Eternal Journey (4 page)
Anna sat staring at the dying fire and poured herself a second glass of wine. Her hunger satisfied, and finally feeling warm
for the first time since she’d arrived, she loaded the CD player with discs, pulled the afghan around her, and curled up on
the sofa to the sounds of classical music.
_____________________
I
t was the silence that awakened her. Disoriented and somewhat apprehensive, she searched the room for anything familiar, slowly
remembering where she was, and thinking it must be close to dawn. Once she was fully awake, the luminated hands of her watch
confirmed that it was five o’clock. She noted the still full glass of wine, pulled herself up from the sofa, and took the
wine bottle into the kitchen to recork it.
Anna was definitely not a morning person, so on the extremely rare occasions when she found herself actually awake before
seven o’clock, she got moving. With a pot of coffee brewing, she took a long, very hot shower, marveling at how she was actually
preparing for a Saturday at five-fifteen in the morning. With dawn an hour away, Anna headed out for a drive.
Logically, one would go down-island to watch the sunrise. But Anna found herself driving in the direction of Gay Head, the
extreme westernmost end of the island. It was a special place that Anna found mystical, even sacred in its remote beauty.
A Thermos of coffee by her side and the Explorer starting to warm up, Anna almost smiled as she tackled the winding road up-island.
It was misty and quite foggy, and before long Anna found herself encased in a cloud. She saw the cemetery on her right and
pulled down the gravel road almost by instinct.
Leaving the fog lights on, she got out of the car and walked up the slight incline. “I haven’t been to John Belushi’s grave
in years,” she said to no one. But what a fitting place to wait for the fog to pass. Sitting on the slate bench facing his
name, she looked down at the grave marker, smiling at the collection of beer and wine bottles flanking each side. As she poured
herself a cup of coffee, flashes of the brilliant and tragic comedian and his companions in those now famous television skits
danced before her eyes.
“Annie, we shouldn’t be eating strawberry shortcake this late at night,” Beth had exclaimed as she piled a generous helping
of ice cream and strawberries over the just-baked shortcake.
“Oh, will you relax?” Anna retorted. “We’ll laugh off all those calories. Hurry up!
Saturday Night Live
just started. Besides, we walked all over the North End today, fought our way through Filene’s Basement, and practically
ran down Boylston Street from Copley to Kenmore Square. You’re worried about a few calories?”
After graduating from the University of Maryland, they had ended up in Boston. Eventually they both attended Boston University,
with Anna studying psychology and Beth law.
Saturday Night Live
started out as a filler for those dateless Saturday nights and grew to become their favorite way to end the week. Before
long, they had an apartment full of people every Saturday night, with their own cast of characters and wanna-bes, almost as
funny as Chevy and Bill, John and Dan, Jane and Gilda. Back then, the silliness and satire created a perfect backdrop to the
transition to adulthood that was challenging Anna and her friends. Anna would see patients all week and then be grilled each
Friday morning by her supervising psychologist as to approach and intervention. Beth would spend hours in the law library
each morning before she was off to the Legal Aid clinic in Boston’s South End. Anna would leave Boston City Hospital, meet
up with Beth, and they would hop the MBTA back to Commonwealth Avenue. It was on one of those Saturday nights during the sparring
between Jane and Gilda as they reported on the “news” of the day that Tom and Beth announced their engagement. They were married
the week after Beth sat for the bar exam, and within three years had produced two beautiful baby girls. Even then, every Saturday
night, either Anna or Beth would call the other as the guest host of the week appeared on the screen. That ritual abruptly
ended the week John Belushi died. It was as if someone had pulled the plug on their escape route. Yet as the cancer ate away
at her friend’s spirit, Anna had sent Beth a whole set of
Saturday Night Live
tapes from the early years, knowing that laughter was good for the soul.
The fog was lifting slightly. Anna thought she heard a rustle and some footsteps. A brief but intense fear spread through
her, until she realized she was on Martha’s Vineyard and not in South Florida. She turned to see the stranger for the third
time now, and realized it was tears, not fog, blurring her vision.
He had given her quite a start. Could he have heard her talking to the wind?
The rain started softly as Anna stared at the stranger. This was now their third encounter, making her feel very uncomfortable
and unusually vulnerable. Was he following her? Her guard was not totally down. Who is this man and why is he here? she wondered.
How should she handle this? Conflicting thoughts clouded her consciousness, and then she began to feel angry. Anna had stood
up abruptly and was looking directly at him when she suddenly realized this man must be the guest of the Duffys—the person
staying at the house next door whom Becky had mentioned. Then she noticed the man’s bike.
“An early-morning bike ride is good for the body, and the soul,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “However, I hadn’t planned
on rain. I headed toward the light and here you are!”
“Well, you show up at the most interesting times, and in the most unexpected places,” she said as she began walking toward
the Explorer. “Come on, I can drive you back to the house. We’ll both catch our death”—she flinched as she uttered the words—
“of cold if we stay here any longer.”
They quickened the pace, reaching the Explorer just as the rain began in earnest. He hurriedly strapped his bike on top of
the vehicle while Anna started the engine and turned on the heater. Realizing how hungry she was, Anna blurted before thinking,
“Would you care to join me for breakfast?”
“What a splendid idea!” he replied with a smile. “I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”
Anna pulled out onto the road and together they headed east, this time away from the fog and into pouring rain. A comfortable
silence filled the spaces between them, broken only by the rhythmic clicking of the windshield wipers. Anna looked over at
her passenger. He seemed to be in another world.
He must have felt her looking at him, as he turned and remarked, “Not the best of days to be on the island, wouldn’t you agree,
Annie?”
Anna returned the comment with a weak smile. She had no energy for superficial conversation. She sighed deeply, and looked
over at her passenger with tired eyes.
“To be honest,” Anna mumbled, “this rain fits my mood and circumstances. My dearest friend was buried three weeks ago, and
I came here to think.”
“Ah, I see,” he said softly. “I can relate in a way. I’ve got some things to think through as well, so perhaps the weather
is accommodating us.”
That brief exchange put Anna at ease. Normally she would respond to such a comment with a question. But, unaccountably, especially
for a person as circumspect and private as she, she instead began telling him about Beth’s death. During the twenty-minute
drive along the Edgartown–Vineyard Haven Road, Anna realized she was monopolizing the conversation. Neither apologetic nor
self-conscious, Anna was aware she was talking nearly nonstop about herself to this total stranger. She looked over at him
at one point to find him looking at her with interest and empathy. Dr. Anna Carroll, usually the one listening, began to tell
this man her life story, and as her story came alive, she listened to herself perhaps for the very first time.
It was as though once released, her innermost feelings flowed out from her soul. She marveled as she heard herself disclose
to this stranger buried fears about her own brush with cancer. The odd part was that the more she spoke, the more she wanted
to reveal. Instead of being sated, she felt compelled, indeed urged on to greater and more profound depths of disclosure and
release. It was as if she were making up for lost time.
Was it the somber atmosphere of this rainy day on the island? Was it this stranger’s gentle nature? There was something familiar
and reassuring about his eyes; his expression conveyed acceptance and understanding, devoid of judgment or opinion. Something
about him gave her comfort.
Was it that Anna was so exhausted she didn’t care how she sounded? Was she so alone that she would tell this stranger about
her secrets and her pain?
Once they reached Edgartown, Anna found a deserted café on Water Street. Anna stared vacantly through the misty seventeenth-century
panes of glass, and found herself weeping softly about the secret she had carried for years.
“Beth was the only one who knew. All these years, she was the only one who knew the story. Kevin and I were in college. He
was a senior and I was a year behind. We met, ironically, at an antiwar rally during the spring semester, in 1968. It was
my first, and to be honest, I was really there more out of curiosity than protest.
“The attraction was immediate and intense. It was as if from the moment our eyes met, we were joined together in a cosmic,
karmic embrace. From the minute I met him, we were inseparable. Kevin and I spent every waking minute together for close to
four months. I have never had another relationship like it. I have never felt that level of intensity nor experienced such
passion or connection again in my life.
“Kevin had been accepted to law school and had great aspirations of going into politics and reforming the world. We all did
back then, though he unquestionably would have become someone who could make a difference. He ended up going to Vietnam instead
of Yale. Kevin was killed during the Tet Offensive along with countless others— friends, lovers, brothers, sons, and fathers—who
died before their time.”
Anna realized she had choked on the word “fathers”; she had never connected Kevin to fatherhood until that moment. But then
she hadn’t talked about this for at least twenty-five years.
“Kevin had been in Vietnam only ten days before he was killed. He had left two weeks before for the West Coast. He never even
got to read the first and last letter I wrote him just after he left. I found out I was pregnant in the morning and that Kevin
had been killed that afternoon. We were taking classes that summer. Beth heard me vomiting in the dorm bathroom.
“ ‘Annie, how far along are you?’ she asked.
“I looked at her and said, ‘When did Kevin leave for ’Nam?’ and threw up again in the cold white bowl.
“I went for a walk in the early afternoon and found myself in front of the Catholic church on the main street of town. It
was Saturday, and afternoon confessions had just started. I was pulled inside, desperate for consolation, understanding, maybe
even advice. I must have sat there for two hours, until the session was almost over, before entering the confessional.
