Aphasiac

Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sumter County
October 24, 2000

Another trek.

Another death.

Harold trudged through the grass on heavy feet. It was raining. Hard. Cats and dogs. There was mud around his ankles. He didn't notice. Wouldn't have cared even if he had. His thoughts were too heavy. His burden was too heavy. A heavy-duty campers backpack hidden beneath his raincoat to protect its precious, depressing cargo. Little Jonathan. One of the Rwandan babies. Secretly sickly beyond hope of revival. Died in his sleep. Suffocated on his own phlegm.

Harold moved passed the trees posted with NO TRESPASSING signs. He wasn't worried. He had put the signs there himself. His foot slipped descending into the now soggy streambed. He grabbed a branch to steady himself. Stood there for a moment, catching his breath, eyes closed, thinking about the rain dancing off his face and the ground around him. Appropriate for this time. Heaven was mourning.

The sight before him was painful. This wasn't supposed to be the way it went. So many wooden crosses now. Maybe thirty. Each marking the final resting place of children who barely got a taste of life. Most were from Rwanda. Harold knew he had to find a new way to care for the women. They just didn't have the knowledge to care for a child. They didn't know what to do if one got sick. Harold could only be there once a month. There was no other medical care. Too many died because of this. Harold hated himself. Despised himself. But he continued because he'd become addicted to the money it brought in for him. So much. He didn't want to give that up.

The small spade made an unpleasant squishing noise as Harold began to dig. Water filled the hole as it became bigger. Harold had nothing to bail it out with. He lowered the little box into the mess. It seemed to float there before Harold threw on the first pile of wet dirt. Buried at sea. Jonathan, the little sailor. Harold choked back a sob and choked back his self-hatred enough so he could finish the job.

He stuck a wooden cross into the ground. Just like the others. A sword to pierce the heart of the earth. It swayed a bit in the wind. He hadn't pushed it into the ground far enough but Harold didn't have the heart or the will to do any more.

Smudged footprints led away from the grave. The approaching ones were already dissolved into the mud.

The rain wasn't letting up. The sky was angry. The sun had gone on vacation. The wind was beginning to pick up. A squirrel scampered across the freshly dug earth. The tiny cross rocked and swayed. Thunder clapped. Lightning seemed to spit the sky into a thousand pieces. The tiny cross rocked and swayed and finally fell to the ground sending up a small splash of mud and water. The painstakingly carved name was obscured.

It was as if little Jonathan had never existed.

Goetz Residence
November 2, 2000

Jonah was standing in front of the stove getting spit on by the bacon he was cooking. It was still early but seemed very bright. Those new, yellow curtains Megan had hung helped. She had been there only three weeks but already the house seemed transformed. This new feminine touch was foreign in Jonah's two-story modern home but he welcomed it faster than he had anything else.

He heard slippers on the checkered linoleum behind him and turned to see Megan. She wasn't dressed yet; orange pajama bottoms peaked out from under her plaid robe. She had taken the time to braid her hair quickly. She held something strangely familiar in her hand. She set it on the counter. It was a hat. "Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?" she asked him, her eyes sparkling with a secret.

Jonah stared at her, not understanding. The coffee maker wasn't even turned on. "It's not made yet, Megan," he told her.

"I know" she said. "I don't mean now. That's what you said to me. 'Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?' You were in a long, black coat. You gave me your hat and a cup of coffee."

Jonah's eyes grew wide. He picked up the hat from the breakfast bar. He understood now. Four years ago in the alley. "That was you?"

Megan nodded and smiled. She had kept it to herself long enough. It was time he knew. "I said thank you but I wasn't sure if you heard me." She pulled her stool up to the breakfast bar.

"I heard you. I did hear you. That was you?" He sat down beside her. He reached over and took her hand. He thought that was what he should do. It seemed right.

"I thought you were an angel." Megan let him hold her hand. "I wondered if you had wings under your coat. You're the reason I didn't freeze to death."

"Because of the hat?"

"No," Megan shook her head. "Because of the hope. I'd almost given up on people and then you came along."

"Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?" he asked her again, grinning.

When he kissed her it was as if it was always supposed to be that way. Like in that alley their lives were altered and steered towards this moment. As if this was their destiny.

Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?

Nine little words had changed both of their lives forever.

But they didn't want coffee and the bacon had burned by the time Jonah remembered it.