Giddeon (Silver Strand Series) (15 page)

I kept hearing that song over and over in my head after we wrote it.
 
The one about remembering the Beatles.
 
There was something unusual about it.
 
Most of it came from me, when back in those days almost all of the lyrics came from Greg.
 
You know the way Mia said the lyrics for her song were picked off a bush?
 
How it was like they were already there just waiting to be put together?
 
It was kind of like that, but, it was even more than that.
 
The more I thought about it, I realized that I had heard those lyrics before… at least some of them.
 

But, try as I might, I couldn’t remember where.
 
You know how I’m good at recalling everything my other half sees and hears?
 
The same doesn’t really go for me.
 
When I’m on my own, I don’t pay particular attention to what’s around.
 
Maybe because there are so many potentialities reflecting off in so many directions that it would be a waste trying to catalogue it all.
 
Or, maybe I’m just a lazy subconscious.

At any rate, I racked my brain trying to remember.
 
I watched a lot of re-runs of ‘Gilligan’s
Island
’ and ‘I Dream of Jeannie’, but that was a dead end.
 
Sure helped pass the time, though.

When it hit me like a ton of bricks was when I took Greg to see his mom and dad that day.
 
You know, when he wanted to see how they would have been had they not been hit by the 18 wheeler?
 
They were older than I remembered them as a teenager.
 
I looked his father over very closely.
 
Very, very closely.

I realized I had seen another version of his dad on the
Coronado
golf course late one afternoon when I was playing one of my rounds.
 
I had gone right on past him and that’s when I heard the tune… he was singing the chorus to himself about the home team being number one.
 
I didn’t really pay much attention to him or the words because there was a cute young lady selling drinks in a golf cart on the next hole… I’m easily distracted, or I was back then.
 
Plus, he had a cap pulled down low, sunglasses on and at least a week’s worth of salt and pepper beard.
 
And, he was thinner than the younger version of himself… okay, I’m making excuses for not recognizing my own dad.
 
But, in my defense, I pass thousands of people every day, sometimes, and you know how it is when you see someone you know in a place you don’t expect to see them… they look different.
 
You don’t realize who they are.

All I’m trying to say is… the girl in the cart was really cute, and I teleported over there to check her out, so that’s why I didn’t recognize him.

Anyway, once I finally remembered seeing him, I went back to that time and place and followed him home.

*****

In that particular reality, he had never gotten married to Greg’s mom.
 
He was single and had somehow found his way to
Coronado
when working as a civilian for the Navy.
 
He had an apartment on the island and periodically would go over to the course to play a twilight round.

He was quite a bit different from the man I knew.
 
Less focused and very disorganized.
 
It’s amazing how a family can totally change the composition of a man.
 
A wife and children must catalyze some type of reaction in the male of the species that helps them grow into responsible providers, dispensers of wisdom and models from which younger ones role themselves.

Yet, as different as he was, there were many things that were still the same… and, even an area or two that was improved upon.

One of those was music.
 
Greg’s real dad knew a few chords on the guitar, and could play a couple of Jimmy Buffet songs, but that was about it… the bachelor version was more accomplished.
 
Not a virtuoso, by any means, but fairly decent with rhythms and chord changes.
 
I listened in as he entertained himself writing tunes and lyrics in his off times.
 
Sometimes, he would go down to a studio in Golden Hills and make a demo disc just to play for himself.

That’s where I heard the full version of ‘I Remember the Beatles’ for the first time.
 
The words and melodies were exactly the same as the simple rendition that Greg and I had done.
 
I mean, identical.
 
Alternate Dad and the studio guy were tweaking levels on the song… it was already recorded, and obviously some professional help had been enlisted in its making.
 
I found out that it had been recorded in
Germany
, years before, so it was off to
Germany
for me.

*****

I hung out with him and his friends for a while.
 
They all were either in the military or worked for the military as civilians.
 
Kind of a raucous bunch.
 
Five of them had gotten together to form a little band, just for fun.
 
Sometimes, they were so bad they were good.
 
Actually, there was some talent there, but, they didn’t take it too seriously and really didn’t have much time to practice.

Every now and then he and a couple of the guys would go down to a German studio and work on a song.
 
‘I Remember the Beatles’ was one of those songs.

*****

The thing I had to figure out was how he and I had written the same song.
 
Obviously, his was first and I had heard a snippet of it on the golf course… but, that was it… just a snippet.
 
And, I wasn’t paying attention.
 
I’m good at recording details, but not that good.
 
And, there’s nothing extraordinary about my hearing.
 
No way I heard the rest of the song the way I teleported around the course playing different holes here and there.

It was a mystery, but, then, again, what isn’t?

*****

One night Melody was asleep, Giddy was asleep, and the cats were curled up on either end of the couch.
 
I could see the full moon through our back window, so I went out into our yard and closed the sliding door softly behind me.
 
I didn’t want to wake my wife and child or allow curious felines access to the darkness.
 

The air was clear and cool, and stars dotted the heavens above… a panorama of phosphorescent diamonds embedded in liquid anthracite formed a canopy over the island.
 
I had no perception of depth when looking into the sky, and it seemed as if everything suspended there in the ink above me was almost within reach.
 
Just inches away.
 
No more than two or three feet, at the most.
 
I tried to visualize the distances between the moon and the Earth and the stationary fireflies twinkling out there past the atmosphere, but was unsuccessful.

I smiled when I remembered how quickly Giddeon and I had moved through time and space.
 
How instantly light years were traversed.
 
How everything
was
within reach.
 
Everything except what mattered the most.

Her.

And, now, them.

Melody, Giddy, Boris and Samantha.

I prefer my own little heaven to the ones above.
 
The stars in my universe live and breathe and laugh and purr.
 
I don’t know if I’m a simple man with simple tastes or a connoisseur of the ultimate.
 
I suppose it all depends on your point of view.

And, the view from my backyard was amazing.
 
Heaven above me and heaven behind me.
 
A house full of love and a sky full of mystery.
 
I thought about the asteroid, and how it was out there, silently fulfilling its destiny.
 
Was it on some level aware of its potential?
 
Do atoms and particles really make decisions on some plane?
 
I know that’s been postulated by certain scientists in the physics community… it just seems so impossible.
 
Is such a thing true, or are all random interactions really random?
 
Maybe the particles are simply influenced by us… absorbers and then emitters of emotion and intent.
 
Does our consciousness spread out in waves through the cosmos, like ripples in a vast body of water with each peak and trough adding to the overall surface of reality?

I guess what I’m asking is… are rogue waves really random, or are they somehow a manifestation of rogue thoughts?

As above, so below?

Do we unknowingly deal the cards we’re dealt?

I’ve heard it said that God doesn’t play dice with the universe… but, do we?
 
And, are the dice loaded?
 
Loaded with whatever desire and intent was poured out upon them?

I don’t know the answer to that.

I don’t know the answer to so many things.

But, thankfully, I do know some questions that I’m fortunate enough to ask…
 

How did I get so lucky?
 
Out of all of the people in the world, how did I happen to sit next to her that day at
Seaport
Village
?
 
Why do her eyes stop time whenever I look into them?
 
And, finally, why does love make everything else seem inconsequential?

Even an asteroid.

I took one last look at the heavens, and went back inside.

*****

I hung out, quite often, in
Germany
.
 
I had forgotten how nice it was in the summertime, there.
 
Found out that the town of
Kitzingen
has a really good 18 hole course that had been re-done by a Scottish design and landscaping team.
 
American servicemen and contractors could play for cheap, and Greg’s father and a buddy of his went there quite a bit.

Alternate Dad’s swing was homemade, but occasionally effective.
 
Much like his son’s in another timeline.
 
Can that be genetic?
 
A golf swing?
 
I suppose it’s possible.

Anyway, I was mainly there to try to figure out exactly when it was he came up with the song… to see if I could glean any hint as to how that process could have been transferred to me through time and space.
 
I spent quite a few days checking in during his off hours… hanging out at the pubs with him, his golfing buddy and another friend.
 
The other friend was an Irishman with a zest for life, laughter and beer, not necessarily in that order.
 
The three were pretty hilarious… especially when two of them were drunk.
 
Alternate Dad usually wasn’t one of the two, by the way.
 

He should be awarded some type of medal for designated driving.

Sometimes, in the evenings, he would sit there in his
Dullstadt
apartment and pick around on his guitar… ironically, an Ovation acoustic-electric, also.
 
It was odd watching my dad in another setting… a setting where he and Mom weren’t together.
 
I kind of felt sorry for him, all alone in that government housing… but, it didn’t seem to bother him.
 
I guess ignorance is bliss.

He didn’t know what he was missing in another reality.

But, then, again, at least he survived in this one… no eighteen-wheeler on a rain-slicked road to cut things short.

*****

Finally, I found the space-time coordinates I was looking for.
 
The night it came to him.
 
Kind of like with me, it crystallized all in the space of about 30 minutes.
 
A few changes to lyrics and chords here and there, and then he was done.
 
He wrote it down all in long-hand on paper, denoting where the chords were played.

I wanted to applaud the finished product, even though it was rough around the edges.
 
It was a shame that there was no audience to hear the first full completion of the tune… at least no human audience.
 
The neighbor’s cat was there.
 
She came and went on dainty white paws throughout the triplex, and Greg often left the door open for her so that she could come and have some treats that he kept handy.

I called him Greg, because Dad just doesn’t seem right.
 
He’s so different in that other time-line.
 
But, then again, Greg is my other half’s name.
 
Maybe I should just stick with Alternate Dad… kind of fits, I guess.
 
It was always kind of weird, Greg being the second born, but named after his father.
 
I know Jeremy is actually a half-brother, but, I never really think of him that way.

He’s just my/his brother.
 
I never knew Mom’s first husband.
 
It was Mom that insisted Greg be named after Dad, by the way.
 
At the time, she didn’t think her husband was going to live long enough to see his son’s 1st birthday… and she wanted to have at least his name to hold on to… but, that’s another story.

*****

Anyway, the cat sat there beside him on the couch as he played through the song three or four times.
 
I do the same thing after I finish a song… repeat it a few times, that is.
 
Kind of helps cement it in my head.
 
The friendly, yellow, black and white ball of fluff seemed most attentive during the repetitions.
 

Eventually, Alternate Dad let
Sharon
(the cat) back out into the stairwell, and then he retired to his room to read a paperback book…

‘Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman’.

*****