Superman's Cape (19 page)

The loss of his gift was an amputation of senses. He felt like a blind person who had a lifetime of sight teasing his brain. In his mind he decided to knock on one of the doors again. The echo of a dead empty room rang back.

“Blue and red … Superman’s Cape,” Sara mumbled and turned to Jacob.

“But why Superman’s Cape?” She asked with skepticism still in her voice.

Jacob reached up and touched the side of his head pointing to the tumor that neither of them could see.

“I think when this started growing, when I started getting sicker, it was the last thing I was told I’d say before blacking out or having a seizure.”

Relief settled in him as she turned away from the trailer door and back to where they were sitting.

“I need coffee,” she started. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Jacob said welcoming a fresh cup. A feeling of helplessness settled in him. The searching in his mind was becoming compulsive – almost obsessive. It was like a scab with an itch you wanted to pick. With another breath, he succumbed to walking corridors and knocking on doors. One of them, he told himself, would offer him his gift.

Jacob came upon a door that wasn’t like the others. An uneasiness twisted and pulled his insides as he extended his hands down on the table. The cold of the table top distracted him. As the anxiety grew, he pressed his hands until the table legs groaned and the tips of his fingers turned white. The cold in his palms turned warm and Jacob found he was holding on as the world threatened to spin until he was thrown off.

The door he found was dressed in blue with spots of red. He looked at the face of it. It wasn’t made of wood but instead a shallow cloth.
Soft, like a blanket
, he thought. He lifted his hand and pressed harder. As with all the doors in his mind, the knock went unanswered. Frustrated, Jacob hit the cloth on the door. He hit it hard at first then harder until he pounded the table he sat at. The cups of coffee, the salt and pepper shakers all jumped a crazy dance. They dodged one jump and then a second before falling over or spilling.

He rapped the door with his hands until he heard footsteps approach from inside the room. Jacob laid his palms against the cloth. He started gripping it and squeezing it and waited while the footsteps grew louder. A wave of exhausted satisfaction like no other came over him and he leaned his body into the door. His face falling against the red and blue cloth. Light from the room escaped beneath the door and crept into the hallway. When the footsteps slowed, Jacob saw the dark shadow of a person’s feet step into the light. A simple knock was offered from the other side.

“Jacob – Jacob!” Sara yelled.

Alarmed, Jacob sat upright and opened his eyes. He saw the mess on the table. He saw the fear in Sara’s face and was lost to say anything at all.

“You were banging the table. I wasn’t sure if it was a seizure or not!” she exclaimed as the fear in her voice turned to concern and then to sympathy.

“I am sorry. I am sorry if I scared you,” Jacob offered and fumbled with the salt and pepper shakers while looking at her.

“It’s fine,” she answered. Jacob felt her hands on his as she helped to put the remains of the table back in order.

“Something told me to be here,” Jacob sighed, “Not just told me, but pulled me here.”

“What?” Sara questioned, her expression turning to caution and maybe disbelief.

“I’m supposed to be here. To see you and Jonnie and Kyle. I don’t know you, but something is telling me I do,” Jacob finished and lifted his hands from the salt and pepper shakers and placed them on hers.

“It’s you and the boys,” he continued in a voice that wasn’t his. “I know I am supposed to be here.”

Sara didn’t pull her hands from the table. She didn’t pull them back when Jacob talked about why he was there. Instinct would have had her run from him. It would have had her run to the Captain and the safety of the volunteers outside.

Instead, Sara closed her eyes to the touch of his hands. Something familiar took her breath. Chris was there. He was across from her as though he’d never left. She was suddenly struck with a completeness and wholeness of being one. She gasped and whispered Chris’s name and her eyes filled with tears. Sara pulled one of her hands over his, and held them tight. She squeezed her eyes and told herself, do not open them. Do not dare, or you’ll lose him again. A real fear of loss threatened to steal the moment. Sara consumed all of it. She left nothing to chance. She watched Chris in her mind. She talked to him. She told him she missed him. She told Chris she loved him.

“Chris?” she asked opening her eyes. When she saw Jacob across from her, she yanked her hands away. Sara fixed him a look of utter mistrust and contempt. The feeling of cruel hurt weighed on her as she searched the trailer with her eyes.
How could he do this … make me think Chris was here. But he was Chris – wasn’t he
, she asked herself. She was lost in the confusion and the hurt. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe desperation. She shook her head, knowing she could see and feel a husband that was lost to her and the boys and dead to the world.

“What is this? What kind of trick is this? Why are you doing this?” she cried. Jacob flinched. He bolted up in surprise.

“I didn’t do anything. What did you see?” he implored then asked again, “what is it that you saw?” he pleaded. But Sara just sat there a moment. She held a reluctant stare that masked what she was really feeling.

“I saw my husband,” she finally whispered.

“I mean I didn’t just see him,” she continued, “I could feel him. I could smell him … I think you were him.”

Jill pushed her hand over the left cheek of her rump and tried to rub away the pain that settled there. Hours of punishment from the passenger seat of the WJL-TV van burdened her bottom.

My first shot
, she thought, and slipped a giggle as she worked her other hand to pull a cell phone from her purse. She couldn’t help but smile.

“My first shot,” she mumbled as a smile grew bigger and her cheeks moaned against the strain.

Abruptly she announced, “I got my first shot on camera.” Her words were loud enough for Steve to hear, but she didn’t care. Flipping the top of her cell phone open, she held her smile. She didn’t care who heard her.

“You say something, hon?” Steve asked. His voice sounded thin against the noise of the van. But he said it. She heard it. She heard him call her hon. The enthusiasm and excitement she was enjoying went somewhere quick. She didn’t like being called hon. She never liked being called that.

“I sure did, Dick-Head,” she offered back and then laughed.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Forget about it … Dick,” she answered, and laughed some more.

Steve waived off the words he missed and pulled his Styrofoam cup to his chin. She hated the smell of the chewing tobacco – almost as much as being called hon. The smell flipped her insides and brought back memories of being eighteen and a freshman at college. It was one of her first nights and she was already up three beers and working on another. And in a vain attempt to impress her roommates, she decided to try something new. Down the hall of their cinder block dorm rooms, they’d found some chaw. One of her new friends flashed a boob in exchange for a pinch of the stuff. When they all pulled their shirts up, they scored the whole bag. She remembered the expression on the faces of the boys who offered the chewing tobacco. Their eyes looked wolfish as they cheered on the quick peep show. One of the boys said they’d just seen their first real life woman part. She remembered laughing to the sound of his voice as it cracked in surprise. She laughed some more and thought it must have been fueled by the buzz in her head.

It wasn’t the taste or the texture of the wad of dip that bothered her. It wasn’t even the loose pieces of tobacco that crept to the back of her throat. If she’d known to spit from time to time, then maybe the room wouldn’t have started to spin. Maybe if she knew to
never ever
drink down the black juice, then she wouldn’t have been half carried and hurried to the bathroom. She wouldn’t have lost an entire day in the infirmary. Or endured a phone call home to her parents for all the world to know.

Vomit was everywhere. Huge belly-deep heaves painted cinder block walls and the dorm room floors. And as Jill’s insides came up and exploded out, the guys and some of the girls laughed harder and harder. One good thing did come of it. Just one thing gave her pleasant solace today. The only silver lining she remembered – she heaved chaw and beer onto the beds of the girls who laughed the loudest.

The smell of the Styrofoam’s juice drifted in Jill’s direction. Her stomach flipped as she bounced the passenger window down. She welcomed the cold air and pulled it in through her nose and mouth until her stomach turned right.

When her cell phone rang Jill hit the green button to answer but the call died before she heard anything. Steve moved his eyes to her cell phone.

“Bad spot,” she yelled over the noise and shrugged. “I think the Connely’s place might have been better. My cell’s signal is in and out. Probably need a mile or more before we can call back to the studio.”

“Cell is out, but I think we’re clear to pull over and send the story. There is a clearing up ahead. I’m going to pull in and set up the dish. OK?”

“That’s fine. I might be able to get a call in … we’ll see. After that, we have to go back and get Jacob,” Jill finished and closed the phone as Steve targeted the opening along the side of the road.

As the van slowed to a stop, Steve pulled the parking brake. He then drummed his hands against the steering wheel with an eagerness that startled Jill, but his excitement made her laugh.

“Tell you what hon, I’m runnin’ with money in my pockets,” he whooped and hollered then winked in her direction before continuing, “I earn and burn and right now burgers and beers is on the menu. What d’ya say?”

“You mean right now?” Jill questioned sounding annoyed.

“Well no … not right now. How about when we turn back for your boyfriend? I think I saw a roadside grease-spot a ways back.”

“Fine,” she started to answer and then followed up, “but it’ll have to be quick. I want to get back to Jacob and get out of here.”

“Don’t worry – but, per your suggestion, just a
quickie
,” he said with a wink, “and then we’ll get your boyfriend.”

Jill flipped him her middle finger, to which he let out a hearty laugh. She liked hearing the word boyfriend. A warm feeling settled in her but then faded as she thought of Jacob’s seizures. She was excited by what was happening to them and afraid of what was happening to him. Images of Jacob on the floor of the ‘Rust Bucket’ played in her head. Their weeks of dancing around one another was building up to something good. She wondered if it could be the little bit of wonderful that she was looking for.
That everyone is looking for
, she thought and smiled.

The van’s motor turned over more than a few times before finally giving up. Once Jill was sure the van stopped, she opened the door and threw her legs over the side of her seat. Without thinking, she leaned into her first step. Before she could stop her fall, she felt air rushing up her skirt as she slipped from the passenger seat. She landed with a thump that sounded a crunch from her knee and the gravel. Pain rushed in like water filling a void. Her leg collapsed as most of her weight fell onto the top of her knee.

Jill had to stay on the ground. She couldn’t move. The ache in her leg erupted while she held her hand over her mouth. Her breath was eaten up by the pain. It became too great for her and she squeezed her eyes while biting down on her hand. A moment passed and a throb set in like waves crashing – quiet followed by violent erosion she had to fight. Soon the throb steadied like a migraine she could manage.

With her other hand back on the van’s door handle, she was able to pull up against the strain. Alone and embarrassed, Jill brushed at her hair and hesitated before looking down at the damage on her leg. The van’s door handle held her while she brushed at her blouse and skirt and at her good knee. When she moved, her leg screamed as though a hot dagger was pushed through the back of her knee. She felt cold perspiration rise on her neck and brow. Jill tightened her grip on the door handle and let out a muffled scream as the throb grew and began to devour her thigh. Her knee was broken. She was sure of it.

She wanted to rush her hand over the skin and brush away the dirt and stones.
Fast
, she thought. Like pulling the Band-Aid off so it hurt less as her momma always said. But her momma lied. It still hurt. It always hurt.

As Jill worked to clean her knee and stifle the need to scream, she heard Steve scoff from around the side, “Newbie, bunch a Newbies.” Jill poked an annoyed look in his direction. She stayed there until she was certain he saw it.

“Gotta watch that first step there … it’s a bitch,” he punched back throwing chaw juice to the road.

Jill watched him wipe his chin as he asked, “you need help?”

“I’m fine. Just a scraped up knee,” Jill panted, not letting on that it was worse.

“Any luck pushing the story out?” she asked, trying to move the conversation away from her leg. Steve was easily distracted; she knew she could count on that.

Steve pointed a hand up to the sky, “Pumping the boom up now. Shouldn’t be another minute is all.” Jill saw the antenna boom rising from the top of the news van – inching up and grabbing the sky until high enough.

“Anything I can do while you send the story?”

“Might want to get off that leg,” he offered, and pointed to the ground where her knee left a divot in the gravel. Jill waved him off as he continued the work to forward the story.

Under most circumstances, her caring if the story got to where it had to go wasn’t first on her mind. Today however, it was her story, and a little pride and ego carried in the eagerness to help Steve. She wanted to see the van’s boom up and above the trees and see it forward the millions of ones and zeros that made up her face for the world to see.