Beyond Family Reunion

The little girl was swinging in the rearward arc but looked straight ahead as a young woman, obviously, her mother came out of the trees. She stooped down as the girl dismounted and ran toward her mother who scooped her up in her arms.

       “When do we get to see Daddy?” The little girl asked excitedly.

        “Soon,” her mother replied, “very soon.” She must have been aware of someone else because she abruptly turned and saw RC standing there. Both the mother and daughter began to smile then beamed with joy as they saw the man who had been kept away for so long. The little girl reached out with her right hand and pointed. “Daddy!” she said.

           Scott made a double space then typed out the final two words: THE END. He paused and gazed at the screen in front of him.

           He almost couldn’t believe it was done, and so quickly. How long had it been? Two months? Three? Yet, it seemed he had just begun.

           It had started out as a dream. Oh, he had had many dreams before but this one was so different. It was like being in the middle of an actual event; like being in a movie. Dream in vivid color, wake up, then go back to sleep only to have the dream continue where it left off. Several times that night, until he found himself seated at the kitchen table scribbling furiously on a legal pad.

He had dreamed he was riding his motorcycle down the highway. He didn’t know where he was headed, nor did he really care. He saw a sign leading to a roadhouse and pulled in, the big motorcycle rumbling it usual beat as he slowed for the turn. He parked the bike in a line of motorcycles and dismounted. As he got his bearings he became aware of the sound of a large truck approaching the exit but then the still air was shattered by a loud report, followed by the zing as a high-powered slug sizzled past his ear—.

           He had dreamed that and had awakened abruptly. He thought about it at length. That bullet was so close. And his ears were ringing. And yes, it seemed as if he had been there and experienced the whole thing. Then he managed to drift off to sleep again.

           This time he was in the roadhouse itself, eating a sandwich and drinking a beer while a noisy bunch of bikers were having a good time a short distance away. He was ignoring them because his thoughts were on someone else. But then a familiar voice, telling a joke.

           He looked up and saw Tom, a man he resented, standing in a circle of scooter tramps. A biker, the man was not, and he looked somewhat out of place despite being clad in his work clothes. Tom then looked over in Scott’s direction. Their eyes met for a moment but Scott looked away quickly.

           The next thing he knew Tom was right there, seated next to Scott at the bar, bottle of beer in his hand. Scott just pretended to ignore him.

           “I need to tell you I’m sorry,” Tom began. “I was wrong; you’re not like the rest of your family. I wish I would’ve given you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Suit yourself,” Scott replied then turned back to his meal.

“I know that you don’t have any use for me,” Tom continued, “but I was just being a cautious father; I was looking out for my daughter, looking out for Kaye. You know a daughter is the most precious gift a man could receive.”

Scott felt his resentment smoldering. He allowed a sideways glance toward Tom.

Then he woke up again. “I can’t believe this; I’m the main actor in this story. But what is this guy talking about? Am I married to his daughter? Did something happen to her?”

           Scott gazed over at his wife, who was on her side facing away, her breathing soft and easy as she continued her deep sleep.

           He dropped off again. Soon he was back on the road, the motorcycle’s engine rumbling steadily. His mind was focused on something new.

           Kaye. Who was Kaye? An image began to form. An average woman with honey-colored hair. She was wearing a white top and a print summer dress. The face of an angel, deep blue eyes, the little turned-up nose, a mischievous smile. Her face was as clear as can be, even though she was only in a dream.

           They were in a park; she was standing beside a car smiling at him. Kaye. It was as if he had known her all his life. She was the daughter of a building contractor. Tom. Tom hated Scott; he hated Scott’s family but why?

           “you’re not like the rest of your family,” Tom had finally said. Was Scott’s dream family connected to some corrupt enterprise?

           Awake again but not for long. Scott drifted right back into the scene, only now he was in a motel room just lounging on the bed, the TV turned on but no one watching. A knock on the door. It was Tom.

           “I heard you were staying here,” Tom said, “Have you got time for a chat?” Tom sat on the other bed.

           “It’s ten years now,” Tom said as if he was continuing from the time in the roadhouse. “They’ve been gone for ten years.”

           “Ten years?” Scott asked but didn’t pursue it. Kaye must have been gone for ten years. What happened to her?

           “It happens so fast,” Tom continued, “you have a little girl and you’re celebrating her First Birthday, then her second, and her third. She sits in your lap and falls asleep; she’s safe. Then the next thing you know she’s a teenager and seems to despise you, then she’s finished school, she falls in love and gets married. Soon she’s got a little girl of her own and the more you look at her the more you realize that the little one is an exact copy of her mother.

           “She rushes to see you whenever she sees you and now she’s the one who sits in your lap—.”

Tom paused and bowed his head. “Then one day you find out they’re both gone, and you can’t figure why or where they went.”

Scott woke up yet again. Where was this coming from? Yes it was a dream but nothing he had ever experienced before. Kaye was his wife, and somewhere in the story was a little girl. And they were both gone. Somehow Scott had developed a deep attachment for Kaye and his daughter. It made him feel guilty to know that in reality he was married, and in his dream, he was married—to someone else, someone he really loved. And he had a family as well.

But what about Scott’s family in the dream. What were they about? Wealthy? Did they use people and throw them away?

Back to sleep again. Scott was in another tavern. Bikers milled all about. The bartender, a burly man with long hair that was held in place with a red bandana. An earring in his left ear. Doc, his name was. He gazed at Scott through dark eyes.

“It’s been a few years,” Doc said. “I haven’t seen Kaye or Chelsea since they stopped in here. I think your dad wanted to see them. It was no time at all after she had been here when your brother, Randall, came looking for them.”

Randall? My brother? Scott was incredulous. He had a brother but his name wasn’t Randall. Or was it? Just a year older. His mind was getting fuzzy again.

Now the scene changed completely. Scott was on top of the hill that overlooked the town. He was scanning the town through a pair of binoculars. He saw the auto wrecking yard off to the south end of town. Off to one side was a cluster of burnt-out wrecks. He saw an old station wagon, a Chevy Nomad, recognizable by the forward sloping B-pillars. Even though it was burnt to a crisp he could recognize it as a ’56. Scott had a ’56 Nomad? Well, only in his dream. A license plate number flashed through his mind. KAYE CAR. Why did he think that? It was a car he’d built for his wife, Kaye.

He continued to scan the town. He swung the binoculars around to the riverfront where the bar was. He froze in disbelief.

The bar had partially collapsed. One wall had broken out and there was a pile of rubble where the outdoor lounge had once been.

Scott took the field glasses away and tried to refocus his eyes but everything was too far away. He put the glasses to his eyes again and refocused them. The bar swung into view. Now everything was now normal; nothing was demolished.

Now he was back in town, at that same bar, talking to Doc. Doc didn’t seem to be making any sense except that Scott shouldn’t be talking to him. It was then that Scott noticed the posters on the wall of the bar; the events they depicted were ten years ago, the time that Kaye and Chelsea disappeared.

Scott woke up in a sweat this time. Was this a real dream or was he going insane? He pondered the events in his mind; they were crystal clear.

He drifted off once again. He was riding down the highway. He rode up to a stand of trees. Just as he was about to enter them, a yellow truck came out traveling at a fast rate of speed. Something very strange about that truck.

The windows were blacked out.

Now Scott was back at the roadhouse. The row of motorcycles was there, just the same as he remembered before. A couple of pickup trucks and several cars behind them. Scott was dismounting when he heard the sound of a truck approaching. The loud report and the hiss of a bullet, followed by the sound of air escaping from a tire, the squeal of rubber on pavement, then the sound of the truck careening off the road. It was driving straight toward him!

Inside the roadhouse, talking to Tom again. Everything was the same as before, except that Tom was talking strangely. He was telling Scott that they shouldn’t be talking, the same thing he’d just heard from Doc. The posters on the walls, just like the ones in the bar in town, they advertised events that happened ten years ago.

Scott sat bolt upright. No way could he sleep now. He got out of bed and went out to the kitchen. He made tea then took a legal pad and started to write it all down.

His wife came out. “What on earth are doing up at 4:30 in the morning?” she demanded crossly.

“A new book,” Scott responded with excitement. “I can’t believe it; I dreamt the whole thing and I didn’t forget.”

“What about your other book?”

“It will have to be put on hold,” Scott replied, “I’ve got to get this outline done.”

And so it was, Scott wrote as if he was driven. The dream had left some holes in the plot but his imagination sharpened and filled in the blanks; the words fairly tumbled out.

A man who had grown up in a life of privilege, who had never known what it was like to do without; a man who pushed the corrupt life of abuse and manipulation to pursue his own American dream. He left home with scarcely more than the clothes on his back, and he had learned how to work. First the oil rigs, then the Marines. Back to the rigs. He had returned to attend a family reunion that was held at the city park which the family practically owned.  He met Kaye who was attending some family activities of her own and the sparks flew.

Both families refused to endorse their union so they eloped and were gone for a couple of years until they returned, this time with a baby girl.

The main character was no longer Scott but simply went by his first two initials: RC. RC was a good husband, father, and provider, and Kaye was a devoted wife and mother. They got along superbly, until that time.

Scott was now at the computer, typing furiously. It seemed that someone else was telling the story and the words came forth uninterrupted.

The story took shape. Scott was finding it difficult to determine if he was really Scott or had become his main character; had Kaye become a real wife and companion?

RC was working off-shore in the North Sea and was planning to return in time for the annual family reunion, a time when all the petty family strife was put on the back burner.

But the weather closed in and RC couldn’t make it home in time. He called Kaye who said that she and Chelsea would drive down to attend the reunion. She told RC that she loved him. How was he to know that was the last time he would hear her voice?

Ghosts from the past show up to help him solve the mystery of the past. Scott almost couldn’t keep up. Was someone else writing the story? Was he just the scribe?

He finished the manuscript and gazed blankly at the screen. This was something he’d never attempted before and he would never know what drove him. All he knew was that he had to write the story.

As he typed the final two words, he quickly scanned the text. He would have a hard time not being RC Mendenhall and being D. Scott McAllister instead. And sadly, he would have to give a small piece of his heart to a woman and a little girl whom he would only know on paper. The book was done and Scott’s life was different.