Remember Me (3 page)

There it was, held out at arm’s length for me to read. The unwritten concern I was reading between the lines was simple; she had younger children and I might be too old for her to consider. I was much more careful with my next response, because, right or wrong it might be my last one.

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I wrote, “I am forty-five and was married for nearly twenty three years to my high school sweetheart.” It was a commitment comment and hopefully it would show that I hadn’t

been in and out of relationships. It also let her rationalize that my children came along early in my adult life. Next, I wrote:

“Junior high was a great time with my children. They were involved in many sports and multiple school activities. It was some of the best memories I had of being a father. I miss the closeness we shared back then, now that they are away at college.” A true and heartfelt statement I hoped would show her how much I cherished being a father. I wanted her to know up front that I had no issues with her children being younger.

I added a few additional bits of information. I let it sit for a day, altered a couple of the sentences and hit send. I had to admit the 32 in her email handle had me worried. If she was only thirty-two, then I didn’t like my chances. She’d already given me the perception that she was extremely careful and selective. Not just with what information she would readily convey, but who she would ultimately allow to come into her inner circle.

I was never so thrilled when I saw her response the next day: “Good morning Andrew. I’ll be forty-one this year. What types of things do you like to do when you aren’t working? Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Do you like animals?”

There were several more questions and I smiled as I answered every one of them. It was a very good start. I was hopeful and so very glad that I would have an opportunity to get to know the woman. She had found a way to touch me so thoroughly by just running into me.

From emails and phone conversations, to our first lunch

date, had taken us almost two months to get there. By the time we met for that first date, I was already falling in love with the person I knew she was. I applauded her conservative S 15 S

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and concerned approach to establishing our relationship. She was quickly becoming a valuable friend, something which had been missing from my last relationship. We had many things in common, and our moral aptitude was on the same wave-length. When she walked in to meet me at the restaurant, I was hers. She smiled and I was forever lost in her beauty. She came to me and without hesitation wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. I breathed in deeply the citrus scent of her shampoo, mixed with the floral fragrance of her perfume. The electricity coursed throughout my body and I hugged her back more vibrantly than I should have, I couldn’t stop myself. Amy let out a soft sigh and I wondered if I hadn’t squeezed her a little too hard.

When I let go of her, she cast her eyes down, and I felt awful. She reached out and took my hand in hers and I knew it wasn’t me—not in that sense. I had reached deep inside of her too. We waited silently to be seated, holding on to each other’s hand, afraid to let go and lose the connection. When we left two hours later to go our separate ways, I instantly felt that familiar void in my life return. I knew it for what it was. It was the desire and need of companionship. The wall inside of me was starting to crumble ever so slightly. I was falling deeply in love with this wonderful woman.

I reflected on all of this as I finished my tuna sandwich and put the dirty plate in the dishwasher. Very few men get a chance to be a father twice in their lifetime. Amy and I had overcome many challenges in our previous lives. We had always come out of them ready to fight the next time one appeared. Together, we were best friends and stronger than we ever were alone.

Now that I had her, I couldn’t ever imagine a life without her by my side.

I looked out the window over the kitchen sink and across our small pond, where the kayak rested on the bank, to the S 16 S

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massive storm clouds beginning to converge in the northwest.

The forecast had predicted severe storms and the potential of lightning strikes today. The storms would end later this evening and so would the rain. They promised lots of sunshine for my birthday on Sunday. I had promised Amy I would get the yard mowed this afternoon, before the family showed up for our barbeque tonight. I hoped the weatherman was right and the storm would end so I would be able to cook the steaks and my famous barbeque-grilled potatoes. Seeing the quick progress of the storm, I knew I would be up against the clock and mowing at a disadvantage of time.

Amy loved all animals, but horses were her passion. After her divorce, she had to sell the acreage she owned with her ex-husband. Uncertain of her future, she purchased an affordable house in a small town south of Cedar Falls. The two horses she owned were being boarded at a nearby stable. Once we were married we bought this house along with the twenty acres of pasture and woodland around it. We tore down the old barn and built a larger one, to accommodate the hay and the ever increasing number of horses. Everyone in the family had their own horse. Amy’s favorite soon became the little pony named Karissa. It followed her everywhere. It was playful and full of mischief. Only Amy could get near her; the rest of us had to settle for an occasional treat to be hastily taken out of our hand.

We still had miles to go before our place would be exactly the way we wanted it. It was working on it together which brought us just as much satisfaction as the completed projects themselves. The pond had been my idea. The horses could drink from it when it wasn’t frozen. The kids enjoyed it, using the kayak on it, and even trying to catch some of the small mouth bass, bluegills and crappies we had it stocked with.

I had nearly three acres of grass to mow and the storm

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looked like it was less than a couple of hours away, if even that.

I grabbed my ear-plugs and headed out to the pole-shed to get the riding mower. I had gotten the front yard done before I took a break for lunch. I added more gas and climbed up in the seat. The JD360, 52-inch mowing deck would make quick work of the grass. What took the most time was stopping to pick up wayward balls, sticks, and miscellaneous items the kids’ drug all over the yard. I would save the section around the trees and “junk pile” to mow if I got caught in the rain.

With the leaves fully out on the trees, I would have some shelter from the weather. I was hoping the rain would be light or hold off until I finished. I started the mower, backed it out of the door, set the throttle to high and headed for the grass.

As soon as I crossed the rocks of the driveway, I lowered the mowing deck and engaged the blades.

I made excellent progress on the lawn. I was winning in

my race against the storm. I made it into the tree-lined section before the rain had even gotten close. It was a good thing too, because the sky was growing more menacing by the minute. I’d already needed to turn the headlights of the mower on; it was getting that dark. I could feel the electricity in the air, and the temperature had already decreased by at least fifteen degrees.

The sweatshirt, once tied around my waist and now back on, was now barely keeping the chill out. Dangerous looking and jagged lightning bolts crisscrossed the sky. The thunder was so loud that I could both hear it and feel it above the roar of the mower’s engine, and my sound-suppressing ear plugs. The storm clouds were alive with streaks of bright yellow as the electricity shot across the dark contrast of the storm clouds.

Against my better judgment, which told me I should head

for the shed, I crested the small hill at the very back of our acreage and headed for the “junk pile.” It was the very last little bit of grassy area that needed mowing. It was out of sight S 18 S

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and could wait, but I hated having to attack the grass when it was extra long. The wind had been strong from the northwest, and many times I was thankful I had on my sunglasses when the dirt blew into my face. Now it suddenly became deathly still. A break in the clouds let a small, circular ray of sunshine through. “The eye of the storm,” is what came to my mind.

There were several loose pieces of wind-blown trash cluttering up the little area I needed to mow. I put the mower in idle and hustled off of the seat. At the back of the “junk pile” was an old oil barrel that we used to burn leaves and miscellaneous trash in. After hastily collecting the trash, I dumped it inside the barrel. I put a large chunk of wood on top of the trash to hopefully stop the wind from whisking it out again. The “junk pile” was a hodge-podge collection of old pieces of metal, wire scraps, and old fencing.

I was standing on a mixture of dirt and God knows what.

There were old screws and nails—not to mention chunks of iron and tin. Not a good place to be in a lightning storm. I had taken one step towards the tractor when I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The air smelled metallic, and I could suddenly taste it in my mouth. I heard an immense humming sound, moreover, felt the vibrations coming up from the ground underneath me. It sent waves pulsating through my legs. The sound grew louder until it sounded like a freight-train speeding towards me, charging down invisible tracks. I felt the panic rising inside of me. I didn’t even have time to run as the air exploded around me in intense, bright light. In the center of the brightness was an impossible exception. Directly in front of me, and drawing all of my attention, was a small patch of pure black.

I was a fly caught in the suction of a vacuum cleaner hose, struggling against the powerful current pulling at me. A bolt of lightning struck the ground, mere feet away from the “junk S 19 S

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pile.” I was hit by the convergence of electricity slamming into my body, and the sudden, harsh pull of the non-air emanating out of the dark space in front of me. I had no time to understand what was happening to me. My heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest, and my vision began to cloud as I fought desperately for consciousness. It had to be my imagination, but the yawning blackness in front of me seemed to be expanding. As it grew, so did the dragging suction it maintained on my body.

My legs gave out and I fell forward, but I didn’t hit the ground. It felt like I was floating, but my senses were now in total disarray. I struggled mightily to keep my head about me, fading in and out of awareness. I was being pulled towards the gaping black space in front of me. Before I succumbed to the forces controlling me, I managed a last offering, one last dying testament. It was never uttered out loud, and only a thought within my brain, “I love you Amy…I’m so sor…” The very

breath was sucked from out of my chest and my eyes closed for the last time. The sound of the train moved on, and I lost myself to the black void.

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A lonely night.

May 22nd, 1985

“God my head
hurts,” I said it out loud in a mere whisper, as I reached a hand to my throbbing temple. I was unsure of almost everything except the excruciating pain in my head. A tremor raced through my entire body and the need to throw-up overwhelmed me. Managing to roll on to my side in the nick of time, I felt my stomach muscles tighten. My body shook as my throat constricted. The spasms hit me again and again as the warm bile forcefully made its exit. The tears rolled down my face and the pounding in my head sent shards of “white light”

racing behind my closed eyelids. I was aware of the sun, feeling the warmth it generated on my face. With next to no strength left, it was all I could do to roll on to my back. The drumbeat in my head intensified. I had no option but to ride the wave of rhythm and let it carry me into the deep blackness of my mind.

I had no idea how long I laid there. My senses were slow in coming back on-line. The sun must have moved. I was no longer covered with its warming rays. I tentatively opened first one, then the other eye. They were unfocused and sensitive to the light and air. Tears welled up and slid out the corner of each eye, down my cheek, and past my ears to the ground cushioning my head. I fought the urge to close them, willing them to stay open and see around me. Shapes regained their true dimensions, and I could make out the leaves in the tree, just slightly off to my right and above me. My head still hurt, S 21 S

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but it was now in the tolerable range of pain. I was aware of the spasms, making the muscles in my thighs contract. My legs would jerk side-to-side when each spasm hit. I was also aware of the odors around me, grass, dirt, woody smells and mostly the sour smell of myself.

There was an acidic residue taste in my mouth, and I

smelled the sweat from my body. It was lightly coated with a burnt metallic scent and the strong odor of urine. I knew even as my mind was finally registering the dampness of my crotch, that I had wet myself. I still had my sense of humor as I thought: “Did anyone get the license plate number of the truck that hit me?” My body hurt all over, but nothing was broken.

There was no severe pain anywhere other than in my head.

Taking it slow, I tried to sit up. A fresh wave of nausea attacked my stomach, but I held firm and kept the gagging reflex at bay.

After a couple of moments, I began to feel more settled and more in control.

My eyes still wanted to jump from side to side. It was like awaking from an extremely bad hangover. I willed them to focus and slowly scanned my surroundings, first side-to-side and then farther off into the distance. There was both a familiarity and strangeness to my surroundings. What was the last thing I could remember? I’d been mowing and the impending thunder storm was approaching. No…not quite right, the storm had hit and… wait—where was the mower? I remembered

where I had parked it, still idling. I glanced where it should be.

It wasn’t there.