DP Tool Club 26/CD_ASCQ_26_1295.iso/vrac/rubyv50.zip/RUBY50-4

Text File | 1995-10-27 | 5KB | 87 lines

Copyright (c) 1995

                           LIFELINE
                        by Michael Hahn

     I love walking in the fog. When I was in college, I used to
spend a lot of time walking around the campus in the middle of the
night. It helped that I worked nights, so part of that time was on
the trip home. It was only a small part, though; I liked the night.
     Early October was when the weather changed. More often than
not, there'd be a thick fog. I walked around in the fog, sight and
sound muffled by the wisps of mist. I'd stand on the edge of the
soccer field, a spot as far from all the buildings as was possible.
It'd seem as though I stepped away from the world for a while.
     For a college student prone to depression, that was a good
thing. I'd catch my breath in that fog. Now, fifteen years later,
I'm just remembering.
     I drove here late this afternoon, checked into the local
Holiday Inn, and wandered across town to the campus. Two of my
favorite professors walked out of a staff meeting as I walked down
the hallway. They remembered me, both of them registering more than
a little surprise at my appearance. Now that I think about it, I
hadn't been here in eight years, the last time just before the
wedding of a friend.
     I walked downtown, found a cafe that still existed from my
days in school. The burgers were still more or less as I
remembered. I stopped in at Bahan's, or at least at the bar that
used to bear that name. A few of my classmates were there; they had
beers, I had club soda. Some things never change.
     They all had lives and wives and husbands and kids. We waved
goodbye around eleven p.m., and I walked back toward the campus.
There was a fog swirling in, a nice, thick fog. I smiled a little
smile, passed up my rented Oldsmobile, and headed toward the soccer
field.
     The fog thickened, the lights of the library and residence
halls faded from view. The night became silent, the silence I
remembered, and I breathed deeply. For a moment, I remembered being
twenty-one, a senior, finishing one life to start another. That was
long ago, though; fifteen years, three jobs, and two states had
passed, and I had a wife now.
     I slowed. Someone stood ahead of me in the fog, his back
turned to my approach. Another night-lover, like I had been. He
looked to be a student, with the usual student uniform:  running
shoes, jeans, longish hair. He wore a grey leather jacket, as I had
long ago. I stopped, stepped quietly to the right, and studied his
profile.
     "Hello," I said, quietly, and watched as he turned.
     "Oh, uh, hi. I was just enjoyin' the fog," he said.
     "Yeah, me too. I've always liked the fog. Sometimes it seems
like I can step away from the world for a while."  I waited.
     He looked puzzled, then studied my face. "Do I know you?"
     I remembered saying these words to a stranger, fifteen years
ago. He and I had talked for a few minutes, then I had gone back
to the dorm, leaving him standing in the fog. The stranger had been
quiet, and oddly familiar. Now I understood.
     I struggled to remember the words, talked of inconsequential
things, and watched him. He was just being polite, I knew,
irritated that his quiet time in the fog had been interrupted. He
hadn't recognized me, recognized himself, and now I understood.
     The man I saw fifteen years ago was clearly older, despite the
jeans and boots. His haircut, now mine, was that of a businessman,
not a student. He had carried an air of fatigue, like a distance
runner taking a breather.
     I saw myself now through the eyes of my younger self, a
younger self disappearing into the fog and back to the life he had
yet to live.
     "He'll be fine," said a quiet voice behind me, "but we both
know that."
     I turned to the speaker, an older man with jeans like mine,
and boots. Where my hair had a few threads of silver, his was a
full mane of grey. "How long?" I asked.
     "Thirty years, more or less, but I remembered. You should be
getting back now, you know--you promised to call."  He was right,
and I caught the pause around the "promised".
     "How long?" I asked again, and he smiled a small, sad smile.
     "A lifetime," was all he said.
     I nodded, and headed back to my car. The fog thinned a bit as
I walked, and the stars and the lights returned as I reached the
car.
     I thought about the young man, and the old one, as I drove
back to my hotel. I knew the young one would be fine, and I hoped
the old one would be as well. I wondered if he would meet anyone
else in the fog...
     I called my wife, and told her I loved her, and wished her a
good night.
                             -end-