To Invent and Grieve

The sun shone less brightly that day for young Billy Idelson when he learned about death. He was 8 years old when his grandmother had passed away. It would be the first time he wore a suit and tie, and subsequently be the most memorable. Billy could remember going with his dad to the tailor. His head hung from his drooped down neck. Even if one were to put something in front of his burnt caramel eyes to look at, it would still look right through it.

Billy didn’t cry. He didn’t look sad nor did his face become familiar with the usual gloom that accompanies the death of a family member. During the funeral, his parents wrapped their arms around him knowing how close he was to his grandmother. Family members that he had never met introduced themselves for the first time. It was at this time that Billy learned there was a fine line between the words “stranger” and “family.”

“How long has he been in his room?” Billy’s mother, Sylvia, inquired. Upon arriving from the reception, the young boy shed his jacket on his way to his room and locked the door.

“It’s been about an hour,” responded Billy’s father, Chris.

“Poor thing,” Sylvia commented, “He and my mother were so close. He must be devastated.”

“Have you seen him cry since she passed?”

“Now that you mention it I don’t think I have.” A look of worry came over Sylvia’s eyes. “Should we be concerned that he hasn’t?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure he’ll be fine. We should give him his own space and let him grieve.”

“But that’s what I’m so concerned about, Chris. He’s never had to grieve before and I’m worried he doesn’t know how.”

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s give it some time and if he doesn’t show any improvement then we can call Dr. Bayles.”

A day had passed and Billy had yet to say a word. His parents presumed that he went straight to sleep and simply forgot to unlock the door. Hours passed. Dinner was nearly ready and Billy had yet to emerge from his room. There were no sounds of crying from within. It seemed he would repeat the same pattern of locking himself in solitude for the entire day until there was a click softly echoing through the short hallway.

It was the sound of the lock on the bedroom door and was accordingly followed by the turning of a doorknob and opening of the door. Light pitter patter of Billy’s feet rhythmically paced towards the living room where Chris was reading a book. The book was marked and put down when Chris realized his son was in the room. For the first time since his grandmother’s passing, Billy seemed to be looking at something; in this case, his father’s eyes.

“Hi, son,” Chris greeted, “Are you doing okay?” Billy didn’t utter a word but nodded in the affirmative. Sylvia walked in hearing her husband’s voice. She saw her son and knelt beside him. Fighting back the tears she gave her son a hug. Her intent was to comfort Billy, but instead Sylvia was the one who was reassured that everything was getting better.

Billy had stopped locking himself in his room partly to appease to his parents, partly for reasons unknown. Still, it would be days before Billy would utter a word. Whenever either parent would pass the door to his room, they would hear tinkering of toys. One day, curiosity overcame Chris who slowly opened the door to peek at his son’s clandestine doings. What he saw appeared to be Billy playing with his toys.

At that moment, Chris remembered a game that his son and mother-in-law would play. She was a grandmother that possessed a clairvoyant talent and often spoke of her grandson who was destined to be a great inventor. To bolster whatever gifts she saw in Billy, they would take his toys and pretend to invent great machines that would improve the world and the lives of those in it. That moment that Chris had stumbled upon was the first time Billy had played this game by himself.

After the fourth day, Dr. Bayles was called and convinced to visit the Idelson’s residence to assess the emotional state of the silent Billy. Chris and Sylvia stood patiently in the living room as the doctor attempted to get Billy to speak again.

“Billy?” Dr. Bayles hailed the young boy. “It’s me, Dr. Bayles. Do you remember me?”

Billy looked back and nodded thoughtfully in the affirmative.

“Do you mind if we talk? You can still play with your toys.”

Unbeknownst to Dr. Bayles, Billy was working on his latest invention.

“I understand that you were close to your grandmother. And I know you miss her very much, but there are two people in the living room that care very much for you; maybe even more than your grandmother. They’re worried about you. Did you know that? Do you know I’m talking about your mother and father?”

Billy respectfully turned his head towards the doctor and nodded gently before going back to tinkering with his latest gadget. The doctor, mainly out of curiosity as to what can steal away a young boy’s focus so intensely, peeked over the boy’s shoulders and saw what appeared to be a toy phone fashioned out of various construction toys. All of a sudden Billy stood up and walked out to the living room.

Chris and Sylvia took to their feet and hoped Billy would utter his first words since the funeral. Dr. Bayles followed behind Billy with just as much surprise on his face as Billy’s parents. Billy looked at the adults in the room and commanded their attention with such confidence Chris nearly shuddered. The young boy looked at each of the faces staring back at him. The corner of his mouth curled subtly into a smile when he saw his mother’s eyes veiled behind tears that had yet to roll down her cheeks.

“I’m going to miss grandma,” Billy finally said. Sylvia and Chris were overwhelmed with emotion as they rushed to their boy and smothered him with embraces and kisses. Dr. Bayles respectfully took a step back to let the Idelsons celebrate their familial bonds.

“Of course you are, my boy,” Chris replied, “We’re all going to miss her. We all loved her very much.”

“Yes, Billy,” Sylvia added, “But I hope you know, that your father and I love you just as much and we’re so glad to hear your voice again.”

“She said she’ll always be with me.” Billy started to cry uncontrollably. Chris put his arms around his son who buried his face into his shoulder.

“She will, son, she will,” Chris reassured, “Her body might not be here anymore, but she’s always with us in spirit.” Sylvia got up and hugged Dr. Bayles in gratitude. He responded that he doubts he did anything to warrant a thank you.

“I know,” Billy replied, “Mom? Dad? Do you remember when grandma would tell me that I had a gift?”

“My mother always called Billy her ‘little inventor,’” Sylvia said informing the doctor.

“And he is going to make a fine one at that!” Chris added.

“Grandma said I could use my gift to talk to her whenever I want,” Billy said, his smile growing. Dr. Bayles remembered how Billy’s latest invention resembled a telephone.

“And what did she tell you, son?” Sylvia asked with a smile and tears streaming down her cheeks.

“That she loves me,” Billy responded, “And she always will. She’s happy where she is now.” Dr. Bayles couldn’t help but smile but struggled to hide it as he felt intruding on a tender family moment.

“That sounds like something your grandma would say,” Chris said, smiling at the boy.

“She has something else to say,” Billy added. He walked over to his mother. “She wanted me to tell you that looked beautiful that day.”

“What day, honey?” Sylvia inquired.

“The day we buried her, mommy. She loved how you wore the broach she gave you when you were little but always hated. She said she was flattered when she saw you put it on that morning.” Sylvia was agape with shock. Her body froze and a chill darted down her spine.

“And, daddy?” Billy continued.

“Yes, Billy.”

“Grandma said that she knew you were the perfect man for mommy that night you drove eight hours to ask grandpa in person for permission to marry mommy.”

“How did you know about that, Billy? I never even told your mother about that.” Chris replied, confused.

“Perhaps I can shed some light here,” Dr. Bayles interjected. “Billy, would you mind showing us all your latest invention?” Billy smiled and ran to his room. The doctor continued to explain to Chris and Sylvia. “You told me that Billy was very close to his grandmother. Well, it seems that at one point in their relationship, she may have told Billy these stories and he just now recalled them as part of the grieving process.”

“There’s a problem with that explanation, Dr. Bayles,” Chris commented.

“What would that be?” Dr. Bayles asked.

“My mother,” Sylvia answered, “had Alzheimer’s Disease and she had long forgotten about that broach by the time Billy was born.” The look on the doctor’s face was cloaked with confusion and fear. Billy had entered the room carrying his latest invention in his hand.

“Billy,” Dr. Bayles asked, “You said you used your gift to talk to your grandmother.”

“Yes,” Billy replied.

“Did you talk to her on that phone?” the doctor asked.

“No,” Billy answered astutely. He put the invention resembling a telephone onto the coffee table. “This is just a pretend invention.”

“Then how did your grandma tell you those stories about your father and me?” Sylvia asked apprehensive to hear the answer.

“She told me,” Billy answered.

“How did she tell you if it isn’t through your invention, Billy?” Chris asked.

“She’s here,” Billy replied, “And she’s smiling right now. She’s standing right behind mommy.”

Upon hearing the boy’s response, his mother fainted straight away.

Crayon Drawing

“We’re happy with what we have, Jerry,” Tina reasoned, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad that you enjoy your work and we can always have more things, but we’re comfortable where we are… Aren’t we?”

“’Comfortable’ is a word that people use to make themselves feel better about settling for less,” he explained, “We can have so much more. It’s a sacrifice, I know, but it’ll all be worth it.” Tina stayed in bed as Jerry put on his tie.

“Just what exactly are you sacrificing for?” she asked.

“For you and Charlie, of course,” he grunted unhappily upon seeing that his tie was uneven. “Who else would I be working so hard for?” His wife did not answer, though her doubt was made apparent through the look on her face.

That Mr. Jerry Sohl loves his family is an unquestionable truth. For five days out of the week, he gets out of bed before the sun rises and heads to work to provide for his wife, Tina, and his only child, Charlie. Lately, he has been coming home later from work. By no means does the Sohl family live the high life, but they certainly do their best to lead a happy one. Unfortunately, Mr. Sohl lacks the ability to reconcile one without the other. He has grown to be a businessman first and a family man second.

The young one is Charlie Sohl, a boy of 4 years old with sand colored hair and a precocious nature. He is just like any other four-year-old boy with one unusual exception: Charlie is an artist. While other boys are busy running about the house and getting dirt under their fingernails, Charlie can be found in a corner of the living room doodling away with his crayons. For the first time coming home, Mr. Sohl will see Charlie’s work and his interest in his son’s work will be genuine.

“What do you got there, my boy?” Jerry asked as he walked through the front door. He took off his coat and untied his tie tossing them on his chair as he squatted besides his son.

“This one is mommy,” Charlie said as he held out a picture of a woman in a yellow apron. On the caricature’s right hand, Jerry noticed a single streak of red used as one of the fingers. It was a peculiar detail that would have otherwise gone unnoticed if not for the following event.

“Ouch!” Tina exclaimed. She ran through the living room towards the bathroom sucking on a finger on her right hand dressed in a yellow apron. She came back with her finger bandaged just as indicated in Charlie’s drawing. “Oh, hi honey! I just cut myself preparing dinner. It’s nothing.”

“You two are putting me on,” Jerry answered, skeptical.

“What are you talking about?” Tina was unaffected by her husband’s disbelief. She was far too busy preparing dinner. “Dinner will be out any second, boys.”

“This one is you, daddy,” Charlie handed his father another drawing; this one of a man in a suit yelling into a phone and smiling. A speech bubble emanated from the large smile, and inside the bubble were two words: “Green! Yes!”

“Dinner’s ready!” Tina called from the kitchen door.

At the table, the Sohl men shoveled food into their hungry mouths while their eyes wandered elsewhere. Charlie scribbled away at another drawing. His father couldn’t take his eyes off his crayon based portrait.

“Are you okay, honey?” Tina asked.

“Do you know anything about this?” Jerry inquired, confounded to come up with a reasonable explanation.

“I know Charlie’s very talented. He’s always drawing pictures of everything.”

“No! I mean this!” he slid Tina’s yellow apron-clad portrait by her plate, “And this!” He showed his picture.

“Did he just draw this? I wanted to keep him from seeing all that blood on my finger.”

“Tina, he drew this before you cut your finger!”

“Are you saying that our son can tell the future?” Tina dismissed the possibility with a charming giggle.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Jerry took wiped his face with the palm of his hand, “But look at this picture of me. I’m saying, ‘Green! Yes!’”

“Is that supposed to mean anything to me?”

“No,” he reasoned, “It doesn’t mean anything to you, does it? Of course it doesn’t because I never told you about it.”

“What are you getting at, honey?”

“There’s this account that I was unsure about: the Green account. It’s a big risk, but if it’s the real deal then it could cement a promotion, the first of many to come.”

“Jerry, sweetheart,” she answered reassuringly, “You’re just stressed out. The job’s starting to get to you. All of this is just a coincidence. It’s nothing more than a drawing.”

“You’re probably right,” he replied taking a deep breath, “But wouldn’t that be something, to have a fortune-telling son?”

The sound of a spoon falling to the floor was followed by that of a chair being scooted back, away from the dining table. Charlie took his latest work of art and walked towards his father and handed it to him, smiling but with a sparkle of concern in his eyes. On the piece of paper was a picture of his father in a suit as before shaking hands with a large bald man, also dressed sharply in a suit. Jerry believed it to be his employer congratulating him on the Green account.

The next day, Mr. Sohl came home early. His tie was loosened, a bottle of champagne was in his hand and a smile was plastered across his face. Tina was in a chair quietly reading a book and Charlie, as usual, was doodling with his crayons in his corner when Jerry burst into the room. Charlie looked worriedly at his mother who was busy wondering what her husband was doing home two hours earlier than usual.

“Baby, you won’t believe it,” the cork was released with a celebratory pop from the bottle, “I closed the deal on the Green account!”

“You did it?” The corners of Tina’s mouth curled into a smile that she was trying to hide. Jerry ran to the kitchen and returned with two glasses, filling them with bubbly champagne. The two embraced and took a sip in celebration. Charlie rose to his feet and took a piece of paper and presented it to his father.

“This is all because of you, my boy! And I’m going to get you all the toys you want, send you to the best schools. We’re going to live the high life now!” Jerry took the piece of paper from Charlie’s hands and saw that it was a picture of Tina, Charlie and himself standing on the front lawn of the house. “This is great, Charlie, but I’m going to need another drawing like you made yesterday. You remember, don’t you?”

“But I want to draw happy things.”

“You can, my boy. I want you to draw nothing but happy things. But I was hoping you can draw another picture of something that hasn’t happened yet, like before.” Charlie responded by violently shaking his head, so much so that tears began to well in his eyes just before he buried his head into his mother’s dress.

“You’ve upset him,” Tina commented.

“I didn’t mean to upset him. But this is a gift; he can get anything he wants with a talent like he has.”

“Maybe this is what he wants, Jerry,” she held up the drawing of the Sohl family in front of the house, “He doesn’t need anything more than us. Charlie just wants to spend time with us, is that so wrong?”

“Of course not, but what do you think got this house, those crayons, that dress that he buried his face in just a few seconds ago?”

“I understand that,” she replied calmly. Charlie slipped away back to his corner and started coloring again, tears still streaming down his face. “But we’re happy where we are. Why can’t we just be happy where we are? You’re so busy trying to grasp at the next rung on that corporate ladder that you’ve forgotten how to just enjoy being with your family.”

Charlie stood up and handed his father a drawing on black construction paper. He had colored a single white stripe running lengthwise down the middle of sheet. Tina and Jerry looked at each other hoping to get a clue as to what it was supposed to be. Charlie hugged his father’s leg tightly, and Jerry knelt down and hugged him back. Just then, the phone rang. Jerry went to answer it.

“I understand,” he said into the receiver, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Be where as soon as you can?” Tina inquired.

“It was the office. They need to work out the details on the Green deal,” he answered.

“Can’t they do it without you?”

“They can, but this is my deal. What would it look like if I wasn’t there to see it all the way through?”

“Just tell them to put it off until tomorrow. We can have a proper celebration for your promotion. We can go out tonight.”

“That’s a good idea. We can go out tonight,” Jerry answered as he put on his coat, “But I’ll only be an hour. I’ll be coming back the usual time I’m usually home, anyway.”

“Honey,” Tina took her husband’s hand and with kindness in her eyes pleaded with him, “Just stay… Be part of the family… Please.” Jerry didn’t respond, but kissed her wife’s hand as he walked out the front door. A part of him really wanted to stay, but the rest of him urged him to go.

He noticed that he still had Charlie’s family portrait in his hands. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to convince him to turn around and stay. As Jerry got to the sidewalk, a sudden breeze snatched the crayon drawing from his hands and flew to the lawn across the street. Instinctively, he ran after it but failed to see the oncoming traffic and was struck down. The last image that he saw was that of the road where he lay prostrate. It was black and a single white stripe ran lengthwise down the middle.

“Money often costs too much”; Wise words from Ralph Waldo Emerson. A cautionary tale from a wise four year old teaches that money is merely a means to an end. The lesson comes tragically too late for Jerry Sohl whose obsession with his son’s crayon drawings was bested only by his obsession with success. Perhaps he could have saved himself if he had only heeded the words of his desperate wife to stay and be part of the family.

Finishing Last

When Tom called me on the phone his voice quivered. His voice never quivered. I’ve never heard him that scared before and it’s the only reason I rushed to his apartment at two in the morning. I called Tom before heading up to the door. The fear from his voice was noticeably missing. It was an uneasy calm before some unknown storm and it wrenched my insides. Tom was very calculated and usually prepared for anything, and I mean anything.

I wondered what could have possible event could have put a quiver in his voice, and shuddered at what dark part of his psyche would so quickly take that quiver away. Did this have to do with Eric? Tom had an idea that would propel any company to the forefront of their field (and all Eric had to do was take full credit for it before Tom could). Tom took it a lot harder than I thought he would.

Eric was a onetime mutual friend of ours. He and Tom had a friendly, ongoing rivalry that went awry six months ago when Eric got the new job that both had their eye on. The rivalry started in college. But it never got personal until Eric got that job. Even when the fighting got bitter over who would win the hand of the lovely Cindy, it never got personal. Tom ultimately won, but rumors persisted that Cindy’s heart was a fickle one that never exclusively belonged to either man. But they were nothing but rumors.

I approached the door to his apartment and upon knocking on the door, it slowly opened. My head peeked inside, my eyes darting about the room, and my ears waiting for an invitation to come in, which never came. As I stepped in, I closed the door effectively dimming what little light managed to sneak inside through the door. The smell of rust and something else familiar hung desperately in the stale air, but I couldn’t place it just then. Looking back, I would guess it was gunpowder.

I walked over to the stool by the kitchen counter and sat on it. The kitchen, usually a pristine white, was gray with the shadows that infested the apartment. Peeking over my shoulder, I spotted something unusual in the kitchen sink. It was speckled with pink spots and a thin streak of red marbled its way towards the drain. My heart started to pound in my chest.

“Good, you’re here!” Tom exclaimed, “I really need your help. You can’t tell anybody anything.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Just come on,” he motioned me to follow him to the bathroom, “Did you bring that shovel like I asked you.” I could only hear my footsteps reluctantly following him and the blood rushing through my head.

“It’s in my car,” I finally answered, hoping my presumptions as to why he needed them were premature. Tom’s hair was soaking wet; from sweat or water, I couldn’t tell. He had been wringing his hands with a small, faintly rose colored hand towel. I knew he only had white towels in the apartment. I prayed to God that it wasn’t blood. God didn’t hear me in time.

In the tub was a mass of something that took the shape of a human form. It was sloppily contained in black, plastic garbage bags and bound methodically at certain sections with silver duct tape. The way it collapsed in the porcelain tub, I could not make out the exact size, shape or form of who it once was, but I had my suspicions. In a situation like this, it doesn’t matter who it is anyway. I knew that if I didn’t want to end up in that tub next, I had to do exactly as Tom would instruct. My breathing became shallow and my skin clammy with sweat. I could almost feel my skin grow paler with each passing second.

“We’re going to get rid of it,” Tom directed. He took the keys out of my hand.

“What the hell happened?” I wasn’t sure if it sounded as eloquently out of my mouth as it did in my head. Nothing was processing in my brain other than the blood in the kitchen sink and the pink streaks of blood along the sides of the bathtub. Tom took advantage of my state of shock. He told me what he needed done and I complied without question.

My hands were shaking. I splashed my face with cold water, but that was just a failed attempt to wake up from this nightmare. I couldn’t think, let alone breathe. Tom came back to the bathroom and if he hadn’t loaded it in front of me, I wouldn’t have even known he had a gun. Now, I was really stuck.

“Get that side,” he grunted while motioning to what I assumed was the head of Eric’s lifeless corpse. I reached around and lifted with all my might. There was no way to anticipate how heavy a soulless shell of a body would be unless you’ve had the unfortunate opportunity to do so firsthand.

I curled my fingers under the skinny and sickeningly limp neck of Tom’s victim and could feel the head fall away from me. Tom thoughtlessly grabbed the two bound feet and lifted them over the side of the tub. As Tom stepped a single foot into the tub for added leverage in lifting the body at the hips, my hands nervously clutched around the neck.

I used my torso to support the head and quickly realized the cause of death. The skull no longer held any discernible attributes to traditionally define it as a skull. Whether it was a blunt force trauma or a point blank shot to the head, I could not tell nor did my curiosity spurn me to investigate further.

We lifted the body to the trunk of my car. Tom insisted on driving. What choice did I have? He had the keys. My heart was pounding and telling me to get the hell out of there, but my brain insisted that that wasn’t a good idea. We drove for a good hour and a half before either of us said anything.

“How could you do this, man?” I finally said. Tears immediately followed, streaming down my face as the taste of bile clawed its way to the back of my throat.

“It was the last straw,” he replied coldly, “You heard the rumors about her. Everybody did. It turns out they were all true, and I found out earlier tonight. So I took care of it.” If this is what he did to Cindy, I would hate to see what he had in store for Eric.