Spirits

By Michael Jesse

Chapter 32

Jack wanted to follow Millie and try to explain himself, but he knew it was not the right time for her to listen to him, and he had no idea what he would say in any case. He was guilty. His sin, he knew, was not forgivable.

Through the cafeteria window, he could see that the storm had passed through downtown quickly and the rain had nearly stopped. A large branch had fallen in the park near the bench where they had sat that morning.

He was not hungry, but wrapped his uneaten sandwich in a napkin and put their two trays on the conveyor belt. When he got back to his desk, he learned that one of the building facades had fallen in the storm. He grabbed his notebook and camera, and ran out to cover the story. It was the Oddfellows Hall, one of many fraternal organizations that flourished in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Fortunately, the facade was fairly simple in design and the sections broke apart where they had been cemented together, so architects said it would be easy to reassemble. However, the bigger question was why it fell at all given that each facade was held up by steel beams anchored in concrete, and whether other facades may also be at risk.

By the time he got back to the paper and submitted his story, it was past 7 p.m. and Jack knew Millie would be gone. It was Friday, so he realized he might not get to talk to her again until Monday. He went home and tried calling her, but only got her machine. He left three messages, but did not quite know what to say. After he hung up the third time, his phone rang immediately, and it was her.

"Thank you for calling back," he said. "I want to tell you that-–"

"I didn't call to talk," she said. "I want the credentials."

"The what?"

"The username and password to the Molly site."

Jack did as she asked, and he could hear her typing and knew she was changing the password to lock him out. "Millie," he said. "I just-–"

"I also want whatever photographs you have of my journal. And the negatives. I want every copy you possess. You had no right to take it then, and you have no right to possess it now."

"Okay, okay," he said. "I'll bring it over right now."

"No."

"Or some other time over the weekend."

"No, just put it all in a sealed envelope, put my name on it, and drop it off at the library on Monday."

"I will, but-–" The line went dead.

Jack made himself a strong drink and took it to the chair overlooking the city. Well, he should have known it would play out this way. What he did was stupid and unforgivable. He couldn't even explain it if she gave him the chance. And she probably didn't love him enough to give him that chance. She said she loved him, but only after he said it first, and she probably felt obligated to return the sentiment. And, of course, on a certain level, she loved everyone. He must have been special enough for her to get into a relationship with him, but not enough for the relationship to survive this.

As he was making a second drink, it occurred to him that maybe she wanted the password so she could reveal his betrayal to all of Molly's readers as well. He went to his computer and connected to the site. No password was needed just to read it, of course, only to post or comment. When it finally loaded, he saw no such announcement. There were a couple of new comments that Molly would never reply to. At best, Millie would post nothing herself, but just keep him locked out. Sooner or later Molly's readers would give up and stop coming to the site. But Molly didn't matter to him anymore. He wished he had never created her.

He knew it would be a long, agonizing weekend because Millie had made it clear she did not want to see him until Monday at work, if then. He didn't know how to fill all of the time, other than drinking and watching old movies on TV. Because of his mother, he was always ready to watch just about any black-and-white movie for at least 15 minutes or so. "Topper," starring Cary Grant as a ghost, was on the Turner Classic Movies channel, so he settled in to watch it. He woke about 2 AM, the television still on but now the movie was "Strangers on a Train." He made another drink and watched some of the movie before nodding off again.

He woke at 9 a.m. Saturday, in his bed this time, and as he stared at the ceiling remembering all that happened, he had no idea how he would fill the vast expanse of time before him. He started by making coffee and reading the newspaper. His story on the fallen facade was on page one. By coincidence, he had already submitted his history story on the Oddfellows building, but it had not yet been published, so the two stories had been merged for a much deeper breaking news story than would normally be the case. So, that had worked out well at least.

By 10, he was outside running, but he did not go as far as he usually did. Then he took a shower, and drove out to the suburbs to do his grocery shopping. Back in his kitchen, he put away his groceries and sat on the couch, doing nothing as he waited for it to be 12 o'clock noon. Then he made a drink. He dialed into the Internet and checked Molly's site again. There was another reader question, but no new post from Molly/Millie that would reveal his treachery. Somehow it was still only 12:15.

He slept through some of the afternoon and woke up in time to watch the evening news. He decided that it was Saturday night and something must be going on downtown, so he made himself presentable and went down the elevator and out into the street. He walked to the trendy new strip of bars and decided to try them out by having a double vodka tonic at each one.

Jack woke Sunday morning in his bed, listening to the church bells and dreading having another entire day to live through again. At least the newspaper was bigger. When noon finally arrived, he made a drink and took down two boxes from his closet shelf. One contained his mother's photo album, which he knew included only one photo of his grandmother when she was a young woman. He had seen it many times, but now he was reminded of the famous Dorothea Lange portraits of the Depression he had seen in Life magazine. His grandmother would have been barely 30 years old, but her sunken, empty eyes made her seem older. He carefully detached the photo from its black corners and put it in an envelope to take to work. It had occurred to him that he had not yet checked the Morning Star Library's photo files on the Pembroke. If there were any cast photos from the 1920s, his grandmother might be in one -- however, if she was not identified in the caption, he might not recognize her without something to compare it to.

The other box contained the photos he took that summer at camp of Millie and her journal. He found a large manila envelope and put all the journal photos and negatives in it. He also put in most of the photos he had taken of her, though for these he felt within his rights to keep the negatives.

He could not be certain whether his relationship with Millie was absolutely, positively over, or whether she might eventually forgive him. If he was to have any chance at all, he decided, he needed to at least try to explain himself. He sat at his computer and started writing a letter to her. He did not know how to explain why he did what he did, so instead he just revealed everything in his life that seemed somehow related. Some of it was embarrassing to put into words, but he knew he had to completely expose himself to her and let her be the judge. When he was done with the letter, he printed it out and put it into the envelope with the photos. He felt spent, as if there were nothing else left to do with his life.

That evening, as he sat on his couch with his fifth or sixth drink watching one of the "Thin Man" movies with William Powell and Myrna Loy, it occurred to Jack that he had one more AA meeting he needed to go to in order to finish up the requirement. He knew better than to drive anywhere, so he looked on his list for Sunday evening meetings within walking distance of downtown.

He took another shower and brushed his teeth, and an hour later, he was sitting in another meeting, listening to another share that sounded the same. But in fairness, he wasn't really listening anymore. He just wanted that last signature, and when the meeting was finally over, he got it and was out the door in seconds. As he started the walk back downtown, he heard a voice behind him and turned. It was a guy he remembered from one of the other meetings. Ken.

"How many more meetings you got?" Ken asked, falling in step beside him.

"None," Jack said, "and do you just happen to be going the same way I am, or is this one of those AA techniques where you follow people and talk them into going to more meetings?"

"We don't do shit like that, John," Ken said. "I parked at my office a couple blocks up this way. I guess it's just a coincidence."

"I thought you didn't believe in coincidences."

"Sure, I do. They happen all the time. And I am not going to try to talk you into going to more meetings if you don't want to," Ken said. "But I hope you know now that you're welcome anytime you want to come."

"I do," Jack said. "You guys are actually pretty special. I don't think I need you quite yet, but if I ever do, it's good to know you're there."

"Well, in the meantime, you might give some thought to the whole higher power thing. I remember you didn't really go for the doorknob bit, or even the ocean."

"I just think a higher power worth praying to ought to know I exist," Jack said.

"Fair point, but the cool thing about AA is that everybody gets to design their own God. None of us can possibly know what God really is, so we might as well just make something up that works for us."

"I've noticed that," Jack said. "Kinda seems like cheating to invent your own god."

"Not at all. That's what all the big shot religions did. They just made something up that worked for them. You can do that too. If it doesn't make sense to you that God could be all powerful and still let bad shit happen in the world, then imagine a God who doesn't have that power. Maybe he can't stop the tornado, or make the liquor store be closed. But maybe he does have the power to console you, and give you strength when you need it. You could imagine a god like that, couldn't you?"

Jack sighed. "I used to know somebody who argued that the Earth could be sentient and aware of every little creature running around on top of her, like a mother keeping an eye on her children at a busy playground. "

"That's a good one," Ken said.

"Of course, some of the kids still fall from the monkey bars and break their necks, having to live the rest of their lives as quadriplegics, but by golly She's watching."

Ken laughed. "Well, it's a start -- but whatever you pick, you don't have to instantly believe in it. When you wake up in the morning, you just say please be with me today. And at night when you go to bed, you say thank you for being with me today. Easy as that. Well, here's my building. Can I give you a ride the rest of the way?"

"No, thanks," Jack said. "I feel like walking."

Ken put out his hand and they shook. "Until our paths cross again, John."

"My friends call me Jack."

"Glad to be included in that group. Enjoy your walk."

Jack took a few steps and thought of something else he wanted to say, but when he turned, Ken was gone.