A STEP INTO ETERNITY

By Jim Kittelbeger



Flip, flop, flip, flop. The wipers creating their distinctive rhythmic sound were trying their best to keep the rain off the window. But each time a vehicle passed him in the passing lane, exceeding the speed limit of course, it created a moment of complete blindness, as torrents of water gushed over the car. "If the temperature goes down a few more degrees," Jeff thought, "all this could turn to snow." He was heading down the interstate at his customary 7:00 in the morning. It was just barely light out with daylight savings time being discontinued for the year. He reached over to pick up his plastic covered cup, a gift from the mom and pop store where he stopped each morning and bought his elegant breakfast of a Danish and coffee poured into the cup bearing the logo for seven-eleven emblazoned on the side. As he took a sip, he burned himself and the car swerved, causing the car passing him to honk his horn. "Damn," he cursed. Then as he had many times before, he muttered the mantra he had etched in his brain, "In order to live in a small town and enjoy all its benefits, we will have to sacrifice something."



Six months earlier.


Ellen and Jeff had just returned to his Mothers house. They had been staying there for the last month, while his mother Ruth struggled through the final month of her life. Jeff the eldest of the children, sat down heavily in what was his fathers' favorite chair, and gave a long sigh.
"Well, once we get the house sold, I suppose we'll have to think about going home," he said, looking around the spacious living room of his parents home.


"Yes, I suppose we should," Ellen said as she headed for the kitchen to put together a little brunch, since they hadn't eaten anything yet today. The kitchen of this big house was huge, and Ellen loved it. Jeff's parents had a contractor come in just a few years ago and had the kitchen completely redone. An island in the middle of the room was the focal point. Large pots and pans hung over the island, an authentic butcher block. A new stove and refrigerator had also been added and the piece de resistance', cupboards, cupboards and more cupboards. Ellen had never had enough storage space and had been green with envy ever since Ruth had the work done.





That night they tossed and turned, sleep eluding them. Ellen finally rolled over and put her head on Jeff's shoulder. "Are you o.k. honey?" she asked. "You've been so quiet."


"Yeah I'm fine, really. You know, he said with a touch of awe in his voice, I think Mom was actually happy her last few days. She wanted to go; you know that she didn't fight at all because I think she was anxious to be re-united with Dad. They were convinced they'd be together again, and she's been so lonely since he died. I just wish I could believe like that, but I think once you die, it's all over."


"Well at least it gave her some comfort," Ellen said. "Now could you quit thinking so much and try to sleep, you need it, we need it."


An hour later, Jeff lay in the dark, listening to Ellen's steady breathing and stared up at the ceiling, wondering.


___________________________________________________________


The days that followed were spent in the melancholy task of going through the personal effects of the lives of the two people known as Mom and Dad. Joining in the task were Steve, three years younger than Jeff, and Sarah, the baby of the family, born ten years after Steve. Steve and Sarah had jobs and families in town that had to be attended to, so they helped out whenever they could.


"Look at this," Steve said from the opposite end of the large attic, which ran the full length of the house. Boxes, clothing hanging from lines, and toys played with and then forgotten, except by their parents who, for whatever reason, could not part with them, sat in orderly groupings. It was early spring, and the small windows on each end of the room were open, filling the attic with the wonderful sweet smell of warm spring air. Sunlight slanting through the windows provided warmth and a feeling of well being, which made their task much more pleasant. It also encouraged them not to hurry. He had uncovered the black bicycle with the red trim, the handle grips with red plastic strips trailing down from them, the light hanging upside down from the handle bars, and the smashed out of shape front wheel.


"I wonder why they kept this?" He wondered aloud.


"Maybe, to remind them how wild you were and how glad they were that you grew up in one piece," answered Sarah.


"Me wild?" said Steve, as if aghast that anyone could be so wrong about him.


"Wild and lucky, if I might add," Jeff spoke up. "It's a wonder you've gotten this far the way you used to walk on the edge of all Mom and Dads rules," he said only half kidding.


"You know, don't you? That they were wise to all the stuff you pulled." "Well maybe you don't." Jeff spoke half aloud.


He was only half listening and didn't get Jeff's semi-jesting jab. He was walking on the edge even now, and was wondering if his share of the estate would be enough to keep the knee breakers from visiting him late one night.


Steve was one of those 'too' sort of guys. Everything came too easily for him. He was too quick witted, too good looking. Schoolwork came too easily for him and he had too much charm. He never had to work hard enough to attain what he wanted, and if there was a shortcut to the goal, even though it was not the honest way, he was more than eager to walk that road. He was an anomaly to the argument that you learn from your environment. He was a constant puzzle to his parents. He was as perplexing and aggravating as a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of an Alaskan winter landscape. Eventually his parent's complete bewilderment with their son's amoral behavior cost him their respect. Their love he knew he had; the respect he didn't seem to care about. Their prayers from the day he left their home were to please protect their son, and until they died God had apparently answered their prayers, but now things were not going so well. Through his lifetime of shortcuts and less than honest dealings, he had always been able to stay at least one step ahead of paying the penalty of his ways. That is until this last year.


Sarah unknowingly shook her head from side to side, as she almost always did in conversations with her brother Steve. As she sat on a cardboard box, she leaned back against a discarded chest of drawers and stretched her arms over her head in the biggest stretch she could remember in a long time. It seemed that every muscle and tendon in her upper body were stretched to their limits, and then she relaxed. Combined with the warmth and quiet of the attic, she realized she was more relaxed than she had been in she didn't know how long. Her brother's voices seemed to grow hazy as she let all her problems shrink, as she was always able to do when she came back home. She smiled as she thought of the moments she shared with her parents. They were exclusive moments; a time shared after her older brothers had moved out of the house, thus making her by default an only child. A distinction she relished. The parents she remembered were older, more settled, and certainly more patient than the ones who, when starting out in marriage, did not have enough money, and were themselves growing up even as they were having children of their own. But even though each child inherited their parents at different ages in their parent's lives, one thing was always a constant, they loved their children, but interacted differently as they also grew and matured. Sarah, when she became old enough to understand the meaning of being the last child of older parents enjoyed their maturity, but also knew that the time with her parents would be limited. She was always afraid they would die and leave her alone, a familiar enough fear of children, usually unfounded, but when your parents are older when you are born, a real enough fear. The fear never came true and Sarah was in her forties now and quite on her own, but life was complicated now and she wished she could sit down and talk with her mother as she had so many, many times before