Date: Thu, 11 Mar 2010 04:06:13 -0800 (PST) From: Peder Pederson Subject: "A Visit to Remember" Chapter 3 Chapter Three The past June-- Having deposited the coins in the toll-collector's hand, Bill swung his small car out of the airport parking lot. Tom sat comfortably in the passenger seat, taking in the new visual stimuli. It had been just over a year since they had received their Master's. Tom had accepted a position in Indianapolis as a research chemist with a small pharmaceutical company and Bill as a chemist with a food processing concern in Minneapolis. They had seen each other a couple of times since their graduation, called frequently and written each other hardly ever. The phone was more convenient.. The roar of breaking jets was heard as they entered the sparse freeway traffic. Bill concentrated on accelerating and merging his car with the other speeding vehicles. "You've put on some weight," Tom observed as a matter of fact. "Yeah, a little," glancing over at Tom, "so have you, it seems. Ya look good." "Thanks, so do you." They sped out of the industrialized area into the gently rolling countryside. "Pretty here, kinda reminds me of Indianapolis, the countryside, I mean." "Yeah, all this corn," and then with a twinkle, Bill added, "and all the corn-fed girls." With a smirk," You're not supposed to be looking now. Remember?" "Hell, I can always look!" "I see. . . lookee, no touchee, eh?" Bill answered with a snort, "You got it." They continued to speed along I-35 towards Ames. "Bill, you really look good. . . happy." "Yeah, I am, but a little stressed out with all the planning and stuff." "Hell, that's what weddings are for, ya know." "Yeah." His mind's eye brought forth Karen's image and a smile to his lips. " What about you and Janice. . . set a date yet?" "No . . . we decided to go our separate ways," came the answer, in monotone. "What! When did this happen?" The news was a shock to Bill. "'Bout a month ago," Tom answered, again, almost emotionless. "What the fuck! . . . How come you didn't tell me?" Bill asked, trying to mask the hurt of not being taken into his friends confidence before this. "I don't know. . . I couldn't . . . it wasn't easy. . .wasn't easy for me to deal with at the time." There were edges of pain in his voice. "Yeah, I can imagine, but. . . whose decision was it?" "Mutual. . . both of ours. Ya know, we'd had our ups and downs over the years. I don't know . . . things began to get in the way. . . It just seemed better." "Christ!" Shaking his head in disbelief, then, "How long had you been goin together? Seven or eight years?" "Yeah." "Is it permanent?" "Yeah, I think so." "Do you still talk to her?" "Not really, it's too soon yet. . . we're not enemies though." "Jeeze, Tom, I'm sorry, I really am." "Thanks." Miles flashed by as they drove on in silence. Tom was thankful for the respite, even though he felt that the separation was the best thing, his wounds were a little raw, but not like at first. Bill, still a bit hurt at not being told before, felt sorrow for his friend. "He's too great a guy for this to happen," he thought. Then, in a flimsy attempt to change the subject and not knowing what else to say, he asked, "Still planning on applying for your Ph.D.?" Roused out of his reverie, he glanced over at Bill and with the edge out of his voice, "I've been filling out some applications, but work and all have kept me busy. I'm in no hurry yet. . . we'll see." "Well, you won't have any problem." "What are you? My personal cheer-leader?" he asked with a broad smile. Chuckling, Bill answered, "Someone's got to look after you. . . your nose's in the books all the time." "Not all the time," came Tom's retort, with arched eyebrows. "Shit." They both laughed. "Where are we staying?" Tom asked. "A motel in Ames, Jordon's too small, just a village. Karen's relatives're staying with friends there. My family's staying at the motel. Think we've got twelve rooms. You and I'll share a room." "Only if you behave yourself," Tom stated with exaggerated seriousness. "Christ!" laughed Bill. "Yes?" It was a liturgy. Laughing came the antiphonal reply, "I didn't know you were black?" This had been a verbal ritual between them, whenever Bill 'took God's name in vain,' which Tom felt was too often. The end, Tom's final phrase, always differed, "Jealous?" They both laughed. "Are you having a bachelor party?" "No, I think they're for the birds." "I can't believe it, you're finally getting some culture!" Tom said, grinning. "Get of my ass, will ya!" Bill snorted, good naturedly. "I wasn't aware I was on it," retorted Tom with a laugh. Tom and Bill had always carried on this good humored repartee. It was one of the ways that they expressed their closeness, their 'guarded-friendship,' their affection for each other. "Enough! I give up," laughed Bill. He reached over and grabbed Tom's knee in a strong vice-like grip. Bill knew that his knee was Tom's most ticklish spot. His action caused a violent physical reaction and a howling "Aieee. . . . Ass-hole!" in mock anger came after the release. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Mama wouldn't like to hear her little Tommy say such words." "Okay, truce." came his good humored reply. The rest of the drive was consumed in the easy patter of things past and the activities of the next couple of days. Karen and Bill had been dating for five-and-a-half years. After graduation, Karen got a job in Madison, not just to be near Bill, but it was her best offer--actually a good position. Besides, Bill had decided to go right on for his Master's, as did Tom. Bill and Tom decided to get an apartment together. Four years of dorm life was all they could stand. Their maturity--they felt--demanded a more exalted digs. Besides, Bill and Karen had decided not to get an apartment together for a couple of reasons. Both knew that their parents would not absolutely object, but mildly disapprove, and they loved and respected them too much--besides they felt that if they did live under the same roof they'd never leave their bed or their embrace. Bill's Master's regimen promised to be rigorous--demanding large blocks of time. Yet, they found ample means and time to express their passion throughout those two years, plenty of times. Tom was not surprised when Bill had first told him that he and Karen were to be married. He had expected it. As a matter of fact, he would have been surprised had they not married. They seem suited to each other, right together. Each, mutually complemented the other. He had remembered how Bill acted, maybe changed--that wasn't the right word either--no, became complete after those first few dates with Karen. Oh, there were the usual disagreements, mis-communications, misunderstandings--that was only natural. Nonetheless, they matched, they were a match. Tom had remembered the great times they had had in their apartment. Those dinners--Bill, Karen, Janice and himself--were light, joy filled. Except, that Thanksgiving when he (the turkey-cooker) had set the oven temp too high, and during an involved discussion of his research project with Bill, forgot the time until the four of them smelled the burning turkey-flesh. He was happy for Bill when he had called and announced the engagement. He was even more pleased when Bill had asked him to be his best-man. Oh, he would be in the wedding, all right, he thought. Their six-year-as-roommates-friendship, 'guarded-friendship' seemed to insure that. However, Tom had assumed that Bill's cousin Roger would be the best-man. They were close, but Bill had chosen Tom. So, he was pleased, happy when Bill asked. And Bill was happy. The next evening was the rehearsal dinner. Bill's folks had arranged a great dinner party at one of Ames' best restaurants. Bill had slept late that morning--he was exhausted. That was to be expected. All the last minute details had to be settled that day. Tom had brought his rented tux--which fit remarkably well, emphasizing his height and build--from one of the national chains in Indy, so that was no problem. But there seemed to be scores of other things to do. So, he helped Bill, as the latter happily and a little dazed, floated through the day's activity. Tom was Bill's rock. At the restaurant, Bill, Karen and their parents along with Tom and Anne, Karen's maid-of-honor, sat at on of the six tables-for-eight. Tom and Anne sat opposite Bill and Karen, Bill's parents to his left and Karen's to Anne's right. The dinner was perfect. Karen and Bill seemed relaxed--a handsome couple. The old truism applied--Karen was radiant. And, Bill? Tom had never seen him look better. He had to admit, simply, "He's a handsome man." He smiled warmly across the table at them both, Karen and Bill returned the smiled compliment. The families decided that there would be no cocktails since most of Karen's family had to drive back to Jordan that night, but wine was served. After dinner toasts were made by Bill's father, then Karen's. Bill had informed Tom, on the drive from the airport, that he would be expected to make a toast. He tried to jot down a few things to say, scraped them, jotted some more and scraped them. "Heck," he thought, "I'll wing it, make it short." It was his turn. He stood up with glass in hand, took a deep cleansing breath, smiled at the couple, his friends, and started, "First, you'll have to excuse me, I'm not a public speaker. But, I have know Bill Dweyer for seven years and Karen for five-and-a-half years. . . It would be easy, even humorous to say that Bill doesn't deserve Karen, but that's not true." He paused, "I've got to control myself," and then continued, "I have watched them through the five-and-a-half years that they have dated and have been privileged. . .honored to observe their love blossom and grow. I can say. . . I can say with all the conviction I have. . ." He could feel his emotion grow, "Shit," he uncharacteristically he said to himself, and he fought to control it, "that they are as close to a perfect match as I know. They are the best of friends. They respect each other. . . They honor each other. . . They complement each other. . . " "Damn," he thought to himself as tears flooded his eyes and he fought to continue, "And,they love each other. . ." He had to swallow hard to control his voice. "They have all the right ingredients." Two tears streamed down his cheeks as he raised his glass to quickly finish, "I give you Karen and Bill. And, then added, "I love you both." "Why did I say that?" He quickly sat down, in part to hide the embarrassment of his emotions. There was a brief moment of quiet as everyone present savored his statement during which he quickly wiped his face. Then all rose and repeated, "Karen and Bill." Karen and Bill stood up, tears unabashedly streaming down her face and Bill's eyes were tear-brimmed. The two walked around the table to where Tom was sitting. He stood and the couple embraced him warmly. Karen planted a kiss on his cheek and Bill used the hug to dry his own tear-filled eyes on Tom's shoulder and whispered, "Thanks, Tom, you're the best." After all the formalities were over, Bill and Karen, and the rest of the wedding party--the young folks--decided to go to the motel where the Dweyers were staying because they had a good band there and they wanted to dance. Karen and Bill's parents advised them not to stay out too late because, "Tomorrow's a big day. Don't forget the wedding's at two o'clock." "I'll get her home at a decent time," Bill promised the Hilliards. They needed that time to be alone, away from parents and relatives--as much as they loved them. Bill, Karen, Tom, Anne and six other young friends and relatives needed to release some of the pressures of the day in dance. They danced, they talked, they laughed, they danced. At one-fifteen in the morning, Bill said to Karen, "I think I'd better take you home now." "You stay here. It's a long round trip. Anne and I can get home just fine. . ." she was saying. He placed his fingertips to her lips, "I can take you home." "I know you can, but I'm capable. Besides this is the last night when I won't have to do everything you say," she added with mirth. "That'll be the day!" he snorted with good humor, adding, "It's not such a long dr. . . ." This time she placed her fingertips on his lips. "I know, besides you need to conserve your strength," she said with an exaggerated wink. He knew that there was no arguing. She was right; a forty minute round trip is longer than twenty minutes one way. He enfolded her in his arms, kissed her gently on the lips and whispered in her ear, "Hussy." "I know, but you love me you shameless man," she laughed in reply. Planting a quick kiss on his lips she turned and followed Anne towards the lobby. "Don't forget tomorrow. Two o'clock." "Fat chance," he answered smiling. She turned, mirrored his smile and swept out the door. Bill turned to Tom, "I should have driven them home." "Come on, you know Karen's perfectly capable, not a helpless, fluttering belle. . . isn't that one of the reasons you love her?" "Yeah, you're right, still. . . ." Later Tom and Bill, in their room, performed their nightly 'chores,' got into their beds, turned off the light, talked a while and sank into the arms of sleep. The phone's unearthly jangle jolted Tom out of sleep. Quickly he reached for it before it rang a second time. Glancing over he barely could see that Bill was still asleep. . . he fought his way to reasonable wakefulness. . . brought the receiver to his ear and quietly spoke into the mouthpiece, "Yes." "Who's speaking?" issued from the earpiece. "Who do you want?" asked Tom, not a little annoyed. "Is this Tom Wright?" "Yes. Who's this?" "Rog, Roger Dweyer. Is Bill there?" "Yes, but, he's sleeping. What time is it?" he asked, now annoyed. "Three-thirty. . . Tom, there's been an accident. . ." His voice was strange, monotone, sepulchral in its delivery. "What?" he now fought for total, unimpeded consciousness. "An accident. . . Karen. . . Karen. . . she's been . . . killed." "Oh, my God, my God. . . ." his hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his complete shock. He sat, bolt-upright. "Are you sure?" he whispered with hoarse intensity into the mouthpiece. "Yes. . ." "Where?" "Just about two miles outside of Jordan. . ." "Oh, My. . . God." He glanced over to Bill's still sleeping form. "Oh, Sweet Jesus. . . ." his head began to shake in disbelief. And, again, "Are you absolutely sure?" "This has got to be a nightmare," he thought. "Yes. Absolutely." Then, after a brief moment, "Tom," imploringly, "can you tell Bill?" "Oh, God," tears flooded and spilled down his face, hot, acid tears, "Yes. . .oh, God. . . why me?. . . Yes, yes, I will." "Thanks." came the answer as the receiver slowly left Tom's ear, slowly passed through that space toward its cradle, slowly it descended, "Tom, are you," CLICK, slowly to its rest. For interminable seconds he sat there, hand silence-clamped over his mouth, head 'no'-shaking, body sweat-trembling, tears acid-flowing. Dazed he swung his leaded legs over the side of the bed. Dazed he reached and switched on the light between the two beds. Bill shifted in his sleep. With herculean single-mindedness, he fought of the daze, he fought of the opiate of shock, he fought to surface from the abyss. "Bill," quietly, not really wanting to call out that name. "Bill," again, a bit more forceful, but not loud. Bill shifted. Tom took the step to the side of Bill's bed, emotionally a light-years' distance, sat on the edge, placed his hand on Bill's shoulder, louder this time, loud enough to lase through sleep, he half-sobbed, "Bill." "Mmmm. . ." "Bill," clear and forceful, "wake up." Bill rolled over, hooded eyes, light sensitive squinted up at Tom, sleep-doped asked, "What ya want?" "Bill, wake up, please." Annoyed at being aroused, "Shit! I am awake, What the fuck time is it?" Imploring, intensely he pleaded, "Please. . . Bill, wake up." From somewhere deep inside his being a switch turned 'On,' and Bill subconsciously was aware of some urgency. He pushed himself up on one elbow, fought to focus on Tom's eyes, focused. . . saw tears. . .refocused . . again saw tears. . .adrenalined now to full wakefulness, "What is it?" he demanded. With what seemed like unnatural calmness, Tom again placed his hand on Bill's shoulder, and began to speak,"Bill, it's Karen." What else could he say? "What?" as if he didn't hear right, "Concentrate. Listen." "Karen, there's been an accident. . . God help me! . . . she's. . . she's dead," his voice broke. Pole-axed, shocked into unbelievable horror, instantly blanching white, unable to speak, then, "NOOOO," he screamed. Simultaneously and involuntarily, he violently lashed out, catching Tom beside the head, sending him crashing to the floor, and vaulting to a standing position in the middle of the bed. All this within the space of one incredible second. Again, the only word that he could utter came forth, uncontrolled, "NOOOO." Every vein, every muscle tensed and bulged like a grotesque, shuddering, unreal apparition. The shuddering grew to tremors. Tom, dazed by the blow, sat up on the floor, stared at the form he knew to be Bill, but now distorted. Shakily he stood up and became aware of the tremors. They racked Bill's body with increasing intensity. He hadn't uttered a sound since the second, screamed 'no.' Bill had not uttered a sound! The spasms now overtook his whole form with violent ferocity. Bill still stood, wide-eyed, unspeaking, shaking. Not comprehending, but knowing that something had to be done, Tom begged, "Bill, don't." He reached up, threw his arms around Bill's waist, and drew his friend to him, trying to absorb some of the pain. The dam broke. Every voluntary muscle gave out simultaneously. Bill collapsed, dragging Tom down onto the surface of the bed with him. Then uncontrolled sobs filled the room, wails of such utter despair, cries of pain never before felt. . . all Tom could do was to cradle and rock his friend as tears streamed down his face.