that edge in no time. It could just as easily have been the next guy she met or the seventeenth. And the odds are equally good it could have been no guy at all; perhaps a domineering mother, an abusive father, poverty or even low self-esteem. Maybe she really liked taking off her clothes in front of other people. You know, an exhibitionist who really got off on it. Point is, the possibilities are literally endless."

"Well. I guess that's true, when you think about it." Dan conceded.

"It is. So you can stop beating yourself up over it." Bill scolded.

"She looked good, though. Don't you think?" Bill asked, changing the subject.

"Yes. She did." Bill agreed, smiling. "She looked good enough to eat."

They got back in the Minotaur and Dan turned on the ignition. The radio blared XTC's Jason and the Argonauts.

I've seen acts of every shade of terrible crime from man-like creatures,

and I've had the breath of liars blowing me off course in my sails.

Seems the more I travel, from the foam to gravel, as the nets unravel,

all exotic fish I find like Jason and the Argonauts there may

be no golden fleece but human riches I'll release.

on to Chapter 19

Chapter 17

2004-11-27T07:27:00.000-08:00

It is not enough to conquer; one must know how to seduce.

- Voltaire, Merope

Bill, Dan and Gary slid into the corner booth of Dempsey's American Kitchen, which looked as much like a Denny's as anything else. Dan had asked to sit at a booth in the back where it would be easier for Bill to eat unseen. The waitress brought only one menu so they had to share it. Dan took Bill's order and ordered two breakfast platters, telling the waitress he was very, very hungry. He and Bill decided it would be less suspicious to share a coffee so they asked for a pot for the table.

Bill examined Gary and found that he had a flawless head with soft, green skin. The body, on the other hand, was misshapen and was mottled with brown spots. Its left front paw looked damaged and he had marks resembling scars all over his torso. Bill guessed he'd been in a few fights in his time.

The food came, and they devoured it with abandon. Just as they finished eating, a party of three were seated at the booth next to them. For once, Dan didn't know them but they appeared to share his seemingly perpetual hangover. They were three women in their late twenties, Dan guessed. They looked a bit older and it was their manner that made him think they were younger. They looked cheap and used up by life. All three chain-smoked and wore conspicuously too much make-up. Bill said they looked like strippers and got up to take Gary outside so Dan got and went to the bathroom to make it easier to explain why he'd gotten up to let his ghost leave.

When Dan returned to the booth, the blonde in the next booth began talking to him. "Just getting in or just going out?" She asked.

"Out." He replied.

"You look like I feel. Late night?" She continued.

"Late week." Dan quipped.

She laughed easily and the other two women laughed with her. "Have a seat." She commanded, and slid over to make room for him. He found himself sitting down without really knowing why. "I'm Britney." She said, extending a bony hand. Dan shook it. She gestured to her two companions. "This is Georgia and Aurora." They giggled and poured him a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." He said, sipping from the cup.

"You from around here?" Georgia asked. She didn't have a southern drawl, which Dan had half expected. Georgia had light brown hair and brown eyes. Tattoos peeked out from under her clothing almost everywhere skin was visible and she had piercings on her ears, eyebrow and tongue.

"Used to be. I grew up a few blocks from here but I've lived in California for twenty years now. San Francisco, actually. Dan admitted.

Their eyes widened. "San Francisco!" Aurora repeated. She had darker brown hair than Georgia but brighter eyes. She looked softer than the other girls and had no visible tattoos or piercings, except for one in each ear. She was also very thin. She unzipped her big down overcoat and revealed a plunging neckline and ample cleavage. From what Dan could see, she had a very good body.

Britney also undid her jacket and she was similarly well endowed. She was wearing a revealing silky blouse. "It's getting warm in here." She said. Georgia was flat-chested by comparison but all three were well-built and temptation was written on them. "Wow. California. I've always wanted to go there. What's it like there?"

They all leaned in and the four of them chatted amiably for a few minutes. Dan was enjoying the flirting but began wondering where Bill was. It wasn't like him to disappear for this long. He chuckled to himself over worrying about Bill. After all, what could happen to a person who was already dead? While they were talking, Dan felt Britney's hand come to rest on his leg. He flinched but said nothing. It felt good, really, and the attention was pleasant. During a break in the conversation, Britney leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Is there someplace we can all go?" As she said it, he felt her squeeze the bulge in his jeans. Suddenly, he knew the game and realized he had to make a graceful exit as quickly as possible.

He sat up straight, brushing her hand away gently. "I'm sorry. I'm in town this week because my grandmother passed away. Her viewing is in a couple of hours and I've got a lot to do to get ready for it." Dan informed them.

Undaunted, Britney continued. "Not even for an hour?"

Dan wrestled himself out of the booth stood up quickly. "No. Sorry about that. It was very nice meeting you ladies." They laughed at that and turned back to themselves, dismissing him once again to the grey, foggy morning. He left a tip on his table and got out of the diner as quickly as he could.

He found Bill outside with Gary. "You left me alone with those ... girls."

"I tried to warn you." Bill said.

"I thought you were joking." Dan replied.

"Nope. They all had that stripper look." Bill said again.

"Well, I'm pretty sure you were right." Dan conceded. "Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah. Let me just say so long to Gary here." Bill turned to the lizard in the palm of his hand. "Okay, Gary. Take us to your leader." Gary was gone in a flash and ran and flitted in short bursts from puddle to puddle before disappearing up a tall tree. From a tall branch Gary lept into the air and spread his arms wide, which stretched the skin between into small wing like structures. To Dan and Bill's amazement, Gary appeared to fly on the swirling winds and they quickly lost him in the morning fog.

"Well that was unexpected." Dan chuckled. "But I guess I should be used to the unexpected by now."

on to Chapter 18

Chapter 16

2004-11-25T22:44:00.000-08:00

Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle that fits them all.

- Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., Autocrat of the Breakfast Table

Dan awoke to the sound of water falling heavily off the roof of the house. It was still dark out but Dan couldn't fall back to sleep. Friday was looking like it would be a very busy day so he got up and took a long, hot shower. Dan's head throbbed, a condition that was becoming a familiar part of his week in Dutch Wonderland. He made a pot of coffee and woke up Bill, who was snoring on the sofa, embers still glowing in the fireplace.

"What time is it, man." Bill asked, squinting his eyes open.

"I don't know. Early. You want to go to the farmer's market with me? Dan asked.

"Sure." Bill sighed, swinging his feet around and sitting up. He rubbed his eyes. "Did you make any coffee?" Dan didn't answer but instead thrust a mug into Bill's hand. Bill yawned deeply, stretched his arms and took a sip of coffee. After a few sips, he stood up and walked into the kitchen. “Alright, let’s go.”

Dan pulled the Minotaur out of the garage and pointed it toward the old shopping center on Lancaster Avenue. That was where they’d moved the farmer’s market. It was now in a fairly non-descript building on the eastern edge of the center. It had always opened at six and Dan saw from the lights and cars in the parking lot that they were already open for business.

The shopping center was a mere shadow of its former glory, if you could call it that. As late as Dan's teen years, this had been a thriving center of commerce with large stores like Sears, J.C. Penney and a grocery store. There were also many smaller chain stores and a quite a few local businesses. It had usually been at full occupancy. Today the biggest store was a regional pharmacy chain store. The old Sears building now housed a junk shop/thrift store like a Big Lots or Ross or Marshall's but was not even quite that grand. Many store fronts were empty and where once were prosperous businesses were now aerobics studios, karate schools, and a used book shop specializing in romance novels. In other words, not exactly high growth enterprises.

The Shillington Shopping Center, as well as the Shillington Farmer's Market were, ironically, not technically located in Shillington. It was in Cumru Township, which was the oldest organized land in the area. Gouglersville, Kenhorst, Shillington and Mohnton were all once part of Cumru and Spring Township was split off from Cumru in the mid-nineteenth century. Most of the new housing in the area as well as business growth is in Cumru Township. Many area residents think of the Cumru land adjacent to Shillington as part of the town anyway. That's why the name Shillington still appears on so many of the businesses and it's where the new post office for Shillington is located.

The Hardees was still there in between the shopping center and the farmer's market. It was one of only two fast food chains in Shillington. It used to be a garish red and white but now it looked like a Carl's Jr., complete with the yellow star logo, but Dan thought they were a west coast thing. The sign still said Hardee's so he guessed that they'd been 'acquired' by Carl's. Their food was horrible before and he felt pretty confident that, like almost all fast food, it was horrible today, too.

Dan parked the car and they entered the market through the double doors at the front end of the long, rectangular building. Inside it was a wide-open building that looked more like a warehouse. Tall empty ceilings made the space seem larger and gave the illusion of a small city. There were booths all around the perimeter and several square and rectangular series of booths that created street-like corridors running east/west and north/south. There were many familiar stands Dan could see immediately; local butchers, dairies, bakeries, florists, fruit and vegetable growers, and other traditional farmers. There were also some new ones. Toward the center of the market, for example, was a coffee and tea stand with lots of fancy beans and herbal teas. A familiar sight in California and big cities, but inconsistent with the traditional idea of a farmer's market. These coffee beans and teas were not farmed locally, after all. But in Dan's experience the modern version of a farmer's market included all manner of goods not made by farmers or produced locally. As long as it might appeal to the type of person who shopped at a farmer's market, then it was apparently okay. That was apparently true now in Pennsylvania as it was in other places.

Dan found the most important stand easily: The Good's potato chips in the blue. He had hoped they might still have cans available but the transition to cardboard boxes was complete. He bought a few boxes, some for the wake and some to ship home. He picked up some other items for the wake: pastries and meats and cheeses; pretzels and dip and vegetables.

Back in the car, Bill remembered they were getting low and beer and suggested they pick some up. Pennsylvania has some of the strangest liquor laws of any state, but the package stores, which sold only by the case, were already open. Bill's Beverages was on the other side of town so Dan aimed the Minotaur toward the beer store. They picked up four cases of different beers and two cases of A-Treat soda. Dan had yet to call many relatives or friends about the wake so he had no idea how much he'd need. Bill said he'd drink whatever was left and they shared a good laugh over it.

Bill also suggested that they pick up some liquor but Dan didn't think the state store would be open yet, but since it was close they drove to it in under a minute. It was closed and wouldn't open until nine. Bill gave a Dan a confused look when he saw the store was owned by the state. Dan answered the question in Bill's stare. "Weird, isn't it? The state is the pusher here. They're the only ones who can sell wine and spirits, the high alcohol stuff. Every year or so they talk about privatizing it, but it never happens. I imagine it's a pretty good source of revenue. It is, after all, a legal monopoly. They can charge whatever they want, or at least whatever they can get away with without arousing too much public outcry."

"I don't know how they square it with the PSAs about drunk driving. On one hand they're telling people to drink responsibly and not drive drunk and on the other hand they're the ones selling the hard alcohol. I really have mixed feelings about the whole thing. It seems so purely fascist. As it's generally understood, fascism is a merging of state and corporate interests so owning the business, as is the case here, would be as fascist and you can get. The state stores claim that buying in bulk allows them to get better prices for consumers but isn't that what competition is designed to do? Somebody's lying, I'm just not sure who?"

"They're all lying cocksuckers." Bill chimed in. "I tried to get all the people in marketing and advertising to kill themselves but I don't think I got any takers."

Dan laughed. "Yeah, I always suspected you were serious about that. It made it funnier if you were, I thought. Besides, I felt like the world would be better off without the propagandists. I refuse to even call it advertising or public relations. It's propaganda, pure and simple. To call it something else, is, in a way, propaganda. The only reason they changed the name was because of the negative connotations from the Nazis fairly successful use of propaganda in World War Two. But they learned it from us, especially Wilson's use of propaganda to get us in to, and then during, World War One."

"They're the ruiners of all things good." Bill continued. "They put a price tag on everything because in their little minds, everything and everybody is for sale."

"You'd be amazed how much worse it's gotten just in the ten years since you died." TV ads, which are probably the worst, continue to get faster and faster and there more of them meaning less content. Of course, that may not be such a bad thing since so many of the actual shows suck so badly. Every other show now is a so-called 'reality' show. These pieces of shit feature 'real people' and are no more real than the news is. And that's another thing that continues to get worse; the news is more and more pure entertainment every day. Most of the time, it's just propaganda, too."

"Then there's newspapers, the internet, billboards everywhere, sporting event sponsorships, renaming stadiums after products, celebrity worship magazines, telemarketers, mail-order solicitations, McDonald's in schools and hospitals, product placements in movies, spam e-mails, radio ads, print ads in commercial bathrooms, commercials before movies in the theatre, planes pulling banner ads at the beach, on hold ads when your on the phone, ads on the envelopes from credit card companies, aaaaaaaargh." Dan screamed. We're inundated. Everywhere you turn, and I do mean everywhere, someone is trying to sell you something."

"It used to be about filling needs and perhaps the wants that people had. Now it's become so sophisticated that the wants are created and then turned into needs. We're persuaded we must have that new pair of high-tech sneakers. Just try to find a plain pair of canvas sneakers. It's all but impossible. All fashion is that way, really. Wearing the new 'in' clothes each season has created one of the most useless, ephemeral wastes of money. And to look a certain way is fed by our overemphasis on appearance; style over substance. This illusion is so complete that nobody even thinks about it. That's the triumph of propaganda. It's so stupefying how easy it seems to work. Of course, from an early age we're taught obedience, which helps keep everybody passive and credulous. That, I believe, is one of the primary goals of public education."

"So how did you and I get through?" Bill asked.

"Well, it's not possible to fool everybody all the time. Even Honest Abe knew that. But they don't need one hundred percent. The truth is not hidden, it's just hard to find and even harder to believe for most people. There are plenty of people who know what's going on, including, of course, the practitioners. But they know more about human nature then they should. They know how to distract people, witness the banality of TV, blockbuster films, and organized sports along with the amount of time and seriousness afforded it. They know that a lie repeated often enough becomes true so we're lied to from a very early age. Just look at the textbooks used to teach history as an example. They also know that a few dissident voices, no matter how true, don't stand a chance against the entire corporate power structure and their mouthpiece the media. That anybody trusts our media is yet another victory for propaganda. It's hard to imagine a less trustworthy enterprise than mainstream news organizations. Yet every lie exposed is just an anomaly, we're told. We should more surprised every time they tell the truth. So every generation will have a small percentage of people largely unaffected by propaganda and an even smaller percentage of us who are successful in telling other people what they know."

"It's all a fraud. The whole thing. And nobody even realizes it. It's so pathetic how blissfully ignorant people are. They don't question anything. They accept lies so easily. Sometimes I want to scream and shout at them but the truth is they don't even want to know. They prefer being ignorant. That's one of the reasons propaganda works so well; because people are so conditioned to accept everything they're told."

"Give me your belt." Bill requested suddenly.

"What?" Dan looked at him quizzically.

"Your belt." Bill repeated. Dan undid the buckle and yanked off his belt in one practiced motion. He handed it to his ghostly passenger. Bill rolled down his window and dangled it out the car so that the end was just above a running stream of rainwater.

"What the hell are you doing with my belt?" Dan demanded.

"Ssh." Bill cautioned, then continued at a whisper. "There's a lizard in this puddle and I want to see if I can coax him up. Come on, little feller. That's it. Come on." Bill intoned.

After a few minutes, Dan saw a small greenish-brown lizard appear in the car door window and scamper into Bill's hand. "Hey, you did it. That's pretty cool."

Bill handed Dan back his belt and he put it on. "You want to get some breakfast?"

"Might as well." He said. "There's a diner up the street on the other side of the road. We can wait there and get something to eat. Good idea, Bill."

"I'm going to call him Gary." Bill said, as Dan started the car and headed for Dempsey's diner.

on to Chapter 17

DAY SIX: FRIDAY

2004-11-25T22:39:00.000-08:00

Friday, November 5: Guy Fawkes Day

The overwhelming pressure of mediocrity, sluggish and indomitable as a glacier, will mitigate the most violent, and depress the most exalted revolution.

- T.S. Eliot, The Idea of a Christian Society

To be natural means to dare to be as immoral as Nature is.

- Friedrich Nietzsche, The Will to Power

on to Chapter 16

Chapter 15

2004-11-25T18:57:00.000-08:00

There is no forgiveness in nature.

- Ugo Betti, Goat Island

There was another break in the rain and although it was almost dusk, Dan and Bill decided to leave the safety of the house and confront nature head on. Dan found some boots for them to wear and they put on jackets and walked out the kitchen door onto the back porch. The cool air had that crisp, clean post-rain smell that Dan loved and he breathed it in deeply. A dark blue was fighting with the dull grey for control of the skies above. Grey drained from the clouds and they revealed themselves in a glorious bright white in the late afternoon sun.

Dan stepped off the porch, went down the cement stairs and stepped onto the green wet grass. They headed due south through the yard and into the Christmas tree farm beyond Chulkie’s yard. There was no fence and they walked through the chest high forest like giants. At it’s opposite edge, the access road had become a stream as water from the hill was collecting and running down the gravel road. They easily forded the temporary stream and Dan led them up the fire road. On either side of the road, tall trees stood, nearly one hundred feet into the sky. This was the reborn forest that had been knocked down over thirty years before by nature’s wrath, which we called Hurricane Agnes. There was no evidence that it had ever been knocked to its knees. It now stood tall and proud. Water glistened off every remaining leaf and branch. Water was running down the road as the climbed it and their boots splashed in the mud, leaving craters in their wake, which quickly filled with the runoff water.

It took perhaps half an hour to reach the top of the road, where it met another road that ran east/west along the ridge of the hill. Most of the town could be seen from this vantage point. To the right the road to the flat quarry, to the left it led to the deep quarry where the bird’s nest used to be. Dan chose the path east toward what he and his cousin called the “soul of the woods,” which was a wooden arch that stretched over the path. It was actually a tree that had grown bent over and had become caught in branches on the other side of the path through the woods. Getting caught caused it to form an almost perfect arch. Barry had always said that if it ever fell, it would signal the death of the forest.

Dan and Bill’s boots crunched on the dead leaves as the walked along the path. The trees now obscured the view and you got the impression of being much deeper in a forest than you actually were. The canopy of the trees made it slightly less wet here than outside the woods. Despite being early November, signs of life were everywhere. Cardinals and Chickadees could be seen flitting from branch to branch. A brilliant Blue Jay chirped menacingly as they passed him. Small creatures could be heard scurrying along the forest floor, unseen but for the wake they left in the leafy ground cover.

"This would be a great place to take mushrooms." Bill offered.

"I always wanted to try them." Dan admitted. "And it does seem like a natural drug should be experienced in nature. Where did you get the idea that god left pot and mushrooms on the planet to speed up our evolution?" He asked.

"Terence McKenna." Bill answered. "He wrote a book called Food of the Gods. McKenna believed that our brains had unused parts that needed hallucinogenics to unlock them. That always made sense to me. Otherwise, why are these drugs growing naturally all over the planet? I can't come up with a better solution than that they're here for us to use. Nothing else makes sense."

They walked along in silence for another fifteen minutes or so until they came to the spot where the forest’s soul had been. Dan pointed out the remaining remnants of the old arch but Bill was unimpressed.

“You had to be here.” Dan said, trying to be persuasive. “It was just one of the childish beliefs you have when you’re a kid.”

“If you say so.” Bill replied.

“Oddly enough, when it did fall down we were about fourteen or fifteen. We had stopped coming up here very much anymore and we both just happened to be at Chulkie’s one afternoon. So we decided to hike up to the quarry one last time to see what it looked like, since it had been probably a little over a year since the last time we’d been there. When we walked by this spot, we both felt something was wrong. Then we saw that the arch was gone and got this sick feeling in the pit of our stomachs. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, I don’t know. We walked on to the quarry and believe it or not there was a house on the edge of it. It was a ranch style house, nothing special, except for the fact that it was smack dab in the middle of a pile of rocks. And there were ‘No Trespassing’ signs all over the place. We got the hell out of there and that was the last time I came here until today.”

A figure became visible some distance down the path and appeared to be coming toward them. As the person grew closer, they could see it was a man jogging alone. Closer still, Dan was surprised to realize that he thought he knew the person. He called to him tentatively. "Bruno?"

He turned his head at the sound of his name, and reached them quickly. As he neared them, Bruno, and by now he was sure of the runner's identity, was startled as he recognized Dan. He stopped in front of him, stooping to put his hands on his knees and catch his breath. "Dan, is that really you?" He asked.

"Yeah, it's me. How are you, man? Been a while." Dan told him.

They embraced, hugging. Bruno Marinaccio was three years younger than Dan but they had been in band and summer theatre together and were very good friends. He was in Trixie's class and a friend of hers, as well. When Dan was coming home weekends while he was dating Trixie, Bruno was one of the people he hung out with. He had been one of his mother's pallbearers. Dan had not seen him since he'd left for California, though they'd talked on the phone a few times over the years.

"I'm good." Bruno began. "What brings you here? I haven't seen you since your mom's funeral."

"Well, my grandmother passed away. Her funeral is on Saturday. Hey, we're having a wake Saturday night at her house. You've got to be there. Can you make it, do you think?" Dan asked him.

"Saturday night? Yeah, I'll be there. Is that the stone house on Fourth?" Bruno replied.

"Yeah, that's the one. About eight o'clock. It's my last night here. I go back to San Francisco the next day."

"Too bad, I've missed you, man. I had a dream the other night that you were wildly successful and you escaped some danger. I can't remember what it was, but it was weird. Of course, what dream isn't? So who or what led you here?" Bruno asked.

"I used to come up here all the time when I was a kid. My grandmother's house isn't too far from here. I just wanted to see it again. It sure has changed, though." Dan told him.

Unexpectedly, Bill spoke. "Listen to what he's saying."

"Did you hear that?" Bruno said, eyes widening.

"What?" Dan replied.

"I heard a voice." Bruno said.

"Did you see anyone?" Dan asked.

"No, just heard a voice." He clarified. "I must be hearing things, but it sounded so clear. Well, that was weird."

Dan exchanged a look with Bill, who just shrugged his shoulders. "What were you saying?" Dan asked Bruno.

"Oh. Yeah. It's no big deal. I'll tell you Saturday. I've actually got to get home. It was really great seeing you."

"Yeah, you too." Dan agreed, and they shook hands. Bruno ran off and they continued their walk. Dan turned to Bill. "He heard you!"

"It sure seemed that way." Bill agreed. "That was really strange. But he obviously couldn't see me."

"So what were you saying, anyway. Something about listening to what Bruno was saying." Dan grilled him.

"Don't worry about it. He didn't say what I thought he would. Maybe hearing me freaked him out. He dreamed you'd be a great success. Sounds like good fortune to me. Maybe your luck is changing."

"I don't put any stock in that stuff. I don't think dreams predict anything. We make our own luck. What is it the Flaming Carrot used to say, 'Fortune Favors the Bold.' I always liked that expression."

They kept walking and Dan led Bill on to the path that led to the old quarry. It was somewhat obscured but he’d been here so many times he could navigate it easily. When they were several hundred yards from where the quarry should have been, it became a green, manicured lawn. It was someone’s backyard. As far as the eye could see in either direction, there were lawns and houses. What was once a quarry was now a housing development. People had encroached on the forest since that time and now it was all but complete. He knew it was futile to be upset about it, but Dan always mourned the loss of the world in its natural state.

Dan turned back to Bill and told him. “Well it was here a minute ago.”

Bill laughed. “Another childhood memory paved over?”

“Sort of.” Dan answered. “It was probably paved with the stone from the quarry.”

They both laughed at that. “I don’t know why I thought it would still be here?” Bill mused. “I know I should just be happy that this much of the woods is still here.” He shrugged his shoulders. "But to me nature seems like it's the only true chapel. Anything man builds is nothing compared to what nature can do. The best of nature is majestic, even mankind's best is vulgar by comparison. There's a poem by William Blake. I can only remember part of it:"

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

"This is what religion should celebrate. Not fairy tales about gods and the next life. We should enjoy the only life we've got to the fullest. Instead we're taught that nature is something to be controlled, mastered, overcome. As if we ever could. What is it our about our arrogance and ego that makes us think we're even capable of understanding it all? Even if you accept god, this concept doesn't work. The god myth believes that he made everything. So that means nature, too, right? Yet our society ruins nature, taking what it wants from it and destroying the world in the process."

As if in answer to Dan's rantings, the sky blazed with pinks and soft blues in a colorful sunset. "We need to get down before it gets too dark." Dan suggested, pointing up at the fireworks. "Nice sunset." He remarked.

"Yeah." Was all Bill could manage.

It was almost dark by the time they turned down onto the fire road. Fireflies could be seen twinkling on and off all around the forest. Like stars within their reach, while the creatures of the forest played nature's symphony to accompany the dance of lights. It was an ethereal sight.

"You see the fireflies?" Dan asked.

"Uh huh." Bill agreed.

"They remind me how cruel humans can be. When we were kids we'd snatch them into our fist, throw them forcibly to the ground and step on them, dragging our shoe a couple of feet. This would leave a phosphorus trail that glowed for a few seconds. These beautiful bugs gave their lives for our amusement. Other times we'd catch as many as we could and put them in a jar to make a kind lamp. Our parents would provide the jar and help us poke air holes in the metal lids. The fireflies would never last the night since they had no food. By morning they'd all be dead. I can't believe how casually cruel we were. We never even gave it a second thought. And it wasn't just being children; our parents helped either actively helped or turned a blind eye. Is there another animal that kills for fun like that? I know cats play with their food, but it's still food. This was just plain senseless cruelty. And it was little kids."

"We're just a virus with shoes." Bill said, quoting himself.

"Exactly!" Dan agreed. "Christianity teaches that man is separate from the 'beasts' meaning nature, which is just plain wrong. Any view that can't see that we're just as much animals as every other living thing is lying to us. We are nature."

on to Day Six

Chapter 14

2004-11-24T16:49:00.000-08:00

All great truths begin as blasphemies.

- George Bernard Shaw, Annajanska

Bill was quiet. He gingerly descended the steep stairs from the upstairs apartment. Dan walked behind him, following him into the living room where they both sank into comfy chairs. After a few minutes, Bill sighed deeply. "Man, you are bumming me out. Bum-ming me out." He said more slowly with a deliberate accent on each syllable.

"Sorry about that." Dan offered. "You did ask. Now you know why I don't talk about it."

"No shit." Bill agreed. "That is one depressing story. So do you think you'll see Trixie before you go home?"

Dan signed deeply. "I honestly don't know. I'm not really sure I want to. After all this time and all the time I spent obsessing about it, I don't think I want to relive what for me was a very dark time. I acted depressed a lot of the time. I'm surprised I made any friends at all. It took such a long time before I felt anything approaching normal that I'd like it to stay that way. I feel like a completely different person now. I don't mean that in any touchy feely new age way, I mean I feel like there are two me's. And the me that used to live here died that weird day, just the same as my mother did. The new me isn't necessarily improved, but he's a completely different person. But people always treat you the same as the last time they saw you. They can't allow for change. I notice it every time I speak to relatives or an old friend I haven't seen in a long time. They assume I'm still the same as they remember me even though they're probably not the same either. It's just the way human nature works, I suspect."

"Another weird thing is I'm not even sure I'd like Trixie anymore. I've changed so much, done so many other things that I never thought I'd do or experience. You know how people compare making a decision with choosing a path? Well, the path I chose led away from here. I guess I escaped, so to speak. If I had stayed here and married Trixie, bought a house in town, got a job, had kids, all that so-called normal stuff, what would my life look like today? I can't even imagine it, to tell you the truth. Would I be happy" Who fuckin' knows? I can't go back and change anything so what's the point of thinking about it."

"No need getting testy with me." Bill admonished.

"Sorry, no. I don't mean to take it out on you." Dan apologized. "I've just been over and over this subject in my head and with anyone who would listen for so many years that I'm just tired of talking about it. It's all new to you, but to me it's ancient history that refuses to stay buried in the back yard. I feel so exposed here in Shillington. I feel like I need to constantly be on my guard so I don't run into anything I can't handle. In California, I can effectively escape my past in the sense that the likelihood that it will walk up to me on the street is next to nil. Here it's practically inevitable. Everywhere I look there are reminders, ghosts and landmarks; like my past is alive. I don't know how people live in the same place their whole lives."

"So are we done yet?" Bill asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, everything to send home is in the foyer now. Tomorrow I'll call UPS to pick up the boxes. The auction house will come in and price everything for the estate sale next week. They'll take care of inventorying everything and selling it. Jim Anwalt will be here to oversee them and keep them honest. So by next weekend, the house will be empty. Just another empty house on the market with people trampling through it, oblivious to the history of the place. It's going to be weird, this place not being in the family. Hell, my grandfather and my dad built this place with their own hands. Their personality is all around; in the walls, the floor, in the stone itself. You don't get that with cookie cutter housing developments where every house looks virtually the same. They're just houses, not homes. Very few homes today were built by the people who live in them. I think that's a shame. I know it's just modernization and specialization but I like an old-fashioned world sometimes."

"So, what now?" Bill asked. "You want a beer?"

"Sure, if you're getting up I'll take an IPA. Thanks." Dan responded.

Bill came back, beers in hand, and handed one to Dan. "You're not taking that ugly statue." Bill said, gesturing to the statue of a man on the fireplace mantle. It was a statue of an old man with a gold head, silver chest and legs of brass and iron. The right foot was made of clay and the entire thing, except for the head, was riddled with cracks. "What the hell is that thing?

"Yeah, it's pretty hideous alright. I don't know much about it. It's been there as long as I can remember. I don't know who would buy it, but I'm sure as hell not taking it home with me." Dan replied.

"So, any surprises so far?" Bill asked.

"Do you mean is the town the same as I remember it?" Dan clarified.

"Sort of." Bill said. "Has anything you've found been radically different than you thought it would be? But not just the place, the people, too."

"Well, I knew the town would have lots if new and different architecture. There's no stopping progress. It's tied to our dysfunctional economy." Dan began, standing and walking over to the fire. Embers were flaking and floating out of the fire, coming to rest on the stone floor in front of the fireplace. He stoked the fire and a rain of fiery flakes filled the inside of the firebox. Dan eyed a discreet bucket of white sand hidden behind a planter. A large ember landed in the bucket and for instant he watched the sand burn.

"One of the strangest things about religious fundamentalism is how on one hand they supposedly take everything literally yet when it comes to things their okay with or need then they simply look the other way and nobody calls them on it. Take usury. Originally the term meant any amount that had to be repaid for a loan. In other words, not just interest but anything. So if I borrow one dollar from you and you demand that I repay you two dollars, that's usury. Later, it became interest, and now it generally means exorbitant or illegally high interest. But it's forbidden in the bible, in Leviticus and Deuteronomy I think. I'm pretty sure it comes up in other places, too. The reason Jesus cleared the temple in that scene where angry Jesus goes nuts had a lot to do with the Jews ignoring their own usury laws. So you'd think we'd hear Jerry Falwell preaching against Bank of America or Citibank. I mean, if their number one premise is that every word of the bible is true, without question, then why aren't they calling for an end to usury? Well, besides the fact that their lying hypocrites which should be pretty obvious to anyone with a brain, it would destroy the economy and they need the present economy just as much as every other rich person. I'm not suggesting we abolish usury, although I'd like to see what a world without banks would be like, but I sure would like to stop having moral superiority preached to me by hypocrites. What's most galling is that it shows that they don't take every word of the bible literally, just the ones they agree with."

"Usury is also oddly responsible for a lot of the hatred of Jews. Early christians in Europe actually did think usury was bad and accepted it as forbidden because of what the bible said about it. But, of course, they needed bank loans to finance society's shift from a feudal system to a mercantile one. The progress that started, which has continued into modern times, would not have been possible without banks, and usury. So the christians got around this prohibition by allowed jews to do the loaning, and they created many of the first banks. And here's where it turns ugly. Banks make a lot of money meaning that many Jews got rich doing what the christians were not allowed to do. Well, that made a lot of christians angry who wanted to be rich, too. But instead of admitting usury laws were incompatible with the new society they were creating, they blamed the Jews themselves. Like it was there fault. Jews were forbidden from many, many professions so when they succeeded in one of the few professions they were allowed, they were persecuted."

There's a more modern example of this, too. Native Americans. Their genocide by white invaders was exponentially worse in terms of numbers killed, enslaved and displaced than the Jewish holocaust. Their numbers today are a tiny fraction of their pre-colonial populations and the amount of land that remains to them is likewise tiny in comparison. So it turns out federal reservation laws allow the to put gambling casinos on their land. So after years of the worst imaginable treatment resulting in abject poverty, inhumane treatment and every single treaty they ever made with the British and then American government broken they find a loophole that makes them some money. And how does white America respond? Well, I don't know for sure about the other states, but in California they tried to squeeze money of the Native Americans. Suddenly they had money, and like the Jews before them that couldn't do. Only whites should have the money. Two propositions were proposed for the vote a couple of weeks ago that would unilaterally changed the relationship of the federal land, the reservations, and the state of California so that they would have had to pay more money to the state. The justifications for them were so laughably ridiculous that it's hard to believe so many people took them seriously. And they spent millions on tv ads to try to persuade Californians that the shakedown was legitimate, necessary even. The ads had supposed ordinary citizens, yeah right, saying shit like 'it's not fair,' 'we need the money' and 'they're not paying their fair share.' What bullshit. People just can't accept anyone else's success. Native Americans finally found a very miniscule way to get back at us, or at least the idiots who gamble, and we can't even let them have that small victory."

"Well, that's interesting. I guess. But what does it have to do with what I asked you?" Bill wondered aloud.

"Oh, sorry. Rambling again. I tend to do that, I'm afraid." Dan admitted.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Bill said sarcastically.

Dan laughed. "Funny. Okay, well a lot of the town looks like it's stuck in time. Then a few small pockets, mostly on or around the main drag have changed. But really not that much. A few new buildings; hardly any, really. The most changes are a lot of the businesses on Lancaster Avenue aren't there anymore. Ibach's Pharmacy is gone, Sieger's store is gone, the elementary school is now an office building, the movie theatre is a church, the Shillington Restaurant is boarded up and they've moved the farmer's market to the other side of town. But town hall is the same, most of the churches are the same, the high school is the same, etc. They tore down the junior high and put up another building that looks just like it. So to someone who’d never been here before it would probably look like an old town. Only a local would notice the changes.”

“As to the people, they still seem to have that small town attitude, which is both good and bad. I like that once you’re accepted into that kind of community, then you know everyone and they all know you. Of course, that also means there’s a magnifying glass on you and everybody knows your business. Like that medusa of a neighbor who ‘stopped by;’ she was a small town gossip who had to know everybody’s business. People like her are pathological. She could never make it in a big city. It’s people like her that see cities as evil places filled with miscreants of all stripes and no morals. That’s the downside to small towns and rural areas in general. It’s why there are red states and blue states. Both places distrust the other. Of course, that’s an overgeneralization but there’s still a lot of truth to it.”

“You probably didn’t notice this, being invisible … and dead, but people here stare at one another, especially the people they don’t know personally. It’s like they’re keeping an eye on everyone, making sure no strangers ruin their paradise. I find it very unnerving. I just want to stop and shout at people, ‘stop staring at me!’ But that would just make them more suspicious. I felt that way when I still lived here. You could always feel their eyes on you wherever you went. I guess that’s how small towns stay isolated and insulated. They let outsiders feel only so welcome so they won’t stay around too long. When we moved into the house on State Street, it took a full year before the neighbors accepted us, in fact until they would even talk to us. As a child, the other neighborhood kids were a little quicker to accept me, but there was still a period of isolation where they kept their distance.”

“But once we were accepted, then it was a different world. We never locked our doors. We’d go away for a week and never lock the door to our house. We’d just walk into neighbor’s houses and if we didn’t see anybody there, we’d knock on the inside of the door and yell their name to announce our arrival. I can’t even imagine doing that in San Francisco and I’ve lived there for over twenty years. People would go into each other’s garages to borrow things, like tools or lawnmowers, and nobody thought twice about it. That was great. I loved that about growing up here. It’s innocence. But I imagine it’s not even like that here anymore. I think the decades I grew up in were more innocent, as well. So it’s not really fair to compare the two. I think innocence is dead almost everywhere. And that may be the worst loss of all.”

on to Chapter 15

Chapter 13

2004-11-24T14:20:00.000-08:00

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

- Dorothy Parker, Resume

At the hospital, Trixie refused to speak to Dan. Dan believed it was the shock of what had transpired, but as the days went buy, she cut off all contact with him and his family. He spoke to her parents and they asked that Dan respect their daughter's wishes and stay away from her. Trixie's mother told him that she just needed time. Apparently, Trixie's injury would heal in a few weeks and there would be no permanent damage, for which Dan was grateful. He reluctantly agreed and busied himself with his mother's funeral.

The funeral was held several days later with no viewing. Many family members and friends attended, with the notable exception of Trixie and his stepfather and the Buchanon family. Six of Dan's best friends acted as pallbearers. Even though her illness had been terminal, her murder dredged up so many more emotions. Dan had always believed he and his mother would work out their differences before she died. He'd thought they'd have several months to erase regrets and the bad feelings between them. Rick had once again robbed him of another part of his childhood.

His stepfather, in the meantime had gotten out on bail. Rick's family had hired one of the sleaziest lawyers in town. His reputation was one of dirty tricks and intimidation. Today, he'd probably be known as the Johnny Cochran of Reading. One day, about a week after the funeral Rick and a few of his friends paid Dan a visit as he cleaning out his mother's house. They punched him around a few times and Rick told Dan that he would kill him if he testified against him. Dan said nothing, and they left him battered and bruised on the back porch. The police said they couldn't really do anything since it was Dan's word against his stepfather. And his stepfather's buddies told the police he'd been with them all that afternoon at a local bar.

So he finished wrapping his mother's affairs, packed up everything he owned and rented a U-Haul truck. He tried to reach Trixie but she still was refusing to see him or talk to him. He told her mother what had happened and that he had to get out of town and said he'd like to take Trixie with him. She promised she'd deliver the message but he didn't believe she'd ever receive it.

So he was surprised the next day when Trixie called him. They made small talk about how she was doing and then he asked her to come with him to California. It was as far west as he could drive, as far away from this hell as he could get and he wanted her to go with him. She refused, saying to never contact her again. She said she didn't blame him but that she never wanted to be reminded of what happened and that would be impossible if she stayed with Dan. He tried his best to persuade her otherwise but in was in vain. She had made up her mind.

He left the next morning and took two weeks to drive cross-country, taking his time, trying to enjoy being free of everything he'd ever known. He let only a few people know where he was and he tried repeatedly to reach Trixie but was unable to do so. He got an apartment near Golden Gate Park and spent long hours there among the trees. He watched the dogs chase one another and fight, like nature expressing itself at its most primitive. He started having conversations with the trees, who he considered his friends, and in the absence of other people he could talk about his problems with it helped Dan immensely. They were, after all, very good listeners. Then finally, after he had been in San Francisco about a month, Trixie phoned him for would prove to be their last conversation. She said that she was feeling better and was all but healed. And then she dropped the bombshell.

She told Dan she was pregnant and that she wanted him to send her the money for an abortion. Initially he refused but she begged him and in the end, he could not refuse her that last request, no matter the consequences. She thanked him, sobbing into the phone. It was the last time Dan heard her voice. He put down the phone and cried himself to sleep. It was the lowest point in his already unpromising life.

He sent the money the next day and tried his best to forget his old life. He'd hear drips and drabs from home, but even good news became difficult to take because of what he was missing. Trixie testified at Rick's trial and he was found guilty and sentenced to forty years, essentially a life sentence since he was the same age that Dan was now, forty-five. He was briefly happy when he heard the news, but it was short-lived, as it did not replace his mother or his lost love. Shortly after the verdict, Trixie's mother called Dan quite unexpectedly. It turned out she had taken some pills and tried to kill herself. They had found her in time and she was okay, but that was all he knew. Trixie's father walked in and hung up the phone abruptly. He could hear them arguing in the background just before the line went dead. He heard no more news about Trixie after that.

In the intervening years he heard little of home at all. He exchanged Christmas cards with relatives and got the occasional birthday card. He phoned his two grandmothers and his aunt Helen from time to time, but that was about it. Every now and then, someone would send a care package with Good's potato chips or Tastykakes or something like that, often with clippings from local newspaper they thought might be of interest. But little by little the memories faded as he made a new life for himself. It took about five years for him to work up the courage to ask another woman on a date, but it went badly. He built up a good network of close friends and they became his surrogate family, he finished his education, and he started a career. But romance seemed like it would elude him.

on to Chapter 14

Chapter 12

2004-11-20T01:50:00.000-08:00

We kill everybody, my dear. Some with bullets, some with words,and everybody with our deeds. We drive people into their graves, and neither see it nor feel it.

- Maxim Gorky, Enemies

Another morning hung over greeted Dan and his head throbbed. Mercifully, Bill had already made the coffee and Dan took three Advil's with it. His eyes looked bloodshot and his face was white. Bill couldn't help but comment. "You look like shit, man."

"Thanks. Feel like shit, too." Dan admitted. He put four slices of bread into the toaster and grabbed the cinnamon from the spice rack. An inspiration had just hit him, and he spread butter on the toast, sprinkled it with the cinnamon and cut each slice into four thin pieces. Chulkie called them ladyfingers and he handed a plate to Bill.

"These are really good." Bill said after inhaling the first one.

"Yeah, Chulkie always used to make these in the morning before breakfast, sort of like an appetizer. And they always seemed to hit the spot." Dan offered. "I thought perhaps we could use a little bit of her magic right now."

"So, what's the deal then. Clean out the house this morning?" Bill asked?

"Yup. As soon as my head starts cooperating. It really shouldn't take too long. I just need to box up what I want to ship home to California. And that will just be photos, personal effects, mementos, and maybe a couple of pieces of furniture. I don't really need anything, but I'd like to have a few of her things around the house that remind me of her. It's not like I could forget Chulkie, but to me objects have always worked as a memory inducer. I can look at anything in my house and tell you a story about it, from where and when I got it to the person it's from or what incident it was used in during my life. As a result, I'm waaaay to attached to a lot of my stuff and it's also why I have so much stuff. I have a hard time separating the physical thing from its emotional meaning. I also think the predictability of inanimate objects made them very comforting for me as a boy when the animate one kept letting me down. And, of course, let's not forget how I can overanalyze anything to death. That's a talent." Dan said, laughing at himself.

"So why do you think you do that?" Bill wondered aloud.

"Who are you, my shrink?" Dan countered.

"No, it's not really any mystery. Nothing in the house was safe from my stepfather's wrath. Leave something out when he was pissed off, and it would be broken or gone by morning. So many favorite toys went missing that I grew very attached to whatever was left. Once, I committed the sin of reading at the dinner table and Rick grabbed the book from my hand and tore it in two. When I was older, I parked my car on Christmas Eve in the back alley in a place that was always used as a parking space. For some reason, on that night and in that state of mind, Rick took a propane tank and smashed both the front and back windows of the car, leaving the tank lying in the back seat with shattered glass everywhere."

"These were not rare occasions, sadly, they were everyday occurrences. My mom had these china dolls she just loved. Frankly, they were dreadful, but she loved them. They were delicate women with, no pun intended, porcelain features: thin arms and petite legs. But what she loved about them were the ball gowns they wore; elaborate dresses in bright colors and patterns. They cost about twelve dollars each, a princely sum then. Rick routinely smashed some or all of them around the house. They would then be replaced the next day either by my mother not wanting to have Rick face responsibility for his actions or sometimes by Rick himself, feeling guilty and contrite."

"When Rick and my mom first got married, Rick used to stay up late watching movies, a habit he never really broke. My mom would leave for work at eleven at night, and Rick would call up to me with the evening's film schedule. More often than not, I'm come down and we'd watch movies together, usually one or two most evenings. I'm a late night person to this day because of that routine. And those late nights were responsible for my movie education and my love of film. It's weird how such a big part of my life came out of such horrors but that's how it is." He said, shrugging his shoulders.

When Dan was around seven or eight, Rick would have a drunken episode every month or so. Then by the time he was in junior high school, the frequency of violent scenes was happening at least once per week and growing. Along with the increased frequency, the severity also grew worse. Rick was most likely emboldened by past episodes in which he suffered little or no consequences for his actions. At first, his mother would have small bruises that were hardly noticeable but over the years, the bruises grew larger and one time she received a black eye for some imagined transgression. At first, Rick never resorted to hitting Dan's mother in his presence so MaryJo felt safer when he was around in a bit of twisted logic. So instead of making sure Dan was out of harm's way, she made sure he'd be around to lessen her own. But even that taboo was lifted when Dan witnessed Rick smash a telephone recently ripped from the wall into his mother's face. She'd needed several stitches to fix that one.

After that, they were both beaten with more or less impunity. Generally Rick was careful not to make any marks that were visible, the stitches and black eye being the notable exceptions to that rule. MaryJo tried to get help from Rick's family but they refused to believe their little boy would do such a thing even though they saw his constant drinking. They effectively turned a blind eye to what they must have known was going on. His mother's own family was equally incapable of helping in part because of MaryJo's own reluctance to admit to them anything was wrong and their own history of not talking about family problems openly. It was perhaps, simply a sign of the times but people just didn't confront such issues preferring to bury them.

Dan withrew from sports or going to the pool; any activity where he'd have to bear his skin to any degree. He tried to stay out of trouble and not arouse his stepfather's ire but that was impossible. He and his mother would walk on eggshells whenever Rick would come home drunk. They'd tiptoe around trying to do nothing that might upset him. But the fact of the matter was, his stepfather was looking for any excuse to release his anger. Whatever demons haunted him, it seemed to make him feel better when he'd destroy his own home and beat up his helpless wife and stepson. So resistance was, indeed, futile.

He became quite literally a Jekyll and Hyde character. As his violent alcoholism worsened, his sober days seemed all the more calmer by comparison and he was capable of being sensitive, caring and even funny. But then the bottle would find him again and another round of beat the family would ensue. It was a terrible time to be a teenager. But Dan tried as best he could to maintain a normal facade and only a few close confidantes knew what his life was really like. That went on for the rest of Dan's time in high school. Dan spent the summer after graduation working at a camp and then went into the Army, anything to be away from home.

He hated leaving his mother alone with Rick but his relationship with her had soured considerably. Dan continued. "So when I was old enough to realize what was happening and what part my mother played in keeping us in such a powder keg of a home life, I became angry and resentful with her. I know now she was doing the best that she could, and she probably even thought that a father figure was what I needed so she could justify it was for my benefit but once the violence overtook our lives, I felt she should have left Rick. When she didn't time and time again, I started taking it out on her."

As Dan aged and matured, his mother clung to him and tried to keep him from growing up. At least that's how Dan saw it at the time. They fought all the time in the last five years of her life. She seemed to always trying to hold him back and he did everything he could to be anywhere but home. That's why military service seemed so appealing; it was somewhere away from home. So when he turned eighteen, he joined up and set his start date for the end of summer after graduation. His mother had been furious but since he was an adult there was nothing she could do about it.

"Come on, let's get started." Dan said, getting up from the kitchen table. "Would you grab some empty boxes from the dining room? I want to start in the back room and work our way toward the kitchen."

Dan was right about how long it would take. By mid-afternoon they'd filled about half a dozen boxes, mostly with pictures, some old games, and a few other mementos. The biggest find was his father's Uncle Wiggly books. They were popular in the first half of the twentieth century and Uncle Wiggly is remembered today chiefly for the children's board game. Dan loved the game as well as reading the books about the rabbit gentleman, as Uncle Wiggly was also known. They broke for lunch and had a few beers. After they had a few beers in them, they resumed work in the dining room. After a few minutes, Bill broke the silence. "When are you going to tell me about her?"

"Who?" Dan answered, feigning ignorance.

Bill shot him a look that he wasn't buying the innocent act.

"Okay, okay." Dan said, resigned to talk about the unmentionable: Trixie.

Trixie had been the love of Dan's life. Until, that is, he abandoned her when he fled Pennsylvania for the left coast. She hadn't wanted to come with him and he couldn't stay there any longer. After his mother's death, it had become too painful and, frankly, too dangerous for him.

"Trixie." Dan said her name out loud for the first time in years and let it hang in the air. "I met Trixie by accident the summer after I graduated from high school. It was a weekend and I was home briefly from the Boy Scout camp where I was working. I had one night off and I began it at a party a friend of mine was throwing. I was supposed to meet another friend there but he never showed and I ended up passing the time flirting with a younger girl whose girlfriend had abandoned her to be with a boy she met there at the party. So the two of us passed the evening just talking in the living room of the house while the party raged in the basement below. It was not at all how I'd expected to spend the evening but I was smitten immediately."

Beatrix Zinn was a striking redhead with green eyes who looked more Irish than German, owing to her mother. She had pale white skin and was covered in freckles. Her personality was as fiery as her hair and she had wit to spare. Years of being picked on had made her soul strong and belligerent. She had a fire in her eyes Dan found irresistible.

"It took several months before I was able to persuade her to go out with me but once I did, we were inseparable. From that point on, I came home as many weekends as I could and she even came to stay with me a few times where I was stationed in the Army. I thought she was definitely the one but I was young and in no hurry. Plus, she was still in high school then. I don't think her parents cared much for me, especially her dad, but eventually I think I more or less won them over. We talked about marrying after she finished college but that was a long way off, as far as I was concerned, and I didn't think about it much. I was just having a good time."

"When I got out of the service, I moved in with my aunt Helen. I lived in her attic. It was small, but cozy and, best of all, free. Suddenly, Trixie and I were together all the time. Before that, I only saw her on weekends and the occasional week off here and there but I was used to having lots of time to myself. I thought that would be a problem but it wasn't. We just got closer and for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to feel happy. I hardly ever saw Rick and tried to time my visits to see mom when he wasn't around. My mother continued trying to manipulate me and we fought a lot, but I'd just think about Trixie and then it didn't bother me too much."

"Then we got the news that my mom's cancer had spread. She had a mastectomy about two years before that. They cut off her right breast and they seemed hopeful that they'd got it all. But it turned out they hadn't and it was now in her liver, lungs and other vital organs. They gave her less than a year to live so it was pretty depressing. Rick took it even weirder than the last time. When she'd been in the hospital for the breast cancer, he'd been unable to deal with it just stayed away, we never knew where. The one time he did visit, drunk of course, he got pissed off because she wouldn't eat the meatball sandwich he'd brought for it. Why he brought a meatball sandwich to the hospital will always be a mystery. Anyway, after chemotherapy, she was in no shape for meatballs. Rick's reaction was to throw it against the wall. First he unwrapped it, so the marinara sauce splattered on the wall and streaked down leaving an ominous mark that resembled blood. Rick sure was a compassionate guy, wasn't he?"

"So the second time, when she was told she was going to die, what did Rick do? He left her. Started going out with a nurse my mom worked with, she was a piece of work, too. She was a drunk, as well, so they had that in common. My mom was devastated by it and cried all the time. It was such an irredeemably shitty thing to do. Mom started leaning on me even more but I instinctively kept her at arm's length. For years before that we'd been fighting all the time as I struggled for my independence. So I should have been there for her more but it was hard to overcome a lifetime of our mother/son relationship difficulties. I just wasn't mature enough to really understand what was going on."

Dan's mother was able to spend her remaining months at home because she was a popular nurse at the hospital. Doctors and nurses volunteered their time to visit and care for her at home. The hospital donated a bed for the dining room as the end grew obviously closer. The family took turns staying with her so someone was always there for those rare times when she was lucid. It was during one of those times that it all ended badly. Dan and Trixie were at the house with MaryJo. She was sitting up and talking, being dramatic as usual. She was telling Trixie how when she was gone it would fall to her to take care of Dan. Dan was rolling his eyes. Rick burst in the bedroom brandishing a gun. It was the black .44 Magnum he'd bought himself years before. It had been locked in his gun cabinet in the basement and Dan guessed he'd come in through the storm cellar and up the basement steps quietly.

Dan continued. "He was drunk, of course, and waving the gun around, babbling incoherently. He wasn't making any sense so our efforts at trying to reason with him were getting nowhere. He was shouting about something or other and motioned Dan and Trixie out of the room." As soon as they were out of the room, Dan lunged for the phone in his old room and dialed 911, thrusting the receiver into Trixie's hand. She was screaming and scared. He shook her, saying, "snap out of it. Tell them what's going on."

Dan sped down the stairs to the basement and smashed the glass in the gun cabinet with his elbow. He grabbed a rifle and opened the bottom drawer, searching desperately for the right bullets. Sweat was dripping off his forehead. The seconds seemed like hours until he finally found the ammo and loaded the gun. A shot rang out from upstairs and he heard Trixie's scream. He raced up the stairs again two at a time with the loaded gun in his hand. He covered the two stories in record time. Down the long second floor hallway the bedroom door was shut. He considered his options as Trixie peered out from his bedroom door at the top of the stairs.

"What happened?" He asked.

She was still visibly shaking. "I don't know." She said timidly. "I gave the police the address and told them what was going on. Then I heard a shot while I was still on the phone. They heard it too and promised they were sending a car right away. I heard the door slam and it's been quiet since then."

Dan crept quietly toward the door, but Trixie held on to his shirt, trying to keep him from going. "What are you doing?" She cried softly. "Stay here, wait for the police." Her eyes were pleading with him.

"No, I can't. My mom is in there." He answered. "You get out of here. Go to the neighbors." Dan grew closer to the door but Trixie followed at a distance, as if in a trance. They could hear voices. Two voices. So they knew MaryJo was still alive, at least. Dan turned back to Trixie. "Get out of here." He said sternly, gesturing wildly with his hands. She started backing up to leave as Dan kicked in the door.

His stepfather was standing at the edge of the bed, still holding the pistol. His mother was crying but appeared otherwise unhurt. A bullet hole was in the wall above his mother's bed, maybe a foot or so higher than her head. Dan pointed the rifle at Rick and began shouting at him to drop the gun. His stepfather turned and pointed the .44 Magnum toward Dan and fired. The bullet whizzed by his head, missing him by what seemed like mere inches.

He stepped into the room, scared and shaking. Except for the guns, the scene was only too familiar in his family. His stepfather was shouting at him to drop the rifle and pointed the gun again at his mother. "I'll fucking kill her." Rick yelled. His mother began sobbing uncontrollably and Dan hesitated, but he didn't put down the gun. He kept it pointed at Rick. His stepfather had a wild look in his eyes. "Come on, boy. Shoot me." Rick shouted. "You don't have the guts, do you?"

Trixie appeared on her knees in the doorway. She was bleeding from the shoulder and her shirt was covered in blood. "No." She cried. "Please. Stop."

"Aw, how cute." Rick responded. Then he opened fire on Dan's mother, emptying the magazine into her body. The sound was deafening. His mother was dead in an instant. Rick then turned the gun toward Dan and pulled the trigger. Dan braced for the worst, dropping his gun. But his stepfather's pistol was empty. The only sound he heard was a metal click. A second later the sound of bullets rang out from behind them and Dan dropped to the floor, covering Trixie as best he could. It was the police. They shot Rick in the leg and his gun hand, forcing him to drop the pistol. His stepfather just laughed as they entered the room and handcuffed him.

An ambulance was there shortly and Dan went with Trixie to the hospital. She had gone into shock and wasn't talking, not that Dan could blame her. He could not shake the image of his mother riddled with bullets on her own bed, a river of blood trickling over the side, dripping on the hardwood floor below. It was an image that would haunt him for years to come.

on to Chapter 13

DAY FIVE: THURSDAY

2004-11-20T01:23:00.000-08:00

Thursday, November 4: Saint Americus Feast Day

In violence, we forget who we are, just as we forget who we are when we are engaged in sheer perception.

- Mary McCarthy, On the Contrary

All our knowledge has its origins in our perceptions.

- Leonardo Da Vinci

on to Chapter 12