Mystery

As our school bus turned onto a dirt road, I bounced on the seat. “Oh Em, I’m so excited I’m gonna pee!”

She laughed as she said, “Gross! Get away from me.”

In a quiet voice, I asked, “Are you sure Jase will come?”

She whispered, “Ron said they’d take a canoe and expect them here about 11 or so.”

We grabbed our duffels from under our seats and joined the line of girls. A camp counselor greeted us, checked names and assigned our cabin, then handed a list of rules to us.

I looked around the compound. The sparkling blue lake, massive greenery of forest surrounding it, and ten numbered log cabins. It was a pleasant April afternoon, but too cold for swimming.

Em led the way to No. 4, which was the second from the lake. Bette and Vic were right on our heels. I slung my duffel on the lower bunk to the right. Bette sighed and headed across the room. It didn’t take long to unpack our jeans, tees, and hoodies. I waited until they left before asking, “How far away is Camp Olympia?”

“Bout two miles west along the shoreline. Can’t even see it from the dock.” Em bit her lip. “Dee, please don’t argue with the staff. Just nod and do what they say. I don’t want their attention on us.”

When I opened my mouth to complain about the undercooked hot dog, Em poked my ribs. “Thanks for the yummy food.” She mumbled, “shut it,” as she pushed me toward a table. She hissed, “Keep a low profile.”

I did my best to enjoy the festivities around the campfire. Jodi, recently returned from a Texas trip, dressed in cowboy boots and hat, came forward with guitar in hand. Her fake country twang made my nerves jangle. When I squirmed, Em pinched my arm. After three songs, Jodi quit caterwauling. I barely clapped.

Back in the cabin, Em and I shrugged off pants and left them on the floor. Vic muttered, “Slobs.”

I ignored her and slid under a quilt. The bed shook as my bestie went up. I closed my eyes, pretended to sleep, but listened to their chatter. Checking my watch when Bette snored, I found it was 10:15. I waited until I heard one from Vic before I got up.

The frame creaked, then Em stood beside me. I held my breath as I forced myself into my pour-on jeans. With hoodie on, I grabbed my flashlight and put it in the pocket. The door squeaked as I opened it. We both stood silent for several seconds. Outdoors, I let out a relieved breath.

We crept across the courtyard, then ducked between the cabins. A few yards past those, we entered the woods. The trees cast eerie shadows in the glow of our flashlights. Twigs snapped underfoot no matter how I stepped. “Sorry.”

Em whispered, “Shush. Voices carry out here.”

We finally reached the sand. She took off jogging and I followed. I was panting when she slowed. She gasped, “kill your light,” as she turned off hers.

A small fire lit the beach ahead. Em dashed forward to hug Ron. I hung back, looking at Jase. Tall, blonde, and athletic. A mythical Greek god. He added more driftwood, then turned and smiled at me. Heart hammering, I approached. When he took my hand, I thought his touch was magical.

We chatted with Em and Ron for several minutes. When they began to suck face, he led my bestie away.

I chattered nervously. Jase touched my arm and said, “You’re so beautiful. I will never hurt you.” He pulled me close. I shivered with anticipation. Our lips met. It was divinely marvelous as our kiss lingered, growing into a desire for more.

I worried if I had done something wrong when he pulled away. He fumbled in his pocket.

A sudden spotlight enveloped us. Blinded and immobile, I was lifted from the ground.

***

“Dee, what’s with you. If you don’t get up, nothing good will be left in the cafeteria. Bette and Vic went over 10 minutes ago.”

Aching all over, I struggled out of bed. “I don’t feel good. Something weird happened to me and Jase.”

“I don’t know any Jase.”

“Em please don’t tease me. My head hurts.”

She raised her voice. “Dunno what you talking bout.”

“Oh pullease. He transferred here in October. We met up with Ron and Jase last night.”

“We did not! You’re delusional. Ron and I broke up last weekend. You know not to mention his name. That’s downright mean.” She slammed her way out.

Em wouldn’t sit or talk to me on our way home.

On Monday, I visited the school office. “Miss Hanson, I’m worried about Jason Argos.”

With an odd look at me, she asked, “Is this some sort of prank? We’ve never had a student with that name.”

***

“Commander.”

“Make your report.”

“Argonaut retrieved.”

“Was there a problem?”

“No…but…”

Her gaze shifted from paperwork to glare at me. “What?”

“Ma’am, we barely arrived in time.”

“So what?”

“I think our Routine Operation eXecutive Interface Encoder has failed in this enterprise.”

“Explain.”

“New memories were implanted in everyone. However, one had a Hera proclivity. She resisted all attempts to wipe the Argonaut from her mind. Jason has already had more modifications than any other Titan. Roxie just cannot downgrade his charm gene any farther. He is irresistible. Worse yet, as soon as Jason comes near a comely girl, all he wants to do is procreate. If this continues, we may have to wipe the planet again.”

“You scientists always predict doom and gloom. Dismissed.”

Roxie Part 2

Feeling beaten to a pulp, I stand brushing my teeth with an electronic device. Every muscle aches. Wait. What? Where are my dentures?

I stick my hand inside my mouth and feel my gums. Yes, teeth are there. I look into the mirror. Wait. What? Where are my bifocals?

I look around the room. It seems like my bathroom, yet it doesn’t. The countertop is almost bare, yet my artworks are on its walls. I open the cabinet where I keep my medicinals. It is empty.

I hear a mechanical voice from nearby. “What’s taking you so long? Don’t make me come in there.”

I recognize it as the hated robot and don’t want to be punished. I hurry to wash my face, then can’t help staring at my corn-silk hair, which looks similar to what Mia Farrow wore in the 60s. My mass of gray snarls gone. I marvel that I appear to be 16 or so. It doesn’t make sense. When I was that age, I wore coke-bottle glasses! This figure is lush and not at all pudgy.

At last, I open the door. Roxie blocks my way. “Lord, took you long enough to do your ablutions, you silly git.” Her machinery whirls, emitting bleeps and blips. “Why they chose you for cryogenics is beyond me. You must go to sleep, so the process can be completed and updated. You haven’t stabilized to the year 2050 yet.”

I do my best to ignore the robot as I get out shorts and a tee. Wait. What? 2050! That can’t be right. It would mean I’m 98 years old. I feel a stinging stab to my hip before I pull on the shorts.

Roxie has turned back the bed covers and motions to me. What?! 2050. I’m 98…98…98! Zzz.

Fear of Flying

I confess I have a fear of flying. I don’t mean anything like Erica Jong’s novel of sexual boredom! I didn’t always have this fear and can remember how excited I was the first time I boarded an airplane at O’Hare. My girlfriend Vickie wanted the window seat. That was fine by me because I disliked heights.

Our Boeing 707 flight into Miami was without problems. We then were directed to walk across the tarmac to board the one owned by Out Island Airways. This plane was so small, there were only twelve passenger seats. The stewardess told us to keep our seat belts fastened because we would encounter turbulence. After taking off, the ship shuddered, shook, and went up and down, worse than any roller coaster ride. Vickie prayed out loud that we would safely reach the Bahamas.

It was certainly scary, but this didn’t bother me enough that I wouldn’t fly again. Our trip back to Miami was smooth. On our return trip to Chicago, we had a two-hour layover in Atlanta.

The TV news reported on crashed flights and on planes which disappeared and were never found. This was normal.

During the next several decades, I flew into Phoenix twice. No problems going or returning. No suitcases were lost.

Flying into Oakland to visit my brother was okay. Coming back was another story. Once we boarded, the plane taxied onto the runway, where we sat for several hours. Our direct flight to Chicago, ended up being directed into Denver for refueling. We arrived at O’Hare five hours later than we should have. This wasn’t something unusual.

The horrific events of 911 were certainly extraordinary. Certainly not normal for a plane to be treated like a guided missile. I didn’t find this off-putting.

I can hear you asking, “Why are you so fearful of flying?”

It’s because I’ve watched too many episodes of Dr. G Medical Examiner. So many older people have died after spending hours in an airplane. A few days after they arrived at their destination, they suddenly died of coronary thrombosis. Stuck on a long flight, you cannot get up and walk around.

This is the reason I decided to drive to Ohio and back. With my fourth novel unfinished, I didn’t want to risk it. Driving the 3800 miles, I could get out and stretch. I could also get iced mocha coffee anytime I wanted.

At this stage in my life, I wouldn’t board any airplane. Not even for a million bucks!

Vacation

Though I was 17, I had never gone on a true vacation. I had been to Illinois, Missouri, and Michigan because relatives lived there. I didn’t think those counted. Sleeping in your cousin’s bed didn’t compare to spending a night in a motel or hotel.

Now I would be traveling through many states. This was thanks to our neighbors, the Lavendas. Their adopted daughter Marsha had become my best friend after my family moved here three years ago.

Joe was a bank vice-president. Rita a stay-at-home Mom. They spent three weeks in Wyoming every summer.

I was so excited to be invited to join them! I splurged on a new swimsuit. It was a baby-doll style that looked like a two piece from the rear. It was navy blue with white daisies sprinkled over it. Most importantly, it hid my nasty stretch marks.

The day before we left, Marsha and I visited the library and borrowed as many books as we could.

Joe loaded suitcases onto a rooftop luggage rack the next morning because the 1968 Buick Electra’s trunk was full. I hugged my mom and siblings, then climbed into the back seat.

Marsha and I chatted for a few minutes, then we opened one of our books. Neither of us liked saying too much in front of parents.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Rita penciled a crossword puzzle, but she often stopped to comment on Joe’s driving as he navigated through Chicago’s traffic. Even though we left early, there was still heavy congestion. She emitted a relieved sigh when we entered the expressway to Wisconsin.

I napped while we traveled north. After all, I’d been too excited to get much sleep, and my alarm went off before dawn. I woke as the car slowed down to enter a HoJo. It felt wonderful to get out and stretch my legs.

Once we ordered, I asked, “Where are we?”

Joe said, “We’re on the outskirts of Rochester, Minnesota. Don’t dawdle eating. I want to make it to Sioux Falls before we stop.”

I had breakfast before 5 am. It was almost 1 pm, so it didn’t take long for me to eat because I was famished! Marsha and I used the restroom before we got back in the Buick.

He stopped at a gas station to fill up, then we were on our way. Joe said, “Roll up those windows to only a crack, we’re getting back on the expressway now.”

After a few minutes watching the landscape, which didn’t look much different than other Midwestern states, I returned to reading.

An hour later, Rita asked, “Would anyone like a peppermint?”

Both of us said, “Yes please.”

Sucking on the candy relieved my thirst. The Independence Day temperature was in the 90s, and their car felt like an oven. We stopped at a drive-thru for supper.

Marsha and I watched for distant fireworks before we stopped for the night. In Sioux Falls, Joe pulled into a Best Western with a lit vacancy sign. After we brought in our luggage, Marsha and I dug out our swimsuits, changed, then ran to the outdoor pool. The water felt so refreshing. Joe and Rita soon joined us, but we didn’t swim for long before they told us to get to bed.

In the morning, we munched on donuts and drank coffee, then carried our luggage back to the Electra. Rita opened a map and directed Joe back to Interstate 90.

We soon left the cornfields behind and entered the Badlands. The land was red and brown, containing many hills where nothing grew. Yet, there was an austere beauty to its desolation.

We ate lunch in Rapid City, then returned to the expressway, which now headed more to the north than west. We crossed into Wyoming and reached the Little Big Horns. Joe’s V8 engine chugged up the switchbacks. To my right was a huge cliff wall. All I could see to the left was sky.

Rita and Joe argued as we reached Buffalo. She wanted him to take Interstate 25 south to Casper, then travel the state highways west. He thought it would be quicker to keep going north until Ranchester. They flipped a coin, and Rita won. We spent an early night at another Best Western when we reached Casper. This city was located on a flat plain just past the mountains.

We ate steaks and baked potatoes in the restaurant. Back in our room, we watched local TV. The news mentioned the launch of Apollo 11 was scheduled at Cape Canaveral but would depend on weather conditions. I asked, “Do you think we’ll land on the moon?”

Joe smiled. “Yes. We’re going to beat those Russians!”

Rita and I won 3 out of 5 cribbage games before we slept.

Since it would take only about 6 hours to reach Jackson Hole, we didn’t have the continental breakfast. Looking over the menu, I asked, “What are hash browns?”

Marsha giggled. “Kinda like French fries but smaller and crispier. You’ll love ‘em.”

She was right. They tasted wonderful.

Somewhere on the highway we stopped for lunch at a Mom and Pop diner. I gaped at cowboys who wore hats, spurs, and guns. I was truly in the West as seen on Gunsmoke.

Rita pointed across the highway as we neared our destination. “That’s the National Elk Preserve.”
Marsha also pointed. “That’s called the ‘Sleeping Indian’. See how it looks like he’s laying down wearing a headdress.”

A few minutes later, Joe turned into the Warm Springs Dude Ranch entrance. He got out and returned with a key. He drove on a dirt road to a log cabin located on a hill. We carried our luggage up the wooden steps to a small porch. Marsha and I retrieved more things while he unlocked the door. This building had a living room, kitchenette, and two bedrooms. Marsha led the way to the one we’d share. After we unpacked, her parents went to buy groceries.

Marsha and I changed into our suits. “You won’t believe how warm the water is!” She laughed. “No need to inch your way in.” She ran down the road to the pool and immediately dove in. I cautiously dipped one foot then jumped in. She was right. It felt glorious. I marveled it was so warm when there was still snow on the nearby majestic Teton peaks. I was very sunburnt by suppertime.

The next morning we went horseback riding. The ranch hand was just a few years older than us, and we outrageously flirted with him. Later, we drove into Jackson Hole. The town square had four archways made of elk horns. Wooden boardwalks fronted buildings on the main streets. One business called Diamond Lil was a steakhouse with entertainment. I splurged on a cowboy hat and bought presents for my family. We stopped at a lovely shop that offered many varieties of custard ice cream. I watched as they added peppermints into the machine then filled my chocolate cone. Outside, a mock stagecoach fight erupted. Eating our treats, we went outdoors to watch.

Two days later, the Bushemi family arrived. The father worked with Joe, and they had two kids. John was my age, Mimi was twelve. He hated being here. “There’s nothing to do. Can’t even get a decent TV or radio station.”

Marsha said, “You’ll get used to it.”

We went fishing on the Snake River. I hated fish, but they insisted I try it. Cooked with butter and lemon in a foil packet, it was so delicious that I had seconds.

We visited two mountain lakes that week. Though these were only a few miles apart, one had green water, the other blue. We rose before dawn to marvel at the Chapel of the Transfiguration, where the dawn brought a halo to the cross.

Most days we remained at the ranch. The weather was pleasant. Afternoons in the 80s, but steam rose from the pool in the mornings. We did a lot of horseback riding and mucking stables. Marsha and I giggled like crazy when we overheard a greenhorn ask to ride a gelded mare.

We also read and went swimming daily. My sunburn peeled, and for the very first time ever I tanned. Even through the white daisies on my suit! One day my strap broke as I dove. After this, the ranch hand always called me the “white-breasted Indian”.

On July 20th, we were glued to the TV set. Marsha and I took turns holding the rabbit ears. Even doing this, the image from the moon scrolled with lines. Joe was upset we couldn’t get better reception. But we clearly heard, “One small step for man…”

To celebrate our victory, Joe took us out for ice cream. I got my fave chocolate peppermint cone. Yum!

We spent the following morning at the laundromat with Rita while Joe went golfing with Mr. Bushemi. The next day, his son John said, “I applied to become a ranch hand. I’ll be back here next summer.”

After loading our luggage, we took a different route home. When we reached Cheyenne, we went south into Colorado, then took I80 east. We spent the night in North Platte, Nebraska. In the morning, the expressway was bordered by many cornfields as we left that state and drove through Iowa. We spent the night in Cedar Rapids, then reached the Chicago outskirts at rush hour. In another two hours, I was home and had traveled through six new states.

Blizzard

All during a late afternoon in early March, Chicago radio station B96 kept interrupting their music to air weather bulletins. They predicted at least six more inches of snow overnight with a possibility of more for Northwest Indiana.

As I sat at my cubicle thinking I should head home soon and not put in overtime tonight, an auditor approached me. “This one must be done tonight.”

I glanced at the time. It was after 4. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

“No.” He quickly turned and walked away.

Muttering curses under my breath, I headed to Bennett’s office. He had become one of the tax partners last year, and I worked under his direction. When I knocked on his doorjamb, he told me to come in.

I looked out his windows at the steadily falling snow and pointed. “Quite a storm out there.”

Bennett nodded. “Been coming down for quite a while. What can I do for you?”

“Ron Harvey just gave me the Wilmont Real Estate partnership return. Said it has to be done tonight, and can’t wait until morning. There’s no way I can get it done before 7, and it’s really storming out there. It’ll be treacherous getting back home to Indiana in this weather. If I stay to do it, will he even be here when it’s done?”

Bennett lifted his receiver and chatted with the auditor. When he hung up, he said, “Ron will be here waiting.”

Cursing all the way back, I slammed the massive proforma onto my desktop. Then I made a fresh pot of coffee. After getting a full cup, I crunched the numbers for every sheet before I entered the input for the tax return. Half an hour later, I hit the computer’s enter button to begin the computation. In the past, this gigantic partnership’s information had been shipped to California to be done on Computax’s mainframe. This was only the second tax season, we had the capability to compute it in-house.

I looked at the time, then called my sister who lived near me. “Martha could you please pick my kids up from the sitter. I can’t leave here for another hour. Yes, I know it’s storming. Oh thank you. I’ll call Celia and tell her you’re coming.”

I viewed the diagnostics on the screen twenty minutes later. There weren’t any keying errors, so I loaded a fresh ream of paper into the printer, then sent the 600+ partners and ten multistate tax return to print.

By the time it finished, everyone on my floor had gone home. When I took it upstairs to the audit department, no one was there! I didn’t bother to mutter my curses. The mildest one was, “Lying sack of shit!”

Back down on my floor, I turned off the coffee pot. At my cubicle, I shut off my computer. I then pulled on my boots, put on my long, goose-filled corduroy coat, then my scarf, gloves, and felt hat. Down on the main level, even the bar was deserted. I had to push extremely hard on the revolving door to get outside. My feet were soon damp because the snow came over my boot tops. Crossing over the bridge for the Chicago River was difficult because a layer of ice was underneath the snow. Past it, a maintenance man was pushing a snow blower. I was thankful for the cleared pathway.

Once I was in my Dodge minivan and had it warming up, I decided to get on the nearest expressway rather than take city backstreets for several miles. The radio station’s latest weather alert had convinced me. I didn’t know it, but boy was I wrong!

Though I had worked in Chicago for a decade, I had seldom been on the Eisenhower Expressway. My wipers were on high, and I could barely see through the white shit that was falling so fast. Knuckles white gripping my steering wheel, I inched my way to it. Soon after entering the on-ramp, I saw a parked vehicle in the right-hand passing lane. The next one was almost hidden on the left shoulder. Towering skyscrapers should have been visible, yet all I could see was a sea of white. Even the concrete meridian was blocked by blowing snow.

The winds whipped up, down, then around on this elevated highway. I reduced my speed to below 20 miles per hour. “Lord, please let me get home to my kids safely tonight.” The next abandoned vehicle was in the middle lane. I looked in the rearview mirror, but it had iced up. I took a deep breath and inched into the left lane, correcting when my van started to skid. I thought about stopping to remove the ice, but I was afraid I’d get stuck. At last, I saw the Dan Ryan sign and made my way onto it.

Here on flat ground, I increased my speed. While the snow came down with intensity, the winds didn’t whip it nearly as much. When a semi passed me, I moved over into its lane to follow it. At a safe distance, I sped up to continue to view its red tail lights. I was happy when it turned onto the Kingery bypass. A mile later, I was on the Bishop Ford freeway. The last major snow hurdle would be making it safely over the steel bridge. When I reached it, my grip tightened on my steering wheel as I ascended. I removed my foot from the gas on the decline, not wanting to brake and go into a skid.

Five miles later, I took the entrance to the Borman Expressway. It was freshly plowed. Ten minutes later, I turned off onto the Indianapolis Boulevard exit, then waited for the light to turn on 175th Avenue. A plow had recently been through, and the city street was relatively clear when I drove past the high school. I inched my way down the alley and slowly drove into my garage. “Thank you Lord!”

Indoors my sister was dozing on my couch. I grabbed a glass of wine then woke her. “Were my kids any problem?”

Martha shook her head. “No. I fed them a frozen pizza then they took their baths. They’re hoping for a snow day tomorrow.”

I laughed. “Doubt it. There’s a lot more snow in Chicago than here for once. My drive was a nightmare until I reached Indiana. Do you want to spend the night?”

“No. I’d better get home to Jerry.”

I hugged her. “Drive safe!”

“I will!”