Chapter 36

I woke up in a hospital. Somehow I knew that before I opened my eyes. I could smell the familiar antiseptic odors. My arm felt stiff and sore. I could feel the bandaging they had used on the stab wound. Oh well, another battle scar.

I kept my eyes closed and tried to link to Simone. I was startled to find her so close. She was in the bed next to the chair in which I was sitting. Sensing she was safe and stronger, I drifted off to sleep again.

When I woke up again, it was dark. Simone was still asleep, resting easy. I had been having some very weird dreams. When I noticed she was holding my finger, much like Janey had done when I had sat by her bed, I suspected Simone and I had been communicating over a link between us similar to what Janey and I had done. I seemed to know her better now. She was, indeed, a special person.

The dream had seemed so real, almost interactive. I had been on a beach and thousands, millions of other people or beings were there, too. The fine white sand seemed to stretch for an eternity in both directions. When I looked down at my feet, I couldn't focus on the sand around me but it seemed so real I could almost feel it between my toes. Most of the people along the beach were busy building sandcastles. Some castles were bigger than others were, as those people had others helping them. Some others were struggling by themselves to build one that could stand against the relentless waves. Some of the people I saw seemed frantic, others worked calmly and steadily. Others, here and there, seemed to have given up.

Some people along the beach were angrily raging at the sea, kicking at the water, trying futilely to keep the waves from their sandcastles. As I watched, the waves would come and wash away their castles or the castles of the people near them. They were trying to stop the waves from reaching their sandcastles. The relentless waves would strike at random. You could never tell when the biggest waves would come up onto the beach, who would have to start over, who would need to rebuild, who would be wiped out or whose castle would be touched. Some sandcastles were barely touched by the waves, some the waves wiped out. Wherever the water touched a sandcastle there was a sense of sadness.

Sometimes the people would stop building and just wander out into the waves, to become a part of the vastness of the ocean. Most of us just kept building our castles. Like I was doing.

I had a bucket in my hand full of sand. When I examined the sand in the bucket carefully, though, I saw the grains were made up of the faces of Simone and Nicole. When I looked at my sandcastle, I saw that the sand there, too, was made up of faces, faces I knew, faces from my past and my present. I saw my parents, my sister, Sally and Janey. Mac was there, as were others, some alive, some long dead. I put the new bucket onto my castle and Nicole's and Simone's faces became part of the whole.

Looking up, I saw Simone was there on the beach beside me. The remains of two small ruined sandcastles were visible beside her as she bravely attempted to build yet another temporary bastion from the waves around the face of her mother. I saw in her sand the face of an elderly gentleman that I knew was the man she called Papa. The other man in the ruins was younger. It looked as if she had kicked that pile over herself, her small stomping footprints visible in the white sand, long deep scars where she had tried to kick the face of that evil man away from her, to get him out of her life. That sand, that face, however, was still a part of her castle, a part of her.

Simone wasn't raging at the waves as were many others in less tragic conditions. The waves had touched her sandcastle as it had theirs, yet she persevered. I could also see she was being very careful, selecting the material for her castle with greater care. She stood holding an empty bucket, another was off to one side. Janey's face was in her castle now, the new sand still bright and shiny. I could see my face in the bucket she had set aside. She was scared to mix it in with her mother's sand. Unsure.

Suddenly, in my dream, I was telling a story, teaching a history class. When I would turn to look at the students, they would all have the same face, the face of Simone. All of them asked different questions, throwing them at me faster than I could answer as if the time for the class was running out. I tried to answer as many as I could but some of them I knew I wasn't allowed to answer, secrets from my past I could not share. Some of the questions were easy. Some were hard. Others I didn't know the answers to. The school bell rang and the questions stopped.

We were back on the beach. Simone was turning to me smiling. Both buckets were empty. My face was in her castle. I waved my hands and a space opened in the walls of my own castle. When I looked around I could see that Sally had her castle right next to mine, each of our efforts adding support and protection to the other. Janey's sandcastle was also there next to mine, as was Nicole's. I invited Simone to place her sandcastle within the protection of mine, of my family's. I could tell she wanted to, but she was hesitant, afraid. It was not a feeling she was used to.

We were in the delicate and difficult process of moving her sandcastle closer to mine when I had woken up.

I tried to sit up. A pair of strong hands was there immediately to help me.

"I called your house. Janey answered. She said to tell you someone named 'Bala' came over to help out. Said you would want to know everything is OK and that Sally is still in the basement, whatever that means. Nicole, whoever she is, is awake and responsive and didn't need to go the hospital. Now that you know everything is OK, Lar, you want to tell me just what the fuck's going on? Who are all those people?"

I relaxed as I heard the rapid-fire reassurances from my friend. All the little things I hadn't been able to think of, he had. Damn, it was good to hear his voice.

I smiled. "Mac! You should really watch your language around impressionable young kids, you know?"

Mac had grown up on the streets in a very rough neighborhood. Ever since high school I had ribbed him about his rough language, helping him smooth out some rough edges. In return, he taught me to fight dirty and about the hard facts of life in the real world. We both learned and improved, better individuals for our friendship.

He punched my arm, the good one.

"Damn you, Lar, I've been stuck in here for three days waiting for you to wake up and tell them I had nothing to do with this. Whatever this is. What is this, anyway, and who the Hell are you and what have you done with my friend Larry Sampson?"

"Oh, God, Mac, where do I start..."

"He can't tell you," came a delicately accented voice from the bed.

The two of us turned our heads as one to look at the clear, sweet voice coming from the bed. Simone was awake.

She repeated, "He can't tell you. He has integrity."

She said that last word as if it were the most important thing in the world that a man could have. She may be right.

"Damn, Lar, who is the beautiful woman who uses big words with such a lovely accent?"

"Excuse my manners. Mac, this is Simone. Simone, Mac," I said in introduction.

He stuck out his hand, "Hi, Simone." His trademark grin that had won him more than one fair maiden lit up his face.

"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Mac."

She said his name with her delightful accent and giggled at his response to her. I had seen Mac in many situations but I had never seen him this flustered. I swear, he even blushed.

"I can get her to explain any big words you don't understand, OK, lughead?"

"Fuck you!"

"Monsieur Mac!"

That reprimand came from her, followed by another delightful laugh. I had never observed that particular behavior they called coquettish before, but it was truly amazing to see this teenaged girl keep Mac tongue-tied and off balance.

After several minutes of valiantly waging a losing battle, he turned to me for rescue.

"Help me out here, please! So help me God, I want to take her home with me. But if you dare tell CeCe I said that, I'll make you pay for our lunches for the next 10 years."

"I'm tempted to tell you to go fuck yourself, Mac," I laughed, grinning at him. "But I don't think I could afford you for the next 10 years with your new contract."

Mac had gone on a tear at the plate the last month of the season. It hadn't been enough to get the team into the play-offs but it sure brought up the gate receipts, which is what counts. He had been expected to just be a part-time replacement for an injured player. He had far out-performed expectations. I knew he would, given the chance.

When the opposing pitchers kept getting hit, they started walking him. Trouble with that was that Mac firmly believed in scoring. Baseball to him was simple. You get on base, then you score. He brought an exciting sandlot quality to an aging team and a boring game, invigorating the whole team in the process. If you walked him to first, he would steal the next three bases, including home plate. The fans loved it. So did management. They had just signed him to a huge contract for the next 3 seasons.

"Lawrence, is he OK?" Simone asked quietly.

I knew what she meant. Was he safe to have in her sandcastle? Would he hurt her, leaving her to trample more sand?

"Uh, 'Monsieur Mac', as you have dubbed him, is my closest and best friend. I would, and have, trusted him with my life and yours. I hope someday you will find a friend as good as he is to me. I can't tell you if he will be good for you, but I would bet he would be. That decision has to be up to you. Always."

"It is frightening, Lawrence. How can I be sure who to trust?"

"Trust your mother. Trust Sally. Trust Janey. Learn from them, watch them, see how they measure people, who they let into their lives."

"But Gary, and that other man..." she didn't finish.