Remember Me (25 page)

Tom and the blonde-haired girl were still at it, as I approached their booth. On my phone I hit record and starting taking video as I moved towards them. I held the phone in one hand and against my chest. I walked past them to the door and then hesitated like I had forgotten something. I turned in the direction of Tom. His sensors must have been triggered, because he broke his embrace with the girl and looked straight at me.

“Getting your jollies there, Old-timer,” he snickered at me.

The trashy blonde added, “You a pervert?”

My blood was about ready to boil over. I just turned

around and headed out the door without a return comment.

I could hear the two of them laughing at me. They had paid no attention to my phone. After I settled down and regained my composure, I smiled criminally, knowing I had gathered the evidence I would need. The video can’t lie, not like Tom S 185 S

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could. He would be trapped and unable to talk his way out of it, if I decided to approach Amy. I noticed two open parking spots directly across from the bar. I hurried to my Blazer and started the truck. I was out of breath. I checked both directions, pulled into the street and then made a U-turn.

I stopped by the first open spot, directly across from Tom’s Mustang and parallel parked the Blazer. I didn’t have enough battery life to keep my phone turned on so I shut it off after I’d watched the video sequence, I’d just recorded. I was taking a necessary gamble that my phone would have enough time to start and be ready to go. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to record Tom coming out of the bar with one or both of the girls. I wanted to show all of them getting into his car. I gave myself an hour to wait and then I would turn the phone back on. The inner psychic in me was suggesting that Tom was on the hunt and he wouldn’t play around very long before captur-ing his prey.

The next hour felt like I’d spent a long day at work. I was in that “numb state.” It was like staring at the stack of papers piled high and needing attention on your desk at quitting time.

Exhausted, you finally go home. The thought of all the work you have to do tomorrow weighs you down. It pulls at your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling of impending disaster if you don’t get it done. This decision to interfere in Amy’s life made me feel the same way. I was bent on staying on the path.

I was having difficulty keeping up with all of the potential side-effects of stepping off the path. How did this jerk ever steal Amy’s heart? I was being polite; he was the worse thief I could imagine. He asks his girlfriend for her hand in marriage and celebrates the engagement by sleeping with someone else. It was as low as you could go in my book.

I thought about CJ and the Chicago connection. I sure

could use some of their expertise at this moment. I looked at S 186 S

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the baseball bat in the seat and knew I wouldn’t have the moxie to use it. Some old phrases run true, “a lover not a fighter.”

But, “when push comes to shove,” also raced through my head.

I knew I would have the strength to fight back if I was ever cornered. It was approaching four o’clock so I turned on my phone. My seat was reclined back so that I wouldn’t be quite so visible through the Blazer’s window. Four-oh-five and the front door of Clancy’s swung open. The blonde that Tom had been sitting with sauntered out first. I hit the record button on my phone.

Tom was all smiles. He had on a short-sleeved shirt with only the bottom two buttons fastened. He was tan and ath-letic looking. “A real prize,” I thought to myself. I’d known so many guys like him. They were full of themselves and should never be trusted. Unfortunately, they had a certain way with women. They had a glorified status about them and were always surrounded by willing lackeys. If you tried to convince someone of their faults, you were chastised as jealous. “In the end everyone has to pay the piper.” It was an old saying my father kept reminding me with when I was younger and a little to full of myself.

My video camera recorded Tom with his arm around the

blonde. He kissed her as she climbed into the back of the Mustang from the passenger side. The brunette waited until the blonde had her back turned and then tried to one-up her in the kissing department. I couldn’t see what Tom was doing with his hands, but I could easily guess. They broke apart and he was all smiles. She got in the front passenger side and Tom hustled around the front of the car to slide into the driver’s side. My vehicle was headed the opposite direction. I had unwittingly made my ability to follow him more difficult.

“Dumb!” I said under my breath.

His Mustang roared to life and he squealed the tires as he S 187 S

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pulled out in front of a Chevy pick-up truck. The driver of the truck laid on the horn and had to hit the brakes to avoid collid-ing with the Mustang. Tom shifted gears and accelerated down the road. I had a decision to make—try and find the Mustang, or wait for a chance to show Amy the video. I shut down the phone to conserve the battery. I really missed not being able to access the internet on my phone to do quick searches for the things I needed to research. It was another one of those little conveniences that wouldn’t be around for quite awhile. I had already started to reacclimatize myself to the way the nineteen eighties worked. You still needed a phone, only it wasn’t mobile, and you were still listed in the phone book.

I drove north for a couple of blocks until I found the

Seven-Eleven convenience store I’d been using to get my gas. I walked over to the pay phone outside and found the listing for Tom Powell. Someone had been kind enough to remove the

map from the phone book, so I headed inside to ask an atten-dant for directions. There was a college-age student working the register, and an older gentleman paying him for his gas.

I waited until he finished paying and stopped him before he could exit the store. After a brief exchange, he managed to get me pointed in the right direction.

I turned west on Rushmore and north on Lexington. I

found the address without any problem. It was an older, two-story house. It needed a coat of paint. The yard was small and could benefit by some tender-loving-care. There was a driveway alongside the north end of the house. I could see the Mustang parked there as I drove by. I had some really good video already, so I wasn’t about to try and break into his house in the hopes of catching him in a compromising situation. It would be the quickest way for me to end up in jail. I didn’t want to see what I knew was taking place inside either! I needed time to think the rest of my plan through. I turned on the S 188 S

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next road to the east and headed back towards my hotel. I was emotionally exhausted. What I needed was some quality reflection time.

When I entered my room, it was all I could do to not throw things at the wall. I was mad as hell, and it was severely wearing on me—frustrating me. Amy was a decent person, and she didn’t have a clue as to what was happening behind her back.

Tom was all ego and self-gratification. On one hand I wanted to return to his apartment with my baseball bat in tow, and on the other hand, I wanted to turn away completely and run from my memories and emotional ties. Funny, but I felt like time was running out on me to make a decision, yet time was what I had plenty of. It was only a matter of my own personal judgment. I could do it now, or later, or not at all. My mind and heart wouldn’t let me forget I’d already made the tough first decision—to become involved.

I finally gave up thinking about it around ten p.m. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I was ready to acknowledge my hunger pangs. I went out for food. The night was clear and the stars were out. The lights of the city made it hard to see them clearly, but I still looked for the Big Dipper. I remembered how I had pointed it out to both Samantha and Emily when they were younger. My inner-resolve was beginning to show signs of cracking. Amy and Emily weighed heavily on my heart. I headed across the parking lot to the McDonalds next door. It was busy, and I had to wait in line to place my order. I told the girl behind the counter to make it to go. She handed me my bag, and I slipped out the door.

Once I was back inside my room, I stripped off my outer-clothes and plopped down on the bed in my underwear. I opened my sack and pulled out the hamburger and fries. Using the remote, I flipped on the television to catch the last ten minutes of the news. The weather report was just finishing up S 189 S

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and the meteorologist was predicting a forty-percent chance of rain the next two days. The sports came on next, and I half-heartedly listened to the baseball scores. I missed seeing the scrolling banners at the bottom of the television screen, another innovation still light-years away.

The news finished and then a late-night comedy show

started. The comedy show kicked off with a satire about a man with no luck. Every great idea he came up with was stolen by someone who made millions with it. His best friend even stole his wife and dog. He had given his friend some ideas on how to land a woman of his own. It was only funny in its irony. I ate the last of the fries and tossed the bag towards the garbage can under the sink by the bathroom door. The pain of thinking about Amy and Emily wasn’t satisfied by the food or the lame comedy on television. It seemed that no matter how hard I tried to steer my thoughts away from them—I couldn’t. It eventually came roaring back to thoughts of the two of them.

It was going to take me a long time to make peace within myself—if it were even feasible.

I shut off the television and turned out the light. I could hear the traffic running outside my room on the thoroughfare. I crossed my hands and put them behind my head. A car rumbled into the parking lot. It parked outside just in front of my window. The car’s headlights broke through the small gap in my drapes, brightening an area on the wall above the television. My anger had exhausted me. I had no clearer notion on what direction I should take. I lay prone on the bed for what seemed like hours, all attempts at sleep seeming to avoid me.

Amy’s face would not go away, nor would the close memories of her talking to me all the times we lay in bed together.

Those are the ties that bind us to each other and keep us close in our hearts. I closed my eyes and listened to her whisper in the dark. Her voice was soothing to me as I listened to her in S 190 S

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my mind. I sought out her simple wisdom for she rarely complicated things. I even started to answer her questions in my head out loud. Somewhere between midnight and one a.m.

her voice quit speaking to me, and I drifted off into sleep.

When I managed to keep my eyes open, I studied the clock and noted it read nine forty-six. It felt like I’d been run through a washing machine. My feeling was confirmed by the state of my bed. The covers were piled on the floor, and one of the pillows was at the foot of the bed. The room was stuffy and hot, the drapes unable to keep out the heat of the morning sun. I yawned and fought the desire to go back to sleep. I was more at peace than I had been last night. My anger had surprisingly receded. My dreams during the night had taken my subconscious thoughts and turned them into a plausible notion— the seeding of a plan. It was still very broad in its scope, but it had merit and more importantly—it answered all of my concerns.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” It was an old saying, one that I had no idea from where it had first originated. My plan was simple. The only complication would be trying to keep my most inner feelings in check. I would make the best of a poor situation. It would be hell on my heart, but this pain would be welcomed. It was one way to know I was still alive. I swung my legs out, over the bed and pushed myself up. I lumbered to the bathroom and turned the shower on to get hot. I slid the curtain behind me as I stepped in. I let the water cascade down my neck and shoulders. I turned it up as hot as I could take it. The heat took away some of the stiffness that my previous day of stress had built up. When the water started to lose its warmth, I shut the shower off and toweled myself dry.

I looked at my wardrobe selection and wished I’d brought my suit coat. It would have been nice, and with what I wanted to do, I needed to present myself in appropriate business S 191 S

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attire. I would have to stop at one of the department stores in the mall and buy a new suit. Minimize the damage, evaluate the risks, and implement the plan were among the clichés running around inside of my brain while I shaved and dressed.

The risks I was about to embark on were enormous, and the damage I might cause could be catastrophic. Every side has an opposite. The potential reward for success was immense and also personally valuable to me. I started to feel antsy; I had people to see and places to go. I hoped I had enough time to put it altogether and pull it off. Today was going to be interesting, one way or another.

I made a quick call to Stacy and outlined the plan I had in mind. Stacy was the only other person in this time that I had confided in about my relationship with Amy. She had been through a divorce and could understand more readily than my parents. It really wasn’t something I wanted to talk with them about, even after the comment my mother made about

my ring at Christmas. I thought if anyone could understand it would be Stacy.

“Are you crazy, or are you simply stupid?” were the answers I got for sharing my brilliant plan with her.

“Stacy, I know how it sounds, but…”

“I don’t care about the buts. It’s an impossible situation and one that you shouldn’t even be considering! You—and I for that matter don’t have the foggiest clue what other changes it might precipitate in this world and the whole time-theory thing.”

“I’m not denying that Sis. BUT, it’s still practical even if it is extremely unorthodox by any standard. If you need to, then blame it on the situation we, or more precisely, I find myself in.” I was rewarded with silence on the other end of the line.