Telemachus Rising (3 page)

Time crawled by.  Or maybe it flew.  I sat quietly, because that's what you do in long term care.  No one else came or went.  Dad didn't move.  I felt a little bit sad.  He didn't look as tall, laying in the bed like that.  Every once in a while I heard the motors in the bed whir, shifting his weight to prevent bed sores.  He had still gotten some anyway.  Sometimes the machines beeped.  The hospital noises made me jumpy when I'd first started visiting, but I'd gotten used to them over time.  I learned what a few of the regular alerts signaled and what some of the numbers on the displays meant, but most of it just translated into what I already knew: that things were okay.  Not great.  About the same.

I watched the IV drip.  It almost formed a steady rhythm, but not quite.  I studied the system to try to figure out what caused the variation in droplets.  Tiny changes in the amount of fluid in the bag, maybe.  Different amounts of residual liquid from the previous drop.  Chaos theory.  Something.  I focused in on the drip and began to count each one.  

Ten...Eleven...Twelve...

Eighty-seven...Eighty-eight...  

My eyes burned and the rest of the room began to get fuzzy.  

Four hundred...Four hundred one...  

The light filtering in from the window grew dim in contrast to the drip.  

Two thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine...Three thousand...  

The rest of the room fell away until it was just me, the hospital bed, and the bag of IV fluid.  My eyes got dry and tired, but I didn't let up.  I don't know how long it lasted.  Numbers stopped making sense as I counted.  It was like my entire world zoomed in on the drip until everything began to slow down.

The change was subtle at first.  I noticed the irregular rhythm starting to break apart.  As I watched, each drop of clear liquid came slower than the last, until they seemed to drift down gently from the bag to the line, like snowflakes.  One clear bead of liquid after another, each a tiny crystal ball, defying gravity by sinking at an impossibly slow speed.  I focused hard on each one, studying the perfect little spheres as they fell, slower and slower, each giving me more time to observe its descent than the last.  As I watched, I saw the light bend through their curved surfaces, the world flipped upside down like through a lens.  And then, a fraction of an inch above the line, a single globe of liquid halted, came to a stop in mid-air.  I didn't move.  I didn't breathe.  I didn't blink.  I felt it before I saw it, through intuition maybe.  My eyes burned with focus.  At first it was almost imperceptible, but after a moment there was no doubt.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  The bead of liquid hovering at a standstill in the IV began to rise back toward the bag.  Just as the fluid reached the top, just as it made contact, I cracked under the pressure.  My eyes blinked of their own volition.

And there I was sitting on the living room floor, wrapping paper crumpled up next to every chair.  My mom looked about as happy as I'd ever seen her, and my sister seemed pretty pleased with herself, too.  It was my turn.  In our house, Christmas was an all-day extravaganza.  A few gifts here, a few gifts there.  Someone would suggest we open presents and everyone would come back to the living room where we'd take turns, each opening something.  So I was up, with a nice big box in front of me.  I had no idea what was inside, and there wasn't anything I was specially hoping for that year.  I tore into the paper, and it was off in seconds.  There, in the box, were two pairs of big, padded, overstuffed boxing gloves.

“THESE ARE AWESOME!  THANK YOU!”  It's tough to beat an eight year old for sincerity on Christmas.  “Anybody want to try them out?”  I really wanted to knock my sister around a little bit, but I didn't get any takers.  

It wasn't until later that afternoon that my dad picked a glove up and asked, “Ready to go?”  I couldn't believe my luck.  This was going to be good.  I started pulling a pair on.  They were surprisingly tight, and I really had to work to get them over my fists.  Dad had even more trouble.  I think he only got about half of each hand in there, but a few minutes of tugging had him decided.  “Alright, put 'em up.”

I took my fighting stance, because every eight year old boy knows that deep down he's an elite fighter.  I knew, like all my friends did, that I could beat anyone in a fight if I got mad enough.  This was going to be a good one.  I was tough.  I put up my dukes, ready to rumble.  We sized each other up for a minute.  My dad tried to hide a smile.  It looked like we were both going to get a kick out of this.  He wasn't taking me seriously enough, so I threw a flurry of fierce punches.  That would teach him!  He caught all of them with his guard and gave a little chuckle when I realized that none of my swings had connected.  I took half a step away from him, and a quick jab snapped my head back before I knew what was happening.  What was that?  I shook it off and decided he was going to pay for that one, so I launched a counterattack with another round of mean punches.  I didn't land a single one, so I fell back to prepare another offensive.  This time I was ready for the jab.  I ducked quickly, and the oversized boxing glove skidded across the top of my head.  I dove forward and went for his stomach.  Success!  I got him right in the gut, but he laughed and turned away.  Who knew my dad was so strong?  I put my fists up the way he did, with one hand in front of my face.  I knew what was coming.  He waved his left around in a circle, teasing me.  I was gonna block this one!  He wasn't faking it, either – his left came right for me and I moved a hand to block.  Our gloves connected and my own fist popped back into my nose.  I flinched away automatically and opened my eyes just in time to see the second punch in his combination an inch from my face.  It absolutely rocked me.  Even though the big soft gloves didn't hurt, I stumbled.  How did my dad know about boxing?  When did he learn to fight?  Sure, the little taps from the boxing gloves rattled me, but what he really knocked loose was my image of him.  I'd had no idea what I was getting myself into by agreeing to this pillow fight of ours.

I opened my eyes again, half my face buried in my pillow.  It had been a long day and a longer night.  I was tired, dirty, happy, a little bit relieved, and very glad to be in bed.  The day had started out simply enough.

“Hey – we're going to go look at that car – just wanted to let you know.”

“Good.  Go look at it.”

“Yeah, I won't lay any money down until I check it out.”

“That's a good idea.  I don't want some broken down car sitting in the driveway.”

“I'm not going to buy a car without looking at.”

“Alright, drive safe.”

“See you later.”

Truth is, I had found a guy online who was willing to part with a great little convertible for next to nothing.  Cheap enough so that even at seventeen, I could buy three with what I had in the bank.  Now, I hadn't actually put down any money.  I was still free to walk away, but I wanted that car.  Yes, it was a junker, and yes, it was easily forty years old, but that was half the fun.  I would work on it.  Lots of people worked on cars, so why couldn't I?  Sure, it would take a lot of time, but I had time.  Parts might be expensive, but as cheap as the car itself was, how bad could parts be?

I called a couple friends to help out.  One had a four wheel drive with a towing package.  We picked up a tow dolly on our way across the state.  The convertible was far away.  We rigged up the hitch and got the tail lights wired correctly in no time.  I paid extra for the full bed dolly because it seemed safer.  Once we were all set to tow, we stopped by a gas station to fuel up and grab snacks.

The ride was fantastic.  It was a sunny summer afternoon.  Blue skies and fluffy white clouds.  I rode shotgun and we rolled down the windows.  We joked around and I hung my elbow out the window.  The pane startled me by rolling back up on its own.  I looked toward my buddy in the driver seat and he started to crack up without looking back at me.

“Dude.  Stop rolling up the windows.  It's Hot.”  Our friend in the back seat was a big guy who made a habit of sweating through his shirts.  He over-pronounced the H on “hot”, like he was coughing for a physical examination.  I laughed out loud as the windows hummed closed, one by one.  “Dude.  Cut it out.  It's freaking Hot in here.”  The two of us in the front seats only laughed in response.  I leaned forward and turned on the car's heater.  “What the hell are you doing?  It's Hot in here!”  The driver turned the heater's fan to maximum output.

I lost it.  I couldn't stop laughing.  In seconds, the car was sweltering.  Between the sun beating down on the metal roof of the vehicle and the heater, the car was like an oven on wheels.  I was still having difficulty controlling myself, and it was getting to the point where the other two were laughing at my apparent case of the giggles.  

“Seriously guys.  This is crazy.”

I got my laughter back under wraps and looked at my fellow passengers.  Like the other two, beads of sweat were beginning to form on my forehead and back.  I made eye contact with each of them and began to chant.  “Test-of-wills.  Test-of-wills.”  My buddy in the driver seat chuckled and added his voice to the chant.  “Test-of-wills!  Test-of-wills!”  The car was becoming hugely uncomfortable.

“Alright.  First one to roll down a window loses.”

The game was on.  Every time the car got quiet, someone started cracking up again.

“Jesus, my back is wet.  I am wet.”

“TEST-OF-WILLS!  TEST-OF-WILLS!”

“Oh god, I lose.  I lose.  I need to roll down a window.”

“TEST-OF-WILLS!  TEST-OF-WILLS!”

Every once in a while one of us would let out a moan of discomfort and the other two would laugh even harder.  Still, each of us refused to end the game, to be the first to break.  We drove like that for ten minutes, then fifteen.  It went on so long that it ceased to be a joke and became a genuine competition.  We were all dripping with sweat.  In the heat delirium, we began to wonder why we'd started playing the game.

“Why are we doing this?”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“I'm going to open a window.”

But none of us did.  None of us wanted to be the one to end the game.

“How long do you think we can go?”

“How hot do you think it is in here?”
“I'm going to open a window.”

I was wondering how long the game could possibly last, when the driver finally spoke up.

“Oh shit, we're almost out of gas!  We need to find a gas station like...now.”

“Didn't we fill up before we left?”

“Yeah, but between the towing and the heater, we must've really burned through it.”

“I'm opening a window.”

We might've been running on fumes, but we managed to coast into a gas station right next door to a hamburger joint about twenty minutes from our final destination.  We ate and tried to dry off a little bit.  The test of wills had drained our strength, but the fast food was delicious.  So far, the trip had been hugely successful.  We piled back into the car in high spirits.  Only getting a little lost, we made it to the address I had written down in about half an hour.  I called to give the guy some warning.

For what I was paying, I knew this car was going to be a piece of shit, but boy was it ever a piece of shit.  The brake calipers and carburetor were sitting in the back seat.  The paint was bubbled around the lights and turn signals where rust had taken hold.  The wheel wells were completely rusted out.  The frame that held the convertible top was intact, but the fabric was torn and had clearly been that way for a while.  Inside, there were several tears along the seams of the upholstery.  The wiring harness was hanging out beneath the steering column, and the engine was its own nightmare, probably seized.  The hood wasn't even attached, so the first thing we did was load it into the back of the tow vehicle.

The next problem we had to deal with was the fact that the car was also missing a wheel.  Not just a tire, the whole wheel.  Good thing I sprang for the full bed dolly!  Of course, the car wouldn't exactly run.  I had known it wouldn't, but I hadn't really thought the next step through.  How were we supposed to get the damn thing up the ramps to tow it?  Luckily, the seller had a come-along, which if you didn't know, is a real thing and not just a hilarious made up name for a tool.  Really though, once we all stopped giggling about the name, the cable winch was a huge help.  Even so, it took us a solid hour to push the heap up into position and ratchet it down.  The sun had almost set when we were finally ready to leave.  

You must be wondering why, after I've described this car in all its glory, I still agreed to buy it.  There were a number of reasons.  None was very good on its own, but taken together it didn't feel like there was much debate.  For one, the car was really cheap.  I can't overstate that.  For another, I'd invested almost as much in the tow dolly rental, gas, and food, as I'd have to pay for the stupid car itself.  Then there was the fact that I'd already dragged my friends across the state with me to get the damn thing.  The biggest reason I went through with it, though?  I really wanted that car.  I'd spent so much time daydreaming about bombing around town in a sporty little convertible that I couldn't just give up on it.  I'd sold myself harder than the previous owner ever could have.  So, car in tow, we headed back toward home in the dark.

The ride back was totally uneventful, but it was late when we arrived.  I mean late, late.  I'd planned ahead, so we stopped halfway down the driveway to load the junker off the trailer out of sight of the house.  It was a long driveway that went through thick woods, and that was the key to the whole thing.  

My dad said he didn't want a broken down old car sitting in the driveway, but he never said anything about me hiding one back behind the treeline, out of sight, where I could work on it without bothering anyone.  It wasn't the kind of idea he ever would've come up with.  For him, it would've been too difficult and too impractical to haul a car through the woods – if such a thing was even possible.  I, on the other hand, had gone to the trouble of measuring a narrow corridor through the trees weeks in advance.  It went way back, and the ground dropped enough so that the car would be totally hidden.  It took a couple inconvenient turns, but there was a natural path wide enough for a small vehicle.  It could work.