Centennial Park

by FreeThinker

Chapter Twelve

There was a book I needed to find. I didn't know what it was called, but I needed to find it. I looked at the shelves around me, at the hundreds of books before me. Which one was the book I needed?

I stepped out into the aisle running the length of Leonardo's.

"Hello? Can someone help me?"

"Sure!"

I turned to my right, from where the voice originated. I knew that voice. It couldn't be.

I walked to the front and sitting in one of the leather chairs was...

"Grandad?"

My grandfather smiled at me.

"Hey, Mr. President."

Yep. That was really my grandfather. I remembered that Saturday afternoon in the garage. I was ten and Grandad was working on his favorite hobby, lapidary work. He loved to polish stones and make things with them. Especially agates. He was working on a really nice one. I was standing next to his stool in front of his work bench. The transistor radio on the bench was broadcasting the news about a speech President Johnson had made that day.

"One day," I declared, "I'm going to be the President of the United States!"

"Oh, you are?" he laughed in his jolly, booming voice. "Well, here, Mr. President, put these stones in the tumbler there."

No one else knew why that was his nickname for me. It was just our secret.

Sitting in that leather chair, Grandad held out his arm and smiled.

"Come here, Chrisser."

Slowly, I walked over and he put his arm around my waist and hugged me.

From behind me, I heard, "Have you found what you're looking for?"

I turned and saw Stephen walking around the counter.

Grandad leaned forward and put a big red leather-bound book on the coffee table before him. I knew the book. It was the old anthology of Robert Louis Stevenson novels and stories. Not all of them, but some of his best. It was the book he used to read from to Daddy when he was a boy and that he read from to me when we visited. That was how I learned about Treasure Island and Kidnapped and David Balfour and the Prince Florizel stories.

"I think so," he said.

Stephen walked up and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. He squeezed it and then walked over to the other chair. He sat down and smiled.

I looked at them both and then, I knew.

"Its time?"

Grandad smiled.

"No, Chrisser. Its not."

I was confused.

"But, why am I here?"

Stephen chuckled.

"Ah, the age old question mankind has asked for centuries. 'Why am I here?'"

Grandad chuckled as well. I felt a slight sense of irritation.

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

Stephen smiled.

“I know what you meant. But, the other meaning of the question is pretty relevant to this discussion, as well.”

“What he means, Christopher, is this. What is your destiny?”

I looked at him in confusion.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

His smile became sad.

“Think, son.”

“Yes, Chris. Think.”

“I’m thinking. I’m thinking. I don’t what you want you want me to think about!”

“Where do you want to go?” Stephen asked.

Oh. Oh! That was the question.

“No, son,” my grandfather replied. “That’s not the question.”

I was thoroughly confused.

“Then, what is the question?”

Grandad hugged me tighter.

“Do you want to go home or do you want to go with us?”

I looked at Grandad and Stephen. I thought of everything that had just happened. Fervently, I replied, “I want to go with you.”

Stephen looked downward as did my grandfather.

“But, Christopher,” he replied. “Its not your time.”

“But, didn’t they kill me?”

He shook his head.

“That’s up to you.”

Stephen scooted forward in his chair.

“Chris, its not time. You have to go home.”

My heart sank again.

“But, I don’t want to. They hate me now.”

“Do you know that?” my grandfather asked.

I swallowed.

“Do... do you know... about me?”

He smiled.

“Yes.”

“Then you know Daddy hates me and Mother, too. Daddy said he couldn’t look at me.”

“Its not your time, Chris. Its not your destiny. You have to go back. You still have things to do.”

Stephen nodded.

“You have to go back, Chris.”

I swallowed and looked first at my grandfather and then at Stephen.

“Will I ever see you again?”

They both smiled and said, together, “Yes. When its time.”

The pain. That was all I could think of, the pain. It seemed to be everywhere. I tried to think. My arms. And, my chest. And, my face. The pain was horrible. I had never known such pain.

I tried to move. I couldn’t. It wasn’t that I was paralyzed. Something was preventing me from moving.

I groaned and somewhere, I heard someone say, “He’s waking up.”

No, I wasn’t. I wanted to go back to sleep. I didn’t want this pain.

I listened. It was quiet. I could hear a beeping noise and a strange wheezing, pumping sound. It was constant, rhythmic, pumping.

My body hurt. It hurt to breathe. My arms hurt. I tried to move them, but I couldn’t. Still. My throat. I wanted to cough, to choke. Something long and hard was in my mouth and my throat.

I opened my eyes again.

The light was just above me. It was a round light in a ceiling with square panels. I blinked.

I turned my head. I was in a room with green walls. It was a really ugly green. There was a picture on the wall. Mountains and a waterfall. Something kept me from turning my head more.

I looked upward again.

I was in the hospital.

And, then, slowly, everything came back to me.

I turned my head to the left. I could see Mother and Daddy. They were sitting, or rather, sleeping in chairs, Mother’s head on Daddy’s shoulder, Daddy’s head back against the wall, his arm around her shoulder.

“Well, I see we’re awake, now."

I turned my head and saw a nurse standing beside my bed. She had a kind smile. I heard movement to my left and saw parents rush to my bed. Mother was crying and holding my hand. Daddy wasn't crying but there were tears in his eyes as he smiled down at me and laid a hand on my shoulder. I still couldn't speak because of whatever was in my mouth, but I squeezed Mother's hand back and tried to tell Daddy with my eyes that I loved him and that I was sorry.

Mother and Emily were sitting in chairs at the foot of my bed. Alex was sitting on a chair beside me telling me a hilarious story about the time his father had been arrested in Berkeley for mooning Governor Reagan. It hurt to laugh, but I didn't care. Alex was with me. Our mothers were with us and they were laughing as well.

Both my parents had cried when I told them about Grandad, as did Alex when I told him about Stephen. Alex told me that Daddy had never left the room except to go to trial and ask, with Donald, for a delay. Today, they were giving their closing arguments and the jury would begin deliberations. As soon as they recessed, Daddy was coming back. Mother told me that Daddy had gotten very little sleep since the police found me.

"Helen, lets go down to the coffee shop for a few minutes," Emily said standing. "I need to stretch my legs."

Mother looked at me and swallowed.

"It's OK, Mother. I'm fine. Alex is here."

Mother swallowed again and as Emily squeezed her hand, she nodded. When they were gone, Alex leaned over and kissed me. It was the first time we had been alone since I had awakened.

"So, Alex, would you tell me again what happened? I was kinda out of it when everyone was talking to me earlier."

Alex squeezed my right hand. My left arm was in a cast.

"Well, after your Dad told me to leave, I was really scared about you. I mean, I knew he wouldn't hit you or anything. I knew your Dad wasn't like that. But, I was really scared for you. I was scared you'd do something really stupid. I guess I was right."

I winced and I felt the tears in my eyes again.

"I'm so sorry Alex. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I just thought that..."

"Oh, no. I'm sorry I said it like that. Don't apologize. Its OK. Its OK."

I sighed. The shame was almost too much.

"Dad was scared for you, too. He knew it probably wasn't a good time, but we came back to the house to talk to your dad. He was pretty upset. Dad said it was because of the trial and the shock. When your Dad called for you and you didn't answer, we all got scared and when we couldn't find you, your Dad got really scared. Really scared. Your mother was crying and saying awful things to your father. He called the police and I ran across to the park. I thought you'd be under the tree or in the restroom. Then I ran to the church and then to Leonardo's and then I didn't know where to go. And, then I saw a police car with its lights on stop at your house and I just knew you were dead. I just knew it. But, some lady who lived behind the bowling alley had called the police about the fight and they knew it was you. And, your parents and my parents and I have been here ever since. Well, sometimes we go home to shower and stuff, but..."

I swallowed.

"I was gonna do it, Alex."

"I know."

"But, when they stopped..."

"Don't."

We were silent for several minutes, Alex holding my hand and resting his head on the pillow beside me.

"Promise me, Chris, you'll never leave me."

I squeezed his hand.

"Not until its time. Not until its time."