As evening rush-hour traffic began thinning I made my way out of the house to satisfy the rumbling in my stomach. Chinese food sounded good in that moment, so I made my way to a small take-out place less than a quarter-mile from my house. Maneuvering my way through the busy intersection and into the shopping center parking lot, I pulled into an open spot next to large four-wheel drive Ford pickup. It was a relatively new truck, but showed clear abuse received by many off-road adventures. The suspension system was lifted far beyond typical 4x4 trucks. This truck was clearly trying to mimic the ‘monster trucks’ that used to put on their shows at the Pontiac Sliverdome. Glancing inside the Chinese take-out place, even before I turned off my engine, I could see the likely driver of this unnecessarily large vehicle.
I open the door and heard the chime announcing my arrival to the staff of the establishment. The restaurant is quite small. The dining/waiting area is only large enough for 7 tightly placed tables; 3 four-tops and 4 two-tops were carefully placed in the room. Newspapers were scattered around the vacant tables, left by earlier visitors. The vinyl tiled floor was clean, and the decorations where minimal, just enough to remind visitors that they were in fact in a Chinese restaurant. A large light box hung on the wall above the order window. The photos displaying the dishes were faded to the point where the images were almost indistinguishable from each other. The pictures bore vague descriptions beneath them such as “chicken with broccoli” and “beef with rice and vegetables”. From the door I could see the hurried activity going on in the cooking area. I made eye contact with the wife of the owner of this establishment. She finished what she was working on, and then hurried toward the counter.
Mr. Monster Truck sat at a table digging into a carryout container with a small plastic fork. At a glance the food looked like it might have been an order of General Tao spicy chicken, with white rice. He had a dirty hat on his head. The logo was difficult to read through the grime of oil and sweat. The hat covered up what was unmistakably a mullet. He was clean-shaven, and didn’t appear dirty, other than the hat. He wore a baggy brown t-shirt, and frayed cut-off cargo shorts. On his feet was a well-worn pair of doc marten’s. He sat there quietly eating, reading the section of newspaper that was on his table. He didn’t even look up as I entered the doorway.
Over by the windows, at one of the 4-top tables sat an older woman with an elderly woman, possibly her mother, as their facial features bore some similarity. Both had surprisingly white hair. They were mumbling their conversation to each other. The elder woman had that confused-vacant-pained look in her eyes that those suffering with Alzheimer’s, and other forms of dementia, seem to have.
“Pickup?” said the petite Chinese woman behind the counter.
“Nope,” I replied, “I want to place an order.”
“What you want?”
I placed my order, a number 6, sweet and sour chicken, fried rice, and an egg roll, to go. I don’t think I have ever eaten anything else in a Chinese restaurant in many years. This little place does a good job with this dish, so I see no reason to experiment with anything else. I certainly would not risk trying the bizarrely displayed dishes in the photos that were now above my head as I stood at the counter.
“$6.88” she responded as I handed her my debit card. The card reader required a couple minutes to communicate with whatever other computer it is programmed to speak with. Then the little machine began to slowly grinded out a tiny receipt. As the woman handed it to me, for my signature, she said “ten minute”. I handed the signed copy back to her and headed to an empty 2-top against the wall.
I sat with my back to the wall, at a table nearest the uni-sex restroom and farthest away from the door. I starred vacantly out the floor to ceiling windows. I was watching the traffic in the parking go by the restaurant, and the foot traffic walking by on the sidewalk. In the distance was the road traffic getting steadily lighter as people were reaching their afternoon destinations. I was unable to take my peripheral vision off of the people in the restaurant with me.
The elderly woman reached for three small plastic packets of dark liquid that sat within her reach. “It’s soy sauce,” said the younger white haired woman. “soy sauce.” There was a short pause then “It’s soy sauce, people put it on their rice and stuff.” She explained. “No, you don’t need any, you’re all set.” Mr. Monster Truck stood up, gathered his food containers and made his way to the garbage receptacle. This movement distracts the elderly woman away from the tiny packets of a soy sauce that had intrigued her only seconds before.
As Mr. Monster Truck walked toward the door I noticed the large tattoo on the back of his calf. It appeared to have been a Native American dream catcher design. The marking was quite large; it covered nearly his entire calf muscle; complete with the traditional circular design and collections of feathers hanging from the 9 o’clock, 3 o’clock, and 6 o’clock positions. I watched as he climbed up his vehicle to open the door, then climbed even higher to get into the drivers seat. The bottom edge of his door reached the middle of the window on my passenger door. My mid-sized SUV looked like a child’s play toy next to this inflated truck.
As I wait for my food to be prepared I continued sitting in the uncomfortable chair made of aluminum and worn out foam padding. My eyes focused on nothing really, just starring out the window. I noticed a man and a young boy walking toward the door of the business next to the Chinese restaurant. The man appeared to be in his mid 50’s and the boy was no older than elementary school age. The man wore his hair long and greasy; his beard was scraggly looking. It was questionable whether his shirt and jeans had been washed recently. His well worn sneakers had seen many better days. The boy at least looked clean. That’s when it occurred to me that the business on the other side of that wall is a bar. Did I really just see a man take a little boy, presumably his grandson, into a bar? As I tried to mentally digest the implications of that the man and boy emerged from the drinking establishment escorted by a tall well built young man wearing a bright yellow t-shirt that said SECURITY across the back. Obviously the guy the yellow shirt felt the same about that situation as I did. The older man pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number as the little boy sat on a concrete flower bed.
The elderly woman and her daughter were done eating and began the process of gathering up there stuff toward making their exit. “We don’t need to take the soy sauce with us.” The frustration was obvious in the younger woman’s voice. She pulled the table back to make it easier for the elderly woman to get to her feet. With her cane positioned properly she slowly lifted herself up, being steadied by her dinner companion. She stood, uneasy, as the younger woman picked up the plastic bags filled with containers full of their left-over’s. “No, we’re all set; we don’t need to take the soy sauce with us.” The half dozen steps from their table to the door seemed to take an eternity. As they reached the door a hurried young man got their just before them. He held the door and patiently waited until they cleared the door way. The look in his eyes was anything but that of patience. He was in a hurry and these old women were slowing him down. He was dressed in a warm-up suit, as if having just come from the health club down the street. He was being polite, and feigning being a gentleman. But he clearly wanted these ladies to pick up the pace.
A young boy, clearly the son of the woman who took my order, met the health club guy at the counter with a couple bags full of carry-out. “Are you the sweet and sour chicken, sweet and sour pork.” said the boy stopping because he was interrupted. “Yeah carry-out for Swift.” Did he really just say his name was Swift? I thought to myself. The credit card machine was taking far to much time for Mr. Swift’s liking. After scribbling his name on the slip he hurried his way back out the door at breakneck speed. He chose not to hold the door for another pair of ladies that was nearly at the door. Watching him burst from the door I failed to notice the boy set another plastic back with my food on the counter. My eyes were stuck on this odd pair walking into the restaurant.
The women walking in the door were unmistakably related. They had to be a mother and daughter; they had almost identical face separated by 25 years of age. They had identical faces, but their bodies couldn’t have been more different. The older woman was no taller than five foot three, and petite. It would seem unlikely to me if this woman weighed more than 125 pounds. She was jabbering away on her cell phone, and was clearly to busy to help her daughter with ordering their food. The daughter was huge, in comparison to her mother. The younger woman was no less than 6 foot 3, and built like she could play center for the local NFL team. She was a large, there is no way she was tipping the scales at anything less than 350. She was a very handsome woman. Out the window I noticed a middle-aged woman hurriedly approach the grimy old man and little boy. The boy clearly recognized her and gave her a hug; she hugged him back. The woman directed some short words at him, an anger face, and an accusing wagging finger in his face. She left with the boy, and the greasy man went back into the bar. The mans head hung low, I don’t think this was the first time he’d had that conversation with her.
I didn’t hear what the large woman and her mother ordered, as I was trying to imagine what words were being exchanged outside. I wonder if the boy was understand that his grandfather has a drinking problem. I wonder if he even understands what that means.
“Hey, did you order a sweet & sour chicken combo?” the boy behind the counter said to me, pulling me from my speculation.
“Yes,” I replied “I did.”
“Here you go.” He held up my bag. “You already paid, right?”
“Yes, I did. Thanks.” The door chimed again as I opened it to leave and head home.
2009-05-13
2009-05-02
Sunset at Bodega Head
A Short Story
Bruce and his son Bode walked together down the heavily wooded path toward the clearing, and what looked like a cliff. Bruce was broken and had already given up. The gate and pace of his walking reflected his broken spirit. The past several months had been excruciating for Bruce and he had discovered what is meant by rock bottom.
Bruce’s vice had been poker since before college. His game was No Limit Texas Hold ‘Em. There was a time when he had great success, but he’d hit a long dry-spell. After burning through his family’s life savings, he began sinking deep into debt financed by some very violent men. One afternoon, they came calling to collect on the money that they were owed.
It was a pleasant early spring afternoon. Bruce had taken the day off work to take Bode to his kayak lesson. Kayaking was Bode’s newest obsession. Bruce’s wife Maureen was home alone when two large, muscle bound, men calmly knocked on the front door. When Bruce arrived home, just before dinner, he found the family room destroyed. Bookshelves were knocked down, tables were overturned, and lamps and knick-knacks were strewn about. In the corner, beneath the overturned recliner, was Maureen’s beaten and broken body. Even though he was dozens of miles away at the time, Bruce knew he was responsible for what had happened to the love of his life.
Maureen was in a coma for eight weeks before her lifeless, brain-dead body was removed from life support. The guilt of this decision accelerated Bruce’s decent into despair. The darkness of this emotional pit overtook over his life. He stopped going to work and soon lost his job. And when he finally lost his house, the last shreds of his self-esteem vanished, as well as even the desire to continue breathing.
It was well past when sundown when the phone rang. Bruce answered it, despite not recognizing the displayed number.
“Hello?” Bruce said with hesitation
“Do you have what you owe me?” the voice asked very calmly
“Who is this?” Bruce knew exactly who it was “ How’d you get this number?”
“I’ve given you a lot more time than most people. I’ve been way to generous.”
“You have, I mean…” he couldn’t hide the fear in his voice “I just need a little more time.”
“I will be by tomorrow afternoon. If you can’t pay, your son will.” The voice threatened. “If you make your son pay your debt, he’ll be seeing his mother by sundown.”
The phone line went silent as Bruce tried, through tears, to beg for more time.
The sun coming through his bedroom window woke Bode. He lay in bed much longer than normal trying to make sense of a very confusing dream. Pulling himself out of bed he walked to the kitchen where his father sat quietly. It looked to Bode like his father was up all night.
The sink was over-flowing with dirty dishes. The table was full of unopened mail, old newspaper, and fast food wrappers. Bruce had spent the last money he had to his name on a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Drinking had become the last pleasure he had in this world. Bruce’s head hung low. An almost empty glass clutched in his right hand, and his mobile phone clutched in his left hand.
“Hey Dad”
“Oh,” he stopped and continued with hushed voice. “Are you on the phone?”
“No.” He said thickly as he slowly looking at his son through bleary eyes “What’s up?”
“I had the weirdest dream last night” he said unable to stand still. “You and me were at a beach - I think it was the ocean, but I’m not sure. I was digging into the sand. It was weird. I didn’t know what I was digging for but I knew something was there that would solve all our problems.”
“Nothing is gonna solve our problems, except a bunch of cash.” Bruce slurred.
“But I know it wasn’t money.” Bode started again “It was getting dark, and cold, but I just kept digging. I don’t know where you were, but I think you were around. Anyway, the more I dug the warmer the sand got. I started seeing the bright light just before I uncovered it.”
“Uncovered what?” Bruce’s curiosity was genuinely peaked.
“It was a bright light, kind of golden yellow. It was very warm.” He paused for a moment “I don’t know for sure what it was, but it was beautiful. I felt so good holding it.” Bode beamed.
“Dreams are funny that way. They don’t usually make sense,” Bruce said. “Listen, we gotta talk.”
Bruce laid out the day’s plan, or at least the plan Bruce wanted the boy to know. Bruce was going to show his son a place he and Maureen loved to go together. Bode might even be able to get some kayaking in if the waves cooperated, he told the boy.
“Dad, can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah” replied Bruce
“Did you go to bed last night?”
Bruce just shook his head.
Bode went to his room to get his gear, and met his dad at the car. Bruce grabbed his satchel, which he had packed during the night. He strapped the kayak onto the car’s roof rack, and was ready to go.
As they pulled out of the driveway Bode had no idea that he would never see this house again. Bruce had nothing left except his son in the car with him. The drive would be a long one as they headed toward the coast. If all went as Bruce had planned they’d arrive about 5 p.m., leaving just enough daylight to carry out the plan. During the drive, Bode speculated on what his dream meant and what he had found in the sand. Bruce, engrossed in his own misery, thought only of what lay a head of him. After quite a bit of time passed not listening to his son Bode knew that that his dad hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are we going?” Bode asked, pulling out a map of the area.
Bruce was forced to come up with an explanation for his son. After a long period of silence Bode figured his question would go unanswered.
“When I was dating your mother, and even for a few years after we were married, we’d go to this little beach we found. It was kind of like our favorite get away. We’d camp there, go swimming, and just…be together” Bruce explained, “Ever since she was attacked, I’ve felt the need to return.”
“Ever since that day I’ve been really sad.” Bruce admitted.
“Yeah I know,” replied Bode. “Me too.”
“Well, this beach is the place that holds my happiest memories of your mom. I want to go there because that is where our lives together began.” Bruce paused deciding how to continue. Bode didn’t respond. He was just listening and staring out the window.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yeah.” Said the boy. “I really miss mom.”
“Me too.”
After a few moments he asked, “Where we are going, what’s it called? Does this place have a name?”
“It is called Bodega Head.” Bruce looked at his son through the rearview mirror. “We named you Bode after this place.”
Bode found the place on the map and said “That’s funny,” looking up at his dad, “there is a place near there called ‘Hole in the head’.” Bruce just nodded in response.
This discovery was followed by a long stretch of silence. The two watched the asphalt ribbon go by and the roadside scenery disappear from sight as quickly as it appeared. Bruce never felt more alone than he did in that silence. He looked at the boy who was now sleeping peacefully in the back seat.
‘How could I have brought my family to this point?’ he thought. ‘Where did I go wrong in my life? I got my wife killed because of my own stupid addiction. She forgave me a hundreds of times over the years, but she can’t forgive me any more. She always had the ability to solve our problems by saying those three words. Now no one can forgive me for this. I took my wife down; now, I’m taking my son down with me.
“Bode, wake up.” His dad said, “We’re almost there.”
It took him a few minutes to wake up, but then Bode said, “We’ve only got a couple hours before the sun goes down. Are we gonna spend the night here?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s just see what happens,” answered Bruce. “I want to get the beach first.”
Bruce parked the car in a small clearing. Bode jumped out almost as soon as the car had stopped. With his satchel over his shoulder Bruce untied the kayak and pulled it down. Together, he and Bode, headed into the woods down a narrow path barely wide enough for them. It was more than a fifteen minute walk through a winding, rough path. They both tripped and lost their footing several times. Finally, they approached a clearing that looked more like the end of a dark tunnel.
Standing at the edge of the cliff they looked out over the massive expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The view was as breathtaking as Bruce had remembered. The memories of this place hit him so fast that he could almost feel their impact physically. On the edge of losing his composure, he pulled himself together to turn down that path that led to the beach.
“Dad?” said Bode with great anxiety in his voice. “What is this place?”
“This is Bodega Head. We’re here.”
“Dad?” Bode sounded agitated now. “This is the place from my dream last night.”
“Bode, lots of beaches look like this. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”
“No, this is the same place!” he said. “Come on, we gotta get down there!”
“Slow down!” yelled Bruce. “We have to bring the kayak with us!”
As soon as they reached the sandy beach Bode dropped his end of the kayak and started running. “This is the place!” He shouted, “I gotta find the spot!”
Exhausted in every way Bruce dropped to his knees to put the kayak down, and then sat in the sand. Occasionally he’d look up to see where Bode was, but then his gaze would return to the ground and his thoughts to his misery and guilt. He knew what he had to do. He had to find the strength to get this kayak ready. Bode was down the beach shoveling into the cold sand with nothing but his hands.
Although only a few moments had passed, Bode had at least a half a dozen holes dug. He was on his knees, face down toward the sand, and his hands worked furiously to clear the hole in front of him. Bruce dragged the kayak into position and took the satchel off his shoulder. He set the bag in the kayak and unzipped it. There were only three items in the pack. Bruce reached in and pulled out the .38 Special and a handful of ammunition. Slowly and methodically he loaded the weapon.
Holding the small handgun, he pulled out the handwritten note he had written the night before.
“You took my wife. I won’t let you take my son too.” It said. Looking at his watch he imagined there were likely angry men at his house right at that moment. Stirring him from his dark focus was his son’s voice.
“Dad! Dad! I think I found it!” shouted the boy who was more than a hundred yards away. “Come here! I need help!”
There was still time before sundown. The plan was to be out in the kayak, beyond the breaking waves, to watch the sunset. He could go see what Bode was up to, and still get the plan under way. He carefully put the weapon and note back into the bag then slowly stood and began walking toward Bode.
“This has to be it! The sand is getting warmer!” Bode was getting more and more excited. “I told you this was more than a dream!”
Bode dug into the sand with both hands throwing it all directions. Bruce could see clumps of moist sand flying up above his son’s head as he approached.
Then Bode found what he was looking for. He could see the dark color and the bright gold colored emblem that seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun. Now moving more carefully, Bode gently cleared the sand away from his prize. It was a small wooden box. The surreal nature of this scene was not lost on either Bode or Bruce. The boy lifted the box from the hole almost too amazed to open it. With a deep breath he pried open the lid, slowly lifting the top.
“What’s in there” ask Bruce
“A locket, and a…” He stopped and looked up at his dad.
“What?”
“There’s a note in here addressed to Bruce.” Bode starred at his father’s face.
“Let me see that.” Bruce said as the color drained from his face.
Bruce held the note looking like he’d seen a ghost he unfolded the small piece of stationary. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if fearing what was on the paper. As he began reading, he froze and fell to his knees; then he started to read the note out loud, but got choked up, and was unable to continue.
“This note is from your mom.” He said through tears. “I remember the day she buried this…I had completely forgotten about it.” His eyes drifted back into his memory. “She wanted me to bury one too, but I never did.”
Bode was looking at the locket he pulled from the box. “What does the note say?”
“It says…Bruce, I love you, and I always will.” He paused to take a deep breath, and then continued reading aloud. “We have had our problems, but I want you to know that I forgive you, for everything. There is nothing you can do to make me stop loving you or stop forgiving you.” He was quietly sobbing as he finished reading it. He cried the tears of a broken man.
“Dad, are you OK?” Bode had no idea what to say. His father didn’t answer, “Is everything OK?” Bode asked again.
Bruce nodded his head. “Everything is going to be just fine.” He said quietly.
They both sat quiet in the sand for a long time.
“The sun is going to set soon.” Bruce said, “We need to head out. Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
They walked back along the tide toward the kayak. Bode was a few steps ahead of his father. He reached the boat first and announced, “I wanna sit in front.”
He carefully set the box he found on the floor of the kayak. He took his position and waited for his dad. Working together, they got it out into the tide. Bode jumped in and began pushing the oar into the sand. Once out far enough, Bruce jumped in and began paddling away from shore. He needed to get them out past the opening of the small bay where the water was calmer. It took about a half an hour and quite a bit of energy to reach the desired spot. They sat in silence as the sun neared the surface of the water. It was the most beautiful sunset that Bruce could remember seeing in many years. The sun appeared close enough to the water to make the ocean boil.
“This sunset is amazing.” Bode said, entranced by this show of nature’s beauty. Bruce quietly pulled his handgun from its bag and held it behind his son’s ear, firmly squeezing the trigger. He watched the sun vanish below the ocean’s surface and quietly sobbed. “I won’t let you take him too.” Then he put the barrel of the gun behind his own ear, and pulled the trigger.
Bruce and his son Bode walked together down the heavily wooded path toward the clearing, and what looked like a cliff. Bruce was broken and had already given up. The gate and pace of his walking reflected his broken spirit. The past several months had been excruciating for Bruce and he had discovered what is meant by rock bottom.
Bruce’s vice had been poker since before college. His game was No Limit Texas Hold ‘Em. There was a time when he had great success, but he’d hit a long dry-spell. After burning through his family’s life savings, he began sinking deep into debt financed by some very violent men. One afternoon, they came calling to collect on the money that they were owed.
It was a pleasant early spring afternoon. Bruce had taken the day off work to take Bode to his kayak lesson. Kayaking was Bode’s newest obsession. Bruce’s wife Maureen was home alone when two large, muscle bound, men calmly knocked on the front door. When Bruce arrived home, just before dinner, he found the family room destroyed. Bookshelves were knocked down, tables were overturned, and lamps and knick-knacks were strewn about. In the corner, beneath the overturned recliner, was Maureen’s beaten and broken body. Even though he was dozens of miles away at the time, Bruce knew he was responsible for what had happened to the love of his life.
Maureen was in a coma for eight weeks before her lifeless, brain-dead body was removed from life support. The guilt of this decision accelerated Bruce’s decent into despair. The darkness of this emotional pit overtook over his life. He stopped going to work and soon lost his job. And when he finally lost his house, the last shreds of his self-esteem vanished, as well as even the desire to continue breathing.
It was well past when sundown when the phone rang. Bruce answered it, despite not recognizing the displayed number.
“Hello?” Bruce said with hesitation
“Do you have what you owe me?” the voice asked very calmly
“Who is this?” Bruce knew exactly who it was “ How’d you get this number?”
“I’ve given you a lot more time than most people. I’ve been way to generous.”
“You have, I mean…” he couldn’t hide the fear in his voice “I just need a little more time.”
“I will be by tomorrow afternoon. If you can’t pay, your son will.” The voice threatened. “If you make your son pay your debt, he’ll be seeing his mother by sundown.”
The phone line went silent as Bruce tried, through tears, to beg for more time.
The sun coming through his bedroom window woke Bode. He lay in bed much longer than normal trying to make sense of a very confusing dream. Pulling himself out of bed he walked to the kitchen where his father sat quietly. It looked to Bode like his father was up all night.
The sink was over-flowing with dirty dishes. The table was full of unopened mail, old newspaper, and fast food wrappers. Bruce had spent the last money he had to his name on a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Drinking had become the last pleasure he had in this world. Bruce’s head hung low. An almost empty glass clutched in his right hand, and his mobile phone clutched in his left hand.
“Hey Dad”
“Oh,” he stopped and continued with hushed voice. “Are you on the phone?”
“No.” He said thickly as he slowly looking at his son through bleary eyes “What’s up?”
“I had the weirdest dream last night” he said unable to stand still. “You and me were at a beach - I think it was the ocean, but I’m not sure. I was digging into the sand. It was weird. I didn’t know what I was digging for but I knew something was there that would solve all our problems.”
“Nothing is gonna solve our problems, except a bunch of cash.” Bruce slurred.
“But I know it wasn’t money.” Bode started again “It was getting dark, and cold, but I just kept digging. I don’t know where you were, but I think you were around. Anyway, the more I dug the warmer the sand got. I started seeing the bright light just before I uncovered it.”
“Uncovered what?” Bruce’s curiosity was genuinely peaked.
“It was a bright light, kind of golden yellow. It was very warm.” He paused for a moment “I don’t know for sure what it was, but it was beautiful. I felt so good holding it.” Bode beamed.
“Dreams are funny that way. They don’t usually make sense,” Bruce said. “Listen, we gotta talk.”
Bruce laid out the day’s plan, or at least the plan Bruce wanted the boy to know. Bruce was going to show his son a place he and Maureen loved to go together. Bode might even be able to get some kayaking in if the waves cooperated, he told the boy.
“Dad, can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah” replied Bruce
“Did you go to bed last night?”
Bruce just shook his head.
Bode went to his room to get his gear, and met his dad at the car. Bruce grabbed his satchel, which he had packed during the night. He strapped the kayak onto the car’s roof rack, and was ready to go.
As they pulled out of the driveway Bode had no idea that he would never see this house again. Bruce had nothing left except his son in the car with him. The drive would be a long one as they headed toward the coast. If all went as Bruce had planned they’d arrive about 5 p.m., leaving just enough daylight to carry out the plan. During the drive, Bode speculated on what his dream meant and what he had found in the sand. Bruce, engrossed in his own misery, thought only of what lay a head of him. After quite a bit of time passed not listening to his son Bode knew that that his dad hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are we going?” Bode asked, pulling out a map of the area.
Bruce was forced to come up with an explanation for his son. After a long period of silence Bode figured his question would go unanswered.
“When I was dating your mother, and even for a few years after we were married, we’d go to this little beach we found. It was kind of like our favorite get away. We’d camp there, go swimming, and just…be together” Bruce explained, “Ever since she was attacked, I’ve felt the need to return.”
“Ever since that day I’ve been really sad.” Bruce admitted.
“Yeah I know,” replied Bode. “Me too.”
“Well, this beach is the place that holds my happiest memories of your mom. I want to go there because that is where our lives together began.” Bruce paused deciding how to continue. Bode didn’t respond. He was just listening and staring out the window.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yeah.” Said the boy. “I really miss mom.”
“Me too.”
After a few moments he asked, “Where we are going, what’s it called? Does this place have a name?”
“It is called Bodega Head.” Bruce looked at his son through the rearview mirror. “We named you Bode after this place.”
Bode found the place on the map and said “That’s funny,” looking up at his dad, “there is a place near there called ‘Hole in the head’.” Bruce just nodded in response.
This discovery was followed by a long stretch of silence. The two watched the asphalt ribbon go by and the roadside scenery disappear from sight as quickly as it appeared. Bruce never felt more alone than he did in that silence. He looked at the boy who was now sleeping peacefully in the back seat.
‘How could I have brought my family to this point?’ he thought. ‘Where did I go wrong in my life? I got my wife killed because of my own stupid addiction. She forgave me a hundreds of times over the years, but she can’t forgive me any more. She always had the ability to solve our problems by saying those three words. Now no one can forgive me for this. I took my wife down; now, I’m taking my son down with me.
“Bode, wake up.” His dad said, “We’re almost there.”
It took him a few minutes to wake up, but then Bode said, “We’ve only got a couple hours before the sun goes down. Are we gonna spend the night here?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s just see what happens,” answered Bruce. “I want to get the beach first.”
Bruce parked the car in a small clearing. Bode jumped out almost as soon as the car had stopped. With his satchel over his shoulder Bruce untied the kayak and pulled it down. Together, he and Bode, headed into the woods down a narrow path barely wide enough for them. It was more than a fifteen minute walk through a winding, rough path. They both tripped and lost their footing several times. Finally, they approached a clearing that looked more like the end of a dark tunnel.
Standing at the edge of the cliff they looked out over the massive expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The view was as breathtaking as Bruce had remembered. The memories of this place hit him so fast that he could almost feel their impact physically. On the edge of losing his composure, he pulled himself together to turn down that path that led to the beach.
“Dad?” said Bode with great anxiety in his voice. “What is this place?”
“This is Bodega Head. We’re here.”
“Dad?” Bode sounded agitated now. “This is the place from my dream last night.”
“Bode, lots of beaches look like this. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”
“No, this is the same place!” he said. “Come on, we gotta get down there!”
“Slow down!” yelled Bruce. “We have to bring the kayak with us!”
As soon as they reached the sandy beach Bode dropped his end of the kayak and started running. “This is the place!” He shouted, “I gotta find the spot!”
Exhausted in every way Bruce dropped to his knees to put the kayak down, and then sat in the sand. Occasionally he’d look up to see where Bode was, but then his gaze would return to the ground and his thoughts to his misery and guilt. He knew what he had to do. He had to find the strength to get this kayak ready. Bode was down the beach shoveling into the cold sand with nothing but his hands.
Although only a few moments had passed, Bode had at least a half a dozen holes dug. He was on his knees, face down toward the sand, and his hands worked furiously to clear the hole in front of him. Bruce dragged the kayak into position and took the satchel off his shoulder. He set the bag in the kayak and unzipped it. There were only three items in the pack. Bruce reached in and pulled out the .38 Special and a handful of ammunition. Slowly and methodically he loaded the weapon.
Holding the small handgun, he pulled out the handwritten note he had written the night before.
“You took my wife. I won’t let you take my son too.” It said. Looking at his watch he imagined there were likely angry men at his house right at that moment. Stirring him from his dark focus was his son’s voice.
“Dad! Dad! I think I found it!” shouted the boy who was more than a hundred yards away. “Come here! I need help!”
There was still time before sundown. The plan was to be out in the kayak, beyond the breaking waves, to watch the sunset. He could go see what Bode was up to, and still get the plan under way. He carefully put the weapon and note back into the bag then slowly stood and began walking toward Bode.
“This has to be it! The sand is getting warmer!” Bode was getting more and more excited. “I told you this was more than a dream!”
Bode dug into the sand with both hands throwing it all directions. Bruce could see clumps of moist sand flying up above his son’s head as he approached.
Then Bode found what he was looking for. He could see the dark color and the bright gold colored emblem that seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun. Now moving more carefully, Bode gently cleared the sand away from his prize. It was a small wooden box. The surreal nature of this scene was not lost on either Bode or Bruce. The boy lifted the box from the hole almost too amazed to open it. With a deep breath he pried open the lid, slowly lifting the top.
“What’s in there” ask Bruce
“A locket, and a…” He stopped and looked up at his dad.
“What?”
“There’s a note in here addressed to Bruce.” Bode starred at his father’s face.
“Let me see that.” Bruce said as the color drained from his face.
Bruce held the note looking like he’d seen a ghost he unfolded the small piece of stationary. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if fearing what was on the paper. As he began reading, he froze and fell to his knees; then he started to read the note out loud, but got choked up, and was unable to continue.
“This note is from your mom.” He said through tears. “I remember the day she buried this…I had completely forgotten about it.” His eyes drifted back into his memory. “She wanted me to bury one too, but I never did.”
Bode was looking at the locket he pulled from the box. “What does the note say?”
“It says…Bruce, I love you, and I always will.” He paused to take a deep breath, and then continued reading aloud. “We have had our problems, but I want you to know that I forgive you, for everything. There is nothing you can do to make me stop loving you or stop forgiving you.” He was quietly sobbing as he finished reading it. He cried the tears of a broken man.
“Dad, are you OK?” Bode had no idea what to say. His father didn’t answer, “Is everything OK?” Bode asked again.
Bruce nodded his head. “Everything is going to be just fine.” He said quietly.
They both sat quiet in the sand for a long time.
“The sun is going to set soon.” Bruce said, “We need to head out. Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
They walked back along the tide toward the kayak. Bode was a few steps ahead of his father. He reached the boat first and announced, “I wanna sit in front.”
He carefully set the box he found on the floor of the kayak. He took his position and waited for his dad. Working together, they got it out into the tide. Bode jumped in and began pushing the oar into the sand. Once out far enough, Bruce jumped in and began paddling away from shore. He needed to get them out past the opening of the small bay where the water was calmer. It took about a half an hour and quite a bit of energy to reach the desired spot. They sat in silence as the sun neared the surface of the water. It was the most beautiful sunset that Bruce could remember seeing in many years. The sun appeared close enough to the water to make the ocean boil.
“This sunset is amazing.” Bode said, entranced by this show of nature’s beauty. Bruce quietly pulled his handgun from its bag and held it behind his son’s ear, firmly squeezing the trigger. He watched the sun vanish below the ocean’s surface and quietly sobbed. “I won’t let you take him too.” Then he put the barrel of the gun behind his own ear, and pulled the trigger.
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