Mortal Mistakes

"Well, let me think. Yes, I do remember a fall sometime back. Yes, I slipped and fell pretty hard, when I was sleigh riding with Jenny, sometime before Christmas. It hurt pretty bad at the time but I didn’t get a lump on the head. I think I did black out for a minute. It just jarred me real hard, but more in my back or neck, than my head, as I recall. Other than that I really haven't been hurt bad since Fort Hood, years ago."

  "What happened to you at Fort Hood?" Dr. Ravit’s eyebrows raised again.

  "Oh, a defective shell went off prematurely and I was fairly close to it. I took some shrapnel in both legs and my left arm and a piece under here," he pointed in back of and below his right ear. “And I had several second degree burns."

  "No concussion though?" The doctor shined a high intensity lamp at the shrapnel scar at the base of Stan’s skull.

  "Well I really don't know. I was pretty much conscious through the whole thing. I was patched up at the base and shipped to Reed for treatment. I spent a month there, mainly waiting for the burns to heal."

  “Did they get all of the shrapnel out?”

  “I guess they did. They knocked me out, so they could work on me.”

  "Stan, when the severe pain strikes, do you have any numbness anywhere in any of your limbs, or face?"

  "Not that I'm aware of." Stan's concern was growing with each question.

  Dr. Ravit unconsciously fingered the stethoscope hanging from his neck. He again studied Stan's eyes thoughtfully, and took another look at the scar behind his ear. He paused for several seconds. It was time to render a judgment.

  "Stan, I'd like you to go see Red Griedlach. He's a neurologist—old friend of mine. Mary will make the appointment for you. It‘s just a precaution. No need to worry. It could just be stress.

  “I don't want you trying to eat up all the aspirin in the county. You'll give yourself an ulcer. Take some time off from the job if you can." He scribbled a prescription on a green pad. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I‘m going to prescribe something for pain." Take one of these when you have a pain attack and another one every four hours, if you need it. No more than that. And don't be driving or walking a high wire, while you're taking these. They're pretty potent. You come back and see me after Red has looked you over. Okay?" He directed a reassuring smile at Stan to terminate the exam.

  Stan waited in the now crowded reception room while Mary Dorsey phoned Dr. Griedlach's office. He had hoped, at worst case, that he would be told that the problem was stress. Now it was sounding much more serious. He felt weak. Worry showed on his face.

  "April twenty third at ten fifteen, Mr. Bronsky. Here's the address. I've made you an appointment back here later. Here’s a reminder card. You can change it if you need to."

  "Thanks," Stan managed. Concerned thoughts occupied his mind as he left the office. Neurologist! Why couldn't it have been stress and job pressure or the stinking Compton project. I could deal with that. Neurologist? Neurologists treat tumors and serious stuff. Why me? Cancer is for old people. I'm still young. Karen and Jenny need me.

  Stan Bronsky came face to face with his mortality. He had never seriously considered his own death before, even after the accident at Fort Hood. He somehow knew after the explosion, that he would be alright, even though he experienced a lot of pain. But this was different. Now, foreboding and anxiety were fast becoming unwelcome companions.

  I wonder if cancer would be more painful than the burns and shrapnel. I wonder how much time I have? If I die, what happens then? His concern shifted from physical problems to something potentially more serious. He recalled that he and Karen had talked about going to church more often, back around Christmas or Easter. But they never got around to it. He wondered if he was being punished for that; for neglecting God. He didn't consider himself to be a bad person. Sure, I’ve done some stupid things; sewed some wild oats here and there, like everyone else. Still, he reasoned that he had always tried to be a fair person and charitable to others. He recalled volunteering to work in a soup kitchen a couple of times. And he headed the cancer drive at work. I’m not a bad person. I don’t do drugs. I don’t steal. I don’t mess around.

  After thorough soul searching, he could find no real reason why he should be punished with a serious illness. But still he had a ominous feeling about death and any afterlife possibilities. Memories of past indiscretions suddenly flooded his mind. He wished he had gone to church more. I wish I knew the man upstairs better. I could have led a better life I guess. Read the Bible. Gone to church. He tried to remember where Karen kept their Bible, the one that the pastor gave them when they were married. He couldn’t recall seeing it for a long time.

  He thought about the few sermons that he had heard during his life and tried to remember the messages. 'Everyone will stand before God on judgment day,' he remembered hearing somewhere, sometime. Maybe it was on a Easter Sunday. He supposed that it must have been words from the Bible. 'Judgment,' he recalled hearing 'is the final measure of our lives.' He wondered how he would measure up at a divine judgment. He felt an onset of panic at the thought of standing before an awesome almighty God. Other words from the Bible replayed in his mind: All have sinned. Lake of Fire. Whoever believes will not perish.

  “God," he said quietly, “if you’re there, if you hear me—please not yet. Just fix this God, whatever it is." He mouthed the words just loud enough for himself to hear. “I promise, I’ll do better, go to church, try and help other people more, whatever you want.”

  Now back in the sedan again, with the warm morning sun shining and birds singing, his thoughts turned brighter. He concluded that Dr. Ravit must have really believed that it was just stress; otherwise he would have sent him to a hospital or sent him for x-rays or something.

  “I’ll go see Red what’s-his-name and make his next house payment," he said to his image in the rear view mirror. “Dr. Red won’t find anything wrong, and then Dr. Ravit will prescribe something for stress, until I can take a vacation. Then I’ll be fine. That’s it!”

  He nodded at himself in the mirror. He relaxed and felt comfort from his own prognosis.

  A few minutes later, he swung his car into the Parke Plaza shopping center and parked near the gift shop.

  Chapter 14

  As Karen and Jenny entered the gift shop, the cashier was ringing up Stan's selections. He had chosen a bright yellow coffee mug for Jan. The words, “BLONDES HAVE M0RE FUN“, were emblazoned in bright red letters, and underneath that, in smaller letters, “At Work“. After he found the mug, he noticed a pair of lacy, white pantyhose with little red hearts embroidered around the waistband and a letter J embroidered on the front. He could imagine Jan wearing something like that. He thought that the gift might bring a chuckle, and he felt that he had caused her, after all, to stain a pair of hose with her coffee. He was confident that his gifts would smooth the rupture in their relationship that he caused yesterday with his outburst.

  "Dahhie!" Jenny called gleefully as she and Karen entered the store and saw Stan.

  "Pumpkin!" the surprised father returned, sweeping his arms down to pick her up.

  With Jenny in his arms, he turned to Karen, who was now staring with contempt and disbelief, at the items on the checkout counter near Stan. Her mouth was open as she glared at the pantyhose and at the mug with its message.

  "That will be seventeen eighty nine sir," the cashier said. She started putting the items into a gift bag.

  Color drained from Karen's face then it immediately became flame red. She thrust her hands toward Jenny. "Come, Jenny," she said, "We have to go. Now!" Her voice trembled. Her hands shook as she wrestled Jenny from Stan's arms.

  Stan correctly read from Karen's face that she was terribly upset. He handed a credit card to the check-out girl and then realized that it must have been the pantyhose that did it. Christ! What is she thinking?

  Karen was already through the glass door rushin
g to her car. Jenny looked over her mother's shoulder at Stan. She waved bye toward him, with just her fingers, moving them up and down. Her face formed a puzzled frown.

  The young girl, at the cash register, fumbled with the credit card machine, which seemed to be stuck. Stan waited momentarily for the cashier, then abandoned her and the card and ran toward Karen to catch her and explain. Karen already had Jenny strapped in her car seat and was bringing the car's engine to roaring life. The young cashier’s eyes followed the commotion outside with startled interest. She still held the credit card in her hand.

  "Karen! Wait!" Stan yelled, waving his arms, and running toward her car. Karen looked back over her shoulder with a red face and tear filled eyes. She accelerated the car wildly, in reverse, in a semicircle. Stan had to stop abruptly to avoid being run over. Then shifting the transmission into forward, she trumped the accelerator pedal to the floor. Tires squealed as the engine howled.

  Dejected and embarrassed, Stan walked back into the store. "I’m sorry. Never mind the pantyhose," he told the girl. "Just let me have the coffee mug. No, just forget that too. I'm sorry."

  The cashier, still stupefied, timidly returned Stan's card. “Thank you sir, for shopping with us,” she stammered.

  The throbbing headache was back in full force. Stan swallowed two more aspirin, reminding himself that he needed to get the prescription filled. He stormed from the gift shop and headed for a nearby pharmacy. As he waited in the drug store for his prescription, he wondered why Karen had gotten so livid without at least giving him an opportunity to explain. That’s not like her, surely she doesn't think I’m coming on to Jan or something like that. “You big dummy!" He thought to himself. “That gift was a dumb idea."

  He could see now, that Jan might even have been offended too, and that matters between them might have gotten even worse. He wanted to call Karen and put a stop to the misunderstanding before it got any worse. He would call her just as soon as he got back to the office.

  What the blazes is going on lately, he thought. Everything’s nuts! Nothing goes right.

  It was past ten thirty when Stan got back to the office. He was very much on edge, because of his doctor visit and the confrontation with Karen. He checked his computer to see if Bob had reviewed the Compton project. Had he done so, Stan would have taken the rest of the day off no matter what his boss said. His head still pounded. Bob hadn't replied. Stan looked at his watch. Karen should be at work by now. He picked up his phone and dialed the number to the Chantley Gallery.

  Chapter 15

  After his morning bathroom rituals, Robert walked over to his small kitchen. It consisted of only a compact refrigerator, a two burner stove, and a single basin sink. The entire ensemble took up only half of one wall of his small apartment but it was sufficient for his needs. The efficiency unit was located in a run-down part of the city, but he didn’t care about that either. Materialism was not a huge motivator for Robert.

  He took a couple of plastic bags from his refrigerator. From one of the bags, he removed a chunk of red meat, rinsed it in the sink and cut it into smaller pieces with his pocket knife. He paused to study the knife, which he had carried since he was a boy. It was a work of craftsmanship and the only memento of his father that he still possessed. The pocket knife had a white bone handle and a four inch, razor sharp, stainless steel blade. It was really too large for a pocket knife, but it carried many memories for Robert. He wiped the blade of the knife on a wash cloth and dropped the pieces of fatty thigh tissue into a hot skillet. Then he started a pot of coffee on the other stove burner.

  He sat down in one of the two chairs at his small dining table and opened the other plastic bag just enough to place the open end of the bag over his nose. He inhaled slowly. He could smell only the musty scent of newspaper. He frowned and tried again. This time he thought he could smell just a tiny residual fragrance of the beautiful young woman who sat by him on the train yesterday. He smiled and fastened the top of the bag tightly. Then he put the bag back into the refrigerator.

  He took an egg from the refrigerator to fry along with the sizzling meat. The smells of charring flesh and fresh coffee soon filled the room. He took a deep breath through his nose and enjoyed the aroma of the tasty breakfast that he was preparing. He turned over the meat in the skillet and recalled carving the tender muscle from a thigh bone, three nights earlier. He thought about his attempt to share a treat with the little girl, yesterday. He could still picture her innocent face. He continued to think about her, while he cooked and ate his breakfast.

  Robert supposed that it was the child’s hair and eyes, that so reminded him of his sister, when she was about the same age. He recalled sharing bits of food with his sister at the orphanage. He banged his fist on the table at the thought of the orphanage and thoughts about his sister.

  “Stop it." he said to himself.

  After he ate his fill, he put the remainder of the rare meat back into a plastic bag, which he would take with him for lunch. He thought of whimsically sharing his lunch with the beautiful girl that he saw on the train yesterday if she should happen to sit by him today. Would my lady care for some breakfast, he mused.

  As he pondered his giddy thought of another encounter with her, he considered what he might really do, to take advantage of such an opportunity if it arose. I wonder if she might actually show up on the same train today? With that thought, he decided to shave and apply a little cologne just in case. He cautioned himself to use the cologne sparingly, so as not to overpower her enchanting smell. But he would still use enough, to let her know that he wanted to make a good impression. He would wear fresh clothes today, including the bright red windbreaker that he recently acquired. And he would wear his new baseball cap too.

  He began to plan the morning train ride as if a meeting with her was certain. He would dress early and wait at the station, with plenty of time to spare, and catch the same train that he rode yesterday. He would board the same car and sit in the same exact seat. Then a disturbing thought occurred to him: What if someone else is already in the seat? His face tensed and he drummed his fingers slowly on the table. He stopped drumming and fingered his pocket knife that lay on the table. A slight smile showed on his face when he figured out exactly what he would do. He hurried to shave and dress, then he walked to the station a half hour earlier than yesterday.

  At the station, he boarded a northbound train; in the opposite direction to that which he needed to go. He would ride to the last stop, where e would then catch the southbound train at its origin, and thus be assured of getting his choice of car and seat. When the northbound train reached its final stop, Robert quickly got off and hurried to find a morning newspaper. He spotted one that had been left discarded on a waiting bench on the loading ramp. When his beautiful companion boarded the train, he would smile and present it to her as a gift, unless she already had a newspaper. He hoped that she wouldn't.

  With twenty minutes to spare he now stood with his toes near the edge of the southbound boarding ramp. He had paced the distance along the length of the ramp, to insure that he would be positioned at the approximate entrance to the fourth car. He carefully refolded the newspaper and held it in his left hand. He had a small plastic garbage bag, in his other hand. The bag was full of wadded newspaper. It would be placed on the bench seat next to him, to discourage unwanted company until she boarded the train. Then he would stuff the bag under the seat to make room for her.

  As the train approached Elm Street Station, Robert's pulse quickened. He sat as usual with his forefingers pressing his ears to block the squealing of the train’s brakes. When the train was nearly stopped, he sat upright and prepared to remove the garbage bag from the bench seat. He craned his neck and strained his eyes to spot her in the crowd of boarding passengers.

  Surely I didn't miscount the cars, he reasoned. As the last passengers stepped into the car, he leaped to the door, s
tuck his head out and shot a searching look to the left and right. He was on the fourth car and she was nowhere in sight. He returned to his seat in defeat after the doors closed. She must have taken a different train today.

  Robert had assumed, in his planning, that she would follow the same schedule as yesterday. Now he realized that he had miscalculated. Maybe she wouldn‘t follow the same schedule. She might have been going anywhere yesterday. It was probably a one-time trip.

  He was very disappointed that all of his hopes and planning efforts had been for nothing.

  I’ll probably never see her again, he thought as he exited the train downtown.

  He looked dejected as he walked along with his hands in his trouser pockets. One hand fumbled with the knife in his pocket. He walked west on Clay, as he always did on work days. His head sagged. His eyes swept left and right on the sidewalk, not looking much above it. He fingered the knife in his pocket with increasing intensity as he walked.

  *****

  Karen dropped Jenny at Mrs. Obenhauer’s. After the confrontation with Stan, she was in no mood for polite conversation with Mrs. O. or anyone. So, she rushed in and out of the nursery without speaking to the older woman about television programs involving blood. Mrs. Obenhauer was caught off guard by Karen’s demeanor and abrupt departure but kept her curiosity in check.

  Now, in the gallery parking lot, Karen tilted her rear view mirror down enough to examine her face, before going inside. Her eyes were red and her makeup was smeared. She noted Paula's car in the parking lot and seriously considered backing away and going home. She really didn't want to face Paula, or anyone, just now. But she thought that Stan might have gone home and she especially didn't want to see him until she had time to digest the gift shop confrontation.

  She reworked her makeup as best she could, took a deep breath, and entered the back door of the gallery.

  "Morning Kay," Paula cheerfully greeted. She was making coffee. "How’s it going today? You and Stan have that big talk last night?" She looked up from her chore into the face of Karen and immediately wished she hadn't asked the question. No amount of makeup could hide the hurt that was evident on her best friend's face. Karen’s appearance reminded Paula of how she had felt a few times.