Awake Asleep Dreaming Dead (6 page)

Only an unconventional person could have come up with some of the designs he was celebrated for. His fame was wide spread. The designs were built in countries around the world. Houses with water falls, floors that moved vertically and horizontally, and buildings that looked like sculptures bending in the wind. His mysterious departure added to his already unusual lifestyle. Multiple marriages and relationships, participation in controversial organizations, and long absences from the public. There were conspiracy theories from Truth Seeker, a tabloid with stories about alien abduction, and crimes of passion.

Alan Rogers was a recluse, always working on designs and drawings, and when he didn’t communicate with colleagues or friends for long periods of time, no one thought it strange. After an extremely long absence, much longer than ever before, his sister went to his house to check on him. When she arrived, and after she walked through the house, found various drawings, designs, drafts, and blueprints scattered around. There was uneaten food in the living room and kitchen, and half filled glasses of wine. Everything seemed normal, except no Alan Rogers. Nothing but a big old empty house filled with hollow echoes reverberating through the wood, bouncing off the glass, and fading into the geometric corners leaving a resonating harmonic chord. The only thing that seemed to be missing was her brother, Alan Rogers.

She went to the police, was interviewed, questioned, then returned to the house with them to investigate. They concluded that Alan Rogers was indeed a missing person, but nothing to show he was a victim of foul play. Years later he was declared dead in absentia, and his entire estate went to his sister. Some believed that she had something to do with his disappearance, but nothing was ever proven. The tale became murky, the disappearance never solved, no body found.

Alan Roger’s last job was to take a forty acre parcel near the river just outside Four Corners, and turn it into a park. It had been set aside, and designated to be used as a park by the farmer who donated the land. This job came about after Alan Rogers sent a letter to the mayor offering to construct, landscape, and cover all expenses. The town took advantage of this great opportunity and obliged. An invitation was sent to Alan Rogers to attend the next town meeting. There, he presented his plans for the park, and in the end was given a free hand in the project.

He arrived at the meeting prepared. He had designs, answered all of the questions, talked of other architects who he admired, and gave them his vision for the park. He wrapped up his appearance confirming the town would in no way have to pay for any costs. It was an incredible proposal, impossible to turn down, and approved that day right after the meeting. A year later at the ribbon cutting ceremony they named the park The Forty.

Alan Rogers vanished the next day, and was never heard from again, and the mystery of his disappearance began.

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

 

Sam was taking pictures around the park thinking he could use them for the magazine, then trucks, cars, and bikes bounced into the park down a narrow gravel road that led to the river. Horns honked and headlights flashed. The two trucks leading the pack were pulled by raw power roaring under the hood. The old truck in front was beat-up, covered in mud, and had a skull and cross-bones painted on the hood. The one hugging its bumper was a new decked-out, chrome-wheeled, shiny toy. The driver of this new oversized Christmas tree ornament was Joe Conrad. He was a good-natured guy, unless there was a reason not to be. He used his truck to go fishing, camping, or occasional road trip. In the box of each truck, sloshing and banging around in steel cattle troughs, was a cargo of ice, beer, and other beverages. Both trucks drove up next to the river bank and parked. The drivers turned off the engines leaving only music blazing through the trees battling for the ear.

How’s it going birthday boy? Joe asked in his mellow, woody baritone as he stepped out of the truck. Joe was an unstoppable hulk. When he played football in high school he tackled like a boulder rolling down a mountain. A gentle giant always ready to help. Sam was glad they were friends.

Great! Thanks for coming, Sam said.

Where’s your girl, birthday boy?

She’s down by the river. We just got here.

How does hitting the big 3-0 feel?

Just another day, Sam said. Older for sure. Wiser, I’m not sure. Let’s head down to the river.

The driver of the dirty skull covered black Ford was Spratt. He ran a popular watering-hole in Four Corners called The Cutlass. A sinewy and scruffy guy with long locks, and ragged beard. His arms were covered with tattoos of skulls, and he was always chewing on a cigar. He draped and decorated his bar like a pirate ship. There was ornate bogus treasure spread around the bar, an array of swords hanging on the walls, and a Jolly Roger waving out front atop the door. His family moved to Four Corners when he was a kid from parts unknown, and had been friends with Sam ever since. Along with the bar, he owned some land with his girlfriend, Sue. They had an organic farm, and he was one weird wonderful figure selling fresh vegetables at a farmer’s market on weekends.

Hey, birthday boy, wait-up, Spratt yelled, then jumped out of the truck sporting a grin trailed by a cloud of cigar smoke. How does it feel to be an old man? They shook hands, and took turns punching each other’s shoulder like they always did. Let’s have a beer, he said, and fished out a couple of cans from under the cover of the metal trough.

Here, catch!

Hey! Sam yelled, surprised as the can flew toward him, and landed in his open hand.

Good catch.

Good throw.

They held the cans up, clanked them together, then guzzled, and tossed the empties in the truck.

Bring a lot of this stuff? Sam asked.

Don’t worry, we’re not running out, he said, and let out a wild howl. Then everyone nearby delivered wails of agreement to news of an unlimited supply of booze that would flow all night long.

Spratt held out another beer. Here, one more before I fire up the grill. Bottoms up.

A caravan streamed into the park, with more horns blowing, people hollering, engines revving and roaring. A crowd of more than fifty friends, and relatives, showed up for the river barbecue birthday party at The Forty that day. Some of the older folks and relatives stayed a few hours, a few left early, others spent the whole day. The diehards were there all night howling at the moon.

The music blared as a guy put on a show juggling cans of beer, and for a penalty, drank the ones he dropped. Free beer was too good a deal to pass-up, and people who had no idea what was happening showed up, joined in, and partied under the moonlight and stars.

Sam’s windows were rolled down to let in the cool evening breeze, and all around voices lingered in the trees. The river rambled under a full moon, and reflections from it beamed romantic signals to anyone in close proximity through a silent and mysterious language. Tones hovered on a familiar sweet waft of Cheech and Chong as sporadic spirited shrieks of guys and girls broke between roaring engines of cars and Harleys. Sam gulped the rest of his beer, and tossed the can out the window.

Esther took a deep breath after a round of heavy sparring with Sam, then looked him right in the eye, and in a serious tone said, I want to have kids before I’m too old.

Sam looked up, his eyes shouting—Okay, just what I was thinking! He smiled, leaned into Esther, surrounded her with his arms, and whispered, I love you. In her ear he sang, You and me—sitting in a tree—k-i-s-s-i-n-g—first comes love—then comes marriage. This has been one fantastic day.

His mouth danced on her succulent carmine lips, and his delight showed the pleasure he felt.

No—that’s not what I meant. Stop! Esther said. Her vigorous fighting tone carried anger and hope.

Sam stopped, and mumbled, What . . . did I do wrong? She shoved him back. What’s wrong? he said, perplexed. What happened?

Before I’m too old, Esther slowly repeated word for word what she had said a moment before. Sam was stunned, and stopped the mating ritual.

What do you mean?

I mean too old to have a family.

You’re not old.

She snapped back, What do you mean by that?

Hey—I just don’t . . . don’t know what you mean. Boy, did I stick my foot in my mouth, he thought, then caressed Esther’s cheek applying some charm.

You don’t have to think about settling down. That’s all I meant. You’re young, and we’ve got a long future ahead of us. Our life together will be full of surprises.

Women age faster than men, she said. We live longer, but at a certain age it becomes impossible to have children.

She touched his face, and smiled, deploying her own beguiling charm. I’ve reached a time in my life when I wonder about having someone close, and want to start a family. A family with you, Sam. With you, and no one else—just you.

Hey, I’ve thought about it—thought a lot about it, Sam said. Just not sure if it’s the right time, and, if I’m ready to take the big step. I can’t talk about this now because I’ve got to do the shots for the magazine. The guy called me today, and they need it done right away.

What are you waiting for, Sam, the right person to come along? You’re not going to be young forever.

Well, actually I am, he said, grinning holding back his glee. As long as I’m alive, and after I’m gone. My last name is alway going to be Young.

Joke about it. Keep joking . . . but I’m not waking up one morning, and saying to myself, I wish I would have gotten married and had a family. Esther had the look of determination, a look he’d seen many times—and knew well. Then the race to the oak tree where they first met on the playground in second grade flashed in his mind. He knew once her mind was made up, she’d never turn back.

You’re that person, Esther, Sam whispered. They embraced. I want a family, too. We’ll talk about it when I get back from the shoot. Tomorrow is going to be one long—rough—day, Sam thought.

The voices in the park died to a murmur, and the moon in the starry sky melted into darkness as the river flowed to an unknown place.

DRIVER ASLEEP

 

The driver stayed awake by listening to music playing at ear splitting volume as he navigated the narrow country roads and nameless valleys.

I’ve got to make a pit stop pretty soon drummed in his head as he hammered the clutch to the floor and downshifted into 3rd gear. The engine growled up the palisades, then like an airborne lasso the car swung around the rim, latched onto a hair-pin corner. The driver’s eyes snapped open, and followed the steel guardrail stitched along the twisting asphalt vein.

Damn, I’m gonna fly off the road! he thought, and downshifted into 2nd gear as his field of vision moved from the road to the red-lining-tachometer. The car hugged and rounded the corner with no problem, landing at a section with a panoramic vista, and window to a place that seemed to emerge from a land beyond.

Man— it’s like being in the theater at the beginning of a show when the curtain opens, he thought.

The Flame of Apollo, he whispered, and turned the steering wheel like a captain gliding and swaying on waves of morning breakers curling on the bow of a ship. He parked, and watched the blinding golden majesty bubble from the horizon. He let his worries go, turned off the engine, and waited to admire how the solar splendor would sprinkle life over the earth. Moments later a peaceful golden ray rose on the steamy rolling hills and valley, illuminating the horizon, and opening the dark unseen corners of the world.

Look at that, he thought. I’m getting some shots of this.

The driver grabbed his camera from the seat, set it on the dash, and waited for the moment—just the right moment.

It’s . . . amazing, he muttered as he watched the jaw-dropping sky transform from dusk to dawn through the bug smeared windshield. Light’s the key, he whispered. He linked his thumb and fingers, leaned out the window, then held his hand to his eye, and peered through the opening, adjusting the size like the aperture of a camera lens.

Light-is-the-key, he repeated while panning the horizon, generating random pictures, and rendering the visual ideas like a painter holding a pallet and brush. He raised the camera to his eye, and focused on a rolling dell that walked off into the horizon forever. These shots will look great! This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

I guess the light show’s over, he thought.

He put the camera back on the seat, and headed down the valley he’d just photographed. With the car in low gear he coasted into a tunnel of trees that funneled and filtered the early sunshine. It became dark all around with only flickering lights beaming from the sun. Crisp shadows danced on leaves, and reflected in the chrome metallic veneer of the car. The driver looked up to an open spot in the branches above and watched a hawk circle around and around. It seemed to be spinning away into vortex of blue, but fought, and held its ground, floating between earth and sky.

It’s hunting for food, the driver whispered.

Being awake all night was catching up with the driver. His heavy eye-lids opened, closed, blinked more and more. The flashes of sunlight trickled through the trees, and created a hazy distorted vision as he drove under the green canopy. In the windshield he watched the shapes reflect, then roll up and over the glass. Shadows covered the sky with loneliness, and a cold feeling surrounded him, so he focused on his destination, driving faster. Up and down the looping roller coaster trails, left and right, riding a perpetual Foucault pendulum—swinging back and forth.

I need more shots of scenery for the magazine article, he thought, concentrating on staying awake, watching the trees, and keeping an eye on the road.

It seemed to be an unending course as the car penetrated the lofty trees. He drove through wooden walls of nature as scenery melted into a montage of foliage, meadows, and the occasional red barn blotch outline of a distant isolated farm.

The only decent pictures I’ve taken so far are the ones of the sunrise.