A Coastal Drive (3/8)

A week later Maryanne met Mark, her rescuer, for the first time at a Perkins Restaurant.  The aforementioned meeting at the hospital that was supposed to occur the next day fell through the cracks for various reasons.  Gavin had taken a flight back to San Jose without following up with Mark.  Jenny, who works as a bank teller supervisor, managed to get time off for another week in order to help her sister get back on her own two feet.

Finally, Jenny arranged for a time her sister and Mark could talk.  She herself was a bit curious about this strange, lone man who saved her sister from plunging to her death and yet had “been through worse.”  At the same time she thought it a bit odd that he would wait around at the hospital throughout the day to check up on his sister.  For all these reasons, Jenny accompanied Maryanne to Perkins.  It was a sunny Wednesday morning.

“There he is, Annie.” Jenny motioned toward Mark as he was pulling into the parking lot in a company van, J&D Heating and Cooling written in blue on the side.  They waited for him at the entrance of the restaurant.  Maryanne spotted the vehicle before Jenny said anything.  She couldn't mistake the van she  rammed into it on that vista point.

Maryanne was slightly nervous.  What do you say to someone who saved your life, especially a complete stranger?  But her instinct as a warm-hearted person took over as Mark approached.  She hugged him.  “Thank you so much for saving my life.”  Mark visibly looked uneasy with the physical contact.

Maryanne noticed his discomfort.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I just...”

“No, I’m fine,” he smiled.  “I’m just glad I can meet you…you know, under better circumstances.”

“This meeting is long overdue,” said Maryanne.  “Thank you.”

“Truth is, Miss...”

“Call me Maryanne, please!”

“The truth is, Maryanne, that your car airbag had more to saving your life than I did.”  While the airbags did save Maryanne from receiving great injury upon impact, Mark took a risk to his own life in pulling her out of the SUV as it, and his van, teetered on the edge of the vista.  Maryanne knew he was being modest about his role, so did Jenny.

“That may be, Mr. Denison,” came Jenny quick with a response.  “But the Lord works in mysterious ways, as they say, and you were the one who delivered my sister from that wreck.  God was watching over my sister and you were a heaven-sent angel...”

“I...”  Mark searched for a proper response.

“My sister can get religious and preachy sometimes.”

“I'm not preaching, Annie!  I'm just...”

“I know, I know, Jenny.”

“No offense taken,” interrupted Mark.  “I might not be a religious person, but I do believe in God, a God that looks after us from time to time.”

“You always wear that thing?” Jenny asked playfully, changing the subject, as she wont to do.  She was referring to the Seatle Seahawk visor cap on his head.

Mark seemed to shrug off the comment.  “I’m a big fan.”

“Well, let’s get some food.  I’m starved!” said Jenny.

“Don’t mind my sister,” quipped Maryanne.  "She can get quite bossy at times.  She was born about 10 minutes before me—we're fraternal twins.  And so she tries to act like a big sister.”

Jenny rolled her eyes.  “What?  Me?  Well I never!”

Mark politely laughed at this playful sibling rivalry.

They found a table, checked the menu, and ordered their food.  Mark didn't speak much, though Maryanne somehow sensed he was a man of few words, unlike John or her ex-husband, as opposed to being shy or socially inept.  The sisters also had an inkling that he had something he wanted to say.

Maryanne broke the awkward silence.  “So tell me something about yourself, Mr. Denison.”

“You can call me Mark.”

“Okay, Mark.”  Maryanne smiled.

“I guarantee you I’ll bore you to death.  I’m not an interesting person, trust me!”

“Somehow I don’t think so, Mr. Denison…I mean Mark.”  Jenny kept an eye on her sister’s demeanor after this exuberant response.  Is she flirting?

“Well, let’s see. I install and repair air conditioning units.  I’ve been doing this for…uh…a while now.  It’s my brother’s business, J&D.”

“Do you live here in Flaherty?” asked Jenny.

“Actually I'm up in Eugene.  We go all over the place.”

“You say for a while.  What did you do before this job?” asked Maryanne.

“You have a good ear.  I retired from the military about five years ago.”

“I knew it!  I knew you were in the military.”

“What gave it away?” he asked Maryanne.

“I dunno.  You just have a bearing about you.”

“A bearing?”

“A military bearing.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ll have to work on that.”

“No, it’s fine.  Our uncle Dennis and Gavin’s brother Tom were Marines–or should I say are Marines, Once a Marine always a Marine–so we know something about military types.”

“So I’m a type, am I?”  Mark chuckled.

“Oh, I didn’t mean…”

“I know, I know.  I’m just kidding.”

“So were you in the Marines?” asked Jenny.

“Actually, I started out as a Marine when I was a stupid, snot-nosed eighteen-year-old looking for adventure and an opportunity to prove my mettle, I guess, but I ended up in the Army.  I retired as a major.  I was stationed at Fort Lewis with an armored battalion.”

“Did you go to Iraq or Afghanistan?” asked Jenny.

“Both.  Fun times.  Just sittin' in a tent in the desert.”  He paused, sat back, and rubbed the back of his neck.  “These days I’m just a heating and cooling guy.  Not the sexist job in the world, I suppose, but it pays the bills and gives me an opportunity to get out on the road.”

Mark took a swig of his black coffee.  “So how’s the healing process going?” He gestured toward Maryanne’s bandage on her arm.  “I saw you were limping a bit.”

Maryanne and Jenny noted Mark’s changing of the topic.  Once the meeting was over and they were in the car, they would talk about it.  He seemed to change the topic when we asked about his army career.  What's up with that?

“I’m doing okay.  I’ve been able to rest this past week…”

“Yes, well, we had to make you rest,” Jenny clarified, wielding a cup of coffee as she spoke.

“Whatever.”

“Listen to this, Mark.  Annie wanted to fix the house, fly to Florida, visit our mom in Ohio—you name it.”

“Hey now, it’s not often that I get an entire week off work.  I was going stir crazy at home, though, let me tell ya.”

And so the conversation continued in this vein until they finished eating.  Maryanne saw a bemused look on Mark’s face from time to time that both embarrassed her and made her smile inside.  What does he think of these crazy sisters?  What does he think of this woman who crashed into his van?  She couldn't help but detect darkness in Mark, not evil or malice, but a sad darkness.  Somehow this darkness was comforting and involved her own fate.

After the meal, the three of them went to the cashier.  Mark finally relented and let Maryanne pay for his breakfast.  What?  Are you saying saving my life isn’t worth at least a breakfast?

When Jenny excused herself to go to the restroom, leaving Maryanne and Mark in the foyer, Mark knew it was an opportunity to ask Maryanne something that had been on his mind since the “accident” at the vista point.

“Maryanne?”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember what you said when I reached for you?”

“What?”

“You said something as I tried to pull you out of your car.  You remember?”

Maryanne’s mind was racing.  “No, I….”

Mark didn’t waste time in informing her, as Jenny would be back soon.  “I won’t forget it.  You said, Leave me alone and let me die!”  Mark read Maryanne’s face.  “Do you remember saying that?  I wasn’t sure then, and I’m not sure now, whether you were conscious of what you were saying.”

Maryanne was searching for an answer.  “No, I wasn’t.  I said that?”

Mark nodded, just as Jenny was coming out of the restroom.  Though Maryanne always saw her sister as nosy and suspicious about everything, especially when it came to Maryanne's life, Jenny rightfully sense that Mark and her sister just had a serious discussion of some kind.

“Did I miss something?” she said.

“No, I was just…thanking Mark again for everything he did.”

“Oh, okay.”  Jenny didn’t believe it.

“Well, perhaps we’ll see each other again some time,” said Maryanne.  Even as she spoke these words, she had a feeling that she would see Mark again.  His disclosure of what she said at the vista point needed clarification or resolution.  She felt uneasy and vulnerable, yet she felt the comfort of not being alone.

“Take care,” said Mark.

On the drive home, Jenny pressed her sister.  “So what were you guys talking about when I was in the restroom, huh?”

“It’s nothing, Jenny.  Nothing.  Really!”  Maryanne knew this answer would not satisfy Jenny, especially when the latter glared at her with a look of incredulity.  “He was just saying how he was supposed to take off work on the day of the accident...By chance his brother asked him to deliver an air-conditioning unit...and...”  Maryanne hated lying to her sister.

“Yeah, I think God was protecting you that day, Annie.”

A Coastal Drive (2/8)

Upon consciousness Maryanne found herself lying in a hospital bed with bandages on her head, arms and left leg, an oxygen tube up her nose, and an IV stuck to her arm.  She could barely make out her sister’s voice just outside the door.  She eyed the place, trying to make sense of what had happened to her.  Judging from the blue tile floor, she figured she was probably at the county medical center where she had completed her nurse practicum years ago—but she couldn’t be sure.

Jenny and her husband, Maryanne’s brother-in-law Gavin, entered the room.  “Thank you so much,” Jenny said to a nurse brandishing a clipboard and walking out the door toward the hallway.

As the couple approached the bed, they did their best to disguise their worried faces with warm smiles.  “Annie?”  Only Jenny and their mom called Maryanne by this name.  “How are you?  You okay?”

Maryanne didn't respond right away, for she was still taking everything in, coming to terms with what happened, what she did or at least try to do.  Though she was a bit hazy from medication and injuries, she had no doubt why or how she had come to this state of affairs.  And of course she wasn’t about to volunteer this information, not even to her sister Jenny.

“We’re here for you, hon.”

“What happened?”  Even as Maryanne asked the question, things came into focus.  She remembered hitting a van parked at the vista point.

“You had a terrible accident, honey.”

“You don’t remember what happened?” asked Gavin.

“We wanted to see you earlier, but the doctor said…”

“That’s okay,” Maryanne interrupted Jenny.  “You drove up here from San Jose?”

“We flew in, but don’t worry about that…”

“Is Kirsten and Scott okay?”

“Kirsten is on her way, Annie.  And Scott?  Well, we’re still trying to contact him.  But he’s okay.  He wasn’t involved in your accident, if that’s what you mean.  Thank God you’re alive.  The police said that you hit a truck or something, huh?  If that truck hadn’t been there…”

“A van.”

“What?”

“I hit a white van.  I remember now.”

“What happened?” asked Jenny.  “Can you talk about it?”

“I…How long have I been here?”

“Almost twenty-four hours,” responded Gavin.  “They brought you here yesterday afternoon, around 5pm.”

"We got here this morning, Annie," said Jenny.

Maryanne was intent, at least for the moment, on answering her sister's question about the accident.  “I was reaching for some papers from work on the passenger seat," she lied.  “I guess I wasn’t paying attention and lost control of the wheel.”

Gavin wore an incredulous face.  “Maryanne,” he started in a gentle tone, “the doctor said that you had some drugs in your system?”

“Gavin!” Jenny scolded her husband.

“I’m just asking?” he responded sheepishly.

Gavin’s comment reminded Maryanne of a penchant for insensitivity, a trait that did not endear the software designer to her—as well as his red hair—when Jenny started dating him. Only about two years into her sister’s marriage did she warm to Gavin; what she perceived as arrogance was really just an awkward outer shell that hid a kind and sincere person. Gavin, she came to realize, served as a steady anchor in Jenny’s life.

“Yes, I’ve been taking some meds for my headaches…”

At this moment Kirsten and Scott, Maryanne’s children, entered the room.

“Annie, look who’s here,” Jenny said, smiling and motioning toward her niece and nephew.

“Hi mom,” said Kirsten.  “I love you.”  Scott said nothing.

“I love you too, both of you.  I’m sorry this happened.”

“Mom, don’t be dumb.  It’s not your fault.”

“I wasn’t paying attention to the road…”

“It doesn’t matter, mom.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter,” Scott chimed in.  He was trying to maintain a cool exterior, as eighteen-year-old boys sometimes do.


“You’re going to be okay, mom,” reassured Kirsten.  “Carla wanted me to tell you that she's praying for you...the Brentons too.”  Maryanne's daughter was referring to good friends, whom you'll meet soon enough.

Maryanne had never seen her daughter in this “nurturing” role, and indeed found solace in her words.  Suddenly, the problems that they had in the past couple of years–the pregnancy, the boyfriend, going out every night–seemed petty and a waste of precious time.

Jenny proceeded to explain to her sister that she would probably be able to leave tomorrow morning, but that she or Gavin would stay with her, if not in the room then at least downstairs.  If she needed anything, anything at all...

“Oh, I almost forgot, mom,” Kirsten interrupted.  “There’s someone in the waiting area.”

“What?  Who?”

“A man…”

“John?”  Maryanne paradoxically had a mingling of hope and resignation in her voice.

“No, not John, mom.”

“Cal?”  As a side note, Cal is my name, and I’m touched she thought of me, for I am just a friend from work.  I wish I could have been there for her, but I was with my mother in Minnesota at the time.  I’ll tell you something about myself later.

“No.  I don’t know his name.  I think he’s the guy that you hit—his car I mean.  He’s okay, it seems.”

Gavin spoke up.  “A baseball cap, right?  Seattle Seahawk hat?”

Kirsten and Scott nodded.

“Yeah, his name is, um, Mark, the guy who pulled you out of the car.”

“Oh.”  Maryanne seemed to drift away, startling her daughter.

“Mom?”  Maryanne didn’t respond to her daughter.

Jenny stuck her head out into the hallway.  “Nurse?  Anyone?”

“I’m okay…”  Maryanne came back to consciousness.

The doctor and a nurse rushed into the room and checked her vitals.  “What happened?”

“I’m okay, really,” responded Maryanne in a faint voice.

“She seemed to lose consciousness for a moment,” explained Jenny.

“I was just tired.  I’m really okay,” insisted Maryanne.

“Still, you should be getting some rest,” said the doctor, a 40ish Chinese-American woman with a thick accent.

“She’s right,” said Gavin.  “She’ll be fine.”

Jenny whispered to Gavin that they should leave her sister to have a few moments with her children.  She knew that the presence of Kirsten and Scott together with their mother was a rare occurrence these days and figured that some good could come out of Maryanne’s accident.  Gavin nodded in agreement.  She took the doctor aside and requested a bit more time for mom to be with her kids.  She agreed.

As Jenny and Gavin made their way to the waiting room, they saw a lone figure wearing a Seattle Seahawk visor.  He was in his late forties, of a medium build and height, and had a full head of sandy blond hair greying at the edges. 

“Mark, right?” called out Gavin.

“Hello again!”

“Oh I’m sorry. Are you wanting to speak to my sister? You’ve been waiting here a while, haven’t you?”

“I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“We can’t thank you enough for pulling Maryanne out and staying with her until the EMTs arrived,” said Gavin. He had met Mark earlier, after the police informed him and Jenny of Mark’s efforts in saving her life. “I shudder to think if her car went over the edge. I’m sure that crossed your mind, no?”

“Yes, well, I assure you that I’m not here because I need recognition. I just…”

“Oh, I know that,” responded Jenny, perceiving that Mark felt slighted by such a suggestion. “But I’m sure my sister wants to talk to you. She’s with her kids right now and needs her rest, but tomorrow perhaps.”

“I’m sure the insurance will take care of the damages…” started Gavin.

“I’m not worried about that. It’s a company van.”

“I think Maryanne would love to see you tomorrow,” continued Jenny. “Late morning, say?”

“That’s fine. I can get the morning off.”

“You okay, Mark?” asked Gavin. “What was your last name?”

“Denison.”

“After what you’ve been through, poor guy, I’m surprised you can go back to work.”

“Well, I still gotta pay the bills,” Mark said with a wry face. “Besides,” he added in a quieter voice, “I’ve been through worse.”

I've been through worse.  Gavin and Jenny only briefly registered this odd response.

The two men exchanged numbers and walked to their cars.

Mark Denison knew something about Maryanne’s accident, something that haunted him.

Death by PowerPoint

Ever hear of "death by PowerPoint"?  Well, I evidently died today, and by divine providence or perhaps a cruel twist of fate my wraith lives on to tell the sad tale.  Army superiors subjected me and some other hapless, uniformed primates to the worst and most useless block of instruction known to man.  The instructors read the slides verbatim, spoke in monotone, and expounded upon such basic information that even a baboon would take offense.  There's nothing like seeing the waste of tax dollars through ineptitude, ill-preparation, and an uncanny ability to make straightforward information an excruciating experience.  Oh well.  At least I could sit in an air-conditioned room throughout the day.

A Coastal Drive (1/8)

Part I
Picture the scene, if you can, for in a moment you’ll duly note the incongruity of the physical landscape and the emotional state of our heroine.  It’s a sunny day, with an unblemished azure sky that mirrors the glistening ocean below.  If you look carefully, you might see a dolphin or two bobbing up and down in the sparkling water.  So far, everything is fine.  Maryanne is taking a stretch of the Oregon Coast Highway from her workplace, the Siebeck Memorial Veteran’s Hospital, to her humble ranch house in a sleepy village of horse properties and vineyards about sixteen miles south.

On her right, sand dunes and succulent ground cover separate the two-lane road from the grey pebble beach.  June brings out a handful of determined surfers who otherwise avoid the chilly waters this far north; the surf is disappointing today, despite a promising forecast on last night’s local news that brought them here this morning.  The young, bleached-blond men have parked their vehicles at the side of the highway, and Maryanne, not paying attention to anything but her imminent fate and the sad set of circumstances that will have led to it, nearly hits one of them, a polka dot Volkswagen van.

On her left, a small mountain range covered in thick coastal vegetation, featuring arresting patches of bright yellow and vermillion flowers, reaches upward toward a rock facing that serves as a launching pad for daring sky glider enthusiasts on more windy days than this one.  Another mile or two up the road, on the inland side, the green hillsides will briefly give way to marshlands and a lagoon where fat and drunken urbanites noisily enjoy their summer vacation.  I say briefly, for Maryanne has her foot heavy on the pedal.

If you were to pull to the side of the road, trudge your way through the dunes, and take the well-trod path along a promontory all the way to the end, you would reach a bridge-like crag overlooking a cove.  There you would find unspeakable serenity in the spray of mist during high tide, the familiar sound of seagulls above, and the scent of wildflowers that carpet this rocky terrain.  By contrast, inside Maryanne’s blue Jeep Cherokee sits an agitated 41-year-old woman at the steering wheel, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she struggles with—if not surrenders to—dark thoughts.

She’s zipping along at a healthy speed, unmindful of the signposts as well as stray surfer vans.  The vast blue horizon and the sounds of the breaking waves, I might note, have always been a source of contentment for Maryanne, ever since she arrived in the area from the Midwest some twenty years ago, with a wayward husband and two small children in tow.  The coastal magic that everyone talks about has evidently lost its charm with her—at least today.  The ocean no longer speaks to her, for she has had enough with living.

Only a few miles from Maryanne’s left turn off the highway is an unmarked, gravel turn-out.  A short walk leads to a vista point.  Here nature lovers take the time to gawk at the rocky shoreline and take in the sea air.  Maryanne will be coming upon it in a few minutes.  It’s the only spot along the road without the steel guard rail.  At the vista itself, a knee-length stonewall keeps people from meandering to the edge with their digital camera, unmindful of a vertical 300-feet drop-off, and falling headlong toward their death onto the unforgiving shoreline below.

Maryanne has been to this site twice before.  The last time, about two months ago, she stood arm and arm with John, a prosperous real estate agent from Eugene.  John was not just any guy; he was her world, the first person she fell in love with since her divorce, if not the only person she every truly loved.  Maryanne hadn’t been looking for love, not consciously anyway.  In his arms she felt content and knew she had found her soulmate.  Or so it seemed.  Unfortunately, John was not interested in a long-term relationship and told her so only hours ago.  This news couldn’t come at a worse time for Maryanne.

Perhaps a little background information is in order here.  Maryanne has been a nurse for some seventeen years.  She’s raised two children by herself after her divorce from her husband Chuck in 2003.  She managed to complete her BS degree in nursing through long nights and hard-earned dollars, but her career opportunities have not improved and now she's saddled with even more debt than Chuck had left with her.  Her daughter Kirsten got pregnant barely into her first year of college in Portland.  The conditions surrounding her pregnancy, and regretful words exchanged after the miscarriage, made their relationship, to say the least, difficult.  The unfortunate meddling of the boyfriend's parents certainly didn't help.  Kirsten lived with her father for a time, but now she's renting a room near the university.

Maryanne's estranged son Scott, having graduated from high school last year, is living at his girlfriend’s house, smoking pot, and cheating on his girlfriend.  He was her baby and she still can't figure out what went wrong.  Only in the past few months did she come to the painful observation that the boy, not long after puberty, took after his father.

Maryanne has been taking antidepressants, though she knows better.  Her sister Jenny, a fraternal twin who understands her better than anyone, noticed this gradual descent into the abyss, as she phrases it, but took hope in Maryanne’s relationship with John.  Things seemed to get better for Maryanne after meeting him, and Jenny has been cautiously optimistic.  But now John’s change of heart has Maryanne spinning out of control on a collision course.

She’s coming upon the vista point.  She wants an end to her pain and misery.  Maryanne closes her eyes.

We Are Who We Are

Some people take issue with same-sex marriage.  They want the Constitution to specify that the institution of marriage, in accordance with their biblical viewpoint, is strictly a relationship between a man and a woman.   I really don’t want to get into this debate, yet I find myself perplexed by the whole thing.  As many of my readers know, my lesbian moms raised me since I was two years old and I definitely turned out okay.  Am I gay?  No.  And it wouldn’t matter if I were.  The point I’m making is that we are who we are, mostly a product of genetics.  The fact that my moms were bonobos to boot, well, that didn't make me want to go around and have sex with non-human primates.  Why can't we just accept each other?  Geesh.

What I Wish For

·   World peace.  Sure.  Why not?
·   The effect of whiskey without the cost.
·   That Rush would write good songs again.
·   A year’s supply of Mexican Coke.
·   The Second Coming of Jesus or the Mahdi.
·   The return of the guillotine.
·   The  violent, excruciating death of Mullah Omar, Robert Mugabe, and Kim Jong Il.
·   A completely wireless society...I'm talking no wires whatsoever for any electrical devices.
·   A final battle royale between the forces of Good and the forces of Evil (the victor pending which side I happen to be on).
·   Another Neil Sedaka comeback.
·   The cessation of movies about vampires.
·   More movies about zombies.
·   An additional October each year.
·   A different word for "peanuts."

The Big Trees

I took a trip to the coastal area of Northern California with two friends to see Redwood giants.  Johannes and I arrived at the San Francisco Airport on a Saturday, briefly awaited Marcus who was coming in on a different airline, jumped into a white Dodge Charger, and headed across the Golden Gate Bridge for an adventure.  The bulk of our ten-day trip involved exploration of the virescent landscapes between Crescent City and Eureka—a region, I might add, that was once the stuff of my boyhood dreams.  I hate cliché phrases, but the photos we’ve seen of the redwoods do not capture the awe they inspire when you're actually standing in their presence.

We didn’t  waste much time on our first full day looking for the famed Grove of Titans, a location that redwood enthusiasts have tried to keep a secret through deception and misleading information.  I won’t reveal the spot out of respect for Johannes's source who graciously sent us vital information about the Grove and other tips as well.  However, I must admit that while I understand the desire to protect these august creatures from rapacious tourists, I think this secrecy is a bit silly and elitist.  When you come across these quiescent towers, you're instantly struck not only by the wall of wood and your diminution but the expanse of time.  The grove consists of five titans: the Lost Monarch, the Screaming Titan, El Viello Del Norte, the Fused Titan, and what became our favorite, Del Norte.

We'd end up seeing plenty of other titans and almost-titans in places like Tall Trees Grove and Rockefeller Grove at the Upper Bull Creek Flat.  The redwoods, I should add, formed only a part of our overall experience, but they were clearly the main attraction and are principal reason for the trip.  We also took trails along the coastline, visited Calveras Big Tree State Park about 400 miles to the southeast, and, on the penultimate day of our trip, walked through Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco.  I hope to write about our adventures in Northern California at great length when time permits.  I've only skimmed the surface.  It's a tale not only of unsurpassed beauty and serenity, but one of scandal and mischief as well.  :)