A Late Night Visit to Lake Michigan
The last thing Stevie remembered hearing was the creak on the floor. It was an unusual creak. Not that creaks are unusual, per se, but…
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The last thing Stevie remembered hearing was the creak on the floor. It was an unusual creak. Not that creaks are unusual, per se, but…
He started walking and soon realized that he was never alone. Every street, every house, every store and every park was filled with people. Having…
Waking up, he had no recollection of how he got to this place. As he opened his left eye, he realized that he stared at…
It came as a great surprise when the Smith family gave birth to triplets. Mrs. Smith, of course, was tickled pink at the prospect of…
The weather could not have been any better as Alfie lay on the porch in a perfect square of golden sunshine. The golden sun, the…
The weather could not have been any more perfect. Standing at the edge of a small pond, he watched the koi swimming toward the surface,…
Bernie woke up on the floor with no recollection of how he got there. Completely exhausted, he didn’t even have the strength to move. From…
Alexey was thirty years old and the company’s most successful stockbroker to date. Profiting north of 1.2 million the previous year, he was aiming for…
The last thing Merrill remembered was the panicked voice of a medic. “He’s lost so much blood, I don’t think he’s going to make it,”…
“Jonathan, get down here now!” his father bellowed up the stairs. The small boy, curled up in the small space between his bed and the…
“Jonathan, get down here now!” his father bellowed up the stairs. The small boy, curled up in the small space between his bed and the wall involuntarily shuddered as he heard his name called. Leaping out of his hiding space, he nearly ran down the stairs, knowing what to expect if he wasn’t fast enough.
“Yes sir, I’m here,” the boy called out, his voice trembling with fear.
“Don’t be such a coward,” the man yelled at him, raising his hand up over his head. The boy closed his eyes and slightly withdrew, waiting for the strike. After a brief moment and feeling no blow, he opened his eyes and looked up at the huge man towering over him. “Get on your boots and go outside. We need more firewood and hurry up before it gets too dark.”
Grabbing his coat and boots, the seven year old boy hurried down the back stairs and into the backyard. Eventually finding the axe, only inches shorter than himself, he began heaving the object with all of his strength, striking each chunk of wood six or seven times before it would split. Stacking the pieces in a neat pile at the top of the stairs, he hurried back and forth from woodpile to the door, hoping he could move fast enough to please his father.
Wiping the blood from his raw palms, he continued splitting until he could no longer see the wood in front of him. Trembling and nearly in tears, he trudged up the stairs and back into the kitchen. “That better be enough for the night,” the man yelled at him. “Or otherwise, you’ll be out there in the dark splitting more. And I don’t care if it’s three in the morning either. I am not going to wake up to a cold house.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy mumbled and walked up the stairs to collapse into his bed. Slipping under the covers, he shuddered with cold and curled into a ball, trying to warm himself. His room, the only room in the house without a vent from the living room, was terribly cold in the winter and unbearably hot in the summer. But he knew nothing else and prayed for sleep to come quickly.
Waking with a start, he could see the full moon outside of his window, a massive pale orb looking down upon him and filling his room with light. In the corner nearest the window, the corner with no light, he thought he saw some movement. Closing his eyes and waiting for the blow from his father and fearing another night out chopping firewood, he waited in vain. No blow or angry words fell upon him.
“It’s not supposed to be like this, you know,” a very deep and smooth voice said.
“Who said that?” Jonathan asked. “Who are you?”
“Just think of me as a friend,” the voice said. “It is not supposed to be like this,” he said again. “You are just a boy and he should not do these things to you.”
“But there is nothing I can do,” Jonathan answered. “He is so big and so mean. I have to do what he says.”
“He may be big and mean,” the voice said, “but he has to sleep sometimes and when he does, you can protect yourself.”
“I… I don’t understand,” he answered. “What are you saying?”
“You can take the poker from the fireplace,” he said, “and hit him back for all the times that he hit you. You need to understand that sometimes there are very bad people and someone needs to stop them from hurting others.”
“But if I hurt him, wouldn’t that make me just like him?” the boy asked.
“That is a very good answer,” the voice said. “I am glad to hear you say that. It would be wrong to do evil to try to stop evil. There is another answer. When you are waiting for the school bus tomorrow, close your eyes and listen very carefully. I will talk to you again. Good night, Jonathan.”
Jonathan pulled his car to the side of the road and looked at the ruins of what was his childhood home. He could remember back to the day when the police arrived and took his father away. As a seven year old boy, he wondered how he would survive in that old house all alone but he was mistaken. The kind young woman who arrived shortly after the police gently hugged him and told him of a new house and a new family that would take care of him.
Shuddering as he recalled the many beatings and forced labor from the hands of his father, he closed his eyes and thought of more beautiful things. His new adoptive family, his own warm and clean bedroom and sweet older sister. He marveled at the sweet creaminess of milk, something he had never tasted before. The filling warm meals and gentle hugs from his new mother.
Starting the engine, he drove away from the horror of his childhood and never looked back. Much bigger and stronger now, stronger than most everyone in his high school, he still trembled at the thought of speaking his mind. As tenth grade began, he had signed up for French class but was told that it was full. Instead, he was told he would be taking speech class. The thought nearly made him vomit.
Sitting in fourth period speech, he listened in horror as the teacher explained that each student would stand in front of the class and tell a one minute story from their childhood. Feeling the blood drain from his face and the knot in his throat grow to the size of a watermelon, Jonathan could feel his stomach churning as the pulled pork sandwich from lunch threatened to make an appearance. Raising his hand, he asked to be excused to go to the bathroom. But the teacher, mistaking his raised hand as an offer of going first, instructed him to step up in front of the class.
Jonathan tried to excuse himself, but the teacher rejected his plea. Rising from his desk, he slowly walked to the front of the room. Looking from face to face, he knew them all and was friends with them all but his memory could offer nothing but the horrors of his childhood. He tried several times to speak but no sound emerged.
“As soon as you start, Jonathan,” the teacher said, “I’ll start the timer. Please go ahead.”
The last thing he could remember was seeing the room spin and the floor rapidly approaching his face. Waking in the nurse’s office with a cold, wet rag on his forehead, he could hear the teacher and the nurse speaking.
“I don’t know what happened,” the teacher said. “He was standing there, ready to give his short speech when all of a sudden he just collapsed. It was very strange. He actually volunteered to go first. I feel sorry for the kid.”
“Well, we’ve called his parents,” the nurse added. “They are going to bring him home for the day.”
The next day, Jonathan stood in the front of the class with the same nauseous feeling and terror as the day before. With help from his father on the night before, Jonathan was able to croak out nearly a minute about a fishing trip the two of them had gone on the summer before. Returning to his desk in a cold sweat, he received a friendly pat on the shoulder from the student behind him. Barely holding himself together, he managed to get through the rest of the day.
Laying in bed that evening, the edges of summer had come upon him and the darkness of night was more of a dusk than darkness. Trying hard not to think of the struggle from earlier that day, he began to drift off to sleep. “Jonathan,” a voice called out, “I know you’re still awake.”
Suddenly fully awake, Jonathan recognized the voice and sat up on his elbows. “It’s you again,” he said. “Where have you been all this time?”
“I’ve been here all along,” the voice said. Jonathan imagined liquid bronze as the voice spoke to him. “I’ve always been with you. I saw what happened at school. I’m sorry you had to go through that but it doesn’t have to be this way.”
“No, really, it’s okay,” Jonathan answered. “It’s not a big deal. I just need to learn how to talk, that’s all.”
“Oh, that is not it at all,” the voice said. “No one should try to make you do what you cannot do.”
“Wait a minute,” Jonathan said. “This is nothing like what happened with my real father. The teacher is a nice old man. He doesn’t mean any harm. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”
“That is a very good answer, Jonathan,” the voice said. “I see that you still have a good heart.”
“The last time we spoke, I could only see your shadow. Where are you now?” he asked.
“I’m over here,” the voice said. “Look at your closet.” As the man spoke to him, Jonathan saw the closet door slowly swing open and he could see the shape of a large man. More than a shadow but not quite clear. He could make out that he was elegantly dressed and smoothly shaven but that was all.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Jonathan said. “Tell me what to do.”
“You still don’t understand what is going on here,” he said. “It is not my place to tell you what to do. I know your heart and I can point you in the right direction but you must never think of the relationship between us as one of me commanding you. We are friends, Jonathan. Go to sleep now and rest well. You have a very important day tomorrow. We’ll talk again in the morning.”
Lying down and letting out a long breath, Jonathan closed his eyes and drifted into an excited but restful sleep. Waking after what seemed a mere moment, the brightness of the morning sun filled his room with a golden warmth that matched the excitement of his heart.
Climbing the steps into the massive stone building of his school, he turned to face the massive crowd in the hallway. Joining into the flow of fellow students, he made his way toward his locker but just as he reached it, he heard a single word, “Listen.” Immediately stopping, he closed his eyes and focused on all the sound around him. It was cacophony but then a single conversation stood out.
“I don’t think I can do it, Daryl,” a girl just behind him said. “I thought I would be able to do French but I’ve failed every quiz and it just doesn’t make sense. I think I’m going to drop the class.”
“Oh, Lisa, don’t do that,” a boy said. “Class won’t be the same without you.”
“I have to, Daryl,” she answered. “If I fail even one class, my parents won’t let me stay on the cheer squad and I won’t sacrifice that. I’m sorry.”
Jonathan opened his eyes and smiled. “Thanks, man,” he said under his breath.
Fall had just begun to turn and Jonathan stood on his front steps looking out across the street, strewn with red and golden leaves. This brief hesitation had become a routine for him each day as he left for work. The stress of being a stockbroker necessitated these small slices of introspective bliss. Living alone as he had for the last ten years would have given him plenty of quiet time but keeping an eye on market activity kept his mind occupied.
Breathing deeply, he descended his steps to the sidewalk and made his way to the subway. It was a short walk, no more than three blocks and he knew the exact number of steps to reach the turnstile beneath the street. Emerging from the tube below ground, Jonathan entered his building and took the elevator to the 42nd floor. Greeting the receptionist as he entered the office, he smiled only slightly, as he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. Quietly passing through the carpeted and wood paneled walls of corporate headquarters, he just about slipped past his bosses office without being detected.
“Jonathan, there you are,” his boss called out. “Of course, you’re early. Come in for a minute. I’ve got a great opportunity for you.”
Letting out a small sigh, Jonathan turned around and took a seat opposite his boss’s massive wooden desk. “Good morning, Carl,” he said with a smile, trying to come across as friendly.
“I want to start this by giving you a big congratulations. The board has been noticing your exceptional work and have strongly suggested to me that they would like to see you take on more of a leadership role. You are really, really good at what you do. You’re probably the best broker this firm has ever seen. And that’s saying a lot, considering we’ve been here for over one hundred years.”
Jonathan started to answer by downplaying his abilities but Carl cut him off. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jonathan. Me and everyone here knows just how awesome you are. I am ready to offer you the position of lead broker at the Brooklyn branch. Larry, the current lead is set to retire at the end of the month and we would love to have you step in and take over his role. I have complete and absolute trust in your abilities. What do you say?”
“I uh… wow, I uh… Can I think about it for a couple of days,” he asked. “That is a big responsibility and a move as well. I’d have to sell my condo and move and everything.”
“Trust me Jonathan,” Carl answered. “The company is ready to offer you a huge increase in salary and I mean huge. Of all the people I know, no one deserves this more than you. I hope you say yes. Have an answer for me by Thursday.”
Standing up, the two men shook hands and Jonathan slowly walked to his desk with the feeling of a bowling ball in his stomach. Dropping his briefcase at his desk, he slipped into the breakroom for an espresso. As he stood, waiting for the water to heat, he heard someone else enter the room. The light, high clicking sound confirmed that it was a woman who approached him from behind. Turning around with a smile, he made eye contact with Brenda, the front desk receptionist.
“Good morning again, Jonathan,” she said, reaching out and touching his arm with a smile. “How was your weekend?”
“Oh, it was fine, I guess. I didn’t really do anything,” he answered, avoiding eye contact. After a pause with a blank mind, he reciprocated the question.
“Well, mine was really boring,” Brenda said. “I didn’t do anything at all. I was home all by myself all weekend. Sounds like we could’ve enjoyed one another’s company. You should call me sometime. It would be fun to go do something together.”
“Heh, heh, yeah, that would be fun,” he answered. “I’ll make sure to do that.” Turning his cup around in his hand, he stood with an empty mind and a lump in his throat. I… uh… I should probably get back to my desk. Lots of work to do.”
With a sigh of relief, he escaped the break room and sat behind his desk, turning on the multiple computer monitors now filled with charts. Watching the clock click over to six thirty, he turned off his computer, filled his briefcase and hurried to the elevator, making sure to avoid eye contact with anyone.
Closing his front door behind him, he laid down on his couch with his feet on the arm at the opposite end. Closing his eyes, he did a little deep breathing and tried to forget everything that had happened that day. “Man, too much talk, too much interaction and too much potential change. What am I going to do?”
“Can I offer a suggestion?” a familiar liquid bronze voice said from the opposite corner of the room.
Quickly opening his eyes and realizing that he had failed to turn on the living room lights, he could see the same well dressed man sitting in the leather chair opposite him. Swinging his feet down and sitting up, Jonathan rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
“No, I’m really here,” the man said. “I’ve always been here. You had quite the day today, didn’t you?” he asked. “What are you going to tell Carl about the job offer?”
“I… I don’t know,” he answered. “I really, really don’t want a leadership position. It’s not who I am. I don’t think I could do it.”
“Well, that sounds like a pretty definitive answer to me,” the man said. “Here, stand up for a minute and come over here.”
As Jonathan stood, the man stood as well. As he approached him, he realized that they were the exact same height and build. Sticking out both of his hands, palms up, the man spoke again. “Here, take my hands. I want to show you something.”
Taking hold of Jonathan’s hands, the man slightly leaned forward and stared into his eyes. Without blinking, he held his gaze and Jonathan realized that everything around them had become foggy. Then, like a movie, he could see scenes from his childhood, more vivid than memories and from a third person perspective. One after the other, the scenes flowed past and Jonathan suddenly jerked himself free and stepped away from the man.
“What is this?” he demanded. “Who are you? How did you do that? How is that even possible?”
“I had hoped that you would begin to understand who I am,” the man said. “I have been with you from the very beginning but I have never allowed myself to interfere without being invited. You have had a very difficult life, Jonathan and I want to lead you in a way that will help you have the very best future possible.”
“I still don’t know who you are and why or even how you can do this,” he answered. “Why should I trust you?”
“Have I ever done or said anything that would make you not trust me? Haven’t I helped you and given you advice that has been to everyone’s benefit?”
Jonathan paused and looked at the man. He was many years older than Jonathan, how old he couldn’t tell. His hair was gray and he had many wrinkles but he was far from feeble or weak, Jonathan could feel an incredible strength in his hands. “So what was that, anyway, that thing you did when you looked in my eyes?”
“The easiest way to understand that is to think of it as a sort of empathy. Though it is far, far more than simple empathy. Your language does not have a word or even a phrase for it yet,” the man answered. “I wanted you to experience it first and then learn how to do that yourself. Of course, it will take many years to refine it to the point that I have but I know you’ll achieve great things. And, by the way, my name is Raphael.”
“Ok, Raphael, so you showed me scenes from my life. What am I supposed to do with that?” he asked. “It seems more like a party trick more than anything.”
“It may seem somewhat superficial at first but that which lies beneath and directs it is what you need to learn. In essence, when you connect with someone at that level, you actually connect with their soul and you instantly know their heart. This will allow you to help them in ways that even they didn’t know they needed help.”
The hours passed and Jonathan collapsed on his couch, closing his eyes, completely exhausted. “I’m going to go now, Jonathan,” Raphael said. “You have done very well. I suggest that you try out your new skill in little bits at first. If you decide to take the role that Carl offered you, you will be the greatest boss anyone could want. Good night.”
Opening his eyes as Raphael said goodnight, he realized he now sat alone in his living room. “Hmm, that’s odd,” he thought, “I know I didn’t hear a door close or even any footsteps.” Pulling himself to his feet with a groan, he shuffled into his bedroom and instantly fell asleep.
Jonathan stood in his back garden, his back to the water fountain. Looking out across the five acres of manicured foliage, he stood in silence and sensed everything around him. The warm breeze, the sound of small animals moving through the trimmed bushes and the smell of a million rose bushes fed him like a grand feast.
The sound of footsteps behind him stirred him from his meditative state.
“Here is your coffee, sir,” the elderly man said as he approached.
“Thank you, Winston,” Jonathan replied, “go ahead and set it on the edge of the fountain. I can tell you’re tired. Please take the rest of the day off.”
“Thank you, sir. That is very kind of you. Is there anything else you need before I go, sir?”
“No, Winston, thank you. Have a restful day,” he answered.
Finishing his coffee, he passed through the kitchen and ate a banana on his way out of the house. Standing on the front driveway, he looked across the manicured hedges out toward the wrought iron gate at the front of the property. Within moments, his Bentley pulled up in front of him. Climbing out, the driver hurried around the front of the car and opened the back door.
“That won’t be necessary,” Jonathan said. “I think I’ll drive myself today. Why don’t you go in and spend some time in the library until I get back. I know how much you love to read.”
“Oh, yes sir, thank you. That would be very nice,” he answered.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, Jonathan drove the car back to the garage and took the pickup instead. Passing through the front gates, he drove into town and parked in front of the local university. Now nearly seventy years old, he certainly stood out as he walked among the students. Slipping into the back of an active auditorium, he made eye contact with the lecturer and sat in the back row.
Listening to the man talk, he made a mental note of his tone of voice, his movements and his gestures. Dr. Jerrold Ivanoff was clearly bothered by something but Jonathan needed to be closer to identify exactly what it was. The lecture ended and he approached the front of the auditorium, brushing past many students and feeling all of their pain and suffering. Each student he encountered appeared to be happy and well adjusted, but Jonathan knew better. Most people, by this time in their life, had learned how to mask their true selves.
Joining the professor at the lecture podium, his presence brought about an immediate silence across the room. Looking up, he realized that most of the students had stopped their exit and were watching him as he spoke with Dr. Ivanoff.
“You always have that effect on a crowd, Jonathan,” the professor said. “People know you have something special.”
“How are you doing, my old friend,” Jonathan said. “I know something is bothering you.”
“It’s not good, Jonathan,” he answered. “I’ve been diagnosed with cancer. The doctors believe that I have a 70% chance of survival but at my age, I really don’t like the idea of radiation and chemotherapy.”
Taking his hands, Jonathan looked deeply into Dr. Ivanoff’s eyes. “You won’t have to, my friend,” he said. “Stop drinking coffee, stop drinking alcohol and stop eating sugar and everything will be alright.” As the two men stood looking at each other, the silence of the room turned into a slight whisper that turned into a dull roar as the entire room stood in shock.
“He’s glowing,” someone shouted out. Jonathan looked down at his arms and realized it was he of whom they spoke. Looking up at the crowd, he saw, near the back of the room, a very familiar face; an elderly man, well dressed and cleanly shaven. The man smiled at him and gave a small wave, only to then instantly disappear.
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