***
CHAPTER 11
Surely she was already in the restaurant, waiting for me to come in to hear what she had to say.
I took a quick vow of resolve, and got out of the car to head into Franck's, just like I had done so many times before (although it was usually late at night/early in the morning ... and it was during the many months before I was a college graduate, which I could now call myself, as of hours ago).
I looked around the dining area, and spotted her off to the corner, sitting by herself, as expected. It looked like she had already gotten a drink, and she was fidgeting with the little piece of paper that had very recently been on the top of her straw.
Her nervousness was somehow comforting to me ... at least we were both unsure as to how this surprise luncheon would ultimately play out.
"Hello again." I made the first move, sitting down in the cushioned bankette across from the woman, settling in underneath the bright orange light.
"Hi. Thanks *so* much for coming! I already ordered my drink, but I wasn't sure what you wanted." She looked around the room and pointed to a lady across the way behind the counter. "She's ours."
"Great," was my only response. I picked up the menu and pored over it like it was my first time ever having seen it.
"So, what's good here?" she asked.
Small talk was not my forte. What was I supposed to say? That the soup of the day was only good until 7pm or so, and then it started to taste too much like the pot in which it had been sitting all day, and that the French Onion soup no longer tasted the best since the new line cook swapped out the former onions for the new onions (which tasted suspiciously like *old* onions, when it came right down to it)? Or that you could mix and match appetizers and have a fried food fest that would stop your heart if you were of a certain age or plaque status? Or that, for a small fee, they would add bacon to everything -- including the hot chocolate?
It just wasn't my style. I answered the only way I could ...
"Are you my mom?"
***
I should not have asked this lady across the table from me if she was my mother at the exact same time that she was taking a sip of her iced tea.
As much as I would have enjoyed a classic spit take reaction, hers was slightly more of the "I'm choking ... someone call someone ... now" variety. I made a mental note to investigate as to whether spit takes were simply a Hollywood fabrication, because this response had stuff coming out of her nose, and her grabbing for her napkin too slowly so she didn't succeed in stopping liquid from coming out of her mouth as well, dribbling down her chin and on to her blouse.
Determined to find the silver lining in everything as I was back then, the episode did bring our waitress running over to our table ... and although she did take the first minute or so to make sure that the woman who may or may not have been my mother was indeed not going to die before we paid our bill, she eventually got around to acknowledging that I was also now seated there, and she did inquire as to what I'd be drinking.
"Just a coke, please. That'll be fine."
And then off she went again, scurrying around the eatery.
I perceived it as a chance to return to my line of questioning ... except this time I made sure the woman was not about to drink.
"*Are* you my mother? Is that why you're here? Is that what this is all about?"
***
I shrugged my shoulders. As much as I wanted answers during this meal, I did not want to have to submit myself to a therapy session. I had done that often enough when I was younger, and I was all talked out.
"I don't really know much, other than that I'm a safe haven baby. I know that I was abandoned at a fire station and that's how I got in the system -- and that I never left it until I aged out of it, despite multiple attempts at normalcy."
The waitress returned with my drink, and set it down in front of me.
"You guys ready to order?" she asked.
"You first." I gestured toward the lady across from me, realizing that I hadn't even gotten her name in our interactions so far.
"I'll take a salad ... a chef salad ... with ranch dressing," she ordered.
The waitress turned to me. "And how about you, hon?"
"I'll take a club ... and if you could swap out the tomatoes for an extra row of bacon, that would be just swell."
"Sure thing, sweetie."
As she shuffled off, we had another awkward moment, with the both of us fidgeting with the rolled up silverware ... each of us unwrapping it, using the action as a way to focus on how we'd pick up the conversation. I realized that I had a point to make.
"Look, the truth be told, I've been a part of many families, but never felt like I had truly had one of my own. I got more affection out of the waitress just now than I did from any family member in any traditional sense. That's been my life ... and I'm okay with it. I adjusted just fine ... and I've managed to succeed and to overcome those obstacles. I did it my way ... in my style ... to my own standards ... and I'm content being me *without* a family. That's what I know, lady ..."
***
"Alan ... I can't begin to understand the life you've lived. I do know that you should be commended for what you've been able to accomplish. I can only guess that many who might have faced the challenges you faced would have crumbled under the stress."
I nodded in agreement as she continued.
"But I also know that we each start our lives a certain way ... with certain people ... who make certain decisions ... who most certainly set things in motion. What I'm offering is an opportunity for you to catch a glimpse into understanding how you came to be -- not what you've become. I couldn't be more proud of what you've become."
I'll give her this. She was definitely matching my indignation with a measured and reasoned response.
"Ultimately, though ... it comes down to you. I showed up today at your graduation because I thought you might want to know certain information. I've been planning this visit with you ever since your service trip was featured in the newspaper. But I don't want to force you into a place that you don't want to be. Just say the word ... I'll pick up the bill and you can get your sandwich to go ... and you can forget we've ever met."
She had given me an out. The ball was back in my court, so to speak. Except she had one more bon mot for me.
"I get that you can't ever unknow what I'm about to tell you, assuming you permit me to share it. So I completely understand that it's your decision. But I will say one more thing to help you make your choice and to put this all in perspective. My name, which I've never shared with you, is Audrey ... and I'm your aunt ... your father's sister."
***
Such was my less than classy response to the lady, whom I now knew to be Audrey, telling me that she was my aunt.
"Alan ... I know this is surprising information. But I assure you that it is accurate."
I felt as if I had been tricked. Only moments ago, she had allowed me an "out" ... a chance to leave without hearing any information from her. But now one tidbit had turned the tide. There was no way I could just walk away now.
"Are you going to stay? Do you want to know the full story?" she inquired.
Story. I thought about that word. To me, that's all this was. It wasn't my truth. It wasn't what I had lived. It wasn't what I had experienced in my life to date. It was a story ... a fairy tale ... a "once upon a time" ... wherein that "time" may or may not apply to my beginnings in the end.
What could it hurt? Why not hear a tale?
"I'm going to stay," I answered. "But I can't say for how long."
"Again ... I completely understand. You stop me when you've heard too much. I want to respect your wishes."
I nodded my head again so that she could see the permission I was granting her to begin. But to make a point, I decided to kick it off.
I looked her squarely in the eyes and intoned, "So ... once upon a time ..."
***
I had gotten my way, and I was making her share her information the way I wanted her too. Although, soon enough, that would no longer matter.
"Once upon a time, in a nearby town, lived your biological parents -- my brother and his wife. She had tried for awhile to get pregnant, and they were ecstatic when she finally was. However, all of that joy was soon replaced by concern, as she developed complications late in the second trimester."
I could have predicted that this story was not going to be a happy one.
"Your mother was on bed rest at the end, and the delivery itself continued to be problematic. As a matter of fact, your brother's arrival had her in so much pain ... your father could barely stay in the room."
I quickly interrupted. "Wait a minute. What? My *brother*? How many more people are there going to be in my insta-family?" I was trying to take this all in stride, but it was still somewhat incredulous to me that I was hearing all of this for the first time.
Audrey affirmed. "Yes, your brother ... your twin brother nearly killed your mother."
"My *twin*? I have a twin?"
"You do. And he's just a few minutes older. Then you came along. Your father said it was like night and day ... he said that all of the pain that she was in just disappeared, and during the second part of the birth -- your part -- she was so calm and peaceful."
Audrey looked down at her drink and stared into the glass.
"Which is why everyone was so surprised when she passed shortly after."
***
This lady who had crashed my graduation was my father's sister ... and I had a brother ... a TWIN brother.
But I didn't have a mother. She had died in childbirth ... or children-birth, I guess more accurately said, what with the fact that there were two of us. *Are* two of us. Maybe. She hadn't completed her tale yet. But before I could listen to any more, I had to first process the fact that my birth obviously took away my mother's pain in her final hour.
Could it be that this skill of mine was always there ... just latent? And that something about that trip to Florida triggered it? I had wondered that before ... maybe this was the proof that the flight with the severe turbulence had somehow shaken something loose in me. Although if that was the case, with regards to physical instead of emotional pain, I had tried to use it with Mario the bartender to see if I could heal his cut that night at the bar, and I had had no effect. Was it that I just didn't know how to control my new found skill? Or did I once have a power that I no longer had?
And ... bottom line ... if my birth was the last thing that happened before my mother died ... was I what killed her? Or was I what freed her from the pain -- like a mercy killing of some kind?
So many thoughts were running through my head ... I hadn't even notice that the waitress had stopped by with our food. She must have asked me a question, because she was standing there looking at me, seemingly waiting for a reply.
Whatever she had asked, she continued with a follow up question. "Are you okay, sweetie?"
I nodded my head and looked away, not wanting to risk the fact that I might break down by her show of affection, the little bit that it was.
She must have been satisfied by that kind of reply -- or else it was just too busy on shift -- as she let us alone again ... Audrey and I.
I stared at my sandwich, and said, in a low voice ... "My father. My brother. What happened to them?
***
And with that sentence, nothing would ever be the same again. The life I had crafted as an individual ... by myself ... beholden to no one ... gone, in that instant. I had worked so carefully to create a world in which I could live in my bubble, happy and content, bouncing through life where it took me, happy and carefree specifically because I wasn't accountable to any other person.
Gone. Bubble burst. Course correction to come. Destiny determined.
I had to know what became of them. I couldn't deny my curiosity ...
"Any more details to share?", I asked my recently discovered Aunt.
"A few. You should know that your father tried to take care of you and your twin. But he just couldn't deal with the extreme grief from having lost his wife during your birth ... and let's be honest ... he wasn't the type to seek out professional help, and so he probably had to deal with blaming the two of you."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
"Not that it was your fault!" she attempted to assure me. "Just that it's reasonable to step outside of the situation and to understand how he must have felt ... more alone than he had ever been in his life."
"And weren't you there to assist?" I queried.
"I tried. Believe me, I tried. I never had any children of my own, and I wanted nothing more than to be there for him ... and for you two ... but he pushed me away. I've come to understand how crippling depression can be ... so I've found a way to forgive him. But I couldn't help if he wouldn't let me help ... and he wouldn't let me help."
She took a bite of her salad, and then continued.
"And there is truth to what you were told. You were a safe haven baby. You both were -- just at different safe havens."
***
I was puzzled ... which for this conversation, was pretty much par for the course. "What do you mean?"
"Your father and I became estranged. One day he was there, and then, suddenly, he was gone. With the both of you. Never left a phone number ... or an address ... never sent a Christmas card ... never came to a family reunion ... just disappeared. I only know what I know because I ran into him on vacation once."
"On vacation?"
"Yep. In New Orleans. Out of the blue. I can still remember vividly what he looked like -- he had picked up the slightest southern accent and a rather dark tan. I was walking down Bourbon Street and it started raining, so I ducked into one of those crazy bars. And, there he was. From the way he acted, he had been sitting there all afternoon, because his speech was slurred and he was way past buzzed."
Something seemed off. It just was as if I was listening to the world's biggest coincidence. My aunt Audrey must have picked up on my skepticism.
"What's wrong?" she asked me.
"I don't know. It just seems so random, doesn't it?"
"Oh right ... I should explain. It was, indeed, vacation. But it was timed to a very specific date -- the twentieth anniversary of the car accident that killed our parents on *their* holiday in Louisiana. So although we hadn't coordinated our travel plans or anything ... and despite how shocked I was to see him right in front of me after he had just vanished from my life ... I have to say that I wasn't as surprised as I thought I was to run into him that weekend."
I shook my head. No wonder I was so happy to be separated from my actual biological family. They only had heartbreak to offer as an ancestral gift.
***
My newly discovered Aunt Audrey continued her story of how she had run into my biological father one time in New Orleans, long after they had become estranged.
"He told me how he tried for a few months to make it on his own, raising the two of you by himself after your mom died. But it was too much for him. And he was in too much grief to go looking for someone new to help him. Eventually, he just gave up."
I listened intently, eager to get confirmation about how I had entered the foster system.
"Apparently, it was your twin brother first ... he was more of a handful ... a truly unhappy child, the way your dad described it. He packed you both up and drove to Chicago and left him at a fire station in a safe haven spot. He tried two more months with you, but when no one tracked him down regarding what he had done in Chicago, he saw the easy way out and took you to Philly and did the same thing."
In my mind, that was the moment of truth that lent veracity to everything she had been saying. I didn't know much about my past, but being left at a safe haven was the one data point I did know ... and I had fully embraced growing up. For my own development, I had decided long ago that starting my life in a safe haven was my sign from the universe that I was supposed to do something with my existence. It had become my driving factor when I started to consider all of the horror stories of things that go wrong that I learned during my years in foster care ... and how I could have been left for dead instead -- or much worse.
Of course, it was true that I had shared my so called "safe haven identity" with my aunt when we first sat down for this surprise luncheon ... but she'd have to be some master improv story teller to weave it in to a fictional tale on the fly. I decided then and there that she was to be believed.
"So what else did he tell you?" I asked, now eager to learn as much as I could, since she had convinced me to buy in to her tale.
***
"Did you find out where he was living?" I contemplated whether I would even want to meet the man. But I felt as if I needed to have the information in case I decided that I did ... knowing full well that I needed time to process all of this.
My Aunt Audrey shook her head.
"Nope. Nothing from him. As a matter of fact, he just slipped away into the New Orleans night. I went to the bathroom ... and he was gone when I returned. I waited at the site of our parents' grave, expecting that I might run into him there, but he either skipped the visit to them ... or he went at a different time."
That statement reminded me of something I had wanted to ask earlier. "Speaking of grave sites, where's my Mom buried?":
Audrey paused. "That's another thing that seemed too perfect when I saw your photo in the paper in that article about your service trip ... she's in the cemetery up on the hill behind your college."
I'd never been a very spiritual person, but in that moment, there was a peace that washed over me in waves. I don't know how else to describe it ... but it was all light and warmth and goodness, and it was cradling me, comforting me.
I had always felt drawn to my school ... like I simply "had" to go there -- it's part of why I fought so hard for the scholarship that allowed me to attend a small private university in central Pennsylvania. I had just accepted the fact that the "need" was my drive ... my ambition.
For the first time in my life, I considered that maybe there was someone looking out for me ... bringing me to the place I needed to be ... someone who protected me by making sure that I was ... well ... close to her.
***
I mean I knew that I was *literally* talking with a random lady who had seen a random write-up of a random service activity I had done during my senior year of college ... and that the random lady had used that information to put together the details of my past that I had never known and had come to my graduation to meet me and to offer up the story of how I came to be. AND that the random lady wasn't random at all but was my biological father's sister. A biological father to which she had just made reference, in the same chat that had disclosed that I had a missing twin biological brother and a long dead biological mother.
BUT the information overload aspect of all that I was gleaning is what made it seem like this conversation had gone on forever ... because I was there asking questions and listening to her answers ... at the same time I wasn't there and was deep inside my head, trying to process everything. After all, withdrawing into a world of my own making was a tried and true proven effective defense mechanism for me that had served me well any time I was faced with too much to handle.
NOR was this just any moment to be learning this information. I was still feeling out my special skill, and I still had more questions than answers as to how it was triggered and how it was controlled and how it came to be in the first place. With this information, I knew I had to find these people from my past ... because I had to know if what I had was special ... or if what we were collectively was special. I had secrets in desperate need of unlocking ... and I now had individuals just out of reach that I instinctively knew held answers.
I looked up at my newly discovered Aunt Audrey, sitting across from me in the booth of the small town diner, and any doubts I had were vanquished. With resolve, I informed her, "I *must* locate them."
She glanced away and avoided my attempted eye contact. "I can't say that I didn't expect you might feel that way ... but I also have to say that I think that would be a very bad idea."
***
"Obviously this is your journey. And clearly I expected you to have the type of reaction that you'd want to explore more."
I didn't grab the envelopes right away ... but, to be truthful, she hadn't yet really released them from her grasp. I nodded my head in agreement while she continued.
"But I still want to caution you again about seeking more information. Your past doesn't have to be your present or your future. And what you know can't be unknown ... what you learn can't be unlearned ... what you find can't be unfound."
A small part of me took offense at the way this conversation had turned. After all, I wouldn't have known, learned or found *anything* about my past had she not sought me out in the first place. Her cautious admonitions seemed a little poorly placed in the overall scheme of things.
I was ready to end our discussion, so I reached out and pulled the envelopes from her fingers. "Why are there two of them?" I queried.
"One has information about your mom ... and the other about your dad and brother. When it comes down to it, I only have strong opinions about my side of the family."
***
And so I started my closing summary. "Well this day did *not* end in any way that I would have predicted."
"I know. I know. Believe me, I spent a lot of time debating with myself whether I would take any action. But it seemed like everything just fell into place in a way unexpected ... a way I couldn't exactly deny. I felt called to at least give you the choice." My Aunt Audrey seemed sincere enough. And hey ... if nothing else ... I now knew that she was the kind of person who had no interest in tempting fate.
"I do appreciate you reaching out. But I have a puppy waiting at home ... and, obviously, please know that I can't really speak as to when we'll meet again ... or what I'll do with this information ... should I even open up the envelopes you gave me."
"Of course. Completely understandable. To that point ... I put my contact information on the *outside* of the envelope about your dad ... another way that you can tell the two of them apart."
"By the way ... how much do I owe you for the meal?" I gestured to what were basically the props that had accompanied our discussion, seeing as how it was the secrets that had been consumed instead of what we ordered.
She answered without a second thought. "Oh ... nothing. Nothing at all. Consider it my graduation gift for you."
I got up from the booth, and so did she. We looked at each other, not exactly sure how to say our goodbyes.
"I hope, with some time, that you and I will speak again." I wouldn't say she lunged at me per se, but she did most certainly catch me off guard as she quickly closed the short distance between us, catching me in an awkward embrace.
I stiffened as I waited for the inevitable -- the onslaught of her memories ... after all, it was the first time we touched, and we had certainly exchanged a lifetime of pain in our short conversation. But to my surprise ... nothing happened.
Well -- not exactly nothing. She whispered into my ear, "If you choose to go after your father, just promise me that you won't let him touch you." Her embrace tightened. "Please promise me that!"
***
She repeated it one last time while she still had me in an embrace, but now even more earnestly than before.
As if by instinct, I shuddered -- accompanied by that feeling one gets when they say someone just stepped on your grave. I got all the symptoms simultaneously ... the nape hairs making their presence known, the shoulder shrug shimmy in an attempt to shake off the bad juju feeling, the internalization of creepiness that traveled the full course of my body's nervous system.
Every nerve ending felt the import ... every synapse in the system echoed the phrase, "Don't let him touch you."
As if for practice should my father and I ever meet, I broke off our contact. Ironically, I caught myself giving my Aunt Audrey the same blank but slightly quizzical stare that the people gave me after I absorbed their painful memories. I fought the urge to want to ask follow up questions and I let my desire to get out of the diner and end this interaction win out.
"I have to go," was all I could stammer. I grabbed the sealed envelopes and rushed to the exit, not glancing back for one moment. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn that the muzak in the restaurant had picked up the refrain ... "Don't let him touch you. Don't let him touch you. Don't let him touch you."
I collapsed into the driver's seat of my car, and blared the radio to drown out the words that were chasing me. With a deep breath, I gathered my thoughts and stared at the two envelopes in front of me ... the one with her contact information on the outside that was supposed to have held details about my twin brother and biological father ... and the other that was all I had regarding my confirmed dead biological mother.
I made my choice. I grabbed an envelope and ripped it open. Doing so, a picture fell out into my lap. A picture that meant my poor puppy dog at home would have to wait just a bit longer before we would be reunited on this day.
***
CHAPTER 12
I started the day simply enough, like dozens of others at my school, with a college graduation ... and now here I was seated in the front row at a prizefight like none other watching my past tangle with my present and my future.
It was my independence that was being battered. An independence I had embraced full throttle, an independence to which I had gravitated as a rallying point to conquer all the pain and doubt and hesitation I lived through as a child so alone, shuttered from place to place within the foster system, exposed oh so briefly on occasion to how the normal folks lived in things they called "families" but content to be myself -- empowered by my abnormal circumstances.
But now I had a mother. Literally -- had. She was gone.
But I also now had a father and a brother. And their fate was unknown to me. Yet fate, on this day when all the tenses came to play, had made their past existence known to me.
A twin -- no less. Someone out there who might have answers to the changes I had gone through in the last few months. A half of me ... presumably out there ... that might make me whole in some way I didn't know I was lacking.
When I woke up this morning, I was strong and independent ... and now I was being buffeted about by the thoughts that I was weak and dependent on the stories of others, currently barely known to me.
In frustration, I shoved all of the paperwork to the floorboard of the seat next to me ... hoping that the movement of clearing my lap would also serve to clear my mind.
In so doing, I noticed what I hadn't seen before. Falling out of the envelope was an unmistakable item. I could see it was a check ... but I couldn't quite make out the amount.
CHAPTER 12
I do believe that it was the first time I was holding a *picture* of a grave site.
And I know for sure that it was not the way I had expected my graduation day to end.
But there I was ... sitting in my car in the parking lot of the friendly small college town restaurant, knowing that I should have been headed home to let my puppy dog back outside ... but processing this latest bit of information that had fallen into my lap.
Quite literally, as it were ... seeing as how I had just opened the sealed envelope that my Aunt Audrey (whom I had only met that day) had given me about my biological mother (whom I had never met -- although to be fair, I had never met her as my birth is what put her in the ground -- well, my birth AND the birth just before me of my twin -- whom I had *also* never met and whom I had only discovered that he even existed within this last hour -- as a sign of how bizarre my day had been).
"First things first," I said to myself. And first was this photo ... coupled with the information that I had gotten during the meal that my mother had been buried in the cemetery overlooking the school from which I had just graduated. That other envelope ... about my father's side of the family ... that could wait.
And so could the puppy ... because I was off to visit a grave site. To see with my own eyes something tangible that would help me make sense of this fantastical turn of events. To confirm that my graduation day surprises were actual pieces from my past. A past that I had been content to not know about until this day.
A past that might shed some light into my present ... and might help me finally figure out more details about what had changed in my life since that trip to Florida -- this new super skill I had suddenly been demonstrating with anyone with whom I had come into contact. Someone somewhere had to have answers ... and so a graveyard was to be where I started my search.
And I know for sure that it was not the way I had expected my graduation day to end.
But there I was ... sitting in my car in the parking lot of the friendly small college town restaurant, knowing that I should have been headed home to let my puppy dog back outside ... but processing this latest bit of information that had fallen into my lap.
Quite literally, as it were ... seeing as how I had just opened the sealed envelope that my Aunt Audrey (whom I had only met that day) had given me about my biological mother (whom I had never met -- although to be fair, I had never met her as my birth is what put her in the ground -- well, my birth AND the birth just before me of my twin -- whom I had *also* never met and whom I had only discovered that he even existed within this last hour -- as a sign of how bizarre my day had been).
"First things first," I said to myself. And first was this photo ... coupled with the information that I had gotten during the meal that my mother had been buried in the cemetery overlooking the school from which I had just graduated. That other envelope ... about my father's side of the family ... that could wait.
And so could the puppy ... because I was off to visit a grave site. To see with my own eyes something tangible that would help me make sense of this fantastical turn of events. To confirm that my graduation day surprises were actual pieces from my past. A past that I had been content to not know about until this day.
A past that might shed some light into my present ... and might help me finally figure out more details about what had changed in my life since that trip to Florida -- this new super skill I had suddenly been demonstrating with anyone with whom I had come into contact. Someone somewhere had to have answers ... and so a graveyard was to be where I started my search.
***
I could say that suddenly the day grew overcast. That a storm blew in and a cold rain began to fall. That the clouds from the sky dropped directly into the graveyard to obscure my vision and to envelope me in their gloom.
But ... those would all be lies.
Instead, it was much the opposite. The sun shone brighter. The sky above got bluer. The clouds got smaller and fluffier and higher in the sky above.
I turned off my radio (somehow it seemed disrespectful to be blaring Men at Work's 'Down Under' from the 80's station to which I was listening), drove beyond the gates and followed the instructions that my aunt had provided for me. I wasn't alone on this pre-summer day ... a ceremony was happening in the chapel as I passed. I drove more slowly at that section, not to rubber-neck at the activities, but because I didn't want to accidentally run over someone who was overcome with grief. *That* would have been the irony to top all ironies.
I neared the spot where I was headed, and pulled off on the side of the path. Checking my notes, I inhaled until I felt a tightness in my chest, and then slowly let out the breath in an attempt to clear all thoughts from my head.
I got out of the car and reached back in the open window to grab my sunglasses, because the glare was unbearable. I counted five back in the row, which is where my mother's tombstone was to be, and started walking on the grass, being certain to step on the back side of the markers, so as not to be walking in the area where the coffins had been placed six feet beneath me.
I stopped at the third stone, because the dirt there was fresh. I peeked around at the front and confirmed that a lady had passed just a week ago. From the information on the gravestone, I saw that she outlived her husband by about a decade, and I wondered if she was happy to be reunited with the one she presumably loved. Graveyard reunions -- who would have thought that was the theme of the afternoon.
Then I moved on past the fourth stone and reached my destination ... the fifth one from the path. I stared at the back of the marble, temporarily hesitating ...
But ... those would all be lies.
Instead, it was much the opposite. The sun shone brighter. The sky above got bluer. The clouds got smaller and fluffier and higher in the sky above.
I turned off my radio (somehow it seemed disrespectful to be blaring Men at Work's 'Down Under' from the 80's station to which I was listening), drove beyond the gates and followed the instructions that my aunt had provided for me. I wasn't alone on this pre-summer day ... a ceremony was happening in the chapel as I passed. I drove more slowly at that section, not to rubber-neck at the activities, but because I didn't want to accidentally run over someone who was overcome with grief. *That* would have been the irony to top all ironies.
I neared the spot where I was headed, and pulled off on the side of the path. Checking my notes, I inhaled until I felt a tightness in my chest, and then slowly let out the breath in an attempt to clear all thoughts from my head.
I got out of the car and reached back in the open window to grab my sunglasses, because the glare was unbearable. I counted five back in the row, which is where my mother's tombstone was to be, and started walking on the grass, being certain to step on the back side of the markers, so as not to be walking in the area where the coffins had been placed six feet beneath me.
I stopped at the third stone, because the dirt there was fresh. I peeked around at the front and confirmed that a lady had passed just a week ago. From the information on the gravestone, I saw that she outlived her husband by about a decade, and I wondered if she was happy to be reunited with the one she presumably loved. Graveyard reunions -- who would have thought that was the theme of the afternoon.
Then I moved on past the fourth stone and reached my destination ... the fifth one from the path. I stared at the back of the marble, temporarily hesitating ...
***
Hesitation.
The action of pausing or hesitating before doing something.
Hesitating.
Pause before saying or doing something, especially through uncertainty.
Pause.
A temporary stop or rest, especially in speech or action.
Rest.
A state of motionlessness or inactivity, also the repose of death.
Death.
The reason I was in the graveyard hesitating and pausing in the first place. It had seemed like I had been staring at the back of the tombstone for a week, but I'm sure that only minutes had passed.
It was time for me to cross around to the front ... to meet my biological mother, as she lay there in "the repose of death".
The action of pausing or hesitating before doing something.
Hesitating.
Pause before saying or doing something, especially through uncertainty.
Pause.
A temporary stop or rest, especially in speech or action.
Rest.
A state of motionlessness or inactivity, also the repose of death.
Death.
The reason I was in the graveyard hesitating and pausing in the first place. It had seemed like I had been staring at the back of the tombstone for a week, but I'm sure that only minutes had passed.
It was time for me to cross around to the front ... to meet my biological mother, as she lay there in "the repose of death".
***
Strange thing, the graveyard.
I had been lucky enough to spend a semester abroad during my time before graduation, and I had witnessed those that did the picnic lunch amidst the gardens, as if the boxes of bones buried just beneath the grounds and the potential spirits out and about on the property were of no consequence to the overall spirit of the outing.
For that matter, I had actually played on a playground at one of my many elementary schools on abandoned gravestones ... the one massive crypt having served as base for tag one day or a ship for staying on and out of the surrounding "waters" on another ... the item incorporated into our juvenile imaginations without regard for those whom the tombstones were honoring.
Today was neither a picnic nor a game of tag. I was one of the only people in my particular section, although I had passed others on the way in, and I could see other guests of the cemetery -- living ones -- on the hills in the near distance.
Before I started building backstories for those I was observing, I recognized that I had distracted myself with my thoughts long enough.
The stone I had been seeking had been upkept for being as old as I was -- a calculation easy to make seeing as how I had just learned that the birth of my older twin brother and I had put her in the ground. Being the younger twin, that meant I came out last and so I was willing to take on most of the blame. Of course, all of this was made easy by the fact that I had no knowledge of these familial connections until earlier that afternoon.
I traced the letters of the name on the stone. The M, the A, the R, the Y. Mary. My mother's name was Mary. Mary Angelasia. Mary was my mother.
I stared silently at the stone, tracing the letters over and over again, almost as if compelled ...
I had been lucky enough to spend a semester abroad during my time before graduation, and I had witnessed those that did the picnic lunch amidst the gardens, as if the boxes of bones buried just beneath the grounds and the potential spirits out and about on the property were of no consequence to the overall spirit of the outing.
For that matter, I had actually played on a playground at one of my many elementary schools on abandoned gravestones ... the one massive crypt having served as base for tag one day or a ship for staying on and out of the surrounding "waters" on another ... the item incorporated into our juvenile imaginations without regard for those whom the tombstones were honoring.
Today was neither a picnic nor a game of tag. I was one of the only people in my particular section, although I had passed others on the way in, and I could see other guests of the cemetery -- living ones -- on the hills in the near distance.
Before I started building backstories for those I was observing, I recognized that I had distracted myself with my thoughts long enough.
The stone I had been seeking had been upkept for being as old as I was -- a calculation easy to make seeing as how I had just learned that the birth of my older twin brother and I had put her in the ground. Being the younger twin, that meant I came out last and so I was willing to take on most of the blame. Of course, all of this was made easy by the fact that I had no knowledge of these familial connections until earlier that afternoon.
I traced the letters of the name on the stone. The M, the A, the R, the Y. Mary. My mother's name was Mary. Mary Angelasia. Mary was my mother.
I stared silently at the stone, tracing the letters over and over again, almost as if compelled ...
***
"So how does this work?" I mused aloud, standing over my mother's grave. "Do I just start talking?"
Understandably, I got no reply.
"Well ... um ... my name is Alan and I'm your son. We've never met ... which I guess you know. I mean, assuming you know stuff after you're dead. Although, as I understand it, you had to at least know I existed ... since you died during our childbirth."
I paused to consider whether it was polite to bring up the death circumstances to the dead.
"So ... hey. I just found out I have a twin brother somewhere. Which, I guess you also probably already knew ... "
I wasn't sure what else to say.
"It's nice up here on the hill. Beautiful sunny day today. It's a very peaceful place, you know. They did right to put you here. Which I guess is a credit to my father. Oh yeah ... that too ... I just found out I have a father somewhere as well. Although ... I guess you already knew that, seeing as how he was the one who knocked you up in the first place."
Awkward ... sure ... but then I really wasn't expecting it to be any other way.
"Funny thing ... I ended up going to college right down there. These last few years ... we were actually really close and didn't know it. The whole time. You were here and I was there ... blissfully ignorant of this connection to my past ... my real past. It's kind of like you were watching over me. Come to think of it ... I guess that is something for which I should be thankful."
I was trying to force some kind of connection ... but none was happening. My mother was just a name on a stone, and I was just a crazy person attempting a conversation with an inanimate object ... on a beautiful day. Maybe the whole experience would have been different had I actually known the woman.
"Well I gotta go. Great talking with you. At you. Whatever."
That was the moment I decided that I was going to open the *other* envelope that my aunt had given me. Conversations with the dead ... not so productive. If I was going to process all of this new information successfully, I was bound and determined to have conversations with the living.
Understandably, I got no reply.
"Well ... um ... my name is Alan and I'm your son. We've never met ... which I guess you know. I mean, assuming you know stuff after you're dead. Although, as I understand it, you had to at least know I existed ... since you died during our childbirth."
I paused to consider whether it was polite to bring up the death circumstances to the dead.
"So ... hey. I just found out I have a twin brother somewhere. Which, I guess you also probably already knew ... "
I wasn't sure what else to say.
"It's nice up here on the hill. Beautiful sunny day today. It's a very peaceful place, you know. They did right to put you here. Which I guess is a credit to my father. Oh yeah ... that too ... I just found out I have a father somewhere as well. Although ... I guess you already knew that, seeing as how he was the one who knocked you up in the first place."
Awkward ... sure ... but then I really wasn't expecting it to be any other way.
"Funny thing ... I ended up going to college right down there. These last few years ... we were actually really close and didn't know it. The whole time. You were here and I was there ... blissfully ignorant of this connection to my past ... my real past. It's kind of like you were watching over me. Come to think of it ... I guess that is something for which I should be thankful."
I was trying to force some kind of connection ... but none was happening. My mother was just a name on a stone, and I was just a crazy person attempting a conversation with an inanimate object ... on a beautiful day. Maybe the whole experience would have been different had I actually known the woman.
"Well I gotta go. Great talking with you. At you. Whatever."
That was the moment I decided that I was going to open the *other* envelope that my aunt had given me. Conversations with the dead ... not so productive. If I was going to process all of this new information successfully, I was bound and determined to have conversations with the living.
***
Assuming my biological father and biological twin brother *were* alive, that is. Then, and only then could I converse with them.
Obviously.
This trip to my biological mother's grave had been a bust ... of sorts ... except that it had steeled my reserve to open up the other envelope that my aunt had just given me a few hours earlier. Even though it had been handed to me with a warning not to open it ... and that creepy "Don't let him touch you" admonition from her when she hugged me (without consequence regarding my new found special skill, I might add).
I strolled back to my car, glancing over my shoulder one last time at the grave. The sun was shining off the stone, causing it to glow with a brightness that made me reach for my shades. While true that I hadn't felt any connection standing there addressing the grave, I was leaving with an unexpected sense of positivity. A warmth I couldn't quite describe. A peace for a reason I couldn't quite put my finger on.
It was that feeling that would eventually bring me back time and again ... for although it was true that I had not experienced a connection, I had discovered a palate cleanser for my soul -- and my soul would be in a need of a cleansing many times beyond that date.
But -- to talk about that now would be to get ahead of myself.
*That* day, I had no way of knowing how many times I'd return. *That* day, I was just absorbing that emotion and filing it away.
And soon enough I was seated behind the wheel of my car, opening the "forbidden" second envelope and finding out more names of people in my gene pool that I had never known.
Obviously.
This trip to my biological mother's grave had been a bust ... of sorts ... except that it had steeled my reserve to open up the other envelope that my aunt had just given me a few hours earlier. Even though it had been handed to me with a warning not to open it ... and that creepy "Don't let him touch you" admonition from her when she hugged me (without consequence regarding my new found special skill, I might add).
I strolled back to my car, glancing over my shoulder one last time at the grave. The sun was shining off the stone, causing it to glow with a brightness that made me reach for my shades. While true that I hadn't felt any connection standing there addressing the grave, I was leaving with an unexpected sense of positivity. A warmth I couldn't quite describe. A peace for a reason I couldn't quite put my finger on.
It was that feeling that would eventually bring me back time and again ... for although it was true that I had not experienced a connection, I had discovered a palate cleanser for my soul -- and my soul would be in a need of a cleansing many times beyond that date.
But -- to talk about that now would be to get ahead of myself.
*That* day, I had no way of knowing how many times I'd return. *That* day, I was just absorbing that emotion and filing it away.
And soon enough I was seated behind the wheel of my car, opening the "forbidden" second envelope and finding out more names of people in my gene pool that I had never known.
***
Joseph.
My biological father was a Joseph. *Is* a Joseph.
Maybe. Unlike my mother's envelope, the one that I opened sitting in the car in the graveyard did not have a picture of a tombstone in it (hence the reason I was sitting in a car in the graveyard in the first place).
I stared at the photo that my aunt, his sister, had also included in the packet. For the second time that day, I was hoping for a connection and finding none. But at least I had a picture. Now if I ran into him in a bar in New Orleans like my aunt had done the last time she had ever seen him, I would recognize him. Probably -- assuming I wasn't binge drinking during my time there, as often happens in the Crescent City.
There was only a baby picture of my twin ... no adult photos, which made sense as my aunt had told me that he had been given up to a safe baby station in a firehouse in Chicago shortly after he was born (the event -- coupled with my arrival -- that killed my mom).
Two little babies ... me and my brother ... and on the flip side, the names Sinclair and Aloysius.
"Aloysius?" I couldn't not say the name out loud. Was this all a mix-up? Or had the foster system somehow changed my name to Alan at some point along the way?
"Al - o -wish -us." I pronounced each syllabus slowly and deliberately, getting used to the sounds.
"Al - o -wish- us. Ang -e - la -sia." I looked in the rear view mirror and said it again, as if to convince myself that I could claim it as my own, from that day onward.
"Aloysius Angelasia."
My biological father was a Joseph. *Is* a Joseph.
Maybe. Unlike my mother's envelope, the one that I opened sitting in the car in the graveyard did not have a picture of a tombstone in it (hence the reason I was sitting in a car in the graveyard in the first place).
I stared at the photo that my aunt, his sister, had also included in the packet. For the second time that day, I was hoping for a connection and finding none. But at least I had a picture. Now if I ran into him in a bar in New Orleans like my aunt had done the last time she had ever seen him, I would recognize him. Probably -- assuming I wasn't binge drinking during my time there, as often happens in the Crescent City.
There was only a baby picture of my twin ... no adult photos, which made sense as my aunt had told me that he had been given up to a safe baby station in a firehouse in Chicago shortly after he was born (the event -- coupled with my arrival -- that killed my mom).
Two little babies ... me and my brother ... and on the flip side, the names Sinclair and Aloysius.
"Aloysius?" I couldn't not say the name out loud. Was this all a mix-up? Or had the foster system somehow changed my name to Alan at some point along the way?
"Al - o -wish -us." I pronounced each syllabus slowly and deliberately, getting used to the sounds.
"Al - o -wish- us. Ang -e - la -sia." I looked in the rear view mirror and said it again, as if to convince myself that I could claim it as my own, from that day onward.
"Aloysius Angelasia."
***
Today was the day that all the tenses came to play.
I started the day simply enough, like dozens of others at my school, with a college graduation ... and now here I was seated in the front row at a prizefight like none other watching my past tangle with my present and my future.
Well, actually, I was seated in the front of my car at a graveyard by my mother's tombstone with information about my father and my twin brother scattered in my lap ... but metaphorically, I was in that other place, ducking and bobbing and weaving along with the onslaught I was witnessing.
It was my independence that was being battered. An independence I had embraced full throttle, an independence to which I had gravitated as a rallying point to conquer all the pain and doubt and hesitation I lived through as a child so alone, shuttered from place to place within the foster system, exposed oh so briefly on occasion to how the normal folks lived in things they called "families" but content to be myself -- empowered by my abnormal circumstances.
But now I had a mother. Literally -- had. She was gone.
But I also now had a father and a brother. And their fate was unknown to me. Yet fate, on this day when all the tenses came to play, had made their past existence known to me.
A twin -- no less. Someone out there who might have answers to the changes I had gone through in the last few months. A half of me ... presumably out there ... that might make me whole in some way I didn't know I was lacking.
When I woke up this morning, I was strong and independent ... and now I was being buffeted about by the thoughts that I was weak and dependent on the stories of others, currently barely known to me.
In frustration, I shoved all of the paperwork to the floorboard of the seat next to me ... hoping that the movement of clearing my lap would also serve to clear my mind.
In so doing, I noticed what I hadn't seen before. Falling out of the envelope was an unmistakable item. I could see it was a check ... but I couldn't quite make out the amount.
***
My newly discovered aunt had made no reference to a check when she shared the envelopes with me ... but clearly one had fallen out when I had pushed everything off of my lap and onto the floorboard of the seat next to me.
I couldn't make out the exact amount ... but I did notice that there were a lot of zeroes.
I picked up the check and read the number out loud. "Twenty. Thousand. Dollars."
My first thought -- that could put a dent in my soon-to-be-due student loan bills. Or replace this old car that had gotten me through my final years of school. Or switch to a different bigger apartment for me and Gator, my puppy dog.
Oh my. Gator my puppy dog. I had been so distracted by the events of the day, that I had nearly forgotten my pooch was at home, patiently waiting for my return. At least I hoped he was doing so patiently, as the side trip to the cemetery was unplanned and had extended my time away from him.
I needed to get back home right away. I re-gathered up the paperwork I had just strewn about, this time much more carefully, knowing then what I hadn't known before -- that the documents had a slightly higher value than I had first thought.
What I missed in my haste? The fact that the check wasn't written out just to me -- but to Aloysius AND Sinclair Angelasia.
I drove home occupied with visions of my financial plans dancing in my head. Plans that would never come to be -- but in those moments, the future was flush with financial possibilities, fantasy though they were.
I couldn't make out the exact amount ... but I did notice that there were a lot of zeroes.
I picked up the check and read the number out loud. "Twenty. Thousand. Dollars."
My first thought -- that could put a dent in my soon-to-be-due student loan bills. Or replace this old car that had gotten me through my final years of school. Or switch to a different bigger apartment for me and Gator, my puppy dog.
Oh my. Gator my puppy dog. I had been so distracted by the events of the day, that I had nearly forgotten my pooch was at home, patiently waiting for my return. At least I hoped he was doing so patiently, as the side trip to the cemetery was unplanned and had extended my time away from him.
I needed to get back home right away. I re-gathered up the paperwork I had just strewn about, this time much more carefully, knowing then what I hadn't known before -- that the documents had a slightly higher value than I had first thought.
What I missed in my haste? The fact that the check wasn't written out just to me -- but to Aloysius AND Sinclair Angelasia.
I drove home occupied with visions of my financial plans dancing in my head. Plans that would never come to be -- but in those moments, the future was flush with financial possibilities, fantasy though they were.
***
My puppy dog could have cared less that my status had changed from undergrad to graduate.
My puppy dog could have cared less that, over the course of the day that was finally ending, "our" family had grown by at least four members, albeit that one of them was confirmed to be no longer living.
My puppy dog could have cared less that I was returning home with much new information to process AND a check for $20,000. (Although, to be fair, if my puppy dog did have any sense of the value of money, I'm sure that he would have been dreaming of more treats ... more dinner bones ... more squeaky toys ..)
When I returned from my extended adventures of the day, the only thing my puppy dog cared about was that I had made it back and was right there in front of him. I knew, because I was attacked as soon as I slipped through the front door of my small college town apartment.
"Gator!" I yelled, seeing as how that was his name. "I missed you!"
He demonstrated that he had the same feeling by jumping up to my waist, repeatedly, catching my arms with his tiny talons, smiling in that way that only pit bulls can, yipping and nipping along the way.
"Calm down, boy. Calm down. I'm home."
The end result ... for the second time that late afternoon, the papers I had been carrying, as given to me by my aunt, one of those new family members, ended up scattered about my feet. For fear that they'd be trampled on, I quickly opened the door and guided the little ball of energy on to the front lawn.
Everything else in my life would have to wait ... as that is the way it goes when a puppy's got to pee!
My puppy dog could have cared less that, over the course of the day that was finally ending, "our" family had grown by at least four members, albeit that one of them was confirmed to be no longer living.
My puppy dog could have cared less that I was returning home with much new information to process AND a check for $20,000. (Although, to be fair, if my puppy dog did have any sense of the value of money, I'm sure that he would have been dreaming of more treats ... more dinner bones ... more squeaky toys ..)
When I returned from my extended adventures of the day, the only thing my puppy dog cared about was that I had made it back and was right there in front of him. I knew, because I was attacked as soon as I slipped through the front door of my small college town apartment.
"Gator!" I yelled, seeing as how that was his name. "I missed you!"
He demonstrated that he had the same feeling by jumping up to my waist, repeatedly, catching my arms with his tiny talons, smiling in that way that only pit bulls can, yipping and nipping along the way.
"Calm down, boy. Calm down. I'm home."
The end result ... for the second time that late afternoon, the papers I had been carrying, as given to me by my aunt, one of those new family members, ended up scattered about my feet. For fear that they'd be trampled on, I quickly opened the door and guided the little ball of energy on to the front lawn.
Everything else in my life would have to wait ... as that is the way it goes when a puppy's got to pee!
***
Exhaustion. Inebriation. Medication. Hospitalization.
But the greatest of these is exhaustion.
At least that's the way it worked with my ability to sleep *without* being chased by the characters involved in the painful memories that I had absorbed from the handful of people on whom I had practiced my newly learned special skill.
So long as one of those four tactics was employed, I could rest and benefit from that rest like normal people do.
Luckily for me, this day -- from start to finish ... from graduation to reunion with my puppy dog ... from blissful ignorance to stressful (partial) knowledge -- this day had taxed my mental faculties and worn down my physical abilities such that it didn't take long at all for me to doze off for the night, on the couch, puppy cuddled next to me.
As rarely happened since my trip to Florida when *this* had all started, I woke the next day refreshed and ready to create an action plan for my summer. With the $20,000 check in hand, I had decided that I could put off a job hunt, take time away from my internship, and commit to exploring my new found gift (assuming, of course, that a gift it was).
First errand of the day -- to the bank to secure my funding for these summer plans.
I waited my turn patiently, and approached the counter with deposit ticket filled out, like the good customer I was.
Sadly, my being prepared didn't get me very far at all. The counter person looked at her screen ... looked at the check ... flipped it over on the back to see my signature ... then looked at the amount before staring intently at her screen again.
"I'll be right back," she said mysteriously, and she disappeared to the back offices out of my sight.
But the greatest of these is exhaustion.
At least that's the way it worked with my ability to sleep *without* being chased by the characters involved in the painful memories that I had absorbed from the handful of people on whom I had practiced my newly learned special skill.
So long as one of those four tactics was employed, I could rest and benefit from that rest like normal people do.
Luckily for me, this day -- from start to finish ... from graduation to reunion with my puppy dog ... from blissful ignorance to stressful (partial) knowledge -- this day had taxed my mental faculties and worn down my physical abilities such that it didn't take long at all for me to doze off for the night, on the couch, puppy cuddled next to me.
As rarely happened since my trip to Florida when *this* had all started, I woke the next day refreshed and ready to create an action plan for my summer. With the $20,000 check in hand, I had decided that I could put off a job hunt, take time away from my internship, and commit to exploring my new found gift (assuming, of course, that a gift it was).
First errand of the day -- to the bank to secure my funding for these summer plans.
I waited my turn patiently, and approached the counter with deposit ticket filled out, like the good customer I was.
Sadly, my being prepared didn't get me very far at all. The counter person looked at her screen ... looked at the check ... flipped it over on the back to see my signature ... then looked at the amount before staring intently at her screen again.
"I'll be right back," she said mysteriously, and she disappeared to the back offices out of my sight.
***
"Mr. Adler?"
A supervisor of some kind had returned with the bank teller. The kind of supervisor who peered over the top of her glasses. The kind of supervisor that clearly was a hall monitor back in the innocent days when hall monitors didn't need to be packing heat in high schools and had all the power. The kind of supervisor who would have married the word "no" were that a plausible thing instead of a playground taunt.
"Yes. Right here." I affirmed my place at the window, but wasn't feeling overly optimistic about what was going to happen next.
"And where is ..." she paused to decipher the handwriting seeing as how the name was uncommon enough. "Aloysius? Where is he? Or she?"
"Yes. Also -- right here." I smiled in hopes that maybe I could charm my way to success.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Aloysius is my given name. But I go by Alan ... Adler. I have for most of my life." Another attempted smile on my part. Which was also ignored by the lady with the glasses.
"So ... you opened this account with an ID that listed what I guess is your alias. We're going to need to see documentation about this other name for us to process this item. Do you have that on you now? Or will you be returning at a later time?" The over-the-glasses glare informed me that the answer I was supposed to provide was the latter.
"Look, lady. I don't have that on me. I don't even have that at all. I was a foster child and I moved around from place to place so I've had a bunch of different last names in my short life. This is the one I settled on ... but that doesn't change the fact that I was born otherwise."
The foster child card. I was a little ashamed to play it, but $20,000 was on the line.
It didn't work though. "Well you'll need to track down some original documentation if you'd like to proceed."
Shot down. With more ordnance headed my way.
"And ... we have an additional problem."
A supervisor of some kind had returned with the bank teller. The kind of supervisor who peered over the top of her glasses. The kind of supervisor that clearly was a hall monitor back in the innocent days when hall monitors didn't need to be packing heat in high schools and had all the power. The kind of supervisor who would have married the word "no" were that a plausible thing instead of a playground taunt.
"Yes. Right here." I affirmed my place at the window, but wasn't feeling overly optimistic about what was going to happen next.
"And where is ..." she paused to decipher the handwriting seeing as how the name was uncommon enough. "Aloysius? Where is he? Or she?"
"Yes. Also -- right here." I smiled in hopes that maybe I could charm my way to success.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Aloysius is my given name. But I go by Alan ... Adler. I have for most of my life." Another attempted smile on my part. Which was also ignored by the lady with the glasses.
"So ... you opened this account with an ID that listed what I guess is your alias. We're going to need to see documentation about this other name for us to process this item. Do you have that on you now? Or will you be returning at a later time?" The over-the-glasses glare informed me that the answer I was supposed to provide was the latter.
"Look, lady. I don't have that on me. I don't even have that at all. I was a foster child and I moved around from place to place so I've had a bunch of different last names in my short life. This is the one I settled on ... but that doesn't change the fact that I was born otherwise."
The foster child card. I was a little ashamed to play it, but $20,000 was on the line.
It didn't work though. "Well you'll need to track down some original documentation if you'd like to proceed."
Shot down. With more ordnance headed my way.
"And ... we have an additional problem."
***
"What do you mean there is *another* problem?" I asked the disapproving bank employee who was still in possession of the check for twenty grand that I was trying to deposit into my account.
"Where, prey tell, is Sinclair?"
"Oh right. That's my twin brother. I just met him this weekend," I offered.
"At a minimum, he'll need to sign the check. More to our liking, we'd prefer if you use this item to open up an account in both of your names."
I contemplated whether it was worth bringing her up to speed on everything that had gone on these last few days. Before I could decide one way or the other, she continued.
"So ... it does look like we'll be seeing you again sometime soon. *With* your brother."
By her tone, I knew I was dismissed. But I thought I'd try one more protest.
"But lady ... I can't get in touch with my brother!"
The disapprover didn't even fully turn around. "Then I can't touch this check," she clucked.
The original teller whom she left behind was slightly more empathetic. "Maybe you can just get the person who wrote you the check to re-write it just for you with your portion of the funds?" she suggested.
"Thanks for that tip. *You* should be the supervisor, in my opinion. At least *you* understand customer service!"
That time, upon hearing my retort, the disapprover *did* spin all the way around and she watched me disapprovingly as I was handed my check and as I took my leave.
"Note to self," I muttered. "I should probably go to a different branch when I return ..."
"Where, prey tell, is Sinclair?"
"Oh right. That's my twin brother. I just met him this weekend," I offered.
"At a minimum, he'll need to sign the check. More to our liking, we'd prefer if you use this item to open up an account in both of your names."
I contemplated whether it was worth bringing her up to speed on everything that had gone on these last few days. Before I could decide one way or the other, she continued.
"So ... it does look like we'll be seeing you again sometime soon. *With* your brother."
By her tone, I knew I was dismissed. But I thought I'd try one more protest.
"But lady ... I can't get in touch with my brother!"
The disapprover didn't even fully turn around. "Then I can't touch this check," she clucked.
The original teller whom she left behind was slightly more empathetic. "Maybe you can just get the person who wrote you the check to re-write it just for you with your portion of the funds?" she suggested.
"Thanks for that tip. *You* should be the supervisor, in my opinion. At least *you* understand customer service!"
That time, upon hearing my retort, the disapprover *did* spin all the way around and she watched me disapprovingly as I was handed my check and as I took my leave.
"Note to self," I muttered. "I should probably go to a different branch when I return ..."
***
My hope of getting at least a *portion* of the $20,000 my aunt had slipped into the envelopes she had given me after graduation in the form of a check hadn't been completely dashed.
After all, the logical solution had been stated by the bank teller ... just get said aunt to rewrite the item so that A) it was in my current name instead of my birth name and B) my twin brother whom I didn't know wasn't included in the payout.
That being said, it was also true that I had only just met this lady over the weekend at my ceremony and I hadn't made any plans to connect back with her any time soon. But hey, if anything was going to change those plans, the possibility of the money was the thing.
Luckily for me, she had taken the time to write her contact information on one of the envelopes before we went our separate ways.
I ran a few more errands ... stopped to get a haircut, treated myself to a slurpee afterwards because I had been a good boy and hadn't fidgeted in the barber chair (a tradition from some foster family in my youth that I was still honoring years later), and spent some time wandering around the local big box pet supply store trying to find the right toy for my little guy at home.
Errands completed, I returned anxious to make the phone call to my newly discovered relative.
As had been the case since Gator joined me in my apartment, I left that which I had purchased in the car as I knew I first had to deal with his excitement about my coming back ... and that could go on for a few moments when I would need to have both hands free to deal with his enthusiasm.
I was not prepared for what I saw when I opened the door ... two magazines that had been on the coffee table ... ripped to shreds and strewn about the room. For the first time ... there was no puppy dog rushing to greet me.
After all, the logical solution had been stated by the bank teller ... just get said aunt to rewrite the item so that A) it was in my current name instead of my birth name and B) my twin brother whom I didn't know wasn't included in the payout.
That being said, it was also true that I had only just met this lady over the weekend at my ceremony and I hadn't made any plans to connect back with her any time soon. But hey, if anything was going to change those plans, the possibility of the money was the thing.
Luckily for me, she had taken the time to write her contact information on one of the envelopes before we went our separate ways.
I ran a few more errands ... stopped to get a haircut, treated myself to a slurpee afterwards because I had been a good boy and hadn't fidgeted in the barber chair (a tradition from some foster family in my youth that I was still honoring years later), and spent some time wandering around the local big box pet supply store trying to find the right toy for my little guy at home.
Errands completed, I returned anxious to make the phone call to my newly discovered relative.
As had been the case since Gator joined me in my apartment, I left that which I had purchased in the car as I knew I first had to deal with his excitement about my coming back ... and that could go on for a few moments when I would need to have both hands free to deal with his enthusiasm.
I was not prepared for what I saw when I opened the door ... two magazines that had been on the coffee table ... ripped to shreds and strewn about the room. For the first time ... there was no puppy dog rushing to greet me.
***
"Gator! Gator? Ga-tor?!"
I tried various versions of yelling out his name ... first by way of letting him know that I wasn't happy with the mess he had made with the shredded magazines in our hallway ... second by way of checking to make sure that he was still somewhere in the apartment, seeing as how he hadn't run to the door to greet me as per usual ... third, and finally, in a voice that attempted to mix cajoling with concern in that maybe he was missing and/or had been framed.
Happily, I found him on his pillow, and I would have sworn that he was "pretending" to be asleep.
"Gator ... what have you done?"
Understandably, he didn't answer or offer any explanation. As a matter of fact, he feigned surprise and acted as if I had woken him up, yawning and stretching and crawling over to me. If he could have spoken, I would have guessed that he would have had some elaborate story about how he had no idea about what had happened while I was away.
Of course, I had absolutely no ability to scold my puppy in any way whatsoever. In a completely zen moment ... I decided that it wasn't meant to be for me to have read those particular periodicals. It was that simple. I did my best to assure the little puppy that he needn't worry ... and figured that the best thing to do at this point would be to clean up the mess as an "out of sight out of mind" type solution.
During that clean up process is when I realized that he hadn't just chewed up the two magazines that were on the coffee table ... but also all of the paperwork and both of the envelopes that my aunt had given me earlier that day that I had placed on top of those magazines on that coffee table.
And that, in turn, meant that I no longer had access to the contact information she had written on the envelope ... which meant I was not going to be able to reach out to her to get a new check written for me consistent with my bank's requirements ... which meant that this had been a $20,000 doggie mistake.
Stunned by the realization, I also suddenly concluded that perhaps I should have had more sympathy for those who used the old excuse about how "the dog ate my homework" ... as I now had a new found respect for how that scenario could actually play out in real life.
I tried various versions of yelling out his name ... first by way of letting him know that I wasn't happy with the mess he had made with the shredded magazines in our hallway ... second by way of checking to make sure that he was still somewhere in the apartment, seeing as how he hadn't run to the door to greet me as per usual ... third, and finally, in a voice that attempted to mix cajoling with concern in that maybe he was missing and/or had been framed.
Happily, I found him on his pillow, and I would have sworn that he was "pretending" to be asleep.
"Gator ... what have you done?"
Understandably, he didn't answer or offer any explanation. As a matter of fact, he feigned surprise and acted as if I had woken him up, yawning and stretching and crawling over to me. If he could have spoken, I would have guessed that he would have had some elaborate story about how he had no idea about what had happened while I was away.
Of course, I had absolutely no ability to scold my puppy in any way whatsoever. In a completely zen moment ... I decided that it wasn't meant to be for me to have read those particular periodicals. It was that simple. I did my best to assure the little puppy that he needn't worry ... and figured that the best thing to do at this point would be to clean up the mess as an "out of sight out of mind" type solution.
During that clean up process is when I realized that he hadn't just chewed up the two magazines that were on the coffee table ... but also all of the paperwork and both of the envelopes that my aunt had given me earlier that day that I had placed on top of those magazines on that coffee table.
And that, in turn, meant that I no longer had access to the contact information she had written on the envelope ... which meant I was not going to be able to reach out to her to get a new check written for me consistent with my bank's requirements ... which meant that this had been a $20,000 doggie mistake.
Stunned by the realization, I also suddenly concluded that perhaps I should have had more sympathy for those who used the old excuse about how "the dog ate my homework" ... as I now had a new found respect for how that scenario could actually play out in real life.
***
Easy come ... easy go.
I had information ... and then it was gone ... part of the mess of shredded paper my puppy had left for me in the hallway.
I was back to square one.
Except I wasn't. It was more like square one and a half. Or maybe not a square at all .. maybe some other odd geometric shape like a squircle or a triquetra.
After all, I couldn't un-know what I had learned. But I also had lost access to my aunt's contact information and the hard copies of what she had shared with me about my unknown family members.
Except the check ... the check I couldn't cash ... but it *was* still in my possession, unlike the rest of the documents.
I had seen people unshred important papers that had been put through the machine, admittedly mostly on those shows that warned folks about how criminals could steal your identity, but still ... As it was, I knew that I didn't have the patience at that time to take on that kind of arts and crafts project. And, for all I knew, key pieces of what I was looking to recreate were in my puppy's tummy, never to be seen again.
I finished putting everything in the trash bag, and I sat it in the corner of the hall, knowing that I just wasn't prepared to make any decisions. What I wanted was to nap ... unhindered from any apparitions ... with a blank mind allowing my subconscious to come up with a new plan for the months ahead.
And the only way I could guarantee that would be to do so with medication. I took the puppy dog outside to do his business, and then headed straight for my Ambien supply.
Tomorrow would be another day ...
I had information ... and then it was gone ... part of the mess of shredded paper my puppy had left for me in the hallway.
I was back to square one.
Except I wasn't. It was more like square one and a half. Or maybe not a square at all .. maybe some other odd geometric shape like a squircle or a triquetra.
After all, I couldn't un-know what I had learned. But I also had lost access to my aunt's contact information and the hard copies of what she had shared with me about my unknown family members.
Except the check ... the check I couldn't cash ... but it *was* still in my possession, unlike the rest of the documents.
I had seen people unshred important papers that had been put through the machine, admittedly mostly on those shows that warned folks about how criminals could steal your identity, but still ... As it was, I knew that I didn't have the patience at that time to take on that kind of arts and crafts project. And, for all I knew, key pieces of what I was looking to recreate were in my puppy's tummy, never to be seen again.
I finished putting everything in the trash bag, and I sat it in the corner of the hall, knowing that I just wasn't prepared to make any decisions. What I wanted was to nap ... unhindered from any apparitions ... with a blank mind allowing my subconscious to come up with a new plan for the months ahead.
And the only way I could guarantee that would be to do so with medication. I took the puppy dog outside to do his business, and then headed straight for my Ambien supply.
Tomorrow would be another day ...
***
CHAPTER 13
Which was yet another puzzle piece that fell into place about why I was on this adventure.
CHAPTER 13
Looking back, I likely relied just a tad too much on my Ambien supply that week. Or was it two weeks? Or three? Thankfully, my puppy dog could "wake" me when he had to go outside, and I would let him out groggily, returning to my otherwise uninterrupted sleep without any trouble.
I mean, it's not like I just climbed into bed after my eventful graduation weekend activities and didn't leave it (besides the aforementioned puppy potty breaks). I did get some errands done.
For instance, I confirmed with my internship that I had had for my last semester at school, that I was not continuing for the summer. I said my goodbyes to those I knew in the office, ate the obligatory cupcakes, read the writings of my co-workers in the "good luck" card they passed around for me, and joked that they would now have to *pay* someone to do all the grunt work I had been doing for credit.
It might go without saying, but I also got my Ambien prescription refilled during that time.
In that vein, I also made it a point to not talk to anyone -- friend or foe -- about anything painful -- as that was easier than having to go through those days afraid that I might touch someone at the wrong time in the wrong way and get yet another batch of miserable memories uploaded into my noggin.
And I went to the bank on which that check from my aunt had been written, and got absolutely nowhere when it came to trying to find out *any* contact information for her (seeing as how what I had had had been destroyed by my puppy dog).
Oh -- and I put up signs around campus for anyone that was part of the summer community who might be available to puppy-sit said dog.
Because, I had decided, in between my hours spent in an Ambien haze, that I was going to embark on a road trip. First to Chicago, the last known place of the twin brother about whom I knew nothing ... and then to New Orleans, the last known place my biological father had been spotted.
I had mapped it out ... and I had enough savings to make it a trip of about a fortnight. But it had to be *without* the puppy, in order to get as much done in as little time for as small an expense as possible.
It would be sad to be separated from him for any length of time ... but I felt I had no choice. I *had* to pursue these leads to get peace of mind and to maintain my sanity. Or at least, the small amount of sanity to which I could still lay claim.
I mean, it's not like I just climbed into bed after my eventful graduation weekend activities and didn't leave it (besides the aforementioned puppy potty breaks). I did get some errands done.
For instance, I confirmed with my internship that I had had for my last semester at school, that I was not continuing for the summer. I said my goodbyes to those I knew in the office, ate the obligatory cupcakes, read the writings of my co-workers in the "good luck" card they passed around for me, and joked that they would now have to *pay* someone to do all the grunt work I had been doing for credit.
It might go without saying, but I also got my Ambien prescription refilled during that time.
In that vein, I also made it a point to not talk to anyone -- friend or foe -- about anything painful -- as that was easier than having to go through those days afraid that I might touch someone at the wrong time in the wrong way and get yet another batch of miserable memories uploaded into my noggin.
And I went to the bank on which that check from my aunt had been written, and got absolutely nowhere when it came to trying to find out *any* contact information for her (seeing as how what I had had had been destroyed by my puppy dog).
Oh -- and I put up signs around campus for anyone that was part of the summer community who might be available to puppy-sit said dog.
Because, I had decided, in between my hours spent in an Ambien haze, that I was going to embark on a road trip. First to Chicago, the last known place of the twin brother about whom I knew nothing ... and then to New Orleans, the last known place my biological father had been spotted.
I had mapped it out ... and I had enough savings to make it a trip of about a fortnight. But it had to be *without* the puppy, in order to get as much done in as little time for as small an expense as possible.
It would be sad to be separated from him for any length of time ... but I felt I had no choice. I *had* to pursue these leads to get peace of mind and to maintain my sanity. Or at least, the small amount of sanity to which I could still lay claim.
***
I knew I knew the voice on the other end of the line but yet I couldn't quite place it right away.
"I'm responding to your ad I saw in the student center about pet sitting. Did you hire someone yet?
Should I tell him that he was the first to call? Or imply that I was being selective? "I did not. If you're calling, I assume you're available for the whole two weeks?"
"I am indeed. I'm working on campus for the summer in the conference services. But I do have time free between the meals and can easily layer this in. You're leaving in two days?" he asked.
I was trying my darndest to put a face to the voice. It had to be somebody in one of my last round of classes. It was just there on the tip of my tongue.
"Correct. In two days. I have all the supplies you need. And I can pay you when I get back."
Delayed payment was not going to be an obstacle. "That's fine," he affirmed.
So far so good. If this worked out, I could cross off one of the most important things on my to-do list before the trip. Which reminded me ...
"Oops. Almost forgot the most important thing. I'm going to need to do a compatibility test. Can you come over sometime this afternoon?"
"Sure thing ... maybe around 3pm? Just give me your address."
I did ... and then I wrapped up the burgeoning oral contract ... "And your name?"
"Matt."
"Okay, Matt. I'll see you at 3pm."
It took me until three to put two and two together with this one ...
"I'm responding to your ad I saw in the student center about pet sitting. Did you hire someone yet?
Should I tell him that he was the first to call? Or imply that I was being selective? "I did not. If you're calling, I assume you're available for the whole two weeks?"
"I am indeed. I'm working on campus for the summer in the conference services. But I do have time free between the meals and can easily layer this in. You're leaving in two days?" he asked.
I was trying my darndest to put a face to the voice. It had to be somebody in one of my last round of classes. It was just there on the tip of my tongue.
"Correct. In two days. I have all the supplies you need. And I can pay you when I get back."
Delayed payment was not going to be an obstacle. "That's fine," he affirmed.
So far so good. If this worked out, I could cross off one of the most important things on my to-do list before the trip. Which reminded me ...
"Oops. Almost forgot the most important thing. I'm going to need to do a compatibility test. Can you come over sometime this afternoon?"
"Sure thing ... maybe around 3pm? Just give me your address."
I did ... and then I wrapped up the burgeoning oral contract ... "And your name?"
"Matt."
"Okay, Matt. I'll see you at 3pm."
It took me until three to put two and two together with this one ...
***
Matt showed up at 3pm ... and it turned out to be a three-way reunion of sorts.
[That's a reunion between three people, lest you let you mind wander some other direction.]
Meaning ... Matt already knew me ... and Matt already knew puppy dog Gator ... and we knew him ... as Mattie, the youngest of the group of us who were in Florida together over spring break a few months earlier.
"I *knew* I recognized your voice on the phone!" I greeted him as he arrived.
He nodded his head. "Funny thing. I had a hunch I knew you too, but couldn't quite make the connection."
Gator decided to take over the conversation at that point, jumping up over and over again until Matt/Mattie paid him proper attention.
"So it seems like he remembers you," I said. "No need to worry about it being a problem for your pet-sitting duties."
"Funny how that works. I think I only saw him that last night at the dinner." He paused. "Come to think of it ... I guess that's the last time I saw you too? How have you been?"
The question was accompanied by a look that let me know he must have heard about my recovery at some point.
"It's all good. I just had a little too much ... um ... "excitement" down in Florida. But it didn't keep me from graduating!" I offered, doing my best to change the subject.
He accepted the fact that he didn't need to ask any follow-ups. "I know what you mean. That party that last night was a doozy. So ... tell me ... what all do I need to know? When do you want me to start? Where's the food? How often does this little guy eat?"
[That's a reunion between three people, lest you let you mind wander some other direction.]
Meaning ... Matt already knew me ... and Matt already knew puppy dog Gator ... and we knew him ... as Mattie, the youngest of the group of us who were in Florida together over spring break a few months earlier.
"I *knew* I recognized your voice on the phone!" I greeted him as he arrived.
He nodded his head. "Funny thing. I had a hunch I knew you too, but couldn't quite make the connection."
Gator decided to take over the conversation at that point, jumping up over and over again until Matt/Mattie paid him proper attention.
"So it seems like he remembers you," I said. "No need to worry about it being a problem for your pet-sitting duties."
"Funny how that works. I think I only saw him that last night at the dinner." He paused. "Come to think of it ... I guess that's the last time I saw you too? How have you been?"
The question was accompanied by a look that let me know he must have heard about my recovery at some point.
"It's all good. I just had a little too much ... um ... "excitement" down in Florida. But it didn't keep me from graduating!" I offered, doing my best to change the subject.
He accepted the fact that he didn't need to ask any follow-ups. "I know what you mean. That party that last night was a doozy. So ... tell me ... what all do I need to know? When do you want me to start? Where's the food? How often does this little guy eat?"
***
There's a trade-off when you live in a small college town.
For the community, that is.
For the students, it's exactly where you want to be for that time in your life. Walking distance to almost everything you need ... a 24 hour convenience store on the counter, relatively cheap housing, a bar with loose ID-checking rules around the block, easy access to all kinds of activities -- athletic, academic, artistic.
For the community, there's a bit more noise at random hours of the day and night, and occasionally some morning-after signs of some wild nights ... a puddle of vomit here, a broken bottle there. But then again, there is that easy access to all kinds of activities -- athletic, academic, artistic.
Of course, those activities can create an unwanted side-effect that has to be dealt with by all parties -- community and students alike.
These were my rational and analytical thoughts as I drove up and down every street, trying desperately to find some empty parking spot that was close enough to my apartment that I wouldn't have to lug my luggage so many blocks when I left on my trip in the morning.
I had no idea what early summer activity on campus had brought every alum and every current student and every member of every nearby hamlet to my small college town on this night, but clearly our community's size had swelled to two or three times its number for some reason ... other than to interfere with my plans.
"Patience ..." I reminded myself.
"Patience and perseverance."
"Patience and perseverance and praying to the gods of parking."
I was seriously considering making my own spot anyway possible. After all, having finalized all the details (including my conversation with Mattie about puppy-sitting), my plan was to get on the road early in the morning and to be halfway to Chicago by nightfall.
Little did I know I'd be on the road soon enough ... just headed in the opposite direction.
For the community, that is.
For the students, it's exactly where you want to be for that time in your life. Walking distance to almost everything you need ... a 24 hour convenience store on the counter, relatively cheap housing, a bar with loose ID-checking rules around the block, easy access to all kinds of activities -- athletic, academic, artistic.
For the community, there's a bit more noise at random hours of the day and night, and occasionally some morning-after signs of some wild nights ... a puddle of vomit here, a broken bottle there. But then again, there is that easy access to all kinds of activities -- athletic, academic, artistic.
Of course, those activities can create an unwanted side-effect that has to be dealt with by all parties -- community and students alike.
These were my rational and analytical thoughts as I drove up and down every street, trying desperately to find some empty parking spot that was close enough to my apartment that I wouldn't have to lug my luggage so many blocks when I left on my trip in the morning.
I had no idea what early summer activity on campus had brought every alum and every current student and every member of every nearby hamlet to my small college town on this night, but clearly our community's size had swelled to two or three times its number for some reason ... other than to interfere with my plans.
"Patience ..." I reminded myself.
"Patience and perseverance."
"Patience and perseverance and praying to the gods of parking."
I was seriously considering making my own spot anyway possible. After all, having finalized all the details (including my conversation with Mattie about puppy-sitting), my plan was to get on the road early in the morning and to be halfway to Chicago by nightfall.
Little did I know I'd be on the road soon enough ... just headed in the opposite direction.
***
FINALLY ... a parking spot.
Although my whole goal of driving up and down every street in my small college town on "event" night of some kind was to try to get closer to my apartment was sadly not met.
I was practically at the opposite end of town ... but I was parked. Little victories.
As I walked the many blocks toward my place, I used the time to perform a mental checklist of the tasks that I had accomplished, and had yet to accomplish, for my trip to Chicago and back home -- via New Orleans of all places.
Gas tank filled in the car. Check.
Funds added to the automatic toll sensor. Check.
Key given to the pet-sitter. Check.
Bags packed and *already* in the car -- just cause that's how ready I was. Check.
Route mapped out on the interwebs and printed out to make sure I didn't get lost. Check.
Ideas jotted down for how I might begin to investigate the whereabouts of my biological twin brother and my biological father. Check.
Expectations managed that there was every possibility that I might return in a fortnight with no additional knowledge about those two individuals whom I had only recently learned existed in the first place. Check.
Come to think of it ... had I not been so engrossed in my mental task, I might have noticed the people that were sitting in the creepy white van parked in front of my place.
But I was ... and so I didn't ... and so it goes ...
Although my whole goal of driving up and down every street in my small college town on "event" night of some kind was to try to get closer to my apartment was sadly not met.
I was practically at the opposite end of town ... but I was parked. Little victories.
As I walked the many blocks toward my place, I used the time to perform a mental checklist of the tasks that I had accomplished, and had yet to accomplish, for my trip to Chicago and back home -- via New Orleans of all places.
Gas tank filled in the car. Check.
Funds added to the automatic toll sensor. Check.
Key given to the pet-sitter. Check.
Bags packed and *already* in the car -- just cause that's how ready I was. Check.
Route mapped out on the interwebs and printed out to make sure I didn't get lost. Check.
Ideas jotted down for how I might begin to investigate the whereabouts of my biological twin brother and my biological father. Check.
Expectations managed that there was every possibility that I might return in a fortnight with no additional knowledge about those two individuals whom I had only recently learned existed in the first place. Check.
Come to think of it ... had I not been so engrossed in my mental task, I might have noticed the people that were sitting in the creepy white van parked in front of my place.
But I was ... and so I didn't ... and so it goes ...
***
I hadn't remembered leaving the side gate open to the back yard.
In good news, it wasn't because I was starting to lose my mind or having the earliest onset of dementia ever to hit a just-graduated college student.
In bad news, it was because *I* hadn't left it open.
As I walked back into the darkness of the space between the row homes where I had my apartment, I was followed by the people I hadn't seen in the van parked on the front street and I was grabbed from behind.
"Are you going to help me?" said shadow 1 to shadow 2.
"I dropped one of my gloves. I thought I wasn't supposed to touch him without the glove?" was the reply.
As the person wrapped me tightly in a bear hug from behind, I could have attested to the fact that shadow 1 didn't need any help. I couldn't move. Neither individual asked me, though ... and I was too frightened at the sudden development to offer up any feedback.
"Get the pillow case over his head. Hurry up. Let's go!" barked out shadow 1 to his accomplice.
Just like that ... so quickly that I didn't have time to even try to fight back ... the darkness got darker and I was hooded before I could identify the pranksters.
Shadow 2 whispered menacingly in my ear ... "You owe us. So now you work for us."
As I was roughly guided out to the front street and placed in the van, I was racking my brain as to whom I was so indebted. Besides the obvious ... I did have my school loans. But they were supposed to be in a grace period having just graduated. And they were from the federal government ... not some loan shark.
As the van door slammed closed, the last thing I heard was Gator barking in the distance, clearly confused that I had come home but not made it in to let him.
And then the van, with shadow 1 and shadow 2 and me inside it, pulled away ...
In good news, it wasn't because I was starting to lose my mind or having the earliest onset of dementia ever to hit a just-graduated college student.
In bad news, it was because *I* hadn't left it open.
As I walked back into the darkness of the space between the row homes where I had my apartment, I was followed by the people I hadn't seen in the van parked on the front street and I was grabbed from behind.
"Are you going to help me?" said shadow 1 to shadow 2.
"I dropped one of my gloves. I thought I wasn't supposed to touch him without the glove?" was the reply.
As the person wrapped me tightly in a bear hug from behind, I could have attested to the fact that shadow 1 didn't need any help. I couldn't move. Neither individual asked me, though ... and I was too frightened at the sudden development to offer up any feedback.
"Get the pillow case over his head. Hurry up. Let's go!" barked out shadow 1 to his accomplice.
Just like that ... so quickly that I didn't have time to even try to fight back ... the darkness got darker and I was hooded before I could identify the pranksters.
Shadow 2 whispered menacingly in my ear ... "You owe us. So now you work for us."
As I was roughly guided out to the front street and placed in the van, I was racking my brain as to whom I was so indebted. Besides the obvious ... I did have my school loans. But they were supposed to be in a grace period having just graduated. And they were from the federal government ... not some loan shark.
As the van door slammed closed, the last thing I heard was Gator barking in the distance, clearly confused that I had come home but not made it in to let him.
And then the van, with shadow 1 and shadow 2 and me inside it, pulled away ...
***
You know how I was *just* saying that there are trade-offs when you live in a small college town?
So here's one to add to the list ... a young man could be basically kidnapped right off a side street during a busy event weeknight, grabbed from the shadows by two individuals *in* the shadows and thrown into a vehicle right out of stock casting for a "creepy white van" ... and no one would think anything of it.
Of course, I didn't know if anyone had actually seen any of what had just happened to me -- it did happen so so quickly.
But I'm just saying. Even if a neighbor ... or a visitor ... or a passer-by ... or even campus security for that matter ... *had* seen the events, they likely would have written it off as a harmless prank.
"Oh those silly college kids. Having such fun before they have any *real* responsibilities. Probably just one of those cute little hazing activities they do to bond better. Crazy kids. So hell-bent on having the times of their lives."
I could have listened to that fictional townsperson in my head for many more miles. After all, it was all I had to do, sitting on the floor of the van with a pillowcase over my head, gracious that I wasn't a claustrophobic chap. At some point between the bear hug and the hood and the being awkwardly thrown into the vehicle, my hands had been tied ... or bound ... or maybe they were handcuffed. They didn't feel like metal or cut into my wrists ... more like feathers on a feather duster. But regardless of *what* they were, I knew one thing ... they were effective.
The voice in my head coming up with excuses for what had just happened was drowned out by the sounds of industrial music ... kind of loud ... right in my ear.
I was clearly sitting next to the speaker ... and I immediately thought of how our government had employed musical torture in times past to force bad guys out of hiding.
I didn't know where we were headed ... but I was going to have to count the tunes to get a sense of time.
Oh those crazy college kids.
So here's one to add to the list ... a young man could be basically kidnapped right off a side street during a busy event weeknight, grabbed from the shadows by two individuals *in* the shadows and thrown into a vehicle right out of stock casting for a "creepy white van" ... and no one would think anything of it.
Of course, I didn't know if anyone had actually seen any of what had just happened to me -- it did happen so so quickly.
But I'm just saying. Even if a neighbor ... or a visitor ... or a passer-by ... or even campus security for that matter ... *had* seen the events, they likely would have written it off as a harmless prank.
"Oh those silly college kids. Having such fun before they have any *real* responsibilities. Probably just one of those cute little hazing activities they do to bond better. Crazy kids. So hell-bent on having the times of their lives."
I could have listened to that fictional townsperson in my head for many more miles. After all, it was all I had to do, sitting on the floor of the van with a pillowcase over my head, gracious that I wasn't a claustrophobic chap. At some point between the bear hug and the hood and the being awkwardly thrown into the vehicle, my hands had been tied ... or bound ... or maybe they were handcuffed. They didn't feel like metal or cut into my wrists ... more like feathers on a feather duster. But regardless of *what* they were, I knew one thing ... they were effective.
The voice in my head coming up with excuses for what had just happened was drowned out by the sounds of industrial music ... kind of loud ... right in my ear.
I was clearly sitting next to the speaker ... and I immediately thought of how our government had employed musical torture in times past to force bad guys out of hiding.
I didn't know where we were headed ... but I was going to have to count the tunes to get a sense of time.
Oh those crazy college kids.
***
My captors had clearly not through the song selection that had been blasting in my ear during the ride that had easily gone on now for hours.
I had started by counting the songs ... and then, as time progressed, counting the number of CD changes. If I hadn't miscounted, this was the sixth disc that was starting, and I figured that that put the three of us around four and half or five hours from my hometown in central Pennsylvania.
What I didn't know ... the general direction. Except I knew we had been on a major highway for hours, as we weren't dealing with sudden starts and stops like we would have been if we were on a road out of town with lots of traffic lights.
Other than due east (as we would have already driven into the Atlantic Ocean by then), and taking into account my general knowledge of the area, I figured we were either somewhere around southern Virginia ... or eastern Ohio ... or upstate New York. I secretly hoped that it was the eastern route. After all, I had already planned to leave town to go to Chicago ... and this little predicament in which I found myself was maybe saving me from having to drive myself.
Or maybe not. I had no way of knowing.
But I did have the dulcet tones of a singer of a song from my youth performing an uplifting rallying message in my ear to keep me engaged in my own survival.
Head like a hole.
Black as your soul.
I'd rather die than give you control.
Wherever we were going ... I was going to be ready when it came time to release me.
I had started by counting the songs ... and then, as time progressed, counting the number of CD changes. If I hadn't miscounted, this was the sixth disc that was starting, and I figured that that put the three of us around four and half or five hours from my hometown in central Pennsylvania.
What I didn't know ... the general direction. Except I knew we had been on a major highway for hours, as we weren't dealing with sudden starts and stops like we would have been if we were on a road out of town with lots of traffic lights.
Other than due east (as we would have already driven into the Atlantic Ocean by then), and taking into account my general knowledge of the area, I figured we were either somewhere around southern Virginia ... or eastern Ohio ... or upstate New York. I secretly hoped that it was the eastern route. After all, I had already planned to leave town to go to Chicago ... and this little predicament in which I found myself was maybe saving me from having to drive myself.
Or maybe not. I had no way of knowing.
But I did have the dulcet tones of a singer of a song from my youth performing an uplifting rallying message in my ear to keep me engaged in my own survival.
Head like a hole.
Black as your soul.
I'd rather die than give you control.
Wherever we were going ... I was going to be ready when it came time to release me.
***
"Hey ... I have to pee!"
Surely they should have expected me to raise the issue. After all, between that phrase and "are we there yet?", they had to be the two most common things that a kidnapped young one like me stuck on a multi-hour drive to an unknown destination would say after a certain point from the floor of the van on which he was seated.
I didn't get a reply and so I yelled a little louder.
"Hey you guys. I have to pee!"
The second time seemed to do the trick. The music was turned down a touch, such that I could actually hear shadow 1 and shadow 2 talking to each other.
Well -- kind of. I could definitely tell that the shadow boys were talking with each other, but I couldn't make out any of the conversation directly. That is, until the music stopped and one of the shadows yelled back at me, "Hold on. I'll be with you in a moment."
Then back to the music. Although this time I was doing my best to block it out completely.
Not because the flow of the melody was exacerbating my need to relieve myself ... but because I felt like I recognized that voice. Unlike a few days earlier, when the voice on the end of the phone line that I tried to recall ended up being my classmate Mattie, this one was someone else ... from somewhere else. There was a touch of an accent that sounded just familiar.
I did my best to put what had been said on a loop in my mind ... "Hold on. I'll be with you in a moment ... Hold on. I'll be with you in a moment ... Hold on. I'll be with you in a moment ..."
I almost didn't notice the music stop. Next, that voice again, this time not even in a complete sentence ... "Rest stop ahead."
And then ... right then ... I felt pretty certain that I could at least name *one* of my captors.
Surely they should have expected me to raise the issue. After all, between that phrase and "are we there yet?", they had to be the two most common things that a kidnapped young one like me stuck on a multi-hour drive to an unknown destination would say after a certain point from the floor of the van on which he was seated.
I didn't get a reply and so I yelled a little louder.
"Hey you guys. I have to pee!"
The second time seemed to do the trick. The music was turned down a touch, such that I could actually hear shadow 1 and shadow 2 talking to each other.
Well -- kind of. I could definitely tell that the shadow boys were talking with each other, but I couldn't make out any of the conversation directly. That is, until the music stopped and one of the shadows yelled back at me, "Hold on. I'll be with you in a moment."
Then back to the music. Although this time I was doing my best to block it out completely.
Not because the flow of the melody was exacerbating my need to relieve myself ... but because I felt like I recognized that voice. Unlike a few days earlier, when the voice on the end of the phone line that I tried to recall ended up being my classmate Mattie, this one was someone else ... from somewhere else. There was a touch of an accent that sounded just familiar.
I did my best to put what had been said on a loop in my mind ... "Hold on. I'll be with you in a moment ... Hold on. I'll be with you in a moment ... Hold on. I'll be with you in a moment ..."
I almost didn't notice the music stop. Next, that voice again, this time not even in a complete sentence ... "Rest stop ahead."
And then ... right then ... I felt pretty certain that I could at least name *one* of my captors.
***
To continue to distract myself from having to go to the bathroom, I explored this new development in my mind.
After all, if I *was* right and I *had* guessed one of my captors ... then what did he want with me ... and why would he go to such great lengths to see me again ... and who was the second shadow?
Assuming he was it, I could very much remember our last interaction. Making me feel more and more certain in my conclusion, I could recall that his last words to me were, literally, "You and I. We're not done talking about this."
Of course, I would have expected that the conversation would have happened in person (except I ended up in the hospital that night) ... or maybe even over the phone if it was *that* important to him (although it's not like I left my number when I closed out my bar tab).
But still ... travelling sixteen hours up the coast to hide in the shadows to cuff me and throw me in the van seemed a tad extreme of a way to guarantee that we'd chat again about the night I took his memories from him.
Sixteen hours. That also means that if I was right, we were only a third of the way through this particular trip. And that means my best guess was that we were somewhere near the border between Virginia and North Carolina.
On our way to Florida. Back to Florida.
For reasons unknown and very unclear.
The van slowed down, a sign to me that we had reached the rest stop. Now decision time for me ... do I tip my hand that I thought I knew ... or play dumb and see how far that would get me?
After all, if I *was* right and I *had* guessed one of my captors ... then what did he want with me ... and why would he go to such great lengths to see me again ... and who was the second shadow?
Assuming he was it, I could very much remember our last interaction. Making me feel more and more certain in my conclusion, I could recall that his last words to me were, literally, "You and I. We're not done talking about this."
Of course, I would have expected that the conversation would have happened in person (except I ended up in the hospital that night) ... or maybe even over the phone if it was *that* important to him (although it's not like I left my number when I closed out my bar tab).
But still ... travelling sixteen hours up the coast to hide in the shadows to cuff me and throw me in the van seemed a tad extreme of a way to guarantee that we'd chat again about the night I took his memories from him.
Sixteen hours. That also means that if I was right, we were only a third of the way through this particular trip. And that means my best guess was that we were somewhere near the border between Virginia and North Carolina.
On our way to Florida. Back to Florida.
For reasons unknown and very unclear.
The van slowed down, a sign to me that we had reached the rest stop. Now decision time for me ... do I tip my hand that I thought I knew ... or play dumb and see how far that would get me?
***
"So now what?" inquired Shadow 2 of Shadow 1.
His was the voice I didn't think I recognized. And his was the voice trying to figure out how we would execute my potty break now that we had apparently pulled into the rest stop by the side of the highway.
"It's late enough. As far as I can see, we're the only ones here. You're going to have to watch to make sure that no one else pulls in until he's done," was the reply.
"We should have just pulled over by the side of the road," complained the first voice.
"Eh. I don't know. I think that would have been even more conspicuous. And we're not heathens."
Kidnappers with a conscious. The best kind of kidnappers, in my humble opinion.
The guys left their seats and opened the van door.
"Oh right. We're going to have to uncuff him." stated Shadow 1. "And what about the hood? He's going to have to see to aim."
I decided it was time for me to add to the planning. I spoke through the pillowcase that was still over my head.
"Gentlemen. If I may ... really ... I just want to piss. I have no interest in running away seeing as how I'm a few hours from my home. I promise. Just let me pee in peace."
My attempt to contribute was met with silence, so I continued.
"Look. I have *no* idea what the end-game is here. But, again, I promise you ... I've done nothing but accommodate this ridiculous turn of events, so you can trust me to behave at this juncture. I'm not going to run. I'm not going to yell. I'm not going to carve a 'rescue me' message in the stall."
I may have said too much. I had a feeling that they didn't consider that I might be a stall-carver. I decided to play the only other card I had ...
His was the voice I didn't think I recognized. And his was the voice trying to figure out how we would execute my potty break now that we had apparently pulled into the rest stop by the side of the highway.
"It's late enough. As far as I can see, we're the only ones here. You're going to have to watch to make sure that no one else pulls in until he's done," was the reply.
"We should have just pulled over by the side of the road," complained the first voice.
"Eh. I don't know. I think that would have been even more conspicuous. And we're not heathens."
Kidnappers with a conscious. The best kind of kidnappers, in my humble opinion.
The guys left their seats and opened the van door.
"Oh right. We're going to have to uncuff him." stated Shadow 1. "And what about the hood? He's going to have to see to aim."
I decided it was time for me to add to the planning. I spoke through the pillowcase that was still over my head.
"Gentlemen. If I may ... really ... I just want to piss. I have no interest in running away seeing as how I'm a few hours from my home. I promise. Just let me pee in peace."
My attempt to contribute was met with silence, so I continued.
"Look. I have *no* idea what the end-game is here. But, again, I promise you ... I've done nothing but accommodate this ridiculous turn of events, so you can trust me to behave at this juncture. I'm not going to run. I'm not going to yell. I'm not going to carve a 'rescue me' message in the stall."
I may have said too much. I had a feeling that they didn't consider that I might be a stall-carver. I decided to play the only other card I had ...
***
"Mario." I said quietly. "You can trust me. I'm not looking to cause any trouble."
It's true what they say ... with certain senses impaired, your other ones get heightened. And I'm not talking in that special way related to what I could now do with my sense of touch under certain circumstances ... but just the fact that, since I had been hooded for nearly five hours, my hearing was extra-sharp.
The small intake of air I could only characterize as a mini-gasp ... the rustle of fabric that had to be an awkward shuffling of feet in a change of stance ... the silence between these shadow people who clearly did not know what to say next.
All of these things I heard ... and I concluded that they affirmed my hunch.
Finally ... from a distance that made me think they must have retreated a few steps ... shadow 2 spoke angrily to shadow 1 ... I mean ... to Mario.
"How did he figure it out? Did you let him touch you?"
Mario quickly snapped back, "Of course not. I used gloves the whole time. We didn't come into any contact."
In rapid fire response, the voice I didn't recognize spat out, "Maybe that doesn't matter? Maybe it doesn't work like we thought? Maybe we're in over our heads?"
Maybe exactly. Maybe this was my chance to talk myself out of this predicament. Maybe I could end this right here ... right now ... in this rest stop parking lot.
Before I could formulate a plan, Mario took charge. "No. We stay the course. We invested a *lot* into this strategy, and this is only the first step. He would have known it was us soon enough."
"Could be ... but I'm not ready to take that risk just yet. So *you* take him to the bathroom. And I'll stand guard," insisted shadow 1.
Mario sounded resigned. "Whatever. I'm not going to argue. We're wasting time and we have to do this before anyone else shows up."
With that, the pillowcase was taken off my head, and I was staring at the bartender I had met just weeks before during my service trip to Florida.
"Howdy," I said with a weak smile.
"Shut up. And follow me. No tricks. I'm *trusting* you, right?"
It's true what they say ... with certain senses impaired, your other ones get heightened. And I'm not talking in that special way related to what I could now do with my sense of touch under certain circumstances ... but just the fact that, since I had been hooded for nearly five hours, my hearing was extra-sharp.
The small intake of air I could only characterize as a mini-gasp ... the rustle of fabric that had to be an awkward shuffling of feet in a change of stance ... the silence between these shadow people who clearly did not know what to say next.
All of these things I heard ... and I concluded that they affirmed my hunch.
Finally ... from a distance that made me think they must have retreated a few steps ... shadow 2 spoke angrily to shadow 1 ... I mean ... to Mario.
"How did he figure it out? Did you let him touch you?"
Mario quickly snapped back, "Of course not. I used gloves the whole time. We didn't come into any contact."
In rapid fire response, the voice I didn't recognize spat out, "Maybe that doesn't matter? Maybe it doesn't work like we thought? Maybe we're in over our heads?"
Maybe exactly. Maybe this was my chance to talk myself out of this predicament. Maybe I could end this right here ... right now ... in this rest stop parking lot.
Before I could formulate a plan, Mario took charge. "No. We stay the course. We invested a *lot* into this strategy, and this is only the first step. He would have known it was us soon enough."
"Could be ... but I'm not ready to take that risk just yet. So *you* take him to the bathroom. And I'll stand guard," insisted shadow 1.
Mario sounded resigned. "Whatever. I'm not going to argue. We're wasting time and we have to do this before anyone else shows up."
With that, the pillowcase was taken off my head, and I was staring at the bartender I had met just weeks before during my service trip to Florida.
"Howdy," I said with a weak smile.
"Shut up. And follow me. No tricks. I'm *trusting* you, right?"
***
Not to sound sexist, but when I consider those who go to the bathroom in pairs, I tend to think of it as a frequently female arrangement.
Which just made this march to the rest stop restroom all the stranger to me.
To be clear, this was not a ploy ... I really really did have to pee. And I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that opportunity.
So march I did ... in silence ...
Although once we got in the men's room, I did have to speak up.
"Uhhhh ... Mario. I'm still in cuffs." I held up the fuzzy red handcuffs that were around my wrists. By the way -- proof in my mind that my kidnappers were amateurs, as it looked like one of them had raided his nightstand dresser drawer. That being said, that idea was the limit of what I wanted to think about regarding for what other purpose those cuffs had been used.
It was then I noticed the "hands free restroom" sign and I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. I mean, sure, it looked like the faucets and the hand dryer and even the door exit had all been outfitted with the latest devices that would satisfy the most anxious of germaphobes,
But as it related to the task at hand ... I was going to have to ... well ... use my hands.
"Damn it. I don't know why we even used those."
Sounded to me like the cuffs belonged to the as-yet-unnamed "other" shadow.
Mario announced the action plan. "You. Stay here. No funny stuff. I'm still 'trusting' you, got it? And, by the way, I don't want to hurt you. But we both know I could."
That fact wasn't in dispute. I nodded my head and Mario went running back to the van get the key to the handcuffs.
Which just made this march to the rest stop restroom all the stranger to me.
To be clear, this was not a ploy ... I really really did have to pee. And I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that opportunity.
So march I did ... in silence ...
Although once we got in the men's room, I did have to speak up.
"Uhhhh ... Mario. I'm still in cuffs." I held up the fuzzy red handcuffs that were around my wrists. By the way -- proof in my mind that my kidnappers were amateurs, as it looked like one of them had raided his nightstand dresser drawer. That being said, that idea was the limit of what I wanted to think about regarding for what other purpose those cuffs had been used.
It was then I noticed the "hands free restroom" sign and I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. I mean, sure, it looked like the faucets and the hand dryer and even the door exit had all been outfitted with the latest devices that would satisfy the most anxious of germaphobes,
But as it related to the task at hand ... I was going to have to ... well ... use my hands.
"Damn it. I don't know why we even used those."
Sounded to me like the cuffs belonged to the as-yet-unnamed "other" shadow.
Mario announced the action plan. "You. Stay here. No funny stuff. I'm still 'trusting' you, got it? And, by the way, I don't want to hurt you. But we both know I could."
That fact wasn't in dispute. I nodded my head and Mario went running back to the van get the key to the handcuffs.
***
Could I have Stockholm syndrome so soon?
I mean it was only a few hours into my captivity and here was the *perfect* opportunity to escape, yet I was standing still in the rest stop restroom, just waiting for my captor Mario to return with the key to the handcuffs.
Although, I guess it was more like an *imperfect* opportunity. After all, where would I go? Into the woods of the interstate ... with only the clothes on my back and the little bit of change in my pocket. I didn't have my wallet on me when I was snatched outside of my apartment, so I didn't even have any ID.
And who would believe me were I to find someone to offer assistance. What would I even say? "Ummm ... excuse me ... but a bartender I barely know from a first time trip to Florida that I just recently made and his helper whom I don't think I know at all have thrown me in a van and we're in the process of driving down the eastern seaboard for reasons not quite clear."
It would be more likely that I'd be laughed at then saved from my ordeal.
Let alone how I'd be received if I started talking about how I had a "special ability" and that seemed to be what was motivating everyone's behavior.
No ... instead ... I decided to ride this out a little longer and I would continue to play nice. Better the devil I was starting to get to know again than the one waiting for me in the unknown.
My internal debate over how to proceed was interrupted by Mario racing back into the rest room, clearly bothered.
"Lost the cuff key," I queried?
"Get in the handicapped stall. Now."
His urgency frightened me into action. Even more surprising, he followed me in and put his hand roughly over my mouth.
"Someone is coming. Not a word out of you until they're gone."
I mean it was only a few hours into my captivity and here was the *perfect* opportunity to escape, yet I was standing still in the rest stop restroom, just waiting for my captor Mario to return with the key to the handcuffs.
Although, I guess it was more like an *imperfect* opportunity. After all, where would I go? Into the woods of the interstate ... with only the clothes on my back and the little bit of change in my pocket. I didn't have my wallet on me when I was snatched outside of my apartment, so I didn't even have any ID.
And who would believe me were I to find someone to offer assistance. What would I even say? "Ummm ... excuse me ... but a bartender I barely know from a first time trip to Florida that I just recently made and his helper whom I don't think I know at all have thrown me in a van and we're in the process of driving down the eastern seaboard for reasons not quite clear."
It would be more likely that I'd be laughed at then saved from my ordeal.
Let alone how I'd be received if I started talking about how I had a "special ability" and that seemed to be what was motivating everyone's behavior.
No ... instead ... I decided to ride this out a little longer and I would continue to play nice. Better the devil I was starting to get to know again than the one waiting for me in the unknown.
My internal debate over how to proceed was interrupted by Mario racing back into the rest room, clearly bothered.
"Lost the cuff key," I queried?
"Get in the handicapped stall. Now."
His urgency frightened me into action. Even more surprising, he followed me in and put his hand roughly over my mouth.
"Someone is coming. Not a word out of you until they're gone."
***
He should have known better.
Maybe he did know better on some level ... but in the excitement of the moment ... fearing that this whole charade was about to be discovered by the strangers who were pulling into the deserted rest stop ... he didn't stop to think about the risk of making direct contact with me when he put his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.
Just like in his bar the last night of our service trip ... the night he got put on probation ... we were about to engage in a memory download.
I absorbed his fear first. A fear of being caught. A fear of a plan not working out. A fear that he had taken drastic measures and that the outcome might not be as he hoped and planned.
It was a potent cocktail -- his fear mixing with mine. And it couldn't have come at a worse time, what with the body's natural fight or flight response. We were supposed to be standing still in the relatively small space of the handicapped stall, silent so as not to blow our cover. Yet it was as if every ounce of adrenaline in my body's reserves was released and flooding through my system. I was literally trembling at the inability to take action.
It all happened so quickly, with both of us powerless to pull out of the moment. But I distinctly remember him becoming aware of his mistake ... much like had happened the last time we had this type of exchange ... and I watched him watching me watching him ... like the never-ending image when one angles a mirror into another mirror.
I had the upper hand, so to speak, in the situation. Not literally, seeing as how my hands were still in the cuffs ... but because I had been through this download-type experience at least a half dozen times compared to the fact that it was only the second time for Mario.
And so, stuck in that time between time during the transaction, I started to focus my energies to try to specifically seek out the kinds of memories that would clue me in to what was in store for me. I desperately attempted to sift through the synapses of his mind to identify the guy to whom I had been referring as "Shadow 2".
I was close ... so close ... and then the sound of the rest room door opening snapped us both into the present.
Maybe he did know better on some level ... but in the excitement of the moment ... fearing that this whole charade was about to be discovered by the strangers who were pulling into the deserted rest stop ... he didn't stop to think about the risk of making direct contact with me when he put his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.
Just like in his bar the last night of our service trip ... the night he got put on probation ... we were about to engage in a memory download.
I absorbed his fear first. A fear of being caught. A fear of a plan not working out. A fear that he had taken drastic measures and that the outcome might not be as he hoped and planned.
It was a potent cocktail -- his fear mixing with mine. And it couldn't have come at a worse time, what with the body's natural fight or flight response. We were supposed to be standing still in the relatively small space of the handicapped stall, silent so as not to blow our cover. Yet it was as if every ounce of adrenaline in my body's reserves was released and flooding through my system. I was literally trembling at the inability to take action.
It all happened so quickly, with both of us powerless to pull out of the moment. But I distinctly remember him becoming aware of his mistake ... much like had happened the last time we had this type of exchange ... and I watched him watching me watching him ... like the never-ending image when one angles a mirror into another mirror.
I had the upper hand, so to speak, in the situation. Not literally, seeing as how my hands were still in the cuffs ... but because I had been through this download-type experience at least a half dozen times compared to the fact that it was only the second time for Mario.
And so, stuck in that time between time during the transaction, I started to focus my energies to try to specifically seek out the kinds of memories that would clue me in to what was in store for me. I desperately attempted to sift through the synapses of his mind to identify the guy to whom I had been referring as "Shadow 2".
I was close ... so close ... and then the sound of the rest room door opening snapped us both into the present.
***
"Ca-caw! Ca-caw!"
*That* was the second sound after the first sound of the restroom door opening, interrupting the absorption of Mario's painful memories that had been occurring ... and just before I was getting to the stuff that would be most helpful to me.
Again, a bit louder. "Ca-caw! Ca-caw!"
Mario held his fingers to *his* lips this time, giving me the universal signal for staying in the state of "shut-up", as I had been all along, following his orders.
"M! Hey ... M! It's safe. It was two girls. And they left without getting out of the car."
Now that the voice was speaking, I recognized it to be Shadow 2.
Mario motioned for me to stay in the handicapped stall, and he slipped out and headed toward the door, where he continued the conversation.
"Ca-caw? What the hell is that? You could have whistled!" he suggested.
"I'm not whistling in a men's room," was the reply. "If we're going to be *any* good at this, we're going to need a code signal."
"Ca-caw will not be it," answered Mario.
I could sense a lightness to his tone -- which was to be expected and consistent with everyone else with whom I had interacted using my special skill.
Shadow 2 moved on. "Hey ... I'm getting out of here so you can finish this up and we can get on the road. Like I said out there, I'm not about to show my face until I have to. I'll leave the pillowcase on the curb for you."
But there's a funny thing about public restrooms -- lots of mirrors. I moved my head to the crack of the stall door, and in the reflections, I saw Shadow 2 clearly.
*That* was the second sound after the first sound of the restroom door opening, interrupting the absorption of Mario's painful memories that had been occurring ... and just before I was getting to the stuff that would be most helpful to me.
Again, a bit louder. "Ca-caw! Ca-caw!"
Mario held his fingers to *his* lips this time, giving me the universal signal for staying in the state of "shut-up", as I had been all along, following his orders.
"M! Hey ... M! It's safe. It was two girls. And they left without getting out of the car."
Now that the voice was speaking, I recognized it to be Shadow 2.
Mario motioned for me to stay in the handicapped stall, and he slipped out and headed toward the door, where he continued the conversation.
"Ca-caw? What the hell is that? You could have whistled!" he suggested.
"I'm not whistling in a men's room," was the reply. "If we're going to be *any* good at this, we're going to need a code signal."
"Ca-caw will not be it," answered Mario.
I could sense a lightness to his tone -- which was to be expected and consistent with everyone else with whom I had interacted using my special skill.
Shadow 2 moved on. "Hey ... I'm getting out of here so you can finish this up and we can get on the road. Like I said out there, I'm not about to show my face until I have to. I'll leave the pillowcase on the curb for you."
But there's a funny thing about public restrooms -- lots of mirrors. I moved my head to the crack of the stall door, and in the reflections, I saw Shadow 2 clearly.
Which was yet another puzzle piece that fell into place about why I was on this adventure.
***
If I was thinking straight, I would have figured out this puzzle long before the reflection in the mirror of the person to whom I referred as "Shadow 2" informed me as to which guy was assisting Mario with all of this.
Although hindsight being 20-20 and all, maybe it only became obvious when I caught the glimpse of him.
My *own* memories ... as opposed to the ones of those with whom I had come into contact (literally) ... came rushing back to me from that final night in the bar in Florida.
Mario had all but predicted that this would be the scenario some day. He warned me that this guy had been coming in looking for me every night since I had gotten mixed up in his baby daddy drama. He was the one who first told Mario about what I could do, before Mario got to experience it himself.
"Angry Texter" was in the house. Well, in the rest stop rest room. Well, in the doorway of the rest stop rest room because he didn't want me to know that he was part of this criminal activity.
I felt like I had accomplished something. Ironically, I had only swapped one nickname for another, seeing as how I never did know "Angry Texter"'s name that night in the bar. But, moving forward, he was no longer the stranger known as Shadow 2. He was the *near*-stranger known as "Angry Texter". The one who got drunk in the bar and had his girlfriend break up with him because he was rumored to be the father of her sister's baby. The one who blatantly lied about being the one who knocked her up .. but who did actually do the deed, as I discovered when I downloaded his memories that night after I accidentally got mixed up in a bar fight. The one who was my second "victim", so to speak.
To think how my life would have been different had I not spent the night at that drinking establishment a few months before ...
Although hindsight being 20-20 and all, maybe it only became obvious when I caught the glimpse of him.
My *own* memories ... as opposed to the ones of those with whom I had come into contact (literally) ... came rushing back to me from that final night in the bar in Florida.
Mario had all but predicted that this would be the scenario some day. He warned me that this guy had been coming in looking for me every night since I had gotten mixed up in his baby daddy drama. He was the one who first told Mario about what I could do, before Mario got to experience it himself.
"Angry Texter" was in the house. Well, in the rest stop rest room. Well, in the doorway of the rest stop rest room because he didn't want me to know that he was part of this criminal activity.
I felt like I had accomplished something. Ironically, I had only swapped one nickname for another, seeing as how I never did know "Angry Texter"'s name that night in the bar. But, moving forward, he was no longer the stranger known as Shadow 2. He was the *near*-stranger known as "Angry Texter". The one who got drunk in the bar and had his girlfriend break up with him because he was rumored to be the father of her sister's baby. The one who blatantly lied about being the one who knocked her up .. but who did actually do the deed, as I discovered when I downloaded his memories that night after I accidentally got mixed up in a bar fight. The one who was my second "victim", so to speak.
To think how my life would have been different had I not spent the night at that drinking establishment a few months before ...
***
Success! I knew exactly who had kidnapped me ... Mario and the man formerly known as the Angry Texter.
Fail! I still had absolutely no idea why I was in this predicament.
Bigger fail! I had been in the restroom now for quite a few minutes and I had yet to actually pee.
Biggest fail! I was still in the handcuffs, so despite being in the stall in the restroom, I still couldn't do much.
"Mario!" I yelled. "The cuffs! Come on!"
"Oh right. Completely forgot."
Mario stuck his head out the door to call after Angry Texter ... "Hey ... what about the key?"
I could just make out the reply. "I don't have it. But haven't you ever been in those? They break apart really easy ... He should just have to yank it once really good."
And so, had anyone walked into the rest room, they would have seen Mario, standing outside the handicapped stall, yelling in at me, "Just yank it once really hard!"
Thankfully, no one captured that embarrassing scene ... and just as thankfully, one hard tug on the cheap fuzzy red handcuffs and off they came. If only I had had been more adventurous in college when it came to my hookups, I could have been uncuffed much earlier.
But hey ... I was just happy to be able to turn my bigger fail and biggest fails into successes (figuring out what was ahead would have to become my *next* challenge).
Fail! I still had absolutely no idea why I was in this predicament.
Bigger fail! I had been in the restroom now for quite a few minutes and I had yet to actually pee.
Biggest fail! I was still in the handcuffs, so despite being in the stall in the restroom, I still couldn't do much.
"Mario!" I yelled. "The cuffs! Come on!"
"Oh right. Completely forgot."
Mario stuck his head out the door to call after Angry Texter ... "Hey ... what about the key?"
I could just make out the reply. "I don't have it. But haven't you ever been in those? They break apart really easy ... He should just have to yank it once really good."
And so, had anyone walked into the rest room, they would have seen Mario, standing outside the handicapped stall, yelling in at me, "Just yank it once really hard!"
Thankfully, no one captured that embarrassing scene ... and just as thankfully, one hard tug on the cheap fuzzy red handcuffs and off they came. If only I had had been more adventurous in college when it came to my hookups, I could have been uncuffed much earlier.
But hey ... I was just happy to be able to turn my bigger fail and biggest fails into successes (figuring out what was ahead would have to become my *next* challenge).
***
Song lyrics ... literary quotes ... famous proverbs ... pithy sayings ...
You hear them once and you file them away, and if you're lucky, you have a life experience where one of them rings truer than it ever did before and it becomes so memorable that you carry it with you for a lifetime.
That was indeed the situation I was in.
The quote was from "The Scarlet Letter". I was pretty sure that I had to write a paper about it during a class at some point in my schooling. A paper that I would have had to completely rewrite based on the experience I had in the rest stop rest room that night.
The quote? "She had not known the weight until she felt the freedom."
The situation? I was finally free to urinate.
Pee I did ... and afterwards, I had a new appreciation for Hester and her removal of her scarlet letter. Appreciation that neither she nor Nathaniel Hawthorne could have ever foreseen.
Epiphany had and bladder emptied, I added "hands washed" to the list of activities I had just completed, and I turned to Mario, who was waiting by the door, and I readied myself to face the second part of this journey, surely to Florida, but for exact reasons still unknown.
You hear them once and you file them away, and if you're lucky, you have a life experience where one of them rings truer than it ever did before and it becomes so memorable that you carry it with you for a lifetime.
That was indeed the situation I was in.
The quote was from "The Scarlet Letter". I was pretty sure that I had to write a paper about it during a class at some point in my schooling. A paper that I would have had to completely rewrite based on the experience I had in the rest stop rest room that night.
The quote? "She had not known the weight until she felt the freedom."
The situation? I was finally free to urinate.
Pee I did ... and afterwards, I had a new appreciation for Hester and her removal of her scarlet letter. Appreciation that neither she nor Nathaniel Hawthorne could have ever foreseen.
Epiphany had and bladder emptied, I added "hands washed" to the list of activities I had just completed, and I turned to Mario, who was waiting by the door, and I readied myself to face the second part of this journey, surely to Florida, but for exact reasons still unknown.
***
CHAPTER 14
Which was my cue to offer up an alternative plan ...
CHAPTER 14
As I walked back from the rest stop rest room, just a few steps behind Mario, I decided it was time to take stock of my situation. After all, there was no rule that kidnap victims such as myself couldn't be organized.
Without a doubt, the first thing that came into my mind was my puppy dog back home in my apartment in central PA and how lucky I was to have been taken by these two on the night before I had been planning my two week trip to Chicago and New Orleans, meaning that I had already arranged for a dog sitter.
My stress level would have been that much higher if I was stuck thinking about him being left alone without supervision or care during my ordeal.
Instead, I could rest knowing that Mattie would stop by in the morning and would be taking care of Gator for the next two weeks.
Of course, that also meant that no one would even think of me as missing for a fortnight, which was problematic in and of itself.
So back to taking stock, and back to the pro column: I had identified my captors, and made a very good guess at my destination ... i.e. back to Florida. And most importantly, in case you missed it, I had peed. And in the process, broken the cheap handcuffs in which I had spent the first five hours of the ride.
I pondered what I should next make a priority, besides the task of getting back in the skeevy skeezy sleazy white van.
As we approached the curb, Mario pointed to the pillowcase that was on it just where Angry Texter had told him he would put it.
"Back in the hood, I guess," he said, without much conviction.
Without a doubt, the first thing that came into my mind was my puppy dog back home in my apartment in central PA and how lucky I was to have been taken by these two on the night before I had been planning my two week trip to Chicago and New Orleans, meaning that I had already arranged for a dog sitter.
My stress level would have been that much higher if I was stuck thinking about him being left alone without supervision or care during my ordeal.
Instead, I could rest knowing that Mattie would stop by in the morning and would be taking care of Gator for the next two weeks.
Of course, that also meant that no one would even think of me as missing for a fortnight, which was problematic in and of itself.
So back to taking stock, and back to the pro column: I had identified my captors, and made a very good guess at my destination ... i.e. back to Florida. And most importantly, in case you missed it, I had peed. And in the process, broken the cheap handcuffs in which I had spent the first five hours of the ride.
I pondered what I should next make a priority, besides the task of getting back in the skeevy skeezy sleazy white van.
As we approached the curb, Mario pointed to the pillowcase that was on it just where Angry Texter had told him he would put it.
"Back in the hood, I guess," he said, without much conviction.
Which was my cue to offer up an alternative plan ...
***
Time to take charge. A small bit.
"Lookit, Mario. If the hood is to keep me from seeing the other guy, I already saw him in the reflection of the mirror back there. And if it's to keep me from seeing where we're going, it doesn't take much to guess that it's Florida," I offered as a counter to his half-hearted directions to re-hood myself.
He motioned for me to wait a moment, and walked up to the passenger side window.
"Hey Albert ... he knows it's you, so I think we can do away with the hood."
So he whom I knew previously as Angry Texter and more recently as Shadow 2 was named Albert. That was actually new information for me, stored away for some future filing of a police report, I thought to myself.
Albert stayed in the seat, but I could tell from his tone that he wasn't pleased. "Did you let him get that out of you in there? I thought we agreed no physical contact until we got him safely in his room."
That turned out to be a rhetorical question, as Mario and I both discovered, because he continued his condescending complaint.
"I can't stress enough to you. We. Have. A plan. Which, by the way, requires us to not take any chances ... or to go off script at any time. If you won't do it for me then I hope you think of your sick sister any time you want to improvise ... and that that stops you in your tracks."
Mario bristled, and I could see his forearms tighten as he clenched his fists holding on to the van door through the open window. "Hey idiot-dick. He saw you in the mirror. I didn't tell him anything."
Then the jaw clench. All of the stress I had just removed for him via my trick had returned.
"And *don't* bring up my sister."
He started walking back toward me, where I was just standing there taking it all in -- dissension in the ranks especially.
"I *know* the plan!" he shouted back over his shoulder. "And the hood is no longer needed."
He glared at me now, and pointed me in the direction of the sliding side door of the van.
"Lookit, Mario. If the hood is to keep me from seeing the other guy, I already saw him in the reflection of the mirror back there. And if it's to keep me from seeing where we're going, it doesn't take much to guess that it's Florida," I offered as a counter to his half-hearted directions to re-hood myself.
He motioned for me to wait a moment, and walked up to the passenger side window.
"Hey Albert ... he knows it's you, so I think we can do away with the hood."
So he whom I knew previously as Angry Texter and more recently as Shadow 2 was named Albert. That was actually new information for me, stored away for some future filing of a police report, I thought to myself.
Albert stayed in the seat, but I could tell from his tone that he wasn't pleased. "Did you let him get that out of you in there? I thought we agreed no physical contact until we got him safely in his room."
That turned out to be a rhetorical question, as Mario and I both discovered, because he continued his condescending complaint.
"I can't stress enough to you. We. Have. A plan. Which, by the way, requires us to not take any chances ... or to go off script at any time. If you won't do it for me then I hope you think of your sick sister any time you want to improvise ... and that that stops you in your tracks."
Mario bristled, and I could see his forearms tighten as he clenched his fists holding on to the van door through the open window. "Hey idiot-dick. He saw you in the mirror. I didn't tell him anything."
Then the jaw clench. All of the stress I had just removed for him via my trick had returned.
"And *don't* bring up my sister."
He started walking back toward me, where I was just standing there taking it all in -- dissension in the ranks especially.
"I *know* the plan!" he shouted back over his shoulder. "And the hood is no longer needed."
He glared at me now, and pointed me in the direction of the sliding side door of the van.
"Get in!"
***
"Wait!"
Mario stopped me just as I was climbing in to the van. I was afraid that the "win" I just had gotten in not needing to wear the pillowcase was about to be taken away from me.
"Dammit. Stay put."
Part of me wished that my puppy Gator was here to witness the obedient behavior I was modelling. But the bigger part of me was happy knowing that he was at home, just a few hours away from the sitter coming to take care of him. I was sure he was sad that I hadn't returned as expected the night before, and I knew that Mattie was going to have to clean up a mess or two to start of his two weeks of being responsible for my dog.
Mario walked back to the passenger seat and gruffly continued the conversation he had tried to emphatically end moments before. "What about the cuffs? Those flimsy ones are broken."
Albert replied, matching the tone. "Hood or not ... I don't care. But he needs to be cuffed. We're going to have stop for gas for the van as soon as we see a station ... and there's going to be at least one or two more times we'll need to pull over before we arrive. I want him tied up."
Mario sighed in exasperation. "Agreed. Did you pack the zip ties that I suggested we use in the first place instead of your stupid sex cuffs?"
"Check the bin in the back," was the less than enthusiastic response.
Mario rummaged through a plastic bin that I had apparently been sitting next to, locating the restraints and carefully placing them around my wrists so as not to make actual physical contact with me.
He reviewed his handiwork and gave me a half-hearted smirk. "Okay. *Now* get in."
I settled into my spot and did not call attention to the fact that he had forgotten to put the headphones on my head that I had worn for the first few hours of this drive.
Mario stopped me just as I was climbing in to the van. I was afraid that the "win" I just had gotten in not needing to wear the pillowcase was about to be taken away from me.
"Dammit. Stay put."
Part of me wished that my puppy Gator was here to witness the obedient behavior I was modelling. But the bigger part of me was happy knowing that he was at home, just a few hours away from the sitter coming to take care of him. I was sure he was sad that I hadn't returned as expected the night before, and I knew that Mattie was going to have to clean up a mess or two to start of his two weeks of being responsible for my dog.
Mario walked back to the passenger seat and gruffly continued the conversation he had tried to emphatically end moments before. "What about the cuffs? Those flimsy ones are broken."
Albert replied, matching the tone. "Hood or not ... I don't care. But he needs to be cuffed. We're going to have stop for gas for the van as soon as we see a station ... and there's going to be at least one or two more times we'll need to pull over before we arrive. I want him tied up."
Mario sighed in exasperation. "Agreed. Did you pack the zip ties that I suggested we use in the first place instead of your stupid sex cuffs?"
"Check the bin in the back," was the less than enthusiastic response.
Mario rummaged through a plastic bin that I had apparently been sitting next to, locating the restraints and carefully placing them around my wrists so as not to make actual physical contact with me.
He reviewed his handiwork and gave me a half-hearted smirk. "Okay. *Now* get in."
I settled into my spot and did not call attention to the fact that he had forgotten to put the headphones on my head that I had worn for the first few hours of this drive.
***
You know, the fact that he, one of the kidnappers, had forgotten to put the headphones back on me, the kidnapped, might have had more import if there was something to overhear on this leg of the journey.
Turns out that the tête à tête between Mario and Albert had been a conversation chiller, and so, like in childhood when the parents were fighting and drives were in silence, Albert started out his passenger window and Mario drove down the highway without a word.
Of course, that's how I heard others talk about their parents. I had been passed around foster arrangements too many times for "wordless drives" to raise to the level of the types of crises in which I always found myself. Although this was my first kidnapping .. so there was that.
During the night, I recall that we stopped twice -- once to fill the tank with gas, and a second time when my captors switched places so that the other could drive so the original driver could nap.
Which, by the way, is exactly what I tried to do, dozing off in fits and starts but never getting quite comfortable enough to really sleep. Half awake ... half asleep ... at least I wasn't haunted by any of the nightmares that I had experienced in the past.
I'm sure they glanced back at me throughout the drive, but seeing as how I wasn't acting up in any form or fashion, they basically paid me no attention. And they said barely a word, so I learned nothing new about their plans for me.
It was the early light of dawn and I had finally gotten in a position where I thought I might actually fall all the way asleep ... it was then that the phone rang. Not mine, mind you, as it was still back home in my apartment, where I had left it charging as I ran my errands the night before ... the errands from which I had been returning when I was snatched.
But the phone of someone in the front seat ... and it provided me the first chance for me to overhear, even if just the one side of the conversation.
"Hello Jorge," said Albert, almost, dare I say, sweetly. "Are you guys on the ship yet?"
Turns out that the tête à tête between Mario and Albert had been a conversation chiller, and so, like in childhood when the parents were fighting and drives were in silence, Albert started out his passenger window and Mario drove down the highway without a word.
Of course, that's how I heard others talk about their parents. I had been passed around foster arrangements too many times for "wordless drives" to raise to the level of the types of crises in which I always found myself. Although this was my first kidnapping .. so there was that.
During the night, I recall that we stopped twice -- once to fill the tank with gas, and a second time when my captors switched places so that the other could drive so the original driver could nap.
Which, by the way, is exactly what I tried to do, dozing off in fits and starts but never getting quite comfortable enough to really sleep. Half awake ... half asleep ... at least I wasn't haunted by any of the nightmares that I had experienced in the past.
I'm sure they glanced back at me throughout the drive, but seeing as how I wasn't acting up in any form or fashion, they basically paid me no attention. And they said barely a word, so I learned nothing new about their plans for me.
It was the early light of dawn and I had finally gotten in a position where I thought I might actually fall all the way asleep ... it was then that the phone rang. Not mine, mind you, as it was still back home in my apartment, where I had left it charging as I ran my errands the night before ... the errands from which I had been returning when I was snatched.
But the phone of someone in the front seat ... and it provided me the first chance for me to overhear, even if just the one side of the conversation.
"Hello Jorge," said Albert, almost, dare I say, sweetly. "Are you guys on the ship yet?"
***
"I heard the weather is going to be beau-TI-ful."
It was as if Angry Texter ... I mean Albert ... had a different personality. His tone, his inflection, his way of pronouncing words ... every single aspect of this phone call on which I was eavesdropping was out of sorts to me.
"Did you already have to pick your excursions?"
As much as I was hoping that this call with someone named Jorge would at some point provide me with clues about what I would be facing once we arrived in southern Florida, it seemed like it was just going to be small talk instead. Clearly, Jorge was about to go on a cruise, and not as clearly, Albert was likely his travel agent.
"Are you going to need someone to pick you up when you get back? I'm really sorry that I couldn't take you guys this morning, but I just wanted to spend more time with my family, after my grandma's funeral and all."
Funeral? Ummm ... unless he was multi-tasking when he came up to central PA to kidnap me, there wasn't any dead grandmother that was part of this trip. Even though he didn't sound like the guy I barely knew, he was acting like the lying snake I suspected him to be -- willing to pretend to kill off a relative in order to get out of taking someone to the start of their vacation.
"Three weeks on a boat, with nothing but drinking and sunning and more drinking! Now *that* sounds relaxing. Maybe you can take me next time?"
Unless I missed my mark, Albert was being coy with this Jorge.
"Well ... you guys have a great time. And don't worry, I'll take care of the bar while you're gone. I'm expecting to get in tonight before midnight, and I'm planning on going right there before I go home to make sure no mice are playing while you're away ..."
It was as if Angry Texter ... I mean Albert ... had a different personality. His tone, his inflection, his way of pronouncing words ... every single aspect of this phone call on which I was eavesdropping was out of sorts to me.
"Did you already have to pick your excursions?"
As much as I was hoping that this call with someone named Jorge would at some point provide me with clues about what I would be facing once we arrived in southern Florida, it seemed like it was just going to be small talk instead. Clearly, Jorge was about to go on a cruise, and not as clearly, Albert was likely his travel agent.
"Are you going to need someone to pick you up when you get back? I'm really sorry that I couldn't take you guys this morning, but I just wanted to spend more time with my family, after my grandma's funeral and all."
Funeral? Ummm ... unless he was multi-tasking when he came up to central PA to kidnap me, there wasn't any dead grandmother that was part of this trip. Even though he didn't sound like the guy I barely knew, he was acting like the lying snake I suspected him to be -- willing to pretend to kill off a relative in order to get out of taking someone to the start of their vacation.
"Three weeks on a boat, with nothing but drinking and sunning and more drinking! Now *that* sounds relaxing. Maybe you can take me next time?"
Unless I missed my mark, Albert was being coy with this Jorge.
"Well ... you guys have a great time. And don't worry, I'll take care of the bar while you're gone. I'm expecting to get in tonight before midnight, and I'm planning on going right there before I go home to make sure no mice are playing while you're away ..."
***
"Take care! Ciao!"
Albert turned to Mario to fill him in on the rest of the call that he had just taken, oblivious to the fact that I could hear everything.
"So that's all fallen into place. With one surprise ... they took Julio with them on the cruise, so we're going to need to replace his shot-boy shifts all week. Do you think you can talk one of your buddies from the gym to fill in?"
Mario nodded his head. Although hours had passed, it was clear that there was still a bit of tension between them.
So Albert continued, although admittedly more to himself at that point. "Julio. Go figure. I didn't even know he was into that kind of thing. I mean I thought it was all for show at the bar."
Mario muttered under his breath, "Some people will do just about anything for money."
"Yeah. Nice try. Not taking the bait. So ... otherwise, everything is on track. You're sure the delivery is going to be when you said?"
Mario answered tersely, "I know of no reason that anything would have changed. But until we get back into town, I'm obviously out of the loop."
That was it ... the extent of what I was given. Even though there was little to go off of overtly, I replayed every word over and over again, searching for clues, and after finding none, storing away what I had heard for a time when they would all make more sense.
The biggest unanswered question on my mind ... why it was that I was needed for this plan whose status was apparently "on track".
Albert turned to Mario to fill him in on the rest of the call that he had just taken, oblivious to the fact that I could hear everything.
"So that's all fallen into place. With one surprise ... they took Julio with them on the cruise, so we're going to need to replace his shot-boy shifts all week. Do you think you can talk one of your buddies from the gym to fill in?"
Mario nodded his head. Although hours had passed, it was clear that there was still a bit of tension between them.
So Albert continued, although admittedly more to himself at that point. "Julio. Go figure. I didn't even know he was into that kind of thing. I mean I thought it was all for show at the bar."
Mario muttered under his breath, "Some people will do just about anything for money."
"Yeah. Nice try. Not taking the bait. So ... otherwise, everything is on track. You're sure the delivery is going to be when you said?"
Mario answered tersely, "I know of no reason that anything would have changed. But until we get back into town, I'm obviously out of the loop."
That was it ... the extent of what I was given. Even though there was little to go off of overtly, I replayed every word over and over again, searching for clues, and after finding none, storing away what I had heard for a time when they would all make more sense.
The biggest unanswered question on my mind ... why it was that I was needed for this plan whose status was apparently "on track".
***
Oops ... almost forgot.
The call between Albert and Jorge wasn't the only one on which I got to eavesdrop during that part of the long drive from PA to FLA during the first full day of my captivity.
At some point later in the morning Mario also answered his phone, but the difference that time was that he played it a little more close to the vest, not because he was afraid I would hear what he was saying (seeing as how they both still thought that I had the headphones on that had blocked my hearing during the first hours of the trip) ... but more because it sounded even more personal in nature and unrelated to whatever was unfolding (or so I thought at that time).
What I could make out that he was going to "call someone back when he could get away", and that that someone was supposed to "sit tight because things were bound to get better".
Oh .. and we had fast food for lunch, which necessitated my zip ties being cut off and then new ones being attached around my wrists after I was done eating, seeing as how neither one of them wanted to feed me. Truth be told, I didn't take it personally ... I was just glad that they were the kind of kidnappers who were concerned enough about my well being to pay for a cheeseburger and fries.
I passed the time by thinking about my puppy at home, likely confused as to where I was, but just as likely happy to have someone new to play with him. And remembering how I had pretty much taken this same route in the other direction only a few months before, when I had driven Joey and myself and the puppy back from Florida to campus after my brief stint in the hospital. And planning how I'd try to fight the hotels for refunds where I had had reservations for what was supposed to have been my trip to Chicago and New Orleans.
And so the time passed ... and it was afternoon ... and then early evening ... and then getting dark. The time being inside my own head ended abruptly when Albert started reviewing the next step in the plans.
"Hey ... you should pull into the back alley. I'll go in the front and distract everyone and you can get him in through the back door."
Mario glanced at me in the rear view mirror, and, like a fool, I made eye contact.
Apparently that eye contact sparked the next statement he made.
"That sounds like a plan ... but I guess we're going to need the pilllowcase hood thingy. You want to climb back and take care of that? We're getting pretty close to the exit ..."
The call between Albert and Jorge wasn't the only one on which I got to eavesdrop during that part of the long drive from PA to FLA during the first full day of my captivity.
At some point later in the morning Mario also answered his phone, but the difference that time was that he played it a little more close to the vest, not because he was afraid I would hear what he was saying (seeing as how they both still thought that I had the headphones on that had blocked my hearing during the first hours of the trip) ... but more because it sounded even more personal in nature and unrelated to whatever was unfolding (or so I thought at that time).
What I could make out that he was going to "call someone back when he could get away", and that that someone was supposed to "sit tight because things were bound to get better".
Oh .. and we had fast food for lunch, which necessitated my zip ties being cut off and then new ones being attached around my wrists after I was done eating, seeing as how neither one of them wanted to feed me. Truth be told, I didn't take it personally ... I was just glad that they were the kind of kidnappers who were concerned enough about my well being to pay for a cheeseburger and fries.
I passed the time by thinking about my puppy at home, likely confused as to where I was, but just as likely happy to have someone new to play with him. And remembering how I had pretty much taken this same route in the other direction only a few months before, when I had driven Joey and myself and the puppy back from Florida to campus after my brief stint in the hospital. And planning how I'd try to fight the hotels for refunds where I had had reservations for what was supposed to have been my trip to Chicago and New Orleans.
And so the time passed ... and it was afternoon ... and then early evening ... and then getting dark. The time being inside my own head ended abruptly when Albert started reviewing the next step in the plans.
"Hey ... you should pull into the back alley. I'll go in the front and distract everyone and you can get him in through the back door."
Mario glanced at me in the rear view mirror, and, like a fool, I made eye contact.
Apparently that eye contact sparked the next statement he made.
"That sounds like a plan ... but I guess we're going to need the pilllowcase hood thingy. You want to climb back and take care of that? We're getting pretty close to the exit ..."
***
"How do you do the voodoo that you do?"
Albert was too close, having climbed back out of the front seat now that we were nearing our destination, and now that he was staring at me like I was some kind of zoo creature he was seeing for the first time in his life.
I decided that it was best not to answer ... not to engage ... to let it be a one-sided conversation.
"It's been too long. I can barely remember how it feels," he whispered into my right ear.
I was seriously creeped out by this guy. Yet I didn't want it to show.
Albert continued his monologue. "But I do know *what* you can do. And I do know that it will have been worth it to make you a part of our team ... whether you want to be or not."
He brought his head around to face mine and stared intently into my eyes. I did my best to meet his gaze, to not give away any of my feelings ... the fear of the unknown, the concern I had for what was to come. Instead, I focused on his irises, his pupils, his eyelashes ... anything that would engage my brain in something other than giving any kind of hint about my mental state.
"For now, though, it's time for you to go back in your hood."
And with one quick movement, the pillowcase was back over my head and the van was slowing down.
We had clearly reached our exit on the highway. It would only be a matter of minutes before I was in my new surroundings.
Albert was too close, having climbed back out of the front seat now that we were nearing our destination, and now that he was staring at me like I was some kind of zoo creature he was seeing for the first time in his life.
I decided that it was best not to answer ... not to engage ... to let it be a one-sided conversation.
"It's been too long. I can barely remember how it feels," he whispered into my right ear.
I was seriously creeped out by this guy. Yet I didn't want it to show.
Albert continued his monologue. "But I do know *what* you can do. And I do know that it will have been worth it to make you a part of our team ... whether you want to be or not."
He brought his head around to face mine and stared intently into my eyes. I did my best to meet his gaze, to not give away any of my feelings ... the fear of the unknown, the concern I had for what was to come. Instead, I focused on his irises, his pupils, his eyelashes ... anything that would engage my brain in something other than giving any kind of hint about my mental state.
"For now, though, it's time for you to go back in your hood."
And with one quick movement, the pillowcase was back over my head and the van was slowing down.
We had clearly reached our exit on the highway. It would only be a matter of minutes before I was in my new surroundings.
***
"Gloves! Don't forget gloves! We don't want any premature physical contact."
We had arrived at our destination, and Albert and Mario were reviewing the next steps. Of course, he didn't know that Mario and I had already had an exchange during this trip, not that it had helped me figure out what was going on or anything like that.
Albert continued. "I'll go in and get everyone out front for a quick meeting ... you take him through the back door and to the spot. Give me ten minutes."
I sensed someone move to where I was in the back of the van, zip-tied at the wrists and hooded at the head with a pillowcase. From listening to those instructions, I assumed it to be Mario.
"And one more thing. Don't forget to go back out and around to come in the *front* door once he's secured. I don't want any of the employees getting unnecessarily suspicious."
With that, Albert was gone and the apparently gloved Mario had grabbed me by my upper arm and was guiding me out of the van.
"Just so you know, it's too dark so I can't even see shapes or anything," I offered to my captor.
"You're going to have to trust me," was his response. "And I'm tired from the drive, so I have no tolerance for any outbursts from you. Just shut up and listen to my directions."
"Okay. What do I do now?" I said sheepishly.
I could hear his sigh before he answered. I had to assume that it was accompanied by an eye roll. "Nothing yet. Just stay quiet and wait."
Oh right. I had forgotten. We weren't to move for ten minutes.
I had been in a van for almost twenty hours straight ... surely I could wait out another ten minutes ...
We had arrived at our destination, and Albert and Mario were reviewing the next steps. Of course, he didn't know that Mario and I had already had an exchange during this trip, not that it had helped me figure out what was going on or anything like that.
Albert continued. "I'll go in and get everyone out front for a quick meeting ... you take him through the back door and to the spot. Give me ten minutes."
I sensed someone move to where I was in the back of the van, zip-tied at the wrists and hooded at the head with a pillowcase. From listening to those instructions, I assumed it to be Mario.
"And one more thing. Don't forget to go back out and around to come in the *front* door once he's secured. I don't want any of the employees getting unnecessarily suspicious."
With that, Albert was gone and the apparently gloved Mario had grabbed me by my upper arm and was guiding me out of the van.
"Just so you know, it's too dark so I can't even see shapes or anything," I offered to my captor.
"You're going to have to trust me," was his response. "And I'm tired from the drive, so I have no tolerance for any outbursts from you. Just shut up and listen to my directions."
"Okay. What do I do now?" I said sheepishly.
I could hear his sigh before he answered. I had to assume that it was accompanied by an eye roll. "Nothing yet. Just stay quiet and wait."
Oh right. I had forgotten. We weren't to move for ten minutes.
I had been in a van for almost twenty hours straight ... surely I could wait out another ten minutes ...
***
Ten minutes.
Six hundred seconds.
How to pass the time whilst standing there in the alley waiting for my kidnapper to get the signal that it was okay to take me in the back door of the establishment?
I could count to six hundred ... but it struck me that I wasn't sure if I should count forwards from one to six hundred, or backwards from six hundred to one. And besides that decision, there would have had to be a final answer as to which in-between word best approximated the length of a second. Should I use "Mississippi" ... "hippopotamus" ... "one thousand"? I was pretty sure I had used each of those at one time or another counting out the wait time before going forth to seek during those childhood games in the foster homes.
I abandoned that idea and decided to time myself saying the pledge of allegiance ... and I got twelve seconds. Doing some mental math, I determined that I would only need to say it fifty times in a row and I'd have my full sixth of an hour covered. After all, it was less likely that I'd lose my place between one and fifty than one and six hundred.
What I didn't count on? It was *more* likely that I'd quickly lose interest in saying the pledge over and over again. By the fourth recitation, I was already over that idea.
Of course, by this stage, I was no longer sure how much time had passed, so I decided the best thing to do would be to "zen out" and to take deep breaths. I inhaled, and held my breath as long as I could ... and then exhaled.
Except ... it turned out that "zenning out" with breathing techniques is somewhat hampered when you have a pillowcase over your head, as I did. I saw little white lights out of the corners of my eyes, and felt my knees start to buckle.
And then ... then the rooster crowed.
Six hundred seconds.
How to pass the time whilst standing there in the alley waiting for my kidnapper to get the signal that it was okay to take me in the back door of the establishment?
I could count to six hundred ... but it struck me that I wasn't sure if I should count forwards from one to six hundred, or backwards from six hundred to one. And besides that decision, there would have had to be a final answer as to which in-between word best approximated the length of a second. Should I use "Mississippi" ... "hippopotamus" ... "one thousand"? I was pretty sure I had used each of those at one time or another counting out the wait time before going forth to seek during those childhood games in the foster homes.
I abandoned that idea and decided to time myself saying the pledge of allegiance ... and I got twelve seconds. Doing some mental math, I determined that I would only need to say it fifty times in a row and I'd have my full sixth of an hour covered. After all, it was less likely that I'd lose my place between one and fifty than one and six hundred.
What I didn't count on? It was *more* likely that I'd quickly lose interest in saying the pledge over and over again. By the fourth recitation, I was already over that idea.
Of course, by this stage, I was no longer sure how much time had passed, so I decided the best thing to do would be to "zen out" and to take deep breaths. I inhaled, and held my breath as long as I could ... and then exhaled.
Except ... it turned out that "zenning out" with breathing techniques is somewhat hampered when you have a pillowcase over your head, as I did. I saw little white lights out of the corners of my eyes, and felt my knees start to buckle.
And then ... then the rooster crowed.
***
The crowing rooster interrupted my internal conversation, and it took me a moment to realize that it wasn't an actual cock mid-vocalization, which wouldn't have made any sense in light of the fact that we were without light, well past dusk, on this, the first full day of my captivity.
The sound that brought me out of my own head was the alarm timer on Mario's cell phone, apparently signalling that the ten minutes we were to have waited had passed.
With that, he grabbed me by the upper arm and warned me, "Do as I say and you won't get hurt."
He moved me forward and through what I presumed to be the back door of the place behind which we had been parked in the alley.
"To your right!" came the next command, followed immediately by "Your *other* right!".
I protested. "Lookit, I normally check my hands to be sure I'm correct about choosing my left and right, and I can't exactly do that right now ..."
"Quiet! And get ready to step down." There was to be no sympathy from him about the fact that I had a pillowcase blocking my view.
Of course, with stairs in the mix, I decided it best to fully concentrate. I moved my foot carefully across the floor in front of me, testing to see where the drop-off was.
And then down I went, with Mario awkwardly beside me. I never suspected that I had anything other than a mild case of the OCDs on occasion, but I couldn't help but count to myself as I descended ... one ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... eight.
Oops .. not eight, as I found out soon enough, stepping hard where I thought open air would be, only to land on the same floor I had been on.
I could have sworn that I heard Mario chuckle at my mistake. Had this been a trust walk team building exercise, his reaction would have damaged our friendship. Seeing as how he was my kidnapper and I his kidnapped, our friendship was likely already beyond repair.
"Wait here!" He yanked my arm backwards to signal me to stop and stay put.
I listened intently and immediately recognized the distinctive sound of a key going into a padlock.
The sound that brought me out of my own head was the alarm timer on Mario's cell phone, apparently signalling that the ten minutes we were to have waited had passed.
With that, he grabbed me by the upper arm and warned me, "Do as I say and you won't get hurt."
He moved me forward and through what I presumed to be the back door of the place behind which we had been parked in the alley.
"To your right!" came the next command, followed immediately by "Your *other* right!".
I protested. "Lookit, I normally check my hands to be sure I'm correct about choosing my left and right, and I can't exactly do that right now ..."
"Quiet! And get ready to step down." There was to be no sympathy from him about the fact that I had a pillowcase blocking my view.
Of course, with stairs in the mix, I decided it best to fully concentrate. I moved my foot carefully across the floor in front of me, testing to see where the drop-off was.
And then down I went, with Mario awkwardly beside me. I never suspected that I had anything other than a mild case of the OCDs on occasion, but I couldn't help but count to myself as I descended ... one ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... eight.
Oops .. not eight, as I found out soon enough, stepping hard where I thought open air would be, only to land on the same floor I had been on.
I could have sworn that I heard Mario chuckle at my mistake. Had this been a trust walk team building exercise, his reaction would have damaged our friendship. Seeing as how he was my kidnapper and I his kidnapped, our friendship was likely already beyond repair.
"Wait here!" He yanked my arm backwards to signal me to stop and stay put.
I listened intently and immediately recognized the distinctive sound of a key going into a padlock.
***
The next few seconds were the most important ones so far on this trip to help me get a sense of my surroundings.
Complete silence ... no words, no thoughts, no feelings ... I focused all of my energies into the senses that weren't being otherwise controlled.
Meaning ... I listened "real good" for that time-frame, considering how I didn't have the ability to see or smell anything through the pillowcase over my head, how I couldn't really touch anything with my hands cuffed and how I wasn't about to stick out my tongue and lick anything in my environs other than said pillowcase.
But I *heard* the release of the padlock, and the scraping of metal as a chain was removed, and the squeak of a door being opened that wasn't used to having to move at all.
Mario resumed his stint as my seeing eye dog, and guided me into whatever space was behind the source of all of those sounds -- but just for a few footsteps. Turning my analogy of which one of us was playing the role of the canine in this scenario on its head, he ordered me to "Stay" and "Wait" in short succession.
Then ... new sounds to decipher -- what I eventually settled on as the movement of boxes, three or four of them, maybe containing bottles, not too heavy as I heard no grunting from Mario as he performed the task ... just the "ping" of glass items being gently jostled and the "thwumps" of the cardboard-on-cardboard stacking action.
Next, a lock again ... but a different kind -- the sliding of a chain lock on a door -- and then we were on the move again.
The door closed behind us and the last command of this little trust exercise was uttered ... "Stay very still."
I could feel the cold metal on my wrists and I froze as instructed, while the zip-ties were cut loose, followed by the removal of the pillowcase ... and the unveiling of my new surroundings.
Complete silence ... no words, no thoughts, no feelings ... I focused all of my energies into the senses that weren't being otherwise controlled.
Meaning ... I listened "real good" for that time-frame, considering how I didn't have the ability to see or smell anything through the pillowcase over my head, how I couldn't really touch anything with my hands cuffed and how I wasn't about to stick out my tongue and lick anything in my environs other than said pillowcase.
But I *heard* the release of the padlock, and the scraping of metal as a chain was removed, and the squeak of a door being opened that wasn't used to having to move at all.
Mario resumed his stint as my seeing eye dog, and guided me into whatever space was behind the source of all of those sounds -- but just for a few footsteps. Turning my analogy of which one of us was playing the role of the canine in this scenario on its head, he ordered me to "Stay" and "Wait" in short succession.
Then ... new sounds to decipher -- what I eventually settled on as the movement of boxes, three or four of them, maybe containing bottles, not too heavy as I heard no grunting from Mario as he performed the task ... just the "ping" of glass items being gently jostled and the "thwumps" of the cardboard-on-cardboard stacking action.
Next, a lock again ... but a different kind -- the sliding of a chain lock on a door -- and then we were on the move again.
The door closed behind us and the last command of this little trust exercise was uttered ... "Stay very still."
I could feel the cold metal on my wrists and I froze as instructed, while the zip-ties were cut loose, followed by the removal of the pillowcase ... and the unveiling of my new surroundings.
***
"Hate to uncuff ... and unhood you ... and run ... but I have to get out of that back alley before anyone sees me and gets suspicious about my 'delivery'."
It looked like I was about to have some alone time.
"The good news is you should find everything you need in here for the next few days." Mario turned to go, but then decided to provide a final thought.
He looked in my direction, but I felt it more like he was looking through me instead of at me.
"And remember ... stay calm and keep quiet and there won't be any trouble. More people than you realize are counting on you."
Before I could even attempt to ask any follow-up question to try to decipher that particular riddle, he was out of the door, and I was listening to the sounds on which I had only just focused, but this time in reverse. I could hear him pull the chain across the lock and, in what I could only interpret as an ominous move, re-stack the boxes in front of the door.
Apparently I was such a valued commodity that I was worth being well hidden.
In *this* spot. Whatever *this* spot was.
Well, besides being a spot where everything I needed for a few days could apparently be found.
With one glance, I decided immediately that it did not have one thing I needed ... that being good lighting. The one overhead bulb wasn't bright enough to illuminate every corner, but I could make out a rudimentary cot with a blanket and a pillow.
All that was missing was an orange jumpsuit ...
It looked like I was about to have some alone time.
"The good news is you should find everything you need in here for the next few days." Mario turned to go, but then decided to provide a final thought.
He looked in my direction, but I felt it more like he was looking through me instead of at me.
"And remember ... stay calm and keep quiet and there won't be any trouble. More people than you realize are counting on you."
Before I could even attempt to ask any follow-up question to try to decipher that particular riddle, he was out of the door, and I was listening to the sounds on which I had only just focused, but this time in reverse. I could hear him pull the chain across the lock and, in what I could only interpret as an ominous move, re-stack the boxes in front of the door.
Apparently I was such a valued commodity that I was worth being well hidden.
In *this* spot. Whatever *this* spot was.
Well, besides being a spot where everything I needed for a few days could apparently be found.
With one glance, I decided immediately that it did not have one thing I needed ... that being good lighting. The one overhead bulb wasn't bright enough to illuminate every corner, but I could make out a rudimentary cot with a blanket and a pillow.
All that was missing was an orange jumpsuit ...
***
I collapsed on my cot, alone for the *first* time since this unexpected turn of events.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I started to get a better sense of where I was ... clearly a storage room and, from the stairs I had to take to get here moments before with Mario, at least half underground. As a matter of fact, that was soon proven to be true as I could make out a small window up near the ceiling. My hunch was that it was facing the alley, as there wasn't much light coming in through it.
Of course, if I had kept track of time accurately, it should be well into the evening of my first full day of captivity, so that made sense.
I also noticed that I could hear the relatively steady hum of a motor running, so I explored my confines further until I found its source ... a mini-fridge plugged into an outlet in the corner. On top of it were several plastic bags, which I unpacked to find napkins, plastic silverware, a loaf of bread and some assorted snacks.
Those items gave me a bit of hope, and so I optimistically opened the door of the fridge, and I found it stocked full with water, soda, a few pieces of fruit and some packages of lunch meat.
My excitement about locating that stash waned, though, as I realized that Mario, in his goodbye speech, had said that I'd find what I needed "for the next few days". Clearly, whatever purpose I was going to serve in whatever plan was unfolding was going to keep me here longer than I would have wanted.
Not that I would have wanted to be here for *any* amount of time ...
I grabbed a drink and a bag of chips, and said to no one in particular ... "dinner is served".
And then I sat back down on my cot, and I might have cried a little into my coca-cola, wishing, at least for that moment, that it was a beer into which my tears were falling.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I started to get a better sense of where I was ... clearly a storage room and, from the stairs I had to take to get here moments before with Mario, at least half underground. As a matter of fact, that was soon proven to be true as I could make out a small window up near the ceiling. My hunch was that it was facing the alley, as there wasn't much light coming in through it.
Of course, if I had kept track of time accurately, it should be well into the evening of my first full day of captivity, so that made sense.
I also noticed that I could hear the relatively steady hum of a motor running, so I explored my confines further until I found its source ... a mini-fridge plugged into an outlet in the corner. On top of it were several plastic bags, which I unpacked to find napkins, plastic silverware, a loaf of bread and some assorted snacks.
Those items gave me a bit of hope, and so I optimistically opened the door of the fridge, and I found it stocked full with water, soda, a few pieces of fruit and some packages of lunch meat.
My excitement about locating that stash waned, though, as I realized that Mario, in his goodbye speech, had said that I'd find what I needed "for the next few days". Clearly, whatever purpose I was going to serve in whatever plan was unfolding was going to keep me here longer than I would have wanted.
Not that I would have wanted to be here for *any* amount of time ...
I grabbed a drink and a bag of chips, and said to no one in particular ... "dinner is served".
And then I sat back down on my cot, and I might have cried a little into my coca-cola, wishing, at least for that moment, that it was a beer into which my tears were falling.
***
Beer, beer everywhere, and not a glass into which my tears could fall.
Well everywhere *outside* of the storage room in which I was being held captive. After all, I felt certain that my captors -- one being a bartender and the other being a bar customer -- had holed me up in a bar. That only made sense, what with "bar" being the common thread in our limited shared history to date.
And it wasn't so much that I wanted some alcohol to wash down my snack that I was eating on the little cot that had been prepared for me -- although that would have been nice and all. Instead, I was worried that all signs pointed to this being a multi-night stay in my surroundings, and seeing as how I didn't have my sleeping pills with me, a touch of inebriation would have helped me sleep without the usual nightmares brought on by my nasty habit of downloading the most painful memories of those with whom I came in direct physical contact.
Having embraced my emotional moment, I decided that it was time for some steely reserve coupled with a bit of the old seek-out-a-silver-lining attitude that had always served me well in a life facing repeated challenges.
After all, I at least *knew* my kidnappers, so this wasn't some serial killer scenario. And I knew that my kidnappers had a purpose for me ... even if I didn't know what that was. *And* I knew that they cared enough about me to stock me up with some food and a pillow and a blanket ... and a cot.
Plus ... if there was to be any perfect timing to this escapade, it did unfold on a parallel path to what was supposed to be my vacation trip to explore my past ... which meant that my puppy dog was at home with a puppy-sitter.
All good things. All reasons to be happy and not sad. Well, happy within reason.
"Funny how that works ... how one can raise one's spirits with just a little bit of positive thinking", I mused.
Buoyed a bit by my new perspective, I checked to make sure there wasn't a chocolate on my pillow (it turned out I wasn't being taken care of to *that* degree). As such, I knew that there would be no turn-down service and I decided that I might as well prepare myself for whatever sleep I could get, all things considered.
Well everywhere *outside* of the storage room in which I was being held captive. After all, I felt certain that my captors -- one being a bartender and the other being a bar customer -- had holed me up in a bar. That only made sense, what with "bar" being the common thread in our limited shared history to date.
And it wasn't so much that I wanted some alcohol to wash down my snack that I was eating on the little cot that had been prepared for me -- although that would have been nice and all. Instead, I was worried that all signs pointed to this being a multi-night stay in my surroundings, and seeing as how I didn't have my sleeping pills with me, a touch of inebriation would have helped me sleep without the usual nightmares brought on by my nasty habit of downloading the most painful memories of those with whom I came in direct physical contact.
Having embraced my emotional moment, I decided that it was time for some steely reserve coupled with a bit of the old seek-out-a-silver-lining attitude that had always served me well in a life facing repeated challenges.
After all, I at least *knew* my kidnappers, so this wasn't some serial killer scenario. And I knew that my kidnappers had a purpose for me ... even if I didn't know what that was. *And* I knew that they cared enough about me to stock me up with some food and a pillow and a blanket ... and a cot.
Plus ... if there was to be any perfect timing to this escapade, it did unfold on a parallel path to what was supposed to be my vacation trip to explore my past ... which meant that my puppy dog was at home with a puppy-sitter.
All good things. All reasons to be happy and not sad. Well, happy within reason.
"Funny how that works ... how one can raise one's spirits with just a little bit of positive thinking", I mused.
Buoyed a bit by my new perspective, I checked to make sure there wasn't a chocolate on my pillow (it turned out I wasn't being taken care of to *that* degree). As such, I knew that there would be no turn-down service and I decided that I might as well prepare myself for whatever sleep I could get, all things considered.
***
I *had* forgotten one trick that I still had up my sleeve.
Not a trick as in a way to pick the lock that was keeping me in my storeroom prison, or some subterfuge that would help me escape through the tiny window I had noticed by the ceiling.
But something I had learned before that would end up helping me in my current predicament.
I didn't have medication or inebriation on my side ... which had quickly and recently become my preferred methods for getting peaceful sleep so that I wasn't tormented by those nightmares ... but I did have exhaustion.
Give or take some half-hearted snoozing I had done in the back of the van on the way down the coast, I had been awake now for just over twenty-four hours, and although my experience hadn't been physically taxing, it definitely had been mentally and emotionally draining.
That was in my favor, because within just a few moments of lying down on the cot, despite it being under these strangest of conditions, I was able to drift off to sleep.
My problems, concerns and fears about my immediate future would wait until morning.
For that moment, and the hours that followed, it was the proverbial z's I was busy catching.
And so ended my first full day of captivity.
Not a trick as in a way to pick the lock that was keeping me in my storeroom prison, or some subterfuge that would help me escape through the tiny window I had noticed by the ceiling.
But something I had learned before that would end up helping me in my current predicament.
I didn't have medication or inebriation on my side ... which had quickly and recently become my preferred methods for getting peaceful sleep so that I wasn't tormented by those nightmares ... but I did have exhaustion.
Give or take some half-hearted snoozing I had done in the back of the van on the way down the coast, I had been awake now for just over twenty-four hours, and although my experience hadn't been physically taxing, it definitely had been mentally and emotionally draining.
That was in my favor, because within just a few moments of lying down on the cot, despite it being under these strangest of conditions, I was able to drift off to sleep.
My problems, concerns and fears about my immediate future would wait until morning.
For that moment, and the hours that followed, it was the proverbial z's I was busy catching.
And so ended my first full day of captivity.
***
CHAPTER 15
Day two of my captivity started much earlier than I would have chosen.
Not because anyone came down to my storage room to serve me breakfast in bed ... or cereal in a cot, as that would have been the better likelihood if anything.
Not because I was eager to start a day of activities on vacation ... seeing as how my vacation plans had been co-opted by my captors ... and as they had yet to fill me in on what was ahead for me.
Not because the cot on which I had slept was so uncomfortable ... although that was a close second to explain my early awakening.
The actual reason? Although the guys had clearly prepped for me to spend a few days in this space, they hadn't considered window treatments ... and the Florida sunshine was beaming down on me from the window near the ceiling.
I was still grateful that I had been so exhausted that I slept through the night, despite being in this strange place, and I was now in the mental space to fully explore the physical space.
First, I affirmed the few things that I had already discovered -- the aforementioned window, the mini-fridge, the groceries in bags that set on it, my cot complete with pillow and blanket, and boxes pushed against the walls to make the space for me. There was the door that I had heard get locked and blocked when Mario had left the night before ... and, much to my surprise, a second door that I hadn't seen until I had the benefit of natural daylight.
Day two of my captivity was set to kick off with a mystery to be solved as to what was behind door number two ...
Not because anyone came down to my storage room to serve me breakfast in bed ... or cereal in a cot, as that would have been the better likelihood if anything.
Not because I was eager to start a day of activities on vacation ... seeing as how my vacation plans had been co-opted by my captors ... and as they had yet to fill me in on what was ahead for me.
Not because the cot on which I had slept was so uncomfortable ... although that was a close second to explain my early awakening.
The actual reason? Although the guys had clearly prepped for me to spend a few days in this space, they hadn't considered window treatments ... and the Florida sunshine was beaming down on me from the window near the ceiling.
I was still grateful that I had been so exhausted that I slept through the night, despite being in this strange place, and I was now in the mental space to fully explore the physical space.
First, I affirmed the few things that I had already discovered -- the aforementioned window, the mini-fridge, the groceries in bags that set on it, my cot complete with pillow and blanket, and boxes pushed against the walls to make the space for me. There was the door that I had heard get locked and blocked when Mario had left the night before ... and, much to my surprise, a second door that I hadn't seen until I had the benefit of natural daylight.
Day two of my captivity was set to kick off with a mystery to be solved as to what was behind door number two ...
***
A *second* door, only visible now that I had the benefit of the light of day. My heart skipped a beat and my mind started racing as my physiology took over.
(What can I say ... you make your adventures however you can when you're locked in a storeroom with an uncertain future.)
Luckily, I had free rein to explore ... well, *limited* free rein ... and so it didn't have to be a mystery for very long at all.
As I approached my new find, I resigned myself to the fact that this wasn't going to be some passageway to freedom. Sure, I wanted to believe that I was smarter than my kidnappers, but seeing as how they had gone to all this trouble to get me here, I knew in my heart of hearts that they had explored this space to make sure it was secure. After all, they had clearly gone to a minimum of trouble to prepare a number of things.
Al the same, I did feel a mix of apprehension and excitement as I reached out to turn the knob and pull the door toward me seeing as how it opened *into* the room.
As proof of how distracted I had been since my arrival, what I saw provided me with a great degree of relief for it was the solution to something I hadn't yet even considered might be a problem ... and, again, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach took over as this discovery also confirmed that my stay here was going to be for longer than I could have possibly hoped.
(What can I say ... you make your adventures however you can when you're locked in a storeroom with an uncertain future.)
Luckily, I had free rein to explore ... well, *limited* free rein ... and so it didn't have to be a mystery for very long at all.
As I approached my new find, I resigned myself to the fact that this wasn't going to be some passageway to freedom. Sure, I wanted to believe that I was smarter than my kidnappers, but seeing as how they had gone to all this trouble to get me here, I knew in my heart of hearts that they had explored this space to make sure it was secure. After all, they had clearly gone to a minimum of trouble to prepare a number of things.
Al the same, I did feel a mix of apprehension and excitement as I reached out to turn the knob and pull the door toward me seeing as how it opened *into* the room.
As proof of how distracted I had been since my arrival, what I saw provided me with a great degree of relief for it was the solution to something I hadn't yet even considered might be a problem ... and, again, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach took over as this discovery also confirmed that my stay here was going to be for longer than I could have possibly hoped.
***
If this were a more typical situation, I would have immediately gone to the front desk and demanded to switch rooms.
But there was no front desk, and I couldn't leave the space what with the main door locked and blocked, and there was no one to whom I could complain anyway. Come to think of it, it had been almost half a day since Mario had left me, and I wasn't hearing any noises that would make me believe there were other humans even in the building.
As such, I was going to have to make do with the condition of the bathroom -- what I found behind door number two.
"Bathroom" was being generous. It was a janitor's sink and the oldest commode I had ever seen in what must have at one time been a closet. With baited breath, I jiggled the handle in hopes that it was at least functional, and was pleased to see that it was.
Needing to go two for two, I turned on the faucet in the sink and was relieved to see water spraying out. Mind you, it had a yellowish tint and likely came from dirty pipes ... but it *was* at least working.
There was no shower, though ... and no towels and no spare toilet paper. I had considered earlier whether I had enough food for an unknown number of days and if I should ration just to be safe ... but it had never crossed my mind that I might have to limit the number of pieces of toilet paper I'd use each time I went to the bathroom.
I also realized one reason why I might not have noticed the extra room the night before on my arrival. There was no light.
"Looks like I'm going to have to do my business in the daytime .. or else prepare to shit in the dark." I mumbled to myself. "Or ... better thought ... I need to start a list of what to demand from my captors."
I went out to the main room and rummaged through the supplies trying to find a writing utensil and a piece of paper to start my list ...
But there was no front desk, and I couldn't leave the space what with the main door locked and blocked, and there was no one to whom I could complain anyway. Come to think of it, it had been almost half a day since Mario had left me, and I wasn't hearing any noises that would make me believe there were other humans even in the building.
As such, I was going to have to make do with the condition of the bathroom -- what I found behind door number two.
"Bathroom" was being generous. It was a janitor's sink and the oldest commode I had ever seen in what must have at one time been a closet. With baited breath, I jiggled the handle in hopes that it was at least functional, and was pleased to see that it was.
Needing to go two for two, I turned on the faucet in the sink and was relieved to see water spraying out. Mind you, it had a yellowish tint and likely came from dirty pipes ... but it *was* at least working.
There was no shower, though ... and no towels and no spare toilet paper. I had considered earlier whether I had enough food for an unknown number of days and if I should ration just to be safe ... but it had never crossed my mind that I might have to limit the number of pieces of toilet paper I'd use each time I went to the bathroom.
I also realized one reason why I might not have noticed the extra room the night before on my arrival. There was no light.
"Looks like I'm going to have to do my business in the daytime .. or else prepare to shit in the dark." I mumbled to myself. "Or ... better thought ... I need to start a list of what to demand from my captors."
I went out to the main room and rummaged through the supplies trying to find a writing utensil and a piece of paper to start my list ...
***
No paper.
No pen.
But I did find cheetos.
And, this being a stressful situation and all, I decided to have cheetos for breakfast. After all, who was going to judge me?
As I sat on the cot, repeating in my head the first items I wanted to put on my list of demands -- namely, a pen and paper so that I could create such a list more easily ... AND another roll of toilet paper, because I had a distinct fear of running out -- around about the fourth crunchy and unnaturally orange snack, I kept on replaying that thought about no one being able to judge me since I was alone.
Whether paranoia, or a sixth sense, or a premonition, or a magical power no one ever credited to the orange dust on my fingertips ... right between crunch five and crunch six ... I stopped mid chew in order to put all of my energy into the aha moment I was having.
The logic went thusly: if I had driven all the way up the east coast to snatch a stranger that I had met no more than twice because I considered him valuable for some plan I had, and if I stuck him away in a secure storeroom until I was ready to use his special skills, chances are that I might want to sneak a peek at him every now and then.
I finished chewing, but more slowly, and so as not to tip my hand, I started to move my head ever so slightly, scouring the space for a camera.
I had only seen a single outlet, into which the mini-fridge was plugged, and so I started to have second doubts that such a piece of spy equipment existed.
Especially since I could see nothing on the wall where that outlet was located ...nothing on the outer wall with the small window near the ceiling ... nothing on the side wall where I had discovered the bathroom closet.
And then my persistence paid off. As I shifted in my seat to face the wall with the locked and blocked door from which I had entered, in the dark corner, I spied, with my little eye, a camera angled to cover almost the whole room.
No pen.
But I did find cheetos.
And, this being a stressful situation and all, I decided to have cheetos for breakfast. After all, who was going to judge me?
As I sat on the cot, repeating in my head the first items I wanted to put on my list of demands -- namely, a pen and paper so that I could create such a list more easily ... AND another roll of toilet paper, because I had a distinct fear of running out -- around about the fourth crunchy and unnaturally orange snack, I kept on replaying that thought about no one being able to judge me since I was alone.
Whether paranoia, or a sixth sense, or a premonition, or a magical power no one ever credited to the orange dust on my fingertips ... right between crunch five and crunch six ... I stopped mid chew in order to put all of my energy into the aha moment I was having.
The logic went thusly: if I had driven all the way up the east coast to snatch a stranger that I had met no more than twice because I considered him valuable for some plan I had, and if I stuck him away in a secure storeroom until I was ready to use his special skills, chances are that I might want to sneak a peek at him every now and then.
I finished chewing, but more slowly, and so as not to tip my hand, I started to move my head ever so slightly, scouring the space for a camera.
I had only seen a single outlet, into which the mini-fridge was plugged, and so I started to have second doubts that such a piece of spy equipment existed.
Especially since I could see nothing on the wall where that outlet was located ...nothing on the outer wall with the small window near the ceiling ... nothing on the side wall where I had discovered the bathroom closet.
And then my persistence paid off. As I shifted in my seat to face the wall with the locked and blocked door from which I had entered, in the dark corner, I spied, with my little eye, a camera angled to cover almost the whole room.
***
Although it was my intent to act as if I had no idea that I was being watched, it was impossible to forget the fact that I had found a camera in the corner of my "cell".
And let's face it, it was a "cell". Sure it had a mini-fridge and a food stash. But the cot and the dirty bathroom closet *combined* with the fact that I was most certainly locked into this space meant that I could call it a cell, without the use of the air-quotes.
So I decided to make it official and let my watchers know that I knew that I was being watched.
I made my way to the corner and jumped up and down, undoubtedly making funny faces as I came into ... and fell out of ... view. I tested to make sure that it wasn't mechanized ... and that *it* didn't move to follow *my* movements. I also noticed that there was a small hole drilled into the top of the wall, through which the spy cam cord was threaded, leading me to conclude that the power source was in that outer room that separated my space from the hallway, based on what I had gathered when I was brought in blindfolded.
I cursed my shortness as I realized I couldn't reach it, and then briefly toyed with the thought of trying to rearrange the furniture to use the cot ... OR the fridge ... so that I could climb up and tear it down.
However, that seemed a tad bit more confrontational than I was prepared to be ... at least, not yet.
I did decide that I would close the door when I would use the facilities, spartan as they were ... AND that I would use that space to change my clothes ... because, let's face it, otherwise it would be kind of creepy.
Change of clothes. Ha! That was yet something else to add to the increasingly growing list of demands, seeing as how I didn't exactly pack a suitcase or anything for my kidnapping.
So let's see ... I needed to demand a writing utensil, paper, extra toilet paper, flashlight and a change of clothes.
Except there was no one with whom I could interact to state my case.
I had no idea if spy cams like the one I found included an audio component to go along with the video, but I decided to take my chances ...
And let's face it, it was a "cell". Sure it had a mini-fridge and a food stash. But the cot and the dirty bathroom closet *combined* with the fact that I was most certainly locked into this space meant that I could call it a cell, without the use of the air-quotes.
So I decided to make it official and let my watchers know that I knew that I was being watched.
I made my way to the corner and jumped up and down, undoubtedly making funny faces as I came into ... and fell out of ... view. I tested to make sure that it wasn't mechanized ... and that *it* didn't move to follow *my* movements. I also noticed that there was a small hole drilled into the top of the wall, through which the spy cam cord was threaded, leading me to conclude that the power source was in that outer room that separated my space from the hallway, based on what I had gathered when I was brought in blindfolded.
I cursed my shortness as I realized I couldn't reach it, and then briefly toyed with the thought of trying to rearrange the furniture to use the cot ... OR the fridge ... so that I could climb up and tear it down.
However, that seemed a tad bit more confrontational than I was prepared to be ... at least, not yet.
I did decide that I would close the door when I would use the facilities, spartan as they were ... AND that I would use that space to change my clothes ... because, let's face it, otherwise it would be kind of creepy.
Change of clothes. Ha! That was yet something else to add to the increasingly growing list of demands, seeing as how I didn't exactly pack a suitcase or anything for my kidnapping.
So let's see ... I needed to demand a writing utensil, paper, extra toilet paper, flashlight and a change of clothes.
Except there was no one with whom I could interact to state my case.
I had no idea if spy cams like the one I found included an audio component to go along with the video, but I decided to take my chances ...
***
"Hello! Is there anybody in there?"
I couldn't help it. I did my best Pink Floyd rendition as I shouted toward the camera on the wall that I had found in the corner of my cell.
However, there was no response.
I mean, I wasn't expecting there to be some kind of two way radio, but I still had finally found a way to make contact with someone else after having been alone for so long, and I wanted to take advantage of a few things.
So I continued regardless.
"I need some things. Need to talk with someone. Need to ask a few questions ... get a few answers ... etcetera, etcetera ... You can't leave me in the dark forever!"
I stopped and realized that wasn't exactly on point.
"Well, I mean I have daylight ... and the light out here ... but I need a flashlight for at night for the bathroom closet ... and I think I deserve to know your intentions for me."
Again, no response.
"So ... you know ... I'll be waiting."
Which is exactly what I did. I sat back down on my cot, and stared at the camera, hoping it would give me some kind of sign that I had at least been heard.
Needless to say, I was waiting for quite a while ... just me ... slowly turning comfortably numb to my situation.
I couldn't help it. I did my best Pink Floyd rendition as I shouted toward the camera on the wall that I had found in the corner of my cell.
However, there was no response.
I mean, I wasn't expecting there to be some kind of two way radio, but I still had finally found a way to make contact with someone else after having been alone for so long, and I wanted to take advantage of a few things.
So I continued regardless.
"I need some things. Need to talk with someone. Need to ask a few questions ... get a few answers ... etcetera, etcetera ... You can't leave me in the dark forever!"
I stopped and realized that wasn't exactly on point.
"Well, I mean I have daylight ... and the light out here ... but I need a flashlight for at night for the bathroom closet ... and I think I deserve to know your intentions for me."
Again, no response.
"So ... you know ... I'll be waiting."
Which is exactly what I did. I sat back down on my cot, and stared at the camera, hoping it would give me some kind of sign that I had at least been heard.
Needless to say, I was waiting for quite a while ... just me ... slowly turning comfortably numb to my situation.
***
Magazines. Crossword puzzles. Mad libs.
If Dick Clark had also been locked in this space with me, as well as a D-list celebrity who had said those three things to me, I would have replied, before the timer ran out, "Things used to pass the time."
In this hypothetical, the block on the pyramid would have turned to confirm my guess as the right answer, and in light of my current situation, Dick would have offered that he also would have accepted the more personalized response of "Things to add to your list of demands".
It was only the afternoon of the second day of my captivity, and I had reached my limit of waiting patiently with nothing to do but eat some snacks and sleep. I needed a distraction ... or multiple distractions, and if I couldn't get them to be provided to me via my plea to the camera that had gone unanswered, then I was going to have to reach into my past and recreate some activities.
The problem with that solution -- digging up my past never led to anything good. I had spent many a solitary moment shuffled from foster home to foster home, never finding the fit for me, and I had learned long ago to only rely on myself for my entertainment, which is, after all, why I spent so much time "in my own head" in the first place.
But here's the thing ... I had also very successfully moved on from my past, leaving my ghosts buried and my skeletons closeted ... or would that be my skeletons buried and my ghosts closeted ... regardless, I had enough problems in this present without re-introducing all the struggles from that past.
The Lord Almighty apparently agreed with me, as he sent a bolt of lightning, followed quickly by a roll of thunder to startle me and to keep me from falling into that morass of memory. Or, if not the Lord, then Zeus Almighty, what with being a bolt of lighting and all.
Truth be told, it likely wasn't so much *divine* intervention of any kind as it was a natural one. As in nature ... as in the traditional 3pm afternoon thunderstorm prevalent in southern Florida. I knew enough from my little bit of time visiting over my recent spring break that I could practically set my clock to it.
And that tradition did not disappoint on that day. Bright sunshine immediately gave way to clouds and a storm and the torrential rain hitting the pane of the one window up by the ceiling on the outer wall of my cell.
The storm, once I put it in perspective, was expected. The noise I heard coming from the space I was calling the bathroom closet, though, was most UNexpected.
If Dick Clark had also been locked in this space with me, as well as a D-list celebrity who had said those three things to me, I would have replied, before the timer ran out, "Things used to pass the time."
In this hypothetical, the block on the pyramid would have turned to confirm my guess as the right answer, and in light of my current situation, Dick would have offered that he also would have accepted the more personalized response of "Things to add to your list of demands".
It was only the afternoon of the second day of my captivity, and I had reached my limit of waiting patiently with nothing to do but eat some snacks and sleep. I needed a distraction ... or multiple distractions, and if I couldn't get them to be provided to me via my plea to the camera that had gone unanswered, then I was going to have to reach into my past and recreate some activities.
The problem with that solution -- digging up my past never led to anything good. I had spent many a solitary moment shuffled from foster home to foster home, never finding the fit for me, and I had learned long ago to only rely on myself for my entertainment, which is, after all, why I spent so much time "in my own head" in the first place.
But here's the thing ... I had also very successfully moved on from my past, leaving my ghosts buried and my skeletons closeted ... or would that be my skeletons buried and my ghosts closeted ... regardless, I had enough problems in this present without re-introducing all the struggles from that past.
The Lord Almighty apparently agreed with me, as he sent a bolt of lightning, followed quickly by a roll of thunder to startle me and to keep me from falling into that morass of memory. Or, if not the Lord, then Zeus Almighty, what with being a bolt of lighting and all.
Truth be told, it likely wasn't so much *divine* intervention of any kind as it was a natural one. As in nature ... as in the traditional 3pm afternoon thunderstorm prevalent in southern Florida. I knew enough from my little bit of time visiting over my recent spring break that I could practically set my clock to it.
And that tradition did not disappoint on that day. Bright sunshine immediately gave way to clouds and a storm and the torrential rain hitting the pane of the one window up by the ceiling on the outer wall of my cell.
The storm, once I put it in perspective, was expected. The noise I heard coming from the space I was calling the bathroom closet, though, was most UNexpected.
***
I hadn't spent too much time in that space I had discovered when I had woken up on that second day of my captivity ... after all, it was barely a bathroom.
Once the storm started though, on that afternoon, I was certain that the noise I had begun to hear had not been happening all day.
With the torrential rain hitting the window, I would have expected some dripping or leaking, and although it would have been maddening a la the water torture of the far east, I would have known how to react.
But the nails scratching on metal ... *that* was a development for which I was not prepared.
The room in which I was being kept didn't necessarily have a plethora of miscellaneous items that I could repurpose as a weapon ... and I had no skill set to prepare me to defeat what I assumed to be a rat bare handed. After all, with my next human interaction at a time yet unknown, the last thing I wanted to do was engage in an activity that might lead to me needing medical care.
My mind immediately went to the worst scenario. I imagined that I would indeed be patient zero in a new outbreak of bubonic plague. Although, if I was bitten, and sickened, and no one came to assist me, I theorized that I could also end up being the one and only patient.
Complicating matters, the bright sunshine that had been lighting up the space was also gone, and so the bathroom closet was once again the darkest "shadowy-est" spot in the room. What I could see was the empty cheeto bag that I had callously thrown on the floor, clearly the type of behavior that was about to be punished in the most severe way possible.
I faced the darkened doorway, and steeled myself for what was to come.
Once the storm started though, on that afternoon, I was certain that the noise I had begun to hear had not been happening all day.
With the torrential rain hitting the window, I would have expected some dripping or leaking, and although it would have been maddening a la the water torture of the far east, I would have known how to react.
But the nails scratching on metal ... *that* was a development for which I was not prepared.
The room in which I was being kept didn't necessarily have a plethora of miscellaneous items that I could repurpose as a weapon ... and I had no skill set to prepare me to defeat what I assumed to be a rat bare handed. After all, with my next human interaction at a time yet unknown, the last thing I wanted to do was engage in an activity that might lead to me needing medical care.
My mind immediately went to the worst scenario. I imagined that I would indeed be patient zero in a new outbreak of bubonic plague. Although, if I was bitten, and sickened, and no one came to assist me, I theorized that I could also end up being the one and only patient.
Complicating matters, the bright sunshine that had been lighting up the space was also gone, and so the bathroom closet was once again the darkest "shadowy-est" spot in the room. What I could see was the empty cheeto bag that I had callously thrown on the floor, clearly the type of behavior that was about to be punished in the most severe way possible.
I faced the darkened doorway, and steeled myself for what was to come.
***
Offense or defense.
It all boiled down to one of those two choices.
If only I had been a more active participant in the PE classes of my youth. But alas, I was a-lacking in any personal experiences with team sports.
Public school physical education was about playing games ... with your friends ... and building teams ... with your friends ... and engaging in activities ... with your friends. I was usually the new kid ... with *no* friends ... and so I would do anything and work anyone I needed to in order to avoid the gymnasium and to spend more time in the library.
Let's just say that I aced a lot of exams in my day ... but not a single one of them had "Presidential Fitness" written across the top.
If only I had put more effort into improving my speed in the shuttle run, I could have made it to the empty cheeto bag on the floor and back to the safety of my cot before the creature could get to it ... and then maybe it would turn around and go back from whence it came ... out into the rainy alley.
I mean I assumed it was trying to escape the thunderstorm, and somehow found a way via a pipe or a vent into that space now known as the bathroom closet.
Defense. That's what I decided. After all, I had no weapon to go on the offense ... although it was just as true that I did not have a tool or resource to protect me on the defense. But I did have my cot. And if the overabundance of cartoons that I had watched in all too many foster home living rooms had taught me nothing else, it had taught me that it was perfectly acceptable to jump up on something when being confronted by a rat.
The claws-on-metal sound, that was only slightly less grating than nails-on-a-chalkboard, stopped, and I knew that we were now in each other's presence.
I perched precariously on the corner of my cot, staring into the shadows waiting for the whiskers to announce the arrival of the creature ... and sure enough, it was whiskers that I got.
It all boiled down to one of those two choices.
If only I had been a more active participant in the PE classes of my youth. But alas, I was a-lacking in any personal experiences with team sports.
Public school physical education was about playing games ... with your friends ... and building teams ... with your friends ... and engaging in activities ... with your friends. I was usually the new kid ... with *no* friends ... and so I would do anything and work anyone I needed to in order to avoid the gymnasium and to spend more time in the library.
Let's just say that I aced a lot of exams in my day ... but not a single one of them had "Presidential Fitness" written across the top.
If only I had put more effort into improving my speed in the shuttle run, I could have made it to the empty cheeto bag on the floor and back to the safety of my cot before the creature could get to it ... and then maybe it would turn around and go back from whence it came ... out into the rainy alley.
I mean I assumed it was trying to escape the thunderstorm, and somehow found a way via a pipe or a vent into that space now known as the bathroom closet.
Defense. That's what I decided. After all, I had no weapon to go on the offense ... although it was just as true that I did not have a tool or resource to protect me on the defense. But I did have my cot. And if the overabundance of cartoons that I had watched in all too many foster home living rooms had taught me nothing else, it had taught me that it was perfectly acceptable to jump up on something when being confronted by a rat.
The claws-on-metal sound, that was only slightly less grating than nails-on-a-chalkboard, stopped, and I knew that we were now in each other's presence.
I perched precariously on the corner of my cot, staring into the shadows waiting for the whiskers to announce the arrival of the creature ... and sure enough, it was whiskers that I got.
***
Whiskers ... followed by a little pink nose ... followed by a paw.
And then the rat creature came into full view.
Except the rat I had been expecting wasn't a rat at all.
Joining me in my basement prison cell was a kitty cat that couldn't have even been but a year old. A kitty cat with claws ... so one to be respected ... but not in any way an animal to be feared.
"Psss ... swwwss ... ssssswt!"
I called out to it in the language I assumed all felines knew, and it froze.
I sensed that this might not have been the first time this kitty had visited this space, but that, alternatively, it *was* the first time it had to share it with an interloper. And that it needed time to decide what it thought about said interloper.
"Kitty ... kitty ... kitty ..."
There was no way that I could know whether the ball of fur already had a name to which it would respond ... and, it being a cat, whether it would respond to its name even if it had one.
I moved slowly, hand outstretched, evaluating it as it was evaluating me.
Sadly, despite all my caution, I forgot about the empty cheeto bag -- the one that I assumed was calling out to the rat that I thought was going to be my companion (or my executioner, depending on how far I had taken my earlier line of thought) ... and when I stepped on it and it crinkled loudly and unexpectedly, the cat jumped backwards and ran into the bathroom closet before we could more formally introduce ourselves.
And then the rat creature came into full view.
Except the rat I had been expecting wasn't a rat at all.
Joining me in my basement prison cell was a kitty cat that couldn't have even been but a year old. A kitty cat with claws ... so one to be respected ... but not in any way an animal to be feared.
"Psss ... swwwss ... ssssswt!"
I called out to it in the language I assumed all felines knew, and it froze.
I sensed that this might not have been the first time this kitty had visited this space, but that, alternatively, it *was* the first time it had to share it with an interloper. And that it needed time to decide what it thought about said interloper.
"Kitty ... kitty ... kitty ..."
There was no way that I could know whether the ball of fur already had a name to which it would respond ... and, it being a cat, whether it would respond to its name even if it had one.
I moved slowly, hand outstretched, evaluating it as it was evaluating me.
Sadly, despite all my caution, I forgot about the empty cheeto bag -- the one that I assumed was calling out to the rat that I thought was going to be my companion (or my executioner, depending on how far I had taken my earlier line of thought) ... and when I stepped on it and it crinkled loudly and unexpectedly, the cat jumped backwards and ran into the bathroom closet before we could more formally introduce ourselves.
***
I could follow the new arrival .. and scare it further ... or I could wait it out and see if it would come to me.
I had all the time in the world, being locked up as I was, so I chose the latter.
I curled up on my cot and decided I would do my best to banish all thoughts from my head and to try to nap, knowing full well that I risked being haunted by the memories of others I had downloaded, as they never seemed to be too far away once I slipped into slumber.
Yet that seemed like the right move to make in order to befriend the kitty cat that had shown up unexpectedly in my space.
The rain was almost hypnotic ... and so I focused only on that noise, staring at the window up above me, hoping that sleep would find me, despite the fact that I had been so exhausted the night before on my arrival that I taken care of any deficit my body had been facing.
I did indeed doze off ... kind of ... but it was more like a trance.
Eyes closed, mind clear, ears honed in to the pitter and the patter of the rain, repeated over and over again, rhythmically rinsing my soul of the shadows that had all too easily gathered what with the situation I was in ... it was relaxation more than slumber.
Relaxation *with* a soundtrack on repeat ... pitter ... patter ... pitter ... patter ... purr.
I didn't move, except for a smile, since my strategy had been effective. Mixed in with the raindrops was the new distinct sound of the kitty, exploring me and my cot carefully, purring softly as she tested whether she could join me in the warmth and comfort of this sleeping arrangement.
Gently, the paw reached out, barely brushing my nose and cheek, seeing how far she could take this style of introduction.
Curiosity won the day ... and it was me who was rewarded as I was now no longer alone.
I had all the time in the world, being locked up as I was, so I chose the latter.
I curled up on my cot and decided I would do my best to banish all thoughts from my head and to try to nap, knowing full well that I risked being haunted by the memories of others I had downloaded, as they never seemed to be too far away once I slipped into slumber.
Yet that seemed like the right move to make in order to befriend the kitty cat that had shown up unexpectedly in my space.
The rain was almost hypnotic ... and so I focused only on that noise, staring at the window up above me, hoping that sleep would find me, despite the fact that I had been so exhausted the night before on my arrival that I taken care of any deficit my body had been facing.
I did indeed doze off ... kind of ... but it was more like a trance.
Eyes closed, mind clear, ears honed in to the pitter and the patter of the rain, repeated over and over again, rhythmically rinsing my soul of the shadows that had all too easily gathered what with the situation I was in ... it was relaxation more than slumber.
Relaxation *with* a soundtrack on repeat ... pitter ... patter ... pitter ... patter ... purr.
I didn't move, except for a smile, since my strategy had been effective. Mixed in with the raindrops was the new distinct sound of the kitty, exploring me and my cot carefully, purring softly as she tested whether she could join me in the warmth and comfort of this sleeping arrangement.
Gently, the paw reached out, barely brushing my nose and cheek, seeing how far she could take this style of introduction.
Curiosity won the day ... and it was me who was rewarded as I was now no longer alone.
***
I don't know how long I had been out ... but it felt like days.
Which was surprising to me for two reasons ... first, I didn't know I was tired enough for an afternoon nap and second, I somehow slept soundly, despite not having medication to chase away the goonies that usually cluttered my dreams.
Maybe it was the rain? Or possibly it was the purring noise of the kitten who had snuggled up next to me. But whatever the reason, we napped on my cot until the storm passed, which was probably just an hour or so, the normal length of time for those pop-up thunderstorms that happen so regularly this close to the coast.
It was the new kitty who actually woke me, as she had clearly been startled by something and, within moments of being alerted to whatever it was, had darted back to the bathroom closet and disappeared before I could even take the step of naming her.
"Huh. I just had a one-nap stand and didn't get a name," I mused to myself. "Typical Florida."
I got up to head toward the bathroom area to see how it was the kitten had come and gone into my confined space in hopes that it might lead to some path to freedom for me, but before I took a few steps, I learned what it was that had startled my new not yet named cuddle buddy.
Sure enough, that was the sound of the boxes being moved away from the door into my room -- the kitty must have heard the outer door to the hallway being unlocked and opened.
Finally, some twenty hours after I had been imprisoned in this space, I was going to get my first visitor.
Which was surprising to me for two reasons ... first, I didn't know I was tired enough for an afternoon nap and second, I somehow slept soundly, despite not having medication to chase away the goonies that usually cluttered my dreams.
Maybe it was the rain? Or possibly it was the purring noise of the kitten who had snuggled up next to me. But whatever the reason, we napped on my cot until the storm passed, which was probably just an hour or so, the normal length of time for those pop-up thunderstorms that happen so regularly this close to the coast.
It was the new kitty who actually woke me, as she had clearly been startled by something and, within moments of being alerted to whatever it was, had darted back to the bathroom closet and disappeared before I could even take the step of naming her.
"Huh. I just had a one-nap stand and didn't get a name," I mused to myself. "Typical Florida."
I got up to head toward the bathroom area to see how it was the kitten had come and gone into my confined space in hopes that it might lead to some path to freedom for me, but before I took a few steps, I learned what it was that had startled my new not yet named cuddle buddy.
Sure enough, that was the sound of the boxes being moved away from the door into my room -- the kitty must have heard the outer door to the hallway being unlocked and opened.
Finally, some twenty hours after I had been imprisoned in this space, I was going to get my first visitor.
***
My bets were on Mario when it came down to whom I expected to see opening the door.
After all, I hadn't seen Albert since I arrived. Literally, since *before* I arrived, seeing as how he had hooded me before we left the highway when we got close to this place, and how he had run some kind of cover story while Mario had slipped me in through the back door and down the stairs to my little prison.
Whomever was working on the other side to move the boxes sounded like they were doing so purposefully, and I doubted that any random stranger would have taken the time to explore this space to that degree.
With that analysis, I wasn't surprised when it *was* Mario who cautiously opened the door and came into my room, quickly closing the door behind him. He stood, imposing figure that he was, guarding it as if he might have expected me to bum rush him and attempt an escape.
But let's face it ... I was half his size and knew it. Plus I was just waking up from my nap, so I wasn't thinking at full capacity quite yet.
We looked at each other awkwardly, unsure as to how the kidnapped and the kidnapper should engage in small talk.
Finally, he started the conversation. "You need anything?"
Oh the irony.
"Funny you should mention it. I do have a few requests." I tried to quickly un-fog and un-grog my mind so as to remember the list of demands I had started to mentally notate.
I decided to buy some time with a question.
"For starters, you could tell me how long you expect me to *be* in this situation."
After all, I hadn't seen Albert since I arrived. Literally, since *before* I arrived, seeing as how he had hooded me before we left the highway when we got close to this place, and how he had run some kind of cover story while Mario had slipped me in through the back door and down the stairs to my little prison.
Whomever was working on the other side to move the boxes sounded like they were doing so purposefully, and I doubted that any random stranger would have taken the time to explore this space to that degree.
With that analysis, I wasn't surprised when it *was* Mario who cautiously opened the door and came into my room, quickly closing the door behind him. He stood, imposing figure that he was, guarding it as if he might have expected me to bum rush him and attempt an escape.
But let's face it ... I was half his size and knew it. Plus I was just waking up from my nap, so I wasn't thinking at full capacity quite yet.
We looked at each other awkwardly, unsure as to how the kidnapped and the kidnapper should engage in small talk.
Finally, he started the conversation. "You need anything?"
Oh the irony.
"Funny you should mention it. I do have a few requests." I tried to quickly un-fog and un-grog my mind so as to remember the list of demands I had started to mentally notate.
I decided to buy some time with a question.
"For starters, you could tell me how long you expect me to *be* in this situation."
***
"You'll know *what* you need to know *when* you need to know it. It's just that simple."
With that reply, Mario proved that there was more that he was guarding than just the door he had unlocked and entered moments earlier.
I stared at him, unsure as to how, or whether, I should push for more details. In the end, I decided to save that battle for another day. More pressing for me ... my list of "demands".
"Well if you aren't going to tell me anything, then you can at least get me a few things," I countered.
"Like what? You're set up pretty well. Place to sleep ... stuff to eat ... all you have to do is wait patiently until we need you ... and then you have to do that thing you do."
"That's kind of my point," I said impatiently. "Can't you get me something to do while I'm waiting ... like crossword puzzles or something? Some magazines or something to read? I have nothing to do but stare at the walls ..."
And then I thought of a way to apply the pressure.
"If you want me to 'do that thing I do', I'm going to have to be in good mental health."
I could see that I had played that card well, and that he was buying into my line of reasoning.
He reached into his pocket and I thought he was pulling out a tablet to write down my request, but he tossed me a book instead.
"I'm about to start my shift, so I'll see what might be around the bar upstairs. In the meantime, entertain yourself with that."
He turned around to leave, and I shouted out, "Hey ... I need more toilet paper. And a flashlight -- that space doesn't have any light in it."
"I'll see what I can do," was his reply. And with that, he was on the other side of the door, and I was listening to the sound of the boxes that he was moving back in place to block it.
So ended my human interaction for Day 2. I turned to the book he had thrown at me, and I saw that I was going to spend my evening learning things from a Bartending 101 guide.
With that reply, Mario proved that there was more that he was guarding than just the door he had unlocked and entered moments earlier.
I stared at him, unsure as to how, or whether, I should push for more details. In the end, I decided to save that battle for another day. More pressing for me ... my list of "demands".
"Well if you aren't going to tell me anything, then you can at least get me a few things," I countered.
"Like what? You're set up pretty well. Place to sleep ... stuff to eat ... all you have to do is wait patiently until we need you ... and then you have to do that thing you do."
"That's kind of my point," I said impatiently. "Can't you get me something to do while I'm waiting ... like crossword puzzles or something? Some magazines or something to read? I have nothing to do but stare at the walls ..."
And then I thought of a way to apply the pressure.
"If you want me to 'do that thing I do', I'm going to have to be in good mental health."
I could see that I had played that card well, and that he was buying into my line of reasoning.
He reached into his pocket and I thought he was pulling out a tablet to write down my request, but he tossed me a book instead.
"I'm about to start my shift, so I'll see what might be around the bar upstairs. In the meantime, entertain yourself with that."
He turned around to leave, and I shouted out, "Hey ... I need more toilet paper. And a flashlight -- that space doesn't have any light in it."
"I'll see what I can do," was his reply. And with that, he was on the other side of the door, and I was listening to the sound of the boxes that he was moving back in place to block it.
So ended my human interaction for Day 2. I turned to the book he had thrown at me, and I saw that I was going to spend my evening learning things from a Bartending 101 guide.
***
Hey ... you know what they say ... prisoners can't be choosers. When the book cart comes around, you grab what you can from the choices that are offered, and you make do.
Of course, in my case, I was the sole individual locked in that room under that bar, and my requests for any kind of entertainment had resulted in me being given a bartenders guide by which I could pass the time.
So that's what I did. And being a recent college graduate, I was still in the scholastic mindset, so I tackled the only reading I had with gusto.
I learned all the bartending basics about the right way to muddle, to give a glass a rim, to measure via fingers, to minimize the head on my pours, to shake or stir or mix (depending on how it was demanded), etc etc.
I studied how to bang a wall with Harvey, to create earthquakes and hurricanes, to make Marys bloody and navels fuzzy and nipples slippery.
The most ironic thing of all? I did all of this in the basement of a bar, yet I didn't have a drop of alcohol to drink during my self-training.
Since it wasn't the biggest book, I was able to read it cover to cover, stopping only as I did to raid the fridge and make myself a sandwich with the lunch meat I found in it.
In the back pages, I found a section for notes. I chuckled to myself as I located the shot that I had taught Mario to make for me the night when I first met him at the bar during my pre-vacation before our service group started working on that home-building project back during spring break.
But then I looked directly underneath those shot ingredients, and my chuckle turned to a shudder, as I saw my name and the name of my college right there in his handwriting. Someone had done his research ... the proof was on those pages.
Of course, in my case, I was the sole individual locked in that room under that bar, and my requests for any kind of entertainment had resulted in me being given a bartenders guide by which I could pass the time.
So that's what I did. And being a recent college graduate, I was still in the scholastic mindset, so I tackled the only reading I had with gusto.
I learned all the bartending basics about the right way to muddle, to give a glass a rim, to measure via fingers, to minimize the head on my pours, to shake or stir or mix (depending on how it was demanded), etc etc.
I studied how to bang a wall with Harvey, to create earthquakes and hurricanes, to make Marys bloody and navels fuzzy and nipples slippery.
The most ironic thing of all? I did all of this in the basement of a bar, yet I didn't have a drop of alcohol to drink during my self-training.
Since it wasn't the biggest book, I was able to read it cover to cover, stopping only as I did to raid the fridge and make myself a sandwich with the lunch meat I found in it.
In the back pages, I found a section for notes. I chuckled to myself as I located the shot that I had taught Mario to make for me the night when I first met him at the bar during my pre-vacation before our service group started working on that home-building project back during spring break.
But then I looked directly underneath those shot ingredients, and my chuckle turned to a shudder, as I saw my name and the name of my college right there in his handwriting. Someone had done his research ... the proof was on those pages.
***
I was tempted to summarize my second day of captivity as uneventful.
But, as I ran through the events in my mind before struggling to go to sleep on my little cot, I realized that that simply wasn't true.
Sure, I only had human interaction for less than five minutes ... but it had at least landed me *something* to do in the guise of Mario's bartending book. Plus I had planted the seeds with him that I needed a few more things if I was going to be cooped up in this space for much longer.
And human interaction or not, I had spent *quality* time with a new feline companion. Other than those real prisoners who got to work with service animals in training, it's the rare convict who gets to pass the time with a creature.
Regardless, any day that starts with finding out that I *did* have access to a toilet and didn't have to piss (or worse) in the corner HAS to be counted as a good day.
All this thought about my situation and comparing it to what I thought I knew about those in a more traditional captivity did present me with an idea. Perhaps I should find a spot on the wall ... or in the dust in the corner ... or in the bathroom closet out of the way ... and there I should add my hash marks to track the number of days I was kept against my will.
I decided that if I was going to start, it would be the day after my second day ... just in case that day was to be the day that I was used for my purpose and then set free. But if it wasn't, I'd start the tracking for sure.
With that, I said a little prayer that the ghosts of the memories of others wouldn't be able to find me in my cell, and I did my best to fall asleep.
And so ended my second full day in captivity.
But, as I ran through the events in my mind before struggling to go to sleep on my little cot, I realized that that simply wasn't true.
Sure, I only had human interaction for less than five minutes ... but it had at least landed me *something* to do in the guise of Mario's bartending book. Plus I had planted the seeds with him that I needed a few more things if I was going to be cooped up in this space for much longer.
And human interaction or not, I had spent *quality* time with a new feline companion. Other than those real prisoners who got to work with service animals in training, it's the rare convict who gets to pass the time with a creature.
Regardless, any day that starts with finding out that I *did* have access to a toilet and didn't have to piss (or worse) in the corner HAS to be counted as a good day.
All this thought about my situation and comparing it to what I thought I knew about those in a more traditional captivity did present me with an idea. Perhaps I should find a spot on the wall ... or in the dust in the corner ... or in the bathroom closet out of the way ... and there I should add my hash marks to track the number of days I was kept against my will.
I decided that if I was going to start, it would be the day after my second day ... just in case that day was to be the day that I was used for my purpose and then set free. But if it wasn't, I'd start the tracking for sure.
With that, I said a little prayer that the ghosts of the memories of others wouldn't be able to find me in my cell, and I did my best to fall asleep.
And so ended my second full day in captivity.
***
[to be continued ...]
[to be continued ...]
