I admit, I was relieved when I got her voice mail. I had made a sincere effort, and this would have to do.
“Hi, it’s John…,” I began. “I’m calling to say I’m sorry about Chase and what happened. I really am. It’s very hard to talk on this trip, but I want you to know that I feel bad for you. I really do. That must have been terrible. What happened to you and to him. Terrible. I didn’t know him well, but apparently you did. The whole experience sounds terrible. I can’t imagine how tough that was. I know you’ll get through it though. I know you will. It’s going to be very hard to talk on this trip, but maybe I’ll call later when I get back. I’m not sure when that will be though. So, anyway, anyway, good night, Rita. And please take care. Take care.”
I hung up, stared at the ceiling, then called her again.
“Hi, it’s still me, John. I also want to say that I know things are hard right now, but they won’t always be hard. You’ll adapt, you’ll survive, even though right now you don’t think that’s possible, you will. You, you take one step after another, one step. You just stare straight ahead. You’ll feel bad for a while, hopeless, then one day you won’t feel as bad, one day you’ll catch yourself not thinking about it as much, and the next day, you’ll think about it a little less. Then one day you’ll wake up, and it won’t be the first thing on your mind, and then you’ll … and then you’ll have adjusted, things will be in a different order, the pain will still be there, it will always be there, but you will have adjusted, and you’ll stop being angry all the time, you’ll stop crying, because there’re other things you have to do. Things get better and you go on, you go on.” I caught myself, stopped. “I’m rambling here. So I better go. Good-bye.”
Another breath, more ceiling, another call. “I don’t know why things happen. No one does. I’m pretty sure there’s a plan, though. I hope there’s a plan but, man, I don’t know, I don’t know, I mean, I don’t know anything. I don’t have answers other than, I guess, you can’t quit, you can’t ever quit. You have to play it out. You have to.” I thought I might be finished, but I guess I wasn’t even close. “I’m taking Ethan to this place tomorrow, this home, but I’m not sure I can leave him now. I love him so much, so much. I love him more than anything. It’s so hard though, it’s so hard. I don’t know if this is the right thing, it’s so far. It’s in Maine. But I think I have to. I’m going nuts. I drink too much, the Bears … I can’t imagine leaving him, I can’t.” I caught myself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to turn this into a thing about myself. I’m sorry for you. You were a good friend. Just don’t give up. Please don’t give up. We can’t. We can’t.” I stopped and tried to calm myself but couldn’t. “I’m sorry, but I have to go now, I just … I have to go, so good-bye, Rita, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but good-bye, good-bye.”
I put the phone down, closed my eyes. I was crying now, crying so hard that I was scaring myself.
*
The next morning, Mindy was Mindy again. Phone in one hand, Starbucks in the other, Bud Light cap on at a jaunty angle.
I helped load her luggage into the back. “How’s your head?”
“I obviously have amnesia, or I wouldn’t be getting back into this van.”
Since I had volunteered for early Ethan duty, I climbed into the rear and arranged my tools of the trade: the Bears, photo album, Etch A Sketch, and digital watch to help me get through my shift.
The plan was to make a beeline to Maine and, if possible, get to Camden by late afternoon. I was dubious, thought we were being too ambitious, but we got off to a good start: Ethan was quiet, the traffic light, and the weather nice.
We stopped for lunch in Hampton, New Hampshire, just off the interstate. It was in a corner booth at a crowded Roy Rogers, just as Ethan was beginning to fidget, that Mary did something that shocked us all. After years of living with him, eating with him, sleeping with him, after years of navigating the sometime tumultuous waters of a long relationship, she performed her very own Stinky Bear routine.
“Hey there, Ethan, what are you eating?” She held Stinky up on the table and wiggled him from side to side. Ethan looked at her, then desperately at me, his face tight and worried. For the first time in his life, he looked embarrassed.
“What’s wrong, cat got your tongue, little mister?” Mary, apparently under the impression that Stinky was a ventriloquist doll, was trying hard not to move her lips when she spoke. Plus, her voice was high, squeaky, and, in my opinion, sounded absolutely nothing like Stinky Bear.
“You sure were good this morning at breakfast and in the van. Yes, sirree Bob, you were. Quite a pleasant young man.”