lottery.
We spent a lot of time together at first. We went to movies, for long walks, to baseball games, and sat together for hours in bars just talking about what we wanted in life, sometimes slurring after too many drinks. I never told her how much I loved her. I was afraid it would scare her off. Then one day there was the note: “Can we just be good friends?”
Like taking a remote control and fast forwarding to the next scene in a movie, my mind went to that horrible Friday afternoon. I had just finished high school the week before. I was in my bedroom, the rain pouring down so hard you couldn’t see out the window. My parents went out to run an errand together and were running a little late. The phone rang, startling me out of my thoughts of college, and then I heard that somber voice, “Is this the Campbell residence?”
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Dr. Daley. Are you related to Mr. and Mrs. Michael Campbell?”
“Yes, I am. Is everything okay?”
“Could you come to Lawrence General Hospital? Just ask for me in the emergency room.”
“What is this about? Why do I need to come to the hospital?” I asked frantically.
“We can talk when you get here,” he said as he hung up the phone.
I never had a chance to say goodbye. Someone ran a red light and just like that they were gone. I numbly went into the morgue and identified them, the magnitude of everything not hitting yet. The doctor and nurses said some things as I stood there, but I was so deep in myself, it was just some mumbling I couldn’t decipher.
I found myself outside in the parking lot, looking over the mill buildings along the banks of the Merrimac River, the rain making the red bricks shiny and new looking. Then I just walked off into the rain and I don’t remember how or when I got home.
The high beams of an oncoming car snapped me out of it. My car swerved a little as I turned the wheel to avoid them when I rounded a bend a little too fast. They went by at the right time; I just couldn’t bear to think anymore. If I had gone through with it, maybe I would be with my parents right now. Maybe there was a heaven. But driving along in the moonlit shadows with my memories haunting me as they did, it was hard to imagine heaven or anyplace like it.
Chapter 2
I got back to my apartment in Lawrence around 10:00 p.m. In the hallway entrance, I unlocked the door and felt my foot stepping on a bunch of mail. There was one piece still hanging out of the slot in the door. I bent down to get it, but then stopped. Why bother? It would be bills, urgent notifications of the millions of dollars I had won, once-in–a-lifetime discounts at my local car dealer, dream cruises for peanuts, and all this if I just called by a certain date. Then there’d be pictures of a sad puppy with pleading messages to give now before the rascal perishes. The message was always different, but the end result the same—part with your money.
So I just turned and walked up the stairs and went through the second door into my apartment. Before I even clicked the light on, I saw a red number “3” flashing on the other side of the room; three new phone messages. I hung up my keys and clicked play.
“This is an urgent message regarding your credit card accounts. There is nothing wrong at this time. If you would like to take advantage…” I hit delete and the next message started, “Are your home’s windows over thirty years old…”
“Over and over, it’s always the same crap,” I grumbled, then hit delete and started to walk away. The next message started and I stopped mid-step. It was a voice I hadn’t heard in ten years.
“John, this is your Aunt Peggy. It’s been so long since we’ve talked. After your parents died, I guess I just didn’t know what to say. I want to know how everything is with you. Please give me a call when you can.”
I sat on the couch and ran my fingers through my hair. “Why would Aunt Peggy just suddenly call?” I asked
We spent a lot of time together at first. We went to movies, for long walks, to baseball games, and sat together for hours in bars just talking about what we wanted in life, sometimes slurring after too many drinks. I never told her how much I loved her. I was afraid it would scare her off. Then one day there was the note: “Can we just be good friends?”
Like taking a remote control and fast forwarding to the next scene in a movie, my mind went to that horrible Friday afternoon. I had just finished high school the week before. I was in my bedroom, the rain pouring down so hard you couldn’t see out the window. My parents went out to run an errand together and were running a little late. The phone rang, startling me out of my thoughts of college, and then I heard that somber voice, “Is this the Campbell residence?”
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Dr. Daley. Are you related to Mr. and Mrs. Michael Campbell?”
“Yes, I am. Is everything okay?”
“Could you come to Lawrence General Hospital? Just ask for me in the emergency room.”
“What is this about? Why do I need to come to the hospital?” I asked frantically.
“We can talk when you get here,” he said as he hung up the phone.
I never had a chance to say goodbye. Someone ran a red light and just like that they were gone. I numbly went into the morgue and identified them, the magnitude of everything not hitting yet. The doctor and nurses said some things as I stood there, but I was so deep in myself, it was just some mumbling I couldn’t decipher.
I found myself outside in the parking lot, looking over the mill buildings along the banks of the Merrimac River, the rain making the red bricks shiny and new looking. Then I just walked off into the rain and I don’t remember how or when I got home.
The high beams of an oncoming car snapped me out of it. My car swerved a little as I turned the wheel to avoid them when I rounded a bend a little too fast. They went by at the right time; I just couldn’t bear to think anymore. If I had gone through with it, maybe I would be with my parents right now. Maybe there was a heaven. But driving along in the moonlit shadows with my memories haunting me as they did, it was hard to imagine heaven or anyplace like it.
Chapter 2
I got back to my apartment in Lawrence around 10:00 p.m. In the hallway entrance, I unlocked the door and felt my foot stepping on a bunch of mail. There was one piece still hanging out of the slot in the door. I bent down to get it, but then stopped. Why bother? It would be bills, urgent notifications of the millions of dollars I had won, once-in–a-lifetime discounts at my local car dealer, dream cruises for peanuts, and all this if I just called by a certain date. Then there’d be pictures of a sad puppy with pleading messages to give now before the rascal perishes. The message was always different, but the end result the same—part with your money.
So I just turned and walked up the stairs and went through the second door into my apartment. Before I even clicked the light on, I saw a red number “3” flashing on the other side of the room; three new phone messages. I hung up my keys and clicked play.
“This is an urgent message regarding your credit card accounts. There is nothing wrong at this time. If you would like to take advantage…” I hit delete and the next message started, “Are your home’s windows over thirty years old…”
“Over and over, it’s always the same crap,” I grumbled, then hit delete and started to walk away. The next message started and I stopped mid-step. It was a voice I hadn’t heard in ten years.
“John, this is your Aunt Peggy. It’s been so long since we’ve talked. After your parents died, I guess I just didn’t know what to say. I want to know how everything is with you. Please give me a call when you can.”
I sat on the couch and ran my fingers through my hair. “Why would Aunt Peggy just suddenly call?” I asked
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