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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... cc&d magazine (v215) (the December 2010 Issue) |
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Order this issue from our printer as an ISSN# paperback book:  or as the ISBN# book “Entering the Ice Age”:  |
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Walking
Marco Bisaccia
Just throw out the guilt, she said, throw it away. It’s no good to you. You don’t need it.
I turned away from Connie and got up, switching off the alarm clock so it wouldn’t start blaring while I was in the shower.
I went down the stairs to the porch, then to the sidewalk where the bus stopped. I went to work. So what if Franklin was dead.
After getting off the bus I stopped at the coffee shop. Eric handed me my coffee and bagel, said hello with a quick smile and turned away as he handed me the change. In the elevator Clara and Walter muttered hello and looked at the floor.
The road had been wet that night. We left the party feeling all right. Connie wanted to get home and go to bed. She rode with Franklin’s wife so they could talk. Franklin rode with me in the van. I drove. I asked him to wear his seat belt but Franklin said he didn’t believe in those things.
We were going up Williams Street in the rainy dark when a car jumped out of a driveway right in front of us. I hit the brakes and cut the wheel. We missed the car, but the van swerved all over the place until we hit a tree. I broke two ribs. When they pulled Franklin out he was limp. He died in the ambulance. The van was totaled.
We went to the funeral. There were about 250 people. I got a lot of nice notes and cards in the mail, some from people I didn’t know. But what if the other driver had never pulled out? What if I’d hit the car instead of the tree?
Franklin was playing poker with me and some of the guys at the party. Most of the gang just wanted to play nickel-ante straight poker. But I kept pushing for jacks-or-better progressive, so we played that way. Then I started pushing the bets. Franklin quietly asked me to lay off, but I became stubborn; I still don’t know why. By the end of the night some of the pots went over a hundred dollars.
Jeff, the host, won a couple big hands and Franklin won a few twenty-dollar ones. I went on a winning streak before I lost it all and more, but it really didn’t matter. What was life without a little risk?
I got out of bed every morning and went to work. At the office I tried not to think about it. I edited the newsletter. Nobody said much to me. Sometimes I solicited information from colleagues for articles, otherwise I minded my own business — unless we had a meeting and someone asked me a question. Franklin was dead. Nothing I did would change it.
On the weekends I slept till noon, got up, fed the dog and read the paper. Later I would walk the dog once around the block. Usually I didn’t leave the house for anything else. Connie bought the groceries and ran the errands. We didn’t talk too much. We played Scrabble on a few nights, but usually just watched TV or read. Come on, she would say, let’s go to a movie or something. Sometimes I went.
One Monday I was finishing the weekly newsletter when the phone rang. It was Detective MacCauley. You’ll be happy to know, he said, that we won’t be filing charges against you for the accident; your insurance company isn’t even accepting liability. The papers will be processed in the next week but I wanted to let you know as soon as we reached a conclusion.
I thanked him.
That night Connie held me tight and said, it’s going to be okay.
I turned off the light.
We just need some time, she said. You’ll see, you’ll hit your stride.
The next Saturday I walked about a mile from our house to the railroad bridge. The sun was bright and the wind blew dead leaves from the yards. I walked on the inner part of the sidewalk, away from traffic. It was the first time in a month I’d gone beyond shouting distance of the house except to go to work.
We were invited to my parents house for Sunday dinner. I hadn’t been in a car since the accident. Connie said she’d drive us in the old Pontiac she found a week earlier. It was only a twenty minute drive anyway. But I couldn’t get in the car. Don’t worry, she said, it’ll be over before you know it.
I know, I know, but I don’t think I can stand it.
I know it’s hard. It’s not easy for me either, but you have to get back to where you were sooner or later.
I winced.
Try the back seat, she said.
I laid on the back seat with my eyes closed the whole way.
When we got to my parents’ I was shaking but got it under control before going inside.
My mother served leg of lamb and potatoes and vegetables, I think. I don’t remember how the meal tasted. We drank white wine after the meal and Connie talked with my parents about life in the city and whether we were going to have kids. I didn’t say much.
On the way home I sat in the front passenger seat with the seat belt buckled and a baseball cap pulled over my eyes.
A few months passed. I stopped waking up all sweaty in the middle of the night. We started going out to dinner twice a week: once with friends, once just us.
Connie got tired of doing all the driving and begged me to snap out of it, get behind the wheel again. Time to be my own driver. I tried one day while she was out. When I got behind the wheel I just shook and shook. I couldn’t raise my head to look through the windshield.
That night I woke up at two o’clock. It felt like Connie had kicked me. I turned to her and called but she didn’t answer. One arm covered her face; the striped nightgown rose and fell steadily. The moon, peering through the curtains, lit up her hair. I put my head back on the pillow.
Connie whispered to me that she’d had a bad dream. She was crying.
I hugged her and told her it was over. She’d be fine.
But it was exactly like back then, she said.
When?
In ninth grade, when you liked to play pranks. Remember?
Yeah, like the Ex-lax in the soft serve ice cream machine.
In the dream you, Franklin and Joey Martin were playing the fire drill prank. You snuck into the classroom and hid everyone’s stuff while they were outside.
I’d almost forgotten that one.
But the dream was horrible. I couldn’t stop screaming at Franklin.
Why?
He let Joey pin the whole thing on you. Joey said the prank was your idea. You told me. Franklin never said a word to the principal, just kept shaking his head.
I shook her by the arm. It was a dream, I told her, the three of us played a prank, went to the office, got punished. It was a long time ago.
Connie went on like I wasn’t there. Miss Miller’s grade book was missing, she said. I kept screaming and I wanted to kick Franklin, but you held me back. I knew he stole the grade book and let you hang so he wouldn’t get punished.
Honey, it was a nightmare. Franklin wouldn’t take anything if you gave it to him.
She seemed to relax a little.
Try to sleep, I said, you’ll feel better.
I got bored one night. Connie slept in front of the TV. There was nothing on and the VCR was broken. I’d read all the good books in the house. The library was nearby but it closed at eight. I had to have something to read. Anything but the newspaper. The bookstore at the mall closed at ten. Maybe a friend could give me a ride. But I couldn’t pick up the phone. The keys were on the counter by the door. I watched them for a while.
The engine turned right over. I squinted and looked over the dash. A few cars were parked on the street but no one was around. The wind blew and the leafless branches bent toward the pavement.
I drove down Vauxhall Street, arms stiff, hands clamped to the wheel. I made it through the first intersection okay. At the first red light a police car pulled into the lane next to mine. Surely the cop had seen my craziness and was there to arrest me. The light turned green and he took a right.
It got easier. By the time I reached the mall I felt almost relaxed. Connie would be amazed.
Just before the store closed I found the book I wanted: “Airplanes: From the Wright Brothers to the Stealth Bomber.' Leaving the parking lot was no problem. I turned onto the boulevard with grace and elegance. As I approached the railroad bridge I wondered what could be so difficult about it all. Little droplets started to pepper the windshield. I turned the wipers on.
