A Midnight Sun Page 3

  Sydney Fischer Gaines was not just handsome. He was exquisitely gorgeous, she decided.

  A plump girl with bouncy black ringlets dusted her shoulders and stood next to Parker. She stood on tiptoes to whisper a secret into her ears. Her friend Esther giggled as she came running up to them. She pulled the girl that Fitch had introduced as Hildy, although she had said her name was Hildegard Louise Banning, visiting with her family for the holidays. After their conspiratorial exchange had concluded, Esther ran up the hill to where the boxcars were being set. Hildy’s wrist was trapped in Esther’s hand, so refusing a ride had been impossible. She held her dress to the side with her free hand, the soft, transparent silk, flying every which way behind her pale legs.

  Parker looked at them as they climbed into the car. “I never thought anybody could have so much fun on such a contraption.” Parker said, “Did you really make it yourself, Fitch?”

  Fischer walked toward the boxcar Parker had just stepped out of, his chest puffing with pride at her remark. “You bet I did. It was kind of on a whim. My brothers and I used to build rickety cars when we were kids. And since we’d spend this summer together, we decided it would be a bore to just sit around looking at each other’s sun-burned faces and twiddling our thumbs like we do every summer.”

  “Marvelous! I would have been bored dreadfully so if you hadn’t built them, I’m afraid.”

  Parker placed a hand over his, and for an instant, he reciprocated the intensity of her stare, but then, peeled away to rearrange the boxcar off the road. He carried it effortlessly over his head across a knoll and set it down, kneeling into the car, he spoke without actually looking at Parker.

  “Did you really enjoy it, Parker? Wasn’t it ever a delight?”

  “Oh, yes. Quite! I haven’t had such a hoot my entire life.” She wondered if playing up the excitement would get him to turn. She admired his perfectly firm buttocks sticking up in the air and resting on his argyle socks while he looked under the car for whatever was he needed to reset before the next go. A lever? The wheels? She didn’t know and hardly cared. Parker felt like love was coming at her in the oddest way and she welcomed it with a smile that warmed her entire body. His goggles hung from his back pocket and she fought a mischievous urge to pull them out.

  A pair of equally loud squeals coming from the hilltop made Parker turn. Hildy’s car ran before the finish line just before Esther’s. They jumped out and were greeted by a mob of jubilant people roaring cheers and laughing while pumping their fists in the air. The leader of that particular pack was of course Juniper, who joined them and quickly after had a boy carry a boxcar to the top of the hill again. She followed him while buckling the strap of a head cap and placing goggles over the top to shield her eyes.

  “I think Juniper likes it better than I do, wouldn’t you say?”

  Fischer mumbled something from under the car. “Pardon?” Parker said, “Sydney Fischer Gaines, really! Would it be so terrible for you to look at me when you’re speaking?”

  “I’m dreadfully sorry, Parker.” He stood and grinned at her, then placed a fleeting kiss at the top of her head. “Oh, Fitch, you do that every time just because you know how it softens me so. Now really, I just can’t make out a word you’re saying if you are speaking into the car that way. And look at yourself, my dear Fitch! Your pants are all soddy and you’ve made a mess of your hair. Tsk. Have you set it again?”

  “Yes, I have.” He grinned again and whipped his hands with a rag. He looked up the hill to where Juniper was setting herself into the car. “Want to give it a go?” He lifted the car, this time over his left shoulder, and let it rest there to adjust his suspenders and cap over his wild hair.

  “No, I think I’ll sit this one out. You go and give Juniper a good chase.”

  “Whyever not? You’re afraid she’ll beat you?”

  “No!”

  “Because I’d love it if you win the race over her. Please, Fitch?”

  His chest fluffed again. “Well, alright, only because you say so. But, if she comes yapping at me that it wasn’t a fair race, you’re on with her to figure this out, sister!”

  “Deal! And what’s more, I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom of the hill with a kiss to congratulate you on your win.”

  “Would you, now?”

  “Ooh, you bet mister.”

  Just after he started running his goggles dropped behind him. Parker picked them up and tried twirling them like he had. She thought how much she was growing fond of Fitch. How she liked the way his dimples were a permanent fixture on his face, soft lines when he wasn’t smiling, deep grooves that seemed to frame his perfect lips when he was. While he ran up the hill with the cart easily perched over his shoulder, she admired his strength and loved the way his muscles moved under his shirt. But mostly, she loved how he made her feel when they were together.

  Parker knew he’d be leaving soon and so would she, to opposite ends of the world, it seemed. He, to a naval base to start his training, and she, for a program her mother had found for her at the last minute. It would help her land an agent and grow her acting resume, but her sadness grew with the approximation of their mutual departure. When Fitch turned to look at her over his shoulder, she waved to signal she saw him, knowing that was what he wanted. Then, he quickly begins to set himself into the boxcar at the top of the hills. When he took off his cap and searched for the goggles over his head, he looked at Parker again and saw her twirling them over her head. When he waved after a few seconds, she brought them down to her chest and looked at them for a long moment before she tossed them high in the air, not exactly knowing why but battling against the stinging in her gut. “His goggles.”

  Chapter 4

  Marquee

  The Fluttering Memories are Awake. Good Nurse, Call the Doctor

  Oahu, December 8th, 1989

  “The goggles,” I say, not knowing the depth of what has just happened, but the phrase is loud and clear in my head. I feel somehow excited and lightly energized.

  “What in the hells was that, brah?” Truman says.

  “Damn if I know, but please, tell me you wrote it down?”

  “Every word you said.”

  After I read some of it, I try to lift off the chair. With some extra effort, I manage to steady myself better this time and tighten my robe because it’s almost nighttime. It’s gotten colder in the room so I wobble weakly to the thermostat near the door. After adjusting the temperature, I peer into the hallway, first right and then left, to see if anybody is coming before I close the door. “I hate the idea of being in a hospital room,” I say to my brother and puff a lungful of fresh cold air, getting woozy almost immediately with the puff. I reach for the bed just in time as my brother slides out of it for me to get into. He helps me and while doing so, slips on his socked feet but regains momentum which carries him toward the side of my bed.

  A screen of colorless needles flashes before my eyes, reminding me again of the old television set. My head then begins to throb with the intensity of a thousand drums. Soon after, I’m lying on my back, chewing again on watery ice chips left inside a pitcher that is now mostly cold water. When the pin-needles recede from my vision and my head clears again, I call my brother.

  “Let me see what you wrote again.” He hands me the pad while excitement and confusion flash over his face, like he’s trying to decide how to feel. “You know, a lot of it is about the hilltop, but there was nothing about the first things you experienced before coming here. What happened to the lattice and the people there?”

  “Don’t know brah. Maybe it’s not connected, although I think it is. This Parker woman at least is in both.” I thought about the first experience with Parker and had the idea that maybe my brother had asked the wrong questions. “Truman, did you say something to me that may have led this in any way?”

  “No, why would I do that? I just let you talk, Mirim.”

  “You never asked me anything while I was…” I fumbled for a word that w
ould describe it, …trancing?”

  He recovers quickly from a bout of laughter that escapes his lips.

  “Truman, I’m serious! Did you say or do anything?”

  “Nothing, I swear.” He says, still laughing but trying to conceal it.

  “Was I hypnotized or asleep?”

  “How should I know? I’ve no idea, sis. You asked me to– “

  I grumbled. “I know, but I just thought to ask. It’s really weird…this…whatever this was.” I shivered so he brought me the blanket I’d been using in the chair. “I guess I’m confused or not clear about this. Nothing has ever happened to me like this before.”

  I close my eyes against the sound of my own thoughts on the pillow. My head spun wildly both physically and mentally. The dream –whatever it had been- was incredibly real. I can still hear the wheels of the boxcars, feel the cool wind in my hair, and mostly, feel the hands of the man called Fitch. His handsome ruggedness was still clear in my mind. I saw girls in blue satin dresses giggling as they swooshed through the pasture of the green hills. More than seeing it, I could feel the love and the longing Parker had felt, yet also the apprehension and the sadness.

  “It was not as the image from the first time,” I told my brother, realizing it for the first time myself. “The image with the lattice, Truman…I felt more. I could describe it in detail to the smallest things. How everything looked and smelled. How it looked…everything was covered in this light…like…like being inside a halogen lamp. And…and the air! It was so cool. It enveloped you…like you were about to float into space!”

  “Damn, sis!” He came to my bed and sat on the edge smirking. “Have you ever considered being a writer?”

  “Aren’t you funny at the worst possible times.”

  Truman smiled and propped my pillows. “Seriously though, this was completely different from the planes and bombs of before. Why?”

  “It was…” I sat upright and he waited until I felt settled on the pillows while he covered my hands in his. “I guess…the first dream had a different quality, Truman. It’s hard to say why, but it was. There was something I could feel, more tactile in a way. Is that possible?”

  “What is?” He sat on the bed, nibbling on his nails, his hand covering part of his mouth and giving him the look of a little child.

  “This time, the dream or vision or whatever it was…it had a quality that made it more alive and newer. More…uh, sharp?”

  “Yeah…although that makes no sense.”

  “Yes, it does. The other had a leaded feel to it. Like the dust I could taste. It felt turbulent and molten, almost resembling the fear I felt…she felt!”

  “Geeze, I really love how you describe this.”

  “Can you do me a favor and write that down on the pad too? I don’t think I could if I tried. I feel dizzy and my head still hurts. Something tells me brah, this is going to continue. I don’t know if I like this type of circumstance, although it intrigues me. Do you believe this is some sort of psychic thing? Is it possible?”

  “Of course.” He ran for the pad that was on the chair. “I believe in a lot of stuff.”

  “Wait!” He slid to a halt, again slipping and almost falling on his socks. “There’s something else.” I said, “A girl in the dream. Her name…what was her name?”

  “Uh, let me see.” He put on his sneakers back on, shifting through his notes on the yellow notepad.

  A light explodes over my head and I shut my eyes against it. When I squint to adjust my sight to the light, my brother comes back into focus while he scans the pages of the pad. He is biting the inside of his cheek as he always does when he’s deep in concentration. I prop my arms on a pillow and wait.

  “Okay, here it is. Juniper.” He said and sat triumphant on the side of the bed again, pointing to the pad with emphasis on her name.

  “Yes, Juniper. “I taste the name slowly and wait for something to come to me. “It’s a pretty name. Unusual. There’s something about it too, like it’s familiar yet far away from me. Does it ring a bell?”

  “No. Not to me. Could it be somebody you knew, from school? From work in Seattle maybe?”

  “No, I’d remember.” I click my tongue repeatedly trying to find an answer inside my head. The pain throbbing has subsided, but it dances alongside the urgent thought. I don’t know why the name is important, but I let it dance there until it finds a home. I know somehow that it will. Yet…nothing. Not for the time being anyhow.

  A nurse floats by the door carrying an array of assorted bottles and maybe bandages or other hospital paraphernalia on a tray. Seeing her gets my head going again and I feel the name together with this new image. Why does the nurse connect with Juniper all of a sudden?

  I jot down {nurse/hospital goods} next to the name Juniper on the pad and draw an arrow pointing to it for good measure.

  “What?” My brother’s bursts when I´m mid-thought. I notice he’s been holding onto the covers, as if he’s about to float away in sheer excitement.

  “I don’t know brah. There was a nurse just now. She went by the door holding a tray. She wore this tiny hat over a lousy home perm and too much makeup. I can’t believe they still wear those uniforms.”

  “White tights and all? Was she cute?”

  “Yes, she was. And she had chunky white shoes, too.”

  “It clicked in my head…with the name Juniper.”

  My mother comes into the room, her face pale and dewy. She’s obviously flustered but also angry. She seethes at Truman before sitting on the armchair while holding her foot. My father comes in soon after and places a cup of coffee on the table beside me to see to my mother. I take it while he is distracted and take a couple of loud gulps that scold my throat, but I don’t care too much. It is sweet and smooth with creamer rather than milk. It tastes awful but it does what I need to my still achy throat.

  Our conversation, interrupted for good it seems, will not regain its momentum like Truman with his socks, so I place the notepad on my lap and my hands cover it protectively.

  Truman offers to get me some coffee and I say yes but inside I hope it’s not the same my pops has brought. Although my mother says absolutely not, the doctor has strict orders against it, I make sure my brother sees me mouth yes. I begin to drift into sleep but hear my dad say something like what could it hurt, it’s only a little coffee. And within a few seconds, they start bickering in screaming whispers.

  I try to say I don’t mind either way but their voices are drifting and I feel myself float away to the sound of machines beeping. Their voices now thick under a layer of cotton. I smile and let it overpower my urge to keep fumbling with the name Juniper the unknown nurse with the bad perm and too much makeup.

  Chapter 5

  Marquee

  A Car Ride to Another World

  Oahu, December 14th, 1989

  I spend a week in Saint Sulpice, the new section of Mount Lorraine General Hospital, the only modern building in town. On this week, I’m mostly in and out of consciousness, grasping at dreams that edge on delirium over intervals of mild to full wakefulness then back to sleep.

  The doctors can’t seem to find a realistic reason for my blackout, so the only thing they can do is send me home with a bottleful of aspirin and a prescription of lots of rest, with a forceful suggestion that I continue tests under doctors’ observation when I’m back in Seattle. The only daring diagnosis is to hint at heatstroke, since no other pertinent symptom appears during my stay. But it made me edgy because it wasn’t a definitive explanation for my symptoms.

  With the exception of the sleeping intervals and hazy episodes. And, they felt as such, episodes of a fragmented history I was still only partly aware of and had begun to piece together.

  My brother wheels me to the car –not without a fast race over the sliding glass door, for which he was dutifully reprehended by my father- which reminds me of boxcars and hilltops. I carefully lower myself into the backseat when we reach the car behind my dad, propping my l
egs between the front seat as instructed and reclining into a pillow my mother places neatly under my neck. I ride the long stretch of H1 to my childhood home in the quiet but busy neighborhood of Kaimuki, all the time thinking about the images in my sleep.

  A few cars pass in the opposite direction and I start counting them without thinking.

  “Two.” The radio comes on and my brother hums to the tune my father settles on.

  “Four.” My mother turns the knob on the volume dials and dad glares at her.

  “Six.” I touch the window and sigh at the glass, cold and fogging up because our car has gotten too warm. I feel like maybe I should say this to my mother fearing I may pass out again, but I stay quiet.

  “Ten, fourteen, seventeen.” A slew of cars speed past us. “Nineteen, Twenty-one,” I continue. A pack of bicycles follow the cars and I wonder how to count those. “Seven times three times eight squared.”

  “What?” My brother says mid-hum.

  “Nothing.” I say, singing it back to him. He dismisses me with a silent stare, a maneuver I recognize as his way of telling me he is hardly in the mood for games. By the time I turn back to traffic, I’ve forgotten my count, so, I start again with a sputtering compact car spewing water from the windshield wipers moving over the driver’s glass. As soon as I get to fifty, I’m falling asleep again and I mumble a sentence I tell myself to remember. Remember when you wake up.

  “In the blink of an eye…”

  Chapter 6

  Marquee

  Blinking Doesn’t Clear the Confusion

  Oahu, December 14th, 1989