It hurt to open his eyes but Tony knew he needed to open them.
“Hon,” he heard a woman’s voice say from somewhere in the distance. Was it an angel? He couldn’t say for certain but he guessed that if he were, in fact, dead there would be no angels greeting him.
“Tony,” he heard the voice again. It was a familiar voice. It was his wife’s voice.
He opened his eyes and sat up but wished he hadn’t done either.
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The next morning, the two of them were on their way. It had to appear like they were actually on vacation so Tony planned a two-day driving trip. Whenever Cheyenne complained about not stopping to see something he would just say, “We only have a week.” Which was his timeline for completing the job before someone else would be sent in to clean it up. And technically, the timer started yesterday. This was day two. He should have the assignment completed by the end of day 3. That gave him a little cushion time of four days but he never liked to bank on cushion time. Best to get in and get it done.
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The very next morning, Tony went to the store to buy supplies for the trip. As he stood in line at Wal-Mart with his new phone he smiled. Did he have the greatest wife or what? She was so willing to make the trip west with him and he didn’t even need to use his full-on convincing tactics he had been prepared to use. No wonder he married her. She was simply the best. How lucky could one man be?
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There was some loudmouth in Wyoming of all places that had caught the attention of Tony’s newest employer. His recent employer had a billion-dollar multi-faceted company and one large chunk of it was a mining operation in Wyoming. The mine actually housed two sources of revenue. The mining was, in fact, legal and ironically above ground. It employed thousands of locals and was a main industry to the nearby town. The other source of revenue, however, eclipsed the earning potential of the mine. It employed hundreds of people but none of these particular employees ever filled in a W2 form. They were responsible for receiving special shipments from Mexico and rerouting them to various locations in the United States and even up to Canada. Shipments of drugs would come in by the truckload. They would go out in special compartments underneath the mined material in the train cars.
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The phone had seen better days. But not many. The person who saw it on her morning walk didn’t know that though. At first, she figured it was an old phone that a lazy person just tossed out the car window instead of disposing of properly. “The laziness,” she muttered.
Continue readingHarrison opened his eyes. It took a few moments for him to see enough of his surroundings to realize he had not, in fact, died yet. He was still here. Wherever here was because at the moment he couldn’t remember.
“Hey Pop,” his son Brian said. He held Harrison’s hand and squeezed it. “Still here.”
At this point, Harrison had no recollection of who Brian was or what he was saying. But he could feel the loving pressure on his hand and realized he was somebody he probably knew once. It made him frustrated that he couldn’t remember but there was literally nothing he could do about it.
“He’s awake,” Brian said to his sister Fran who sat at a desk at the other side of the room.
Continue readingIt was the clicking that made Harrison restless.
“Hey,” he called out from the cell he occupied. “What is that clicking sound? “
No response.
“Sounds like it could be trouble with your furnace.”
No response.
Continue readingSo, Harrison hadn’t been able to write the most beautiful story during school. Big deal. There were too many distractions. But he was confident he could belt it out at home after dinner and before bedtime. Mrs. Carrington said he could do it so he had confidence it was inside him. Of course he couldn’t write it at school. Nothing good ever came out of school for him.
He endured the mocking from the other students as he walked home. But his mind was so focused on what his story was going to be he didn’t pay any attention to the taunts. Not even Clyde’s voice, who always seemed to rise above the din, when he called out “Do you want us to call you Harrison Carrington?” And then proceeded to call him that all the way until Harrison turned to walk up his street alone.
Continue readingThe first memory Harrison still vividly remembers is when he was nine years old. Mrs. Carrington was his teacher and reminded him so much of his own mother that he slipped up one day and called her mom. The other students laughed. He never really recovered from that embarrassment. At least, not for the rest of the day which for a nine-year-old, was an eternity.
Fortunately for him, Mrs. Carrington did actually remind him of his own mother because of her tender heart, she allowed him to stay in the classroom during recess. On the pretense of helping her get the classroom in order but as he reflected on it in his older years it was to provide a safe place for him to avoid further teasing. The small recess reprieve only intensified the teasing he received on his walk home after school.
Continue readingMike sat in the chapel by himself for quite a while. It was like a floodgate had opened and he could remember everything. His name, he knew his name. Dr. M. Jameson Weatherly. When he met Cara in college, he went by his first name, Michael. She had always called him Mike. But after finishing medical school and embarking on his professional career, he went by Jameson. He thought it sounded more prominent and would earn him more respect than just being another Mike. Only Cara called him Mike these days.
The two had met during college and married soon after. Cara had earned her teaching degree so she helped support Mike through the rest of his schooling. When she became pregnant with Andrew he was excited but also a little annoyed. His plan was to wait until his career was established but a careless night accelerated their plans.
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ck's days 