Date: Thu, 22 Mar 2007 21:22:27 -0700 (PDT) From: John Gerald Subject: Connections 19 Thanks again for checking in. Let me know how you think the story is going, especially this latest story line. connectwriter@yahoo.com He turned on the small reading light next to his bed, and, being as quiet as he possibly could, tip-toed over to the box that they had stashed in the corner. The small lamp didn't throw much light over there, so he had to do some of this search by touch. It was a warm night, so he could travel light in just his underwear and a t-shirt. With both eyes focused on the box, but his ears tuned to Brad, he fumbled through the various papers in the box. He originally thought the box contained was nothing but old bills, receipts, the typical year's technical detritus, but he discovered that there was a lot of other stuff, too, including some letters. This was getting interesting, he thought. Wrapped in an old ribbon, Mike had to wedge them out of the bottom of the box, not an easy task considering that he was trying to keep as quiet as possible. In the dim light he could tell that they were very carefully handwritten, probably a guys writing, but that was about all he knew. Mike was curious, but didn't want to loose sightof his immediate goal, so carefully laid the letters back on top of everything else and continued the search for the newspaper. Finally feeling the rough edge at the top of the newsprint, he pulled his quarry back to the surface. `Time to get back into the bed,' he thought. But he needed to be very careful about waking up Brad. Smiling to himself, he remembered another late night a month or so back, when, after giving Brad mock defiance, he was wrestled back into bed in what became one of their most awesome sex sessions ever. But Brad had still demanded that he sleep in thatmorning. A repeat of that wasn't likely to happen soon with Brad's current condition, but just the thought sure got Mike's dick as hard as a rock. Assuring himself that Brad was in fact still asleep, he silently slid over to his bed and got back in, quietly pulling the sheet back over himself. It was the only time since they stayed at this parent's house that he was glad they had separate beds. Another priority on his list, for daytime hours, was to create a functional single bed arrangement in the tight, sloped ceiling room. The hard meat was another reminder of how much he missed sleeping right next to Brad at night. There was better light by his bed, but when he first saw the cover of the newspaper, he silently cursed himself. It wasn't the paper that he had earlier but one dated a few days later. He didn't even remember another paper being in there. But not wanting to risk waking up Brad, who would insist that he get back to sleep, he decided to see if there was anything of interest in this paper, too. After all, he thought, why are any of these papers really here anyway? To avoid repeating his omission from before, he made sure that he covered the obituaries and weddings. He looked over the wedding photos carefully, but didn't recognize any names, not that he would have in this part of the state. The wedding pictures drew a bit a smile from him, especially the shaggy 80's hair. He couldn't help but look a little smugly at the prizes these brides had brought home. None of them had done nearly as well as he had. Going over to the obits, he finally saw an article that meant something, about the two people who died in the fire. The obituaries hardly gave a hint of the drama of the story, but they told him a lot anyway. `Robert Campagna of Norwalk died yesterday from injuries sustained during a fire at his home....upon his graduation from Norwalk High School, where he was valedictorian, he received a scholarship to attend Williams College in Williamstown, Massachusetts. He was the first in his family to attend college. He had spent a year in New York after graduation, but returned to the area to be near his family, teach and also pursue a side career as a writer.... He is survived by his parents of Sherman Township, and a younger sister, Jill, at home..... Nothing in the article fed his fleeting suspicion, which was probably a good thing right now. Mike could be dogged when he was on the trail of something, especially when he was designing and thought he had a good idea, but this really wasn't the time to get distracted by anything but taking care of Brad and starting in on his on new job in a few days. He continued reading. `Veronica Stewart of Norwalk died yesterday......She was a native of London Township and was a teacher in the Norwalk schools. She had been voted best teacher for the past year at her school, the youngest person ever to win that award, ... The last part of the article where it would have mentioned survivors, services and other details was missing. The page had been torn and about one third of it was missing. Kind of odd, he thought, but since so much else of the page was missing, it was hard to decide if this article was the reason for it. It was a different picture than the newspaper with the fire story had, much clearer. As he studied it he realised that it wasn't the guy who looked familiar, but the woman. He really couldn't place the face, yet for some reason he thought that he had seen that picture before. He studied it hard, leaning back in his bed to focus all his energy to figure this out. It was a high school graduation picture, so was probably not what she looked like at the time she died, but it was still a lot clearer than the previous one. Even though women didn't do much for Mike sexually, he could definitely tell that she was good looking. And because the picture happened to capture more of her body than the typical headshot, it looked like she had a pretty good one of those, too The good looks didn't surprise him, as he remembered that her boyfriend looked pretty studly. That's the way these things worked, people seek out their own level in a mate. Mike had often wondered what you could tell about someone's personality just based on looks, or a picture. As long as he could remember, his parents had emphasized to him how appearances can be deceiving, that the clues that you think tell you something are often misleading. Thinking about this, he was amused by how dead wrong he often was with first impressions, that people who initially impressed him as charming and nice and friendly would turn out to be the biggest assholes, and often those who initially were the most cold or unfriendly were truly good people. The only quality that he was (usually) spot-on about was if he thought someone was boring. That one always betrayed itself quickly. He thought that he'd try this game here, to figure this person out based on what little he know about her. He knew that he'd probably never know more about her than this, but giving her a personality would make this whole thing a bit more interesting. Besides, there had to be some reason that this stuff was all saved, and it might give other angles to this story. He looked away from the picture and just closed his eyes for a minute, thinking about what he knew about this person outside her looks. Someone had risked their life for her, so she clearly had inspired devotion in someone. He knew couples that would hardly open a door for each other, let alone risk their lives for each other, so what they had was at another level. What did she have that moved someone so deeply? He opened his eyes again and tried to reconcile the picture in front of him with what he remembered about the picture he had seen earlier. Her hairstyle hadn't changed much. It looked pretty simple. As Hana would say, it was `low maintenance'. This might intimate to some people that she was boring, but to Mike this kind of stuff was just a very practical issue. In fact, the most flaky people he knew, both guys and girls, were the most ambitious fashion plates. This guessing game was kind of fun in its own way, but after a while the idle speculation didn't seem to be going anywhere. Feeling like a bathroom break might be in order, he put on his robe and tiptoed downstairs, quietly shutting the door to the bathroom. After he had done his business at the toilet, he was washing his hands when suddenly he realized where he had seen the woman's picture before. "His cousin!" Mike thought to himself. It far more intriguing that what he had suspected the previous night. This was the woman in Brad's family photo collection, the cousin who he'd never met. Mike didn't know much beyond this, but it was at least one good reason why the picture had ended up here. But if this relative was important enough to warrant a small personal archive, why didn't they ever say much about her to Brad? Again, the thoughts raced through Mike' head. The last name was different, but that didn't really mean anything. Also, Mrs. North was probably a couple of years older that this cousin, thought that didn't seem to tell him much of anything either. It was quite a tantalizing find, but what did it mean? He was really on the trail of something now, he thought. Mike was ready to race up the stairs and dive back into the box for more clues, but didn't feel like he should press his luck with Brad anymore tonight. His excitement slightly embarrassed him, as he betrayed a little bit of a busybody side to himself that he would have ridiculed in others. He told himself that since it was something that affected Brad that it was relevant for him, too, but there was also just a mystery here that fascinated him on its own terms. Mike woke up the next morning to a short rhythm of `squeek-slide-squeek,' Brads effort to move about the room with the rubber typed crutches and his sock dragging across the wooden floor. He roused himself quickly to see what the patient was up to, but stayed in bed as he spoke. "Hey, partner, where you headed?" "Oh, hi pup." Brad said, his voice as chipper as it had been since the accident. "I was just about to go downstairs to take a whiz. I didn't want to wake you, you looked so peaceful and all there, I..." "I know you want to get back on your feet, but you know that someone needs to help you, at least for these first few days while the stitches take hold. Just hold on a sec and I'll walk you down the stairs." Mike said, as he pulled the sheets off himself and swung his strong legs over the edge of the bed. "I can make it, don't..." Brad pleaded. "Brad!" He gave his chastened look. "um. OK... but hurry up there, or I'll tinkle in my shorts." Mike quickly pulled on a pair of jeans that were hanging by the bed and carefully walked Brad down the stairs to the bathroom. Mike did his morning business also, but wanted to wait until they got back upstairs before he told Brad about his theory. They sat on their beds, facing each other as they talked. "Wow, you're right!" Brad exclaimed upon hearing Mike's story. "I really don't know much about her, but now that I think about it my Mom did say some things about her, and they weren't very flattering." "I think I like this cousin already!" Mike said, smiling. Brad just laughed in return. "I knew you'd see that as a positive character reference," he said. Then he turned serious again. "Mom said that she was, basically, a whore, though she didn't use those words, of course. She hardly talked about her, but said she had gotten in with a really bad guy who was an awful influence on her." "Robert Campagna?" Mike asked. "is that the guy from the fire?" "Yes." "hmmmm...I don't know, maybe, though I don't know why she would see him as a bad influence, if it was him. Actually, he sounded like a great guy to me." "Me, too. And your going to think that this is my typical knee-jerk criticism of your mom, but it wouldn't surprise me that she would object, for some strange, weird, perverted reason, to your cousin's affections. She's done it before." It took a second for Brad to make the connection, but it still didn't explain things." "Well, she doesn't like me because of the gay thing, or at least that kind of put here over the edge. I'm sure there was other stuff, or there was something just innate to her feelings for me, as I've said before. But this guy, jeeze, why would she even care?" "I don't know, Babe, and we might never. But I think if we go back into the box there might be some clues there." "Well, let's start looking." Brad replied. Mike got up and took a seat next to Brad over on his bed, wrapping his right hand around his back, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him toward him. Brad willingly leaned leftward. "Breakfast first. Then I need to do the shopping, then your therapy. After that, if you've behaved, wecan go in the box again." "That sounds good. Then you can get your nap this afternoon, too." "Why? I slept pretty good." `What sleep I got," Mike mused to himself. "Well, with all of your sleuthing last night, you had to have missed your sleep, Remember, we agreed to 8 hours. You can make it up this afternoon." Mike was exasperated, but, as usual, went long. There was never negotiation on this. "Bend your knee, just a little." Mike said. Brad complied, wincing slightly but executing the required move." "Back." Came another order from Mike. He heard a slight grunt in return. "OK, let's do it again, but slowly. I'll keep supporting you under your leg, OK? "OK." Brad bent the knee again, this time a little farther, and faster, along with a barely suppressed grunt. "Not so fast, we've got time. Take it easy," Mike said calmly. "I just want to get up-to-speed sooner rather than later, I guess. God, I hate being here in this bed when there's so much to do. You know, I really think that we could speed this up a bit, pup, you know?" "Not if it hurts so much, babe. If we tear something or push too fast, you'll be here even longer, and maybe not even be able to start work. You really need to get into this at the right pace. By the way, how does the hand feel?" "It's OK, that's probably easier to take care of than the leg. Not much I can do for it either, except just let it be and heal itself." Brad slowed down the pace as he continued the therapy. The therapist had told Mike how the progress would go, and Mike was encouraged that Brad could do certain movements this soon, even if there wasa bit of pain. But the wound was still fresh and Mike was determined that Brad wouldn't spoil what progress he had made. Later in the afternoon, with all of their tasks done, including Mike's nap, the guys returned to the box. Where there had just randomly plowed through before, they now took the time to systematically go through it item by item. It was packed pretty tight, so a lot had eluded them on their first trolls through. Brad was laying on his bed, a couple of pillows under his leg, while Mike sat on the edge, his butt next to Brad's pillow. Mike pulled the box up for Brad to reach in. "Hey, look at these!" Brad said, as he first pulled out a bunch of letters, tied together with the same ribbons that they had found earlier. "It looks like this had all been packed at around the same time," he said has he compared the two ties. "Huh, I think you're right, I wonder of that means anything? By the way, can you tell what the letters are?" "Let's see...." Brad carefully untied the string, pulling our the first of what looked like a dozen or so sheets of carefully folded letters. Mike watched Brad as he unfolded the top tone and started silently reading. After a few moments of silence, Mike could see that Brad was almost instantly drawing into the whatever it said, much more so than he expected. "Hey babe, what is it? You look pretty focused there." He reached over and stroked Brad's injured hand. Brad was silent for a moment, not able to dislodge himself immediately from the contents that had so strongly engaged him, though he did unconsciously give Mike a soft pinch with his good hand. "Jeeze, I don't feel like I should be reading this," he said mysteriously to Mike. "Why?" Brad let out a deep breath of air. "I don't know who wrote it, but It's a letter from some guy to his kid. The tense is a little weird, though. Give me a sec to figure this out" Make paused for a second, but couldn't hold his curiosity. "Can you tell who it's from? Who signed it?" "Let' see." Brad quickly looked to the bottom. "No, it just says `Love, your Dad." Oh, and it adds, "P.S. your mom needs you to stop kicking, now." They both laughed. Then Mike asked, half seriously, "Do you think it could be your dad to your mom? Another laugh from Brad, but this one with a lot more edge. "I doubt it. It's not my dad's handwriting at all, thought it is a guys. And I can't imagine him talking like this anyway. Way too sentimental, even for a young version of my Dad." "no name or anything?" Mike quizzed. Mike saw Brad's head move down the sheet again. "Nope." Brad then raised his fist up to his mouth, pounding on his own lips. "Oh my god!" he declared "What? What is it?" Mike asked, getting even more eager to figure out what this letter was. Brad was quickly reading, no, it was more like inhaling the letter, especially when he realized what it was. "It's..." Brad paused, and Mike could see him swallow, a sure sign of anxiety and concern in him. It took him a second to clear his throat. "It's a letter from a Dad to his son alright, but the son isn't born yet." "You're kidding? Wow! That's incredible" Mike said, almost breathlessly. It almost knocked him over, the very idea of someone writing a letter like that. He paused for a moment, just letting the idea sink in more. "Any idea who these people might be? Are they signed by anyone?" "No idea. It's just signed "Your Dad, who loves you." We should go through the others, maybe there's something on them. I wonder if this is related to anything else in our magic box?" "I don't know." Mike said, as Brad handed him half of the stack and he began looking. "Let's see..." "Pup, look at the dates." "It' about the same time as the other stuff in the box, including those papers. I wonder if this means anything, besides they were just packed at the same time." "Don't know." Brad replied, a little absent-mindedly. "I wonder if we should really be reading these, though. Damn, they're such private things. I guess I just feel that we're at a place we maybe shouldn't be, you know what I mean? Some of this stuff is just, so, um... personal." Mike put his half of the sheets down on the floor for a moment, but didn't say anything at first. "I know in my head that you're right. But I guess I'm looking for reasons to continue. Maybe if we could figure out who it's for, we could at least get it to the right person. Or maybe I'm just being a voyeur." At this point, Mike really wasn't sure of what his motives were. "But I can't imagine what your parents would be doing with something like this if there isn't something going on. It's probably important to someone." I'm as curious as you are. I wish that we had a good reason to read these things, pup, but I guess I'm just feeling uncomfortable. It's just not our life here." "I understand," Mike said with sympathy in his voice, though he was loath to give up on this trail. Something was fishy here. "Like I said, I think you're right, maybe we should just put them away." He was almost going to acquiesce, but had one more question for Brad. "Do you have any relatives about your age, or any maybe friends of your parents who have kids about your age? After, these are dated the same year that you were born. "Yea, I noticed that. But regarding the potential kid, right off hand I'd say no, though I should think about it a bit. I don't have any cousins, most are older, like Ralph's age, so I can't see it being any of them, plus most are girls." "What about this couple, the one from the fire. I think we've figured out that they're related." "That's true, but the obituaries don't say anything about kids. In fact, I don't think that they were even married, not that that matters. But I can't see how it could be them." "Well, let's put away these away, at least for now. Maybe there's something else in here to explain this stuff," Mike said, as he took the letters that Brad returned to him with his good hand and carefully placed put all of the letters back together. He didn't put them back in the box yet, however, putting them on the small desk at the window with the excuse that they would be less prone to damage there while they continued to go through the box. "See anything else there?" Mike asked as he returned to his perch setting next to Brad, who was already trying to pull out some more stuff, even using his bandaged hand for some leverage. Mike put his hand on the bandagedlimb and gently put it back in the `off' position. Brad got the message, but continued with the stash that he had already pulled out. "I don't think so. Some old bank and tax statements..." "When they got into bed later that night they were no more closer to solving the mystery of the letters than they were that afternoon when they retreated from their expedition into them. Brad had read enough, though, to keep his own mind turning for quite a while. "Pup, I didn't tell you what I read before we stopped reading." Brad said, as he rested his good hand behind his head, looking up at the ceiling as if it was the nighttime sky. The room was very still, so they could hear the crickets outside through the bedroom window. Mike always liked that sound. "No, you didn't. Anything interesting? "uh huh," Brad answered. He pushed himself back up on his elbow, slowly as to make sure the didn't aggravate any of his injuries, as the sound of the crickets seem to get louder. Or maybe the room just got quieter. He cleared his throat, but not from the affects of a cold. The words drilled into him like a laser into a piece of stone. "He was saying how much he cared about him and that it didn't matter how much of an athlete he was, or how good his grades were...within reason," Brad said with a laugh and continued, "and or even if he was gay or straight. He would be his son and he would always love him." [C. M.1]Not really very good grammar, but it works. I tried alternatives and the best I could do was: Wrapped in an old ribbon, they were wedged in the bottom of the box and Mike had to struggle to get them out; not an easy task considering that he was trying to keep as quiet as possible. [C. M.2]The two words, adamant and determined, mean similar things, but generally adamant is used in connection with spoken thoughts.