See John write

The first hints of dawn were filtering through the bedroom window. It was Saturday. Normally, I would have slept late. But I found myself wide awake.

I rolled over to see if Jenny was awake too. But she was sleeping soundly. The soft light brought out the best in her features. I found myself studying her face. She was so peaceful. I noticed the way her mouth turned up at the corners, as if in a permanent smile. My eyes followed down the curve of her neck and remembered the many times that I used to snuggle into that space below her ear and how she would giggle and pull away every time.

Her right hand was on top of the blanket, laying on her stomach. I looked at her perfectly manicured nails and the daintiness of her fingers. I remembered the way she held my hand so tightly as we walked up the stairs to her parents house when I was to meet them for the first time. I swear there was no blood reaching my fingertips by the time walked through the door. Her dad didn’t like me much at first. No one was good enough for his little girl. I always said that I finally wore him down. But I’ll never forget the way he looked at me on our wedding day. He stared me down and without saying a word, he let me know that he still had his doubts about me.

But with that same hand that she had used to crush my fingers on the doorstep, she patted my chest when I told her about the “stare down.” It was her way of reassuring me. I liked how I felt when she touched me like that. I was sure we were going to be OK. I wanted so much to take care of her. To show him, show that I was a man.

Suddenly, I realized the ache that was crushing the center of my chest. All the emptiness between that day and this moment seemed like it was literally sucking the life out of me. I wanted to reach out and take her hand again. But I couldn’t reach. It was too far.

I placed my hand on the blanket next to her arm. Jenny’s eyes opened and she immediately turned to look at me. I tried to smile.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” I whispered.

She pulled her arm away from my hand and flashed me a stinging glare.

“Were you just staring at me?” she asked as she turned on her side away from me.

“No, I was just thinking … ” I said.

“Yeah, I know what you think about,” she said, pulling the blanket tightly around her.

“Why do you have to do that?” I could feel my blood rising.

“Don’t start, Brian. It’s Saturday, I want to rest.”

“Jenny, I was thinking about our wedding day.”

She let out a half chuckle. I was stunned.

“I guess that’s about right,” I snapped. “Our marriage is a joke to you?”

Jenny sat up and turned to look at me. “What are you doing, Brian? What? Our marriage? What marriage? You’re not going to sit there and pretend that—that you’re some kind of loving devoted husband. I’ve been here for eight years, Brian. Eight years! I know what we have.”

I leaned back in my office chair behind my desk. I looked at Travis who was still jotting down notes from the assignment I’d just given him.

“Hey, Trav, can I ask you something?” I said.

“Sure, Brian,” he said without looking up from his notes.

“Well, it’s kind of a personal question,” I added.

Travis paused and looked up. He was one of those young, bright-eyed associates we liked to hire while they still were full of ambition and energy.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“You’re married, right?”

“Yeah,” Travis responded with a nod.

“Do you think most married people are happy? I mean really happy?”

“I’d say, more are than not.”

I looked him in the eye. “Would you say you’re truly happy then?” I asked.

“You mean like in my relationship?” he looked at me kind of sideways.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Well, yeah. Marriage has been great for me.”

Travis paused. I could tell he was about to ask me.

“Thanks, Trav. Hey, I’ll look for that report on my desk in the morning.”

At lunch, I went for a long walk through downtown. Twice I pulled out my phone. I remember when Jenny and I used to talk. It seemed like we couldn’t wait to share everything. Big things, small things, hopes, insecurities—everything. It used to seem so easy.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and headed back to my building.

So in my statistics class the other night we were talking about random numbers. And I don’t know how, but my mind got working on random numbers and band names. You know, bands named things like Foo Fighters or The Beatles that seem … well, so random. I wondered if a random number generator could be used to come up with band names that would be viable.

So I created a list of 86 words. Just miscellaneous words. And then used an online random number generator to come up with band names. Here are a few gems that my invention spit out.

Black Angry Giraffes

Painful Helpless Disturbed

Spectacular Green Lasers

Flexible Distance Bubble

Exploding Politician Pages

Shattered Jumping Sweatpants

Flying Baby-Blue Voltage

What do you think? I wonder if I could sell my invention to a record company. Maybe this is my ticket.

Top 5 Movies:

The Princess Bride

The Fugitive

Sneakers

Seabiscuit

Freedom Writers

Top 5 Classic CDs:

Billy Joel Turnstiles

Boston Third Stage

Indigo Girls Nomads, Indians, and Saints

Journey Greatest Hits

Chicago 17

Top 5 “More Current” CDs:

Norah Jones Feels Like Home

Lifehouse No Name Face

Blue Merle Burning in the Sun

Brandi Carlile The Story

Borne Loss of Signal

Top 5 Favorite Mexican Restaurants

Cafe Rio

Red Iguana

Cafe Pierpont

Beto’s

Guaymas (In San Francisco—amazing)

Top 5 Favorite Things about Fall Weekends

Sleeping in

Making a fool of myself on the sidelines at my kid’s soccer games

BBQing

Playing games with the kids on Sunday afternoons

College football

Top 5 Memories of Summer

Matt on the ski board

The giggling of Elizabeth and her friends after they all got their hair done

Josh getting up on the wakeboard for the first time

Nate discovering the kneeboard

Making the traditional b-day breakfast with Janet in the early dawn at the Anderson Cove campground

Top 5 Things I Like about My New Job

I can ride the bus to work

I get paid to learn more about diabetes

We have some crazy conversations about the church with my boss

A coworker who is also a BYU fanatic

I’ve been able to keep in touch with my good friends from FranklinCovey

Top 5 Hardest Things about Having Your Own Blog

Coming up with  new ideas to write about

Finding time to go rip off good ideas from other bloggers

Wondering if anybody thinks your writing is nearly as clever as you do

Coming up with new ideas to write about

Ummmmmm

Hey, I have an idea. If you are a reader of this blog, but never comment, will you just let me know you’re here? You don’t have to comment or anything—it’ll be kind of like roll call.

In fact, here’s the deal. If you ever want to find out what happens to poor Jenny and her husband, you have to let me know you’re a reader OK?  

The silence between us was like the dull ache of a rotting tooth. In the darkness, I stared blankly at the ceiling and listened to myself breathing. I knew she wasn’t asleep either. It had been months, maybe even years, since she had gone to sleep before me.

Night after night, we’d lay there, almost like we were waiting for something to be said, waiting for … I don’t know.

If you asked me how things got so bad between us, I wouldn’t know what to say. Just like when I come through the door now and Jenny asks, “Where have you been?” Before a single word comes out of my mouth, my mind is in turmoil. What does she mean?

And so it starts. And then it ends, in silence. Waiting.

But do you want to know the truth? I love Jenny. Desperately. That’s the truth. And it will always be the truth.

She doesn’t know though. She doesn’t know how much I think about her. She doesn’t know all the things I notice. The little strand of hair that she catches between her lips when she’s nervous. The way she reaches out and touches the arm of a friend she bumps into unexpectedly. The light in her eyes when she laughs.

It’s been a long time since I saw her laugh.

I told her my favorite joke on our first date. She laughed so hard. Her head tipped back, her dark hair flipped to the side, and her white teeth flashed. Nothing forced. Nothing fake. Nothing to hide. That’s when I started loving her. I was so nervous. She was way out of my league. But then she laughed. And she touched my arm. And I felt like I could take flight.

That day seems now like a dream. Like a movie I watched once.

The window was open and I heard a large truck rumble down the empty street outside. Jenny took a deep breath and I thought I heard the hint of a sigh. Instinctively, I took a deep breath too.

“Where have you been?”

That is the question. Where have I been? Where did I go, what was so distracting, how did I let the only thing that mattered to me slip out of my hand?

Hi, I’m here for my BYU-Football-Addicts Anonymous therapy session.

I’ve been struggling since late Saturday night. I just can’t make sense of what my eyes saw. My beloved Cougars fell apart against Tulsa.

Yeah, the same defense that held UCLA last week to 27 points (actually 20 points as there was an interception returned for a touchdown) was absolutely shredded. It wasn’t pretty. 75-yard touchdown bombs. Trick plays that fooled everyone—including the camera man so that most of the time it was impossible to know which BYU player to be angry with. The BYU defense seemed to make some adjustments as the game went on. They seemed to be getting a handle on things. But then, when they absolutely had to get a stop—BOOM, another touchdown for Tulsa.

And then there was the offense. How do you complain about the unit that put 47 points on the board? Or that had more rushing yards, more passing yards, and more first downs than the opposition? Well, this is how you complain. Just take care of the dang ball and stop the ridiculous bone-headed penalties. I can handle watching you get outplayed by a better team. But I cannot suffer through another performance where I watch you give the game away. Don’t work so hard to put yourself in a position to win and then throw it all away because you can’t concentrate for one more play. Ahhhhhhhggg!

Please, please, please Cougars. Right the ship. Get your heads on straight. And beat the living daylights out of Air Force this weekend. Please restore my hope and my sanity.

Please.

I’ve been trying to post a video from YouTube. It’s been frustrating to say the least. I guess I’ll have to just give you the link (how passé!) to the highlights of the US-Brazil soccer match on Sunday.

I’ve watched a lot of soccer. And I think the way the Brazilians passed the ball around on the play that resulted in their first goal (actually an own goal by the US) was one of the most amazing displays of skill I’ve ever witnessed. The speed. The precision. The way they all seem to be thinking and moving the same. Wow.

So please watch the video and see if you don’t agree. Phenomenal stuff.

Fog of Dreams continues.

I hesitantly pulled the door open. Inside, Aunt Josie and Uncle Bryant stood shoulder to shoulder. They smiled at me and Aunt Josie extended her arms toward me.

I hugged her and searched for the words.

“It’s OK,” Uncle Bryant said. “Mr. Brown told us. He said he would hold a press conference later today. He’ll set the record straight.”

I stepped back and stammered for a moment. “You were always so good to me,” I finally said.

“We were happy to take you in.” Aunt Josie squeezed my shoulder with her thin hand.

“You’re not angry?” I asked.

“No. In fact, somehow it all makes more sense now,” Uncle Bryant said.

I knew exactly what he meant. They had always treated me like I was their own child. But there was always a distance between us, a question waiting to be asked, an uncomfortable conscience in the way. But I did love them. Just like Dad had said, they gave me a life.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything,” I said.

“You know where we are,” Aunt Josie smiled. “Our door is always open.”

I nodded and then the three of us hugged. Immediately, I felt the tug of my dream in the back of my mind.

“I’ve got to go now,” I said abruptly. I turned and hurried out the door of the meeting room.

Sterling Brown was waiting for me. I nodded at him. “Mr. Brown, thanks for everything,” I said. I reached out and shook his hand. I let go and headed for the front door.

“Wait,” Mr. Brown said. “Where are you going?”

“There’s someone who needs my help. I have to go.”

Mr. Brown didn’t say another word, he stepped to my side and hurried out the door with me. Once outside, I looked up and down the street to get my bearings. I began to walk away when Mr. Brown caught my arm.

“Listen, you don’t have to run anymore,” he said to me.

“I’m not running away,” I said. “My dad’s in trouble. I need to get there fast.”

Mr. Brown reached in his pocket. “I see. Then take my car.” He handed me his car keys. “It’s the silver Lexus right over there.”

“I … I … can’t take your car,” I said.

“You gave me my son back,” Mr. Brown said. “I found him right where you said. Pervis is home now.”

“That’s good,” I said.

“I will never be able to repay you for that. Please take the car, use it as long as you need it.”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

######

I pulled the Silver Lexus off the road and into the rail yard. I shut off the engine and jumped out. I hurried through the mud toward his hut. Two homeless men huddled on a makeshift bench watched me run past.

I flung the door open and light flooded the little hut. Dad was sitting on his cardboard bed and across the room from him I could see the back of her wild red curls.

“What are you doing here?” I yelled.

She spun around. Her eyes were steely cold. She stared at me.

Dad squirmed uncomfortably.

“It’s OK dad. We have nothing to hide. The truth is out. She can’t hurt us.”

Dad looked up and our eyes met. He searched my face and I gave him a half smile. “It’s time to get you out of here.”

Suddenly, she stepped between us. “If you really wanted to help, you would not have interfered,” she said in her emotionless voice. She reached out and grabbed my wrist.

I twisted my hand away and grabbed a hold of her own wrist. “You are the one living the lie now,” I said as I forced her out of the way. “Dad, you are free. Let’s go home.”

He stood, looked around the hut for a moment, then picked up a small box from the corner. “OK,” he said in his unsteady voice.

In a moment, we were on the road. I checked the rear view mirror. No one was following. At least for now.

“Is it really true?” Dad asked after several minutes of silence.

“Yes, Dad, it’s true.”

Above the morning mists, the sun shone bright and clear. We could feel the warmth of the new day.

The dream began calmly enough. I was free and walking down empty streets. The sky was bright and clear. My surroundings flowed by me and I felt like I was gliding more than truly walking.

But then I realized, I was being drawn forward. I couldn’t resist it. Compelled, pulled, sucked along. I wanted to dig in my heels … yet I knew I had to go. Someone needed help. Someone needed my help.

In a flash, I realized I was standing in the mud under the freeway. A train swept past me and shook the ground. I could feel storm clouds gathering overhead again. I looked around and found myself alone. My eyes quickly went to his shanty. My dad.

I tried to run. But now it was as if I couldn’t move. I struggled with all my might.

“Dad!” I screamed—though the word seemed to vanish before it left my throat. “DAAAD!” I tried again.

Slowly, I was able to start moving; step by step I made my way closer. As I looked up, I saw her step out of his hut. Her wild red curls were unmistakable. She turned and looked right at me. Her lips curled in a mocking smile and she shook her head.

I woke in a sweat. My eyes stared at the gray ceiling and my mind was racing. I have to get out of here.

I jumped up and went to the bars of my cell. I looked up and down the hall but it was empty. Suddenly, I could hear voices. Then the door at the end of the hall flew open.

“I’m holding a court order that says my client is to be released immediately,” a deep voice boomed.

I could tell there were guards scrambling and someone answered something that I couldn’t understand. The footsteps grew louder until three guards appeared in front of my cell. A moment later they were joined by Sterling Brown. His face was stern and his eyes stared right through the guards. In his right hand, he held a paper.

The guard slid his key into the lock and turned it. Just then Sterling met my eyes and for a split second he smiled at me. The guard stepped into my cell and approached me.

“Officer, do not lay a hand on my client,” Sterling Brown ordered.

The guard took a step back from me and motioned me toward the open door. In a moment, we were back by the front desk and my personal belongings were being returned to me.

I slid my wallet back into my pocket and I turned to thank Mr. Brown. He shook his head and held up his hand. “You have some visitors in that meeting room,” he said as he pointed at a closed door behind me.

“Visitors?” I asked.

He just nodded.

More to come. Stay tuned.

I watched as the color drained from Sterling Brown’s face. He glanced nervously around him. “What do you know about The Society?” he whispered cautiously into the phone.

“They’re no good—tried to trap me,” I answered. “They have some kind of psychotic drug they use.”

“You know this?” Mr. Brown queried.

“Yes.”

Mr. Brown sat back in his chair. He wiped his forehead and nodded slightly. “Drugs, of course,” he said to himself.

“What do you mean?” I asked through the phone.

He paused a moment and looked me right in the eye. “They have my son,” he said quietly.

I didn’t know what to say. We sat in silence for a long moment and just looked at each other. Then I saw it. His eyes … were suddenly familiar. Almost like remembering from a dream. But I knew those eyes … those dark eyes. They were Pervis’ eyes.

“Your son is Pervis,” I said. “Right?”

Mr. Brown’s dark eyes widened. “You know my son?”

“I tried to help him escape. Just today. He was with me in the car when we got to your office—”

“Today!” Mr. Brown interrupted. “Pervis was at my office today?”

“Yes,” I said, “but then he saw his … sister. And he went right back to them.”

“Sister?” Mr. Brown was now sitting up and leaning almost until his face touched the plexiglass. “Pervis doesn’t have a sister.”

“But she told me Pervis was her brother. That’s how she tried to get me in The Society.”

“Wait,” Mr. Brown said. I could hear anger building in his voice. “Does she have curly red hair?”

“Yes,” I said. “And pale—”

“Blue eyes,” Mr. Brown interrupted.

“But she’s not your daughter?” I asked.

“No. She befriended Pervis. She pretended to need help …”

Suddenly, the guard was at my side. He wrapped his large hand around my upper arm. “Time’s up,” he said emphatically.

I could see a sudden panic on Sterling Brown’s face.

“He wants out, Mr. Brown. He does,” I said as the guard lifted me out of my chair.

Mr. Brown stood up on the other side of the glass. He mouthed the word “Where?” to me.

“A warehouse on the west side. No sign. Big fenced lot with a gate—”

“That’s enough,” the officer said as he yanked the phone out of my hand.

I could tell Sterling Brown tried to say something else to me but I couldn’t tell what. The officer roughly pulled me down the hall and back to my cell.

It was dark. The guard pulled my cell door shut and the clank echoed throughout the jail. I listened to his footsteps as he walked away, then all was quiet. I sat down on the hard bunk. The gray wool blanket was rough under my hands. Staring at the bleak cinder block walls, I knew I should be feeling panic … or despair … or darkness.

But I didn’t. I felt free. It’s impossible to explain. But sitting there in a jail cell, I felt free for the first time in my life. I didn’t care what happened now. I had spoken the truth. I had told someone who I really was.

And I hoped that maybe I had helped Pervis too.

If anyone had walked by my cell, I’m certain they wouldn’t have believed their eyes. I couldn’t contain the smile on my face. When I finally laid down, sleep came fast and easy.

More to come. Stay tuned.

OK, let’s pretend that Alexander is back in his jail cell. Earlier in the day, he tried to see Sterling Brown, but was carted off by a Society-loving police officer before he got a chance. Forget that other ending. It stunk. Let’s try again.

I heard the door open. The guard walked down the hallway and stopped in front of my cell. He put a large key in the lock. “Feldman, you’ve got a visitor,” he said.

I followed him down the hall to a row of small cubicles. Each had a hard chair and a phone. Thick plexiglass separated the prisoner side from the visitor side. I was lead to one of the chairs and I sat down. I looked through the plexiglass to see a complete stranger seated on the other side. He was a grey-haired gentleman wearing a dark business suit. His dark eyes