Two Lost Souls

Something.

  Pamila:

  Having only one much older brother, I did not have a brother. Not one to grow up with. He was not one I ever wanted beside me. Not one that would teach me of the good man. Back then, which is anytime, I clung to boys. I look to my husband; he is the man I cling to.

  I question why I had so many friends that were boys. Most likely, my questioning is protecting. However, I do not question that my time with them was the right kind. My time with my brother was the wrong kind.

  I do know that I did not get the right kind of sibling intimacy with my friends. This makes me wonder if I understood boys then or men now. It is the then that makes me wonder if I missed something. A happy something then and a sad something missed now.

  Women have been referred to as The Weaker Sex. It can be a compliment, a gentle admiration, or a grouped flirtation. But not always. Me, surely living a persuaded over-sensitive, The Weaker Sex tickles me too roughly. The Forced To Be Stronger Sex; much better. More real world real. More so, I feel cheated out of something not offered girls. The playfulness that is never taken away. The seemingly crowned boy child that is allowed to grow into a man-child. Hmm! Especially my man-child. Maybe, no not maybe, I am bitter that women are not offered the same forever playfulness. But if offered, would we take it? Could we accept it? Would the world continue to rotate? Probably not, no, and hell no! After all, there is this; at least half of the species must walk along sensibly, lest the species dies. Maybe this is Penis Envy. If not, can someone please explain it to me.

  As much as I can, I think I understand Danny. That much, I do not think is either a lot, nor helpful in my want to understand men. The reason, Danny… love him and all, but he is not normal. From what I have learned, he never has been. This according to his mother. I will let you define the word normal. Do not be afraid to let your mind be creative. However, in fairness to him, and self-descriptive to you, I can stray away from normal as well.

  To support my men hypothesis I offer you this: Men are exceedingly reverent to the place that they grew up. The place of their childhood. Their mystic island of youth. Danny is no different. Moreover, the place in his heart for his place, may be grander than other’s.

  It is not simply a location, it is the time of their life when they did not search innocence, yet innocence bound them without disturbing. Purely a child, nothing was their responsibility. Yes, there was the bi-weekly taking out of the trash. The trash that occasionally only made it out once a week. This neglect stirred up fatherly disgust. There was the family pet that was not taken for a walk in time to prevent an accident. This not in time scrubbed up motherly disgust. In addition, there was always the cluttered bedroom. This brought the disgust of both. At times, the bedroom disgust was half-hearted. It was a problem that they knew would not go away until the boy did. So... there were these things. But to Danny, all that ever interrupted his daily cares was the signaled end of the play day. The shrinking sun rang the closing bell.

  There was also the Rengaw Train Bell. It could be heard at distance and was a neighborhood legend. When the bell rang, it indeed tolled for thee. Mounted squarely on a patio railing, when the bell sounded, all Rengaws that were not accounted for, immediately headed home. Failure to do so brought about a level of disgust not yet talked about. Besides these, Danny’s life was carefree with minimal restrictions. Although, Danny’s upbringing was protected within a Catholic raising. Perhaps I present Danny’s youth too free from reprisal.

  Danny’s reverence of this place, this world that we are now entering, comes out of him because it is so within him. It sets him in a person that is as brilliant as yellow can be without hurting. He is forever grateful that providence has allowed him this brief living of felicity. He wills a gratefulness upon himself. Danny gets it. He understands how lucky he is.

  Reader, do you think that I have given you too much on this? I do have a reason. Danny loved where he grew up, how he was raised, and he will always be grateful. However, I do worry that his memories are too much a part of him. I think it all very brittle. We have spoken of it and he believes it fragile as well. Danny mentally holds it close to his heart. He protects it from suddenly shattering into tiny pieces that would slip to the basement of his aging.

  Mostly, Danny’s East Coast accent has faded into the hills of the Rockies. I smile; when he speaks of Lake Mohawk, Sparta, or Jersey, he brings it back. It sounds mafia poorly impersonated. Nevertheless, it is always mystical of a fairy tale. A Knights-errant’s quest battling multitudes of snakes and a single Swamp Devil. Like Don Quixote, he has never seen the Devil, but unexplained sounds in the woods tell him that it is there.

  My reference on the following comes only from me. As Pippy Long Stockings is only fiction, girls do not hold the same reverence for their days of youth. Childhood should not be brought forward to adulthood. To women, it is not the most memorable crayon in the box. Nor is it the prettiest color.

  Unsettled with more life trials than most young girls, perhaps I am not a good source of these beliefs. I do not have the same attachment. Childhood for girls is simply a time spent growing. There is good and bad, but still just time. Living it then, looking back at it now, it was a vanilla cupcake with occasional sprinkles of fun. Good made translucent by the black.

  Veering left off Andover Road, Danny pulls down Upper Lake Mohawk drive. The lake on the left and Our Lady of the Lake Church on the right. “Where are we going Daniel?” I asked in a fake confused voice. I knew exactly where we were heading. I had already asked this twice. He wanted to be stupid evasive, so I was obligated to be annoying.

  “I want to show you something,” he answered without emotion or looking at me. This flat reply was a Danny staple. It always meant that he thought it was something very important. It rarely was. At least to anyone other than him. However, I did not know what it was, but there was something in his declaration that was different. My mind jiggled me that perchance it was indeed important.

  Having last driven into Sparta nearly fifteen years ago, the more along with the new was easy to spot. The visual jolt of time travel. There was not a lot of more on Sagamore trail; it was the new that drew me. The new colors of the houses, and the knick-knacks that decorated them. The knicks of children that last visit had been the knacks of the settled elderly. Maybe they were not new, but here now were sidewalks. The evergreen trees that last blended into the background now were prominently the beautiful focus.

  Slowly passing the house on the left, I look across Danny. He did not even glimpse at his former home. Not unlike what there had been a lot of lately, Danny was firmly in another place. A place, for this unique and special moment, I did not think he should be. It unsettled me that every emotion that Danny had ever experienced was not overflowing here and now. I didn’t like it.

  Our rental made that crackling sound of tires slowing to a stop. We were curbed in the circle of the dead end. Looking forward there was just the single house at the end of the road. I looked long at it. It did not look like there was a single more or new. This house had not changed. There was no sign of life; its personality was well hidden. This house, it was the old man’s house at the end of the road.

  “Let’s go Pami.” Danny was out quickly and headed to the place that he should not be. The East Coast Nip slapped me as I opened my door. Danny had said it was a different meteorological animal. Its bite made me a believer. The clouds that were fading in and out convinced me to reach into the backseat for my jacket. Not yet having had any, it did hint of a cool rain.

  Without taking my hand, without taking me, Danny quickly started off. Following I left the circle’s walk and headed west on a connecting path. Passing between wooden fences of two houses, first he, then I came to an intersecting walk. Turning left Danny headed south. These paths were not here the last time we were. Nonetheless, he knew where he wanted to go. “Danny!?
?? I stood motionless, hands on hips displaying neglect.

  “What?” he answered before turning to me. “Oh! I’m sorry. Come on.” I walked to him slowly with a stare. Exaggerated, I grabbed his hand with a jerk. Together, we looked down tunneled walls of boarded wood. Endless in our sight were homes lined with privacy fences. “They have closed out the outdoors,” Danny said softly.

  Running a perfect parallel was un-groomed grass that was flowered with not yet in bloom Wilds. To me it seemed out of harmony. All around was natural that was infringed on by the grey we walked upon. I inner chuckled. It was no different in Morrison, but here it seemed out of sorts.

  Use to it at home, surprisingly not expecting it here, we both flinched noticeably as a cyclist passed from the rear on our left. “On your left!” I yelled. It was a yell I muffled. I had decided for her not to hear it. Apparently she did. She saluted us with East Coast Rudeness. Rationalizing, I chose to believe that that would never happen in Colorado.

  Walking together now, Danny gently squeezed my left hand and said; “Come on I want to show you something.” I sounded Colorado Rude as soon as I said it.

  “I know. You’ve said that already.” Playfully he bumped his shoulder to mine.

  “It is not far. I think. I hope.” He wanted me to trust his words. “I mean I think it will be there.” He gave me the goofy smile. Those words and his goofy lessened the trust with each step. Each step that took us further from the car.

  Them, caretakers of this place, must have reached out and pulled all the Wilds from this spot. A near perfect circle of let alone natural had been pulled and manicured with golf course precision. Only one tree, one of distinction, was center and holding court in this circled clearing.

  Our walkway semi-circled around the right side of what now was clearly a protected monument. This shrine once a tree was now D.C. proud in marbled texture and limestone color. “I knew it would be here Pami I knew it.” Danny was on it in quickly. But as if it may burn, he tested before laying his palm full on.

  Prepared for visitors were two long benches on either side. Each identical, each a large log shaved lengthwise; almost black they were brown. They were smooth, glossy, and very dense. White wrought iron made up the supporting base.

  Danny was exuberantly free in his motions. “They’ve closed it off,” he said after moving to its far side. “They closed it off. I guess they didn’t want little boys falling and striking their head.” I went around to Danny who was on his knees and trying to look up the hollow tree.

  Thick white iron meshed-in the hole at its base. Leaping to his feet with a fist pump, he shouted; “Yes! Yes!” Without any caution he reached out laying his fingertips on it. “This is what I wanted to show you.” His smile was huge as he slapped his hands together and held them clasped.

  Danny; “It has been here forever, centuries, all I remember.”

  Neither Danny nor I; “Centuries, yes centuries. At least five they say.” Startled by this deep and steady voice I stepped to the tree and Danny. He turned from the tree and stepped around me. We both faced the man of the voice as he continued. “The State has declared this a protected site.”

  He was a tall man, easily six foot. With broad shoulders, he was older than we were. I thought in his sixties. Lean and steady he seemed healthy strong. His pot-marked face proudly presented a large nose. It struck me as royal looking. I love Horseman’s Dusters and he had a beautiful one. It was thick tan leather. I do not remember ever seeing one quite like it. Under a wide brim hat, not a cowboy hat but similar, his long silver hair was pulled back in a ponytail. I found him to be... it doesn’t matter.

  “It officially became a historic site several years ago. Moreover, it has long been known.” He said this to both of us but Danny was his eyes focus. “The story, such that it is, is that a small group of Washington’s men, sixteen in all, were sent from Morristown on an intelligence gathering patrol. Washington badly needed to know the whereabouts and strength of the British regulars. This group of men were camped here when they were surprised by the British. They were overwhelmed and slaughtered.”

  Danny snap turned back to me and firmly grasped my upper arms. Wide, his eyes were so wide. His mind was rushing to everywhere. Shaking me harder than he knew, he used his outside voice; “He’s right! Do you know what this means Pami! Do you! It happened, it really happened. You understand don’t you! No, no you don’t. You couldn’t. Okay…” He pulled a deep breath. His grasp eased and I felt him shaking.

  “Are you cold Danny you’re shaking? Why didn’t you bring a jacket.” I started to remove mine.

  “You believe me you believe him don’t you?” He said this as he pushed my jacket back down over my shoulders. I nodded lightly. Moving aside Danny, I peered over his shoulder. My questioning search turned Danny to look as well. I did not see him, but our informative visitor had walked off. Danny turned back looking passed me and down the path in the other direction. Indeed the stranger had gone.

  Danny’s mind was running away from me. “Danny?” I loudly tried to slow him. His awoke to me. His eyes were dark without. I waited for them to lighten and be with me. His ears were listening with a lift of his chin. “Danny… what he just said… what am I supposed to believe? What do you believe that you want me to believe?” I thought he grasped my eyes as he turned to the memorial. It was lit bright as the clouds had parted briefly. Up and down, faster and faster, his hand wiped away nothing from his mouth. He changed; tightened Oak to gentle Willow. I thought him deciding to allow me to believe. His pause told me he was still deciding.

  A few seconds turned into more. His debating was the delay. If he chose to tell me, how would he tell me? This deciding was the debate. I wanted to steady with a gentle hand smoothing his shoulder. His eyes locked on the memorial did not see the support I was offering from mine.

  Pivoting from the petrified tree, not to me, he moved to one of the benches. Danny sat and reached down. Gently tearing individuals, he plucked blades of grass away from their family. He sat leaning forward. He lifted his hand and pulled a long sniff. The aroma of this grass must have been unique as he pulled again. Fingers slipped loose and they returned to their friends.

  Danny sighed relief. A long relief of finally! Finished with a smile, a long walk that had begun so many years ago was complete. Danny began anew. “It was so very long ago now.”

  Not too close, I joined him on the bench. I did not want my afternoon shadow to block where he might go. Still leaning forward, with his hands clasped, his knees supported his weighted arms. It seemed at first awkward for him. However, steadily, wonderfully, his tale of a younger time grew old. It aged delightfully.

  What I heard I never before had. I fought dwelling on a sullen disappointment. I did not think that there was anything that my Danny had not shared with his Pamila. However, I was certain that he had not shared this with anyone else either. However, in listening, in him, I knew it had many times gone un-shared. I did think of Rojer, but then I did not think Rojer. Thinking Rojer, I thought a missing of him.

  Danny’s low chin shaded his chest with memories. His eyes wandering along with his story were still in his head. He walked, ran, jumped, and climbed through where he was. Where he was, was here in a much different time. You the reader have been there.

  Peculiar to me when they did, during his telling, Danny would occasionally open his palms to look for an emotional stain. Twice he found one and rubbed vigorously to remove it.

  So subtle was his gradual gathering of emotions that I had not noticed it building. His inflection had begun soft and his pitch was playful Danny. Both were now a grey shade of the now brilliant wearying sun. His pace was rushed. The gaining beat of the kettledrum was bringing his telling to crescendo.

  Taking in and enjoying its flow, I was easily patient as he went on. “A gash deep and long ran from t
he middle of his forehead across a closed left eye and trailed down a cheek-bone of dripping blood. This man, soon to be led only by his soul, searched for mine. His eyes pierced, his words fell into a Well of indifference, bottomless. Over time, these words slowly surfaced, floating in a basin of still acknowledgement. Years to follow, time to ponder, words I would consume. I have thought of his words often. At first, I wasn’t sure what he had said. Eventually I thought I knew his words. Now, today, I’m certain what he said.” Danny sat up turned to me and found my eyes. “That man… he said-”

  ‘Time, space,” I punched the man’s words at Danny. Without a wasted motion, Danny was standing over me. He stood peering, pondering, bewildering. Not sure if I did it intentionally, I gave him an it-is-okay-smile.

  “You’ve heard it!” Danny pushed air with his shout. My smile grew and touched my ears. He forced a smile that looked like it hurt. Reaching and taking his hands, I rose and met him. With less pain, his smile grew to a Danny natural.

  “Danny, we can go now.”