Chapter 17: Remembering

Sunday Later

There were a few things Janelle wanted to do immediately. She would have adored showing Bob what true love really felt like, but that would remind him that she was gone, and the memory would hurt him; and she had sworn to herself she would not hurt him any more. She needed to explain to Cutie that there was a difference between sex and love. She also hoped she could talk with her brothers and help them understand that the desires they were feeling were strong, but could be even stronger if they knew what actions they could take to make real love grow. Finally, she wanted to talk with Pinkie and see if she could help her and Bob get together, for both their sakes.

Somehow, she was in Bob's room. He was sleeping peacefully and when she touched him, she felt the hurt ebbing -- he would heal in time. She wanted him to have a long and happy life, even if she could not spend it with him, simply because she cared for him -- she loved him. A soft kiss on his cheek and a quick ruffle of his hair and Janelle was content. He loved her, but he would one day be able to love another. They had taught each other about sex, and in the process, had learned about giving and receiving. That giving and receiving was the essence of loving. She only hoped that she had taught him enough.

It was surprising to Janelle that she did not feel like crying. She was sad that they were separated, but felt that he would be happy in the future. That his happiness colored her own sadness was a surprise to her. And she gave a short sigh after a few minutes watching over the sleeping boy.

Cutie was dreaming about sex, and about Will and herself having sex. In her dream, their bodies were pressed together and every nerve was tingling. She was so close to an orgasm that she could almost taste it, but it still escaped her body. All those thoughts disappeared when Janelle appeared in her dream.

"Well, how was it? Did you like it? Wasn't it incredible? That is true love. Did you feel how far Will was inside me and how good it felt?"

"Cutie, I felt it all. But it can feel even better, if you try something."

"Better than sex? Tell me! Tell me!"

"The first thing is, you have to love him."

"But I do love him. It feels like heaven when we make love."

"That is just sex. In the last few days, I have seen more types of intercourse that I ever dreamed were possible, and in every case, if the people work on the love, the sex is even better."

"So, how do we work on the love?"

"You just need to think of Will first. In everything. When you get up in the morning, think of him. When you eat, think of him. When you are ready to feel his body move inside yours, think of him. Take him and hold him inside your brain. Soon, he will be inside your heart, as well. See, love isn't something you feel, it is something you do which affects everything you feel and do. Would you try to do that?"

"It sounds backwards. I mean, thinking first, then loving? But, I promise, Janelle. I will try and do what you said. Ok?"

The dream faded as Cutie's words carried to Janelle. "I'm going to try right now; I'm thinking about Will."

The sounds of the train were deafening. The brakes were full on, but they could not stop the heavily loaded cars quickly enough. The wheels were squealing on the iron rails as the brakes tried to stop their rolling. Sounds of heavy boxes shifting and of fragile things crashing behind him added to the din and he tried, using everything he had ever learned or heard, to stop the train before it smashed into the car on the tracks too close, too close in front of him.

He never even considered that he might die, that the engine could be compressed around him by the vehicle in front and the rail stock his engine was pulling. The engineer did not once think that his metal box of controls and powers could tip over and crush his body. The only thought in his head was for some way to stop the train in time to save the girl in that car. Yes, he could see the car on the tracks, but the curve in the rails had hidden it until it was far too late to stop the speeding juggernaut, but he tried. He even saw the girl, slumped down in her seat, apparently sleeping, as the massive weight of metal rushed up and impacted, despite his every effort.

The noises grew even louder. There was a 'whump' from in front of the train as the car's gasoline tank exploded and turned the vehicle into shrapnel. There were screams from the passengers behind him as the deceleration threw them to the floor. There was the shriek of metal on metal as the front of the train welded itself with the lump which was all that remained of the car. Even now, he could hear the howls from the engine compartment, where he was alone, and he recognized his voice, louder and shriller than ever before, as he voiced his anguish at killing another human being.

As soon as the train had slowed enough to be sure nothing was going to fall over, he radioed the dispatcher and announced that there had been a collision and that the police, and an ambulance were needed at the crossing. The train eventually stopped and he hung from the brake lever, panting and weeping.

Janelle watched the dream. This was the engineer of the train which had hit her. She could see her own body in his memory as he desperately tried to stop and felt his despair as he failed. Just as soon as the train was motionless, the dream began again and the man was breathlessly trying to avoid the collision. He felt as if he could have, should have done something. If there were only something he could do to stop from becoming a murderer. The noises, the smells, the screams, the collision, it all happened again.

A third time, the dream started. This was too much for Janelle. She stroked the man's sweaty hair and whispered into his mind. "You did not cause this. You almost gave your life trying to save mine. You were brave and innocent. Nothing would have made any difference in the outcome. We both were victims of someone else, someone who halted my car and put my body to sleep there on the tracks. I forgive you, now you must forgive yourself."

The dream stopped. The noises became silence. The sights froze. He had heard her words. Now he still had to believe them. Janelle tried again. "That is my body you remember in the car; this is my spirit speaking to you. I do not know how or why I can speak to you, but I know what happened there, and I know it was not your fault. Do not punish yourself for what someone else caused. Do not keep my spirit in pain because a good person hurts from my death."

The scenery lightened, but it was still the image of an engine racing to collide with a car, even if it was frozen.

"Push the dream away. Refuse to accept delivery of the pain. It is not your pain to carry." The image of Janelle appeared, wearing the tee shirt and shorts she had worn that night, next to the engineer at the controls of the train. "I am not in pain and you never caused me any. Trust me that friends of mine are looking for the person who caused this and that he will be punished."

Her spirit wrapped her arms around the shaking engineer and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for being compassionate and caring about me. But now, forgive yourself."

Slowly, the dream faded into blackness. Janelle saw a middle-aged man being held by a worried woman about his age, who was kissing his face and stroking him tenderly. They were clearly in their bed and loved each other. She watched as his arms wrapped completely around her body and squeezed, lovingly. She listened as he said, "Let me tell you about my dream. No, this time it was different."

They both relaxed as he recounted the vision. Finally, they spoke words of love and fell comfortably asleep.

Pinkie was dreaming about Janelle. They were racing, and Pinkie was closing the small distance between them in the last lap of the race. Doing the breast stroke, Pinkie could beat Janelle, sometimes. At the last stroke, she passed Janelle and touched the wall first.

As she pressed herself out of the water, Bob walked over and kissed her cheek. "Congratulations, great race Pinkie." Then Janelle gave her a hug and spoke quietly in her ear, "Pinkie, you can do that in the real world, if you just try a little harder."

This was not the way that Pinkie's dreams usually went. Either Bob loved her and Janelle was jealous, or Bob hugged her and then walked over to Janelle. Why was this dream different?

Janelle's voice answered her question. "Because I am here in the dream with you." These words, so calmly spoken and definitely in Janelle's voice shocked Pinkie. She started to hyperventilate.

The arms around her tightened. They looked like Janelle's arms: tanned from afternoon practices in the sun, and muscled from hours of laps and sprints. Pinkie stepped back and stared, and the figure in front of her was definitely Janelle. "This is my dream! How are you in my dream?"

"That is one tough question, Pinkie. The only thing I know for certain is a train hit my car and I'm dead. But, somehow, I am still here when people think about me. You were thinking about me, and so, here I am." Janelle's arm stretched until her fingers touched Pinkie's hand. "In a dream, I can move, and feel, and talk."

Suddenly, Pinkie was embarrassed. Her blush turned her freckled skin into a sea of red with brown islands. "And you saw everything? I mean, when Bob... ?"

"That's partly why I am here, Pinky. I know that you like him; that you have liked him for at least a year, and that you have only dreamed about kissing him because he was my boyfriend." Janelle tried to put on a comforting face for Pinky, but the girl was still worried about jealousy. "I care about him. So do you. Right now, I can't be there with him, and he needs someone. He is depressed about me being dead, and only feeling someone near, someone he can touch, helps him come out of his depression. I know this is a strange thing to ask, but would you try and help him?"

"Well, I want to, but..." Pinkie imagined all the possible eventualities, and almost all of them were bad. Bad results for her, if she fell for Bob and he still loved Janelle. Bad outcome for Janelle, if Bob fell for Pinkie when Janelle's spirit was still around. Bad for Bob if he didn't accept Pinkie's help, and had a major depression to battle. Bad for them all, if, after trying to help Bob, he was still depressed.

Janelle, through the touch of their hands, could see the thoughts in Pinkie's mind. "Just let me talk with you, please? We may be able to find some way that will help all of us. Would you allow that?"