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PATRICK HEARS VOICES, Chapters 22 - 26 , By Kathy Vik NaNoWriMo
While writing this for all of us, a novel to and for and about lightworkers, I am asking for whatever financial help you feel moved to provide me. Private message me, or contact me at amissvik@gmail.com. My PayPal account is under amissvik.
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www.wordpress.com/patrickhearsvoices
As I am re-writing, for continuity's sake, as I go, so I will post this as a book, in case you haven't been reading a long, on my wordpress site. It's fun to just read along, bit by bit, but also fun to read the thing in one block, if that's your thing.
And here were go.
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CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
By seven, the hall was filled and there were a few folks seated on the floor. A few were sipping coffee, others were already meditating.
A calmness came over the gathering, and folks naturally became still, having stowed away their refreshment in that odd place between not being ready, and being ready.
Kevin came from the lobby area then, and slowly walked up the aisle between the folding chairs. He looked at everyone's heads, and began to feel more and more expanded as he walked.
By the time he;d taken his seat on the stool, his vision was blurred, and he could appreciate huge colorful hazes coming from each of the participants.
He'd been told by what he called The All, to say his prayer out loud. It was important, she'd written through him just recently, for others to see how it is he communicates to The All.
He settled himself on his stool, smiled, got every person's eyes for just that one moment of connection, and then, he closed his eyes, and began to speak.
Afterward, he always felt invigorated, almost giddy. So far from his usual social stance, it had taken time for the others to trust his altered demeanor. Within about an hour, the energy seemed to dissipate enough to become more reigned in, less enthusiastic. Kevin found that enthusiasm worked best on established friends. He'd found early on that he overpowered folks unaware of his abilities if he didn't dial it way, way back. He'd taken to the gifts of silence, and it was only after a transmission like this that he felt no filters, no social constraint.
He was just coming off this state when Patrick came to him, looking troubled.
“How did you know?” Patrick asked.
Kevin remembered little of what had gone on this night. He'd been called away, farther away than usual. “I'm sorry, Patrick, but I have no recollection of what was said, at the moment. Some of it filters back to me with triggers, but it's inaccessible to me at present.” he studied Patrick, the relief that seemed to wash over him. “Do you want to tell me what was said? I'm always curious, when I get so knocked out. You telling me is the only way I have of recapturing it, sort of.”
Patrick was considering this when Kevin added, “But, hey, don't tell me anything you don't want me to know. It's yours, if I'm gone. You own the message, I'm just a messenger, you know? Some letters from home you just don't feel like passing around, I get it.”
Patrick saw how Kevin’s face seemed to glow, a happiness crowning him somehow. His eyes glittered, in that simple building, with its retro lighting and weird grandma smell. He wondered just how much he should let Kevin into his own mind.
Patrick thought, then, about the message he'd been given, and he felt a stirring he could neither explain nor argue with. Without editing himself, without worrying what Kevin might think of him, he began.
“You were explaining The All, and this beautiful concept that The All is The One, and The One is The All. It was so beautiful. And then,” Patrick hesitated, thinking on the event, “You opened your eyes, looked right at me, and told me things only me and my mom know. It was like she was in the room. I could smell her, man.”
Patrick shook his head, and continued. “You told me, or she told, or, oh my god, I don't even know how to talk about this stuff!” Patrick exclaimed in frustration.
“Try this,” Kevin said. “If you feel it was your mom's essence that talked to you, you can just say that. Or just say 'she.' That's fine.” he patted Patrick's shoulder and urged him to continue.
“She looked at me and told me she wanted me to have proof that we go on. She said she wanted to be dead before I got to the hospice, so that she could embrace me as I found out. She told me her nurse and she used to be married, and she wanted to spend those moments making things right with him.” The words tumbled out of Patrick without filter, one long rush of disbelief.
Patrick took Kevin's hands then, and asked with all of his heart, looking inky those murky eyes of his, “How?”
Kevin disengaged from Patrick, shrugged, and said, “I don't know. I'm willing, I guess. I'm glad you got a direct message. Usually things aren't quite so pointed. It's unusual, really. Are you doing ok?”
Patrick smiled broadly, and told Kevin exactly what was in his heart, “I don't think things could be better, Kevin. I really am ok. Thanks for this, Kevin. Thanks a lot.”
After Valerie and Indra got done cleaning up the kitchen, stowing the coffee urn in its moldy spot in the broom closet, they joined Kevin and Patrick folding the last of the chairs. The building was chilly, the heat having been turned down a half hour ago.
Indra said, “That was quite a time, Kevin. I don't know how to thank you.”
This never ceased to puzzle Kevin, in a vague way. Kevin was asked to do for them something he so enjoyed, he knew in a real way that he lived just week to week, session to session, on some days. He felt honored for being invited, and here was someone thanking him!
“Really, honestly, the pleasure is all mine,” Kevin said, as he bowed low, like an English gentleman.
They locked up as a group, and walked over to their parked cars, the last four in that part of the parking lot. The liquor and grocery stores were still getting traffic, but at this end of the mall, businesses were already closed for the night.
“Oh, say!” Kevin said, “I forgot to bring in the applesauce I canned. Would you girls like a few?” he pushed a button, and his Jeep beeped, letches unhinged, and the lights came on. He popped open the back, and took out two huge Ball jars filled with chunky applesauce. He handed them to the Indra, and then went back for two more. “I've got more than this, if you can eat it.”
Indra laughed as she said, “Kevin, I'll give you forty bucks for six. Not a penny less.” She turned to Indra and said, “This stuff is amazing. I don't think I've had any around for you before.”
He walked a box of six over to Indra's car, spoke to her and hugged her, Patrick saw from the jeep. Valerie was hanging around with Kevin, although she didn't know why. She was tired, and had an hour drive ahead of her.
Kevin returned empty handed, smiling. “That's quite a girl you've got there,” Kevin said. “You want some applesauce now? I have plenty?”
“No, Kevin,” Valerie said. “Indra and I live together. I'm set. I like baking with it.”
“You're not into this channeling stuff, are you, Valerie?” Kevin said, as he was closing the back of his jeep.
“I can take it or leave it, really. I think it's all just rearranging chairs on the Titanic. It makes people feel like they are doing something purposeful, but, really, they're just trying to calm themselves in the midst of disaster. But,” she said, “That's just my take on things.”
She said good night, and thank you, but the conversation had been over with the word “disaster.” Neither Kevin nor Patrick felt welcome in her presence after her speech, and they excused themselves politely, Kevin then pointing to Patrick's car and mentioning his long drive home.
At the car, Patrick asked Kevin how he felt about what Valerie had said.
“To each their own. There's a lot of people living in despair, and it's nearly always impossible to argue them out of it. I just wander away. It gets to bouncing off, after a time. She's mad at something, but it ain't me.” Patrick smiled, liking this old guy more and more as the evening progressed.
“Why don't you come by the house this weekend?” Kevin said. “I mean, Ellie's house. Bill is a basketball fan. There's always a game on.”
“I have to get back to school on Monday,” Patrick remembered. “If I can bring over my books, I'd like that. I have an essay due, and I've been putting it off.”
“What's your dad doing, kid? Would he like to join in? Sports fan?” Kevin trailed off.
“He works on Saturdays, all day, and on Sunday he golfs all day,” Patrick said, suddenly aware of his situation. Now that mom's gone, he thought, there was little for him to do, outside of hanging with friends. But there was no one in his circle who felt equipped to deal with what Patrick had been facing with his mom. A few had grandparents who'd passed on, but no one he knew had lost a parent yet.
Kevin's invitation was accepted, plans were made, loose ones, and they shook hands. Patrick lingered in his dark car for awhile after everyone else had driven off. It was a full moon tonight, and he looked at it through his windshield. He thought about what Kevin had said, what she had said, his mom, tonight.
He slept deeply that night, using his old cat Pal like a farting pillow, and dreamed of worlds he was yet to see.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
“What the fuck?” Bernie said angrily, as she slammed her laptop shut.
“What the fuck, what the fuck?” answered a heavily accented, deep voice.
“Oh, there's an eBay seller who sold me a broken camera,” Bernie explained, “and now she's moved the goal posts regarding her return policy. Shifty little bitch.”
“How much was it?” Daniel asked.
“Three hundred and change,” Bernie reported, matter of fact. “It was a relic of a Kodak. Here. It's in the box.”
Daniel picked up the thing, and played with it, unlatched a gizmo, pulled a couple things, and the camera looked as it did in the eBay printout lining the box.
“There's your problem,” he said in his measured way. “That, and your temper.”
“Whatever, old man,” Bernie said flippantly.
“Oh, I see how this is going to be today,” Daniel said, coming up behind her, putting his arms roughly around her waist. “Old man, am I, today? Luscious.” He nuzzled her neck. “Just luscious.”
“Old,” Bernie said, her words catching in her throat, “old and twisted.”
The two had been on and off again lovers since the mid seventies, day trippers, in and out of psychedelia and new sciences. He traveled in a more esoteric crowd. They rendezvoused once a year at the MUFON conference, and got together whenever his traveling permitted. He lived in New York, summered near Avesbury, and lived most of his time on the road lecturing about ancient civilizations.
They had dinner that night, on the 16th Street mall downtown. He'd wanted pizza, she'd wanted Subway, so they got their food and ate on a bench. They ate watching passersby, listening to steel drums playing a couple blocks away. It was chilly out tonight, but spring was in the air, something neither one of them wanted to ignore. It had been a particularly harsh winter, in both of their home towns.
Bernie knew that Daniel liked to go the bookstore to visit his own publications. He swaggered even more than usual after such a visit. Bernie just happened to dig him even more when he swaggered.
What was not well known about Bernie was that she was a bit of a groupie. She took the guru thing just a bit further than most, and most people she idolized wound up feeling the same about her. She'd followed rock bands, comics, intellectuals. She'd been able to travel a lot, and had more stories than most decent people have. She was usually proud of her accomplishments, until she hung around someone like Ellie's house guest, Judy. Judy took one whiff of Bernie's story and shut the door. She'd been called a starfucker more than once, and Judy seemed to secrete this word into every conversation they had.
She looked at Daniel, and knew that what was contained in his navy pea Coat was just a scrap of what she was in love with. He was connected. She could feel it. She loved being around him, and others like him. She lived for it. Judy, she thought, can go fuck herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“What are you smiling at?” asked Daniel.
“Just thinking about a friend,” Bernie replied.
They each had an armful of books by the time they'd made it to the ground floor of the massive building. Bernie went to an unoccupied counter and rested her books there, as the patrons in front of them wound through the ropes, shuffling toward one of just two cashiers manning the downtown Barnes and Noble.
Ahead of Daniel was a severe looking woman, dressed in a flannel shirt and work pants. Daniel bumped into her while moving forward in line, and the woman looked at him with distaste. She said, “excuse you” to him, and went back to gazing out into space.
Daniel and Bernie looked at each other and smiled.
At the counter, the pimply clerk ran the lady's cards, and handed her a slim bag, telling her, “You saved ten dollars today, Valerie.”
Daniel and Bernie left the store with four plastic bags, and headed for the train station.
Waiting for the train heading west was the rude woman at the bookstore. She saw Daniel and Bernie approaching, and muttered, “Aw, shit.”
Bernie and Daniel leaned against the handicap ramp, happy to poke through their bags while waiting for a train back to their car.
“Excuse me,” a voice from behind Daniel called out.
Approaching them was the lady from the line, Bernie saw. What joy, Bernie thought to herself.
“Say,” the woman began, “I really wanted to apologize for my behavior back then.”
Daniel stood from his bags and extended a hand, “Not to worry,” he said, in his lilting Scottish brogue.
“Ireland?” the woman asked.
“Scotland. Live near Avesbury now,” he added.
“Well, I'm sorry for being such a jerk. There's something about lines in stores that makes me put my hackles up,” Valerie explained. “I'm Valerie. And you are?”
“Daniel Wheeling,” he introduced himself, “And this is my lovely companion, Bernie.”
“Nice night for it,” Bernie said, lighting a smoke.
“Could I bum one while we're waiting?” Valerie asked.
“If you don't mind unfiltered. I took these off my brother,” Bernie explained. She turned to Daniel and said, “While you're in town, we should go see Ellie. Kevin called me last night and told me they're all getting together tomorrow for, for sports viewing. I know that's not your thing...”
Daniel smiled and thought about The Light House. “I haven't seen Ellie in, wow, has it been two years already?” Daniel said. “Yeah, that sounds good, in the afternoon, though,” Daniel said, smiling what Bernie knew to be a wildly wicked smile.
Valerie boggled at their conversation.
“I'm sorry to intrude,” she said, “But are you talking about Ellie Benz?”
“Yeah,” Bernie said. “She's my sister.”
“You're probably not going to believe this, but,” and with that, Valerie explained of this odd urge she'd been having to call Ellie, go see her, this insistent thing she'd been putting off doing, much like she'd since been putting off her laundry.
By the time the train had arrived, they'd made arrangements for the next day. Bernie insisted Ellie had an open door policy on game days, and Valerie was free to bring a guest.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Ellie long ago made peace with Bill's sports fanaticism. She'd drawn the line at sports radio, but everything else was fine, including letting the weekends be game day at their house.
She used the weekends to work on the house, doing odd projects and major makeovers. When her kids were small, they'd had modest homes, many of them rented. Once they moved into the Light House, Ellie came to discover her love of decorating, puttering, and DIY'ing. She'd gotten all the kids involved, when not doing things with friends, as they began to mature. Those who found themselves at home learned to make wreaths, sand dressers, clean carpets and shop.
Ellie and her kids frequented ARC's, Goodwill’s' and Salvation Army's on weekends, taking advantage of weekend specials, when projects were less compelling than finding a good bargain. Even when the family was no longer living paycheck to paycheck, their passion for deals continued.
Today was not a shopping day for Ellie, but she and Judy had plans to rummage the next day. Today was a game day, and the sooner she got cooking, the sooner she could do her own thing.
Although Bill was the official cook of the house, Ellie had perfected a few recipes, and because they were crowd pleasers, she made massive quantities of them on Saturdays. Visitors usually came with something in their hands, more often than not beer, and it had become the norm that Ellie would provide food for those who strayed over, until 7. The house closed up at 7, that was her other rule.
Today she was making Spam sandwiches, an old family recipe, that tasted incredible even though it shouldn't, and even though everyone knew they were eating Spam, she nearly always ran out on game day.
She ground the Span with her ancient steel grinder, and wondered to herself what she should do today. She'd finished a waterfall dresser last, and it now held the mail, leash and two drawers full of junk, in the foyer. Something fun, she thought, something no one might even see. Maybe I should try watercolors?
She removed her rings and kneaded the pink mixture, her hands red with ketchup. She smiled, thinking how her mom only made these sandwiches for “company.” They were like our good chine, Ellie thought to herself.
She'd started a stock pot of French Onion Soup first thing, and was just going to make a couple boxes of cornbread mix, and then that would be that. She thought she'd go poke around in Bill's studio for supplies while things were cooking. Once the sandwiches were wrapped and in the oven, the meal was on auto-pilot.
Although she'd made enough for twelve today, she really just anticipated a quiet day with Kevin, and maybe, peripherally, with Judy. Bill and Ellie had discovered that Judy preferred her own company when at home, but spent most of her time elsewhere: at adult education classes, church, the rec center, the library, the Y. She'd become more vague with Ellie about her various pursuits as the months had passed since Judy'd moved in. The last time they'd talked was over breakfast a week ago, and Ellie realized Judy was looking like a different person these days, relaxed and unworried. Ellie idly wondered when Judy was going to be moving out.
The doorbell rang, and thankfully Bill answered it, elbow deep in Spam as she was. She looked at the clock and was surprised to find it was already 11. It felt to her, suddenly, as if she'd just gotten out of bed ad dressed. How could it be 11? she asked herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
She was washing her hands in the sink when Kevin and Patrick came into the kitchen. Patrick was holding a grocery bag full of vegetables, and Kevin came with two pies.
“How goes it, guys?” Ellie asked.
“I'm doing better. I saw Kevin channel. It helped a lot,” Patrick said, surprising himself with his eagerness.
Ellie wondered what condition Patrick was referring to having seen improvement. She didn't push the boy, but let conversations about these sorts of things be guided by his openness. She was glad he was so comfortable with their odd world.
Kevin made another pot of coffee as he talked about the evening he'd channeled. He'd let Ellie into his channeling after he'd established himself at the Temple. He’d given her one of his notebooks and had asked her to look it over, one night last year as he was leaving after a game day. She called him later that night, and they'd had an amazing conversation about Kevin's abilities. Something had settled between them, from that conversation to this day, something even stronger than the family bond they'd once had. They both liked the change, and encouraged it now, when they spent time together. Mostly, Ellie thought to herself, it still comes down to letting him be mysterious. Ellie grinned, and went over and hugged her brother, just because she was moved to.
Ellie's cell phone rang. It was Bernie, she saw. “Hey, sister,” Ellie said.
“Hey, I wanted to let you know me and Daniel want to come over today,” Bernie said. What do you want us to bring over?”
“What time?” Ellie asked.
“Say 4, give or take.” Bernie said. Ellie could tell Bernie was happily distracted.
“Looks like you get fruit,” Ellie decided. “Just buy it whole and come by 4:30 so I can make it into a salad, ok?”
Ellie heard Bernie muffle the phone and talk. When Bernie came back on the line, she sounded like she was in the bathroom.
“You're not going to poop while you talk to me, are you?” Ellie asked.
“I can wait,” Bernie said. A god-awful sound echoed. “OK,” she said. “We met a woman last night who overheard our conversation at the train station. She says she knows you. I forget her last name,” Bernie hesitated while she flushed, “Wait,” she said.
“You know, that is just so gross, on so many levels,” Ellie said. “Why do you do that on the phone?”
“Poor executive function, I guess,” Bernie said off-handedly. “Anyway,” she continued, “Her name is Valerie something. I forget her last name. It's in my phone, but I don't know how to get at it when I'm talking on the phone.”
“Executive function deficit,” Ellie said, and Bernie laughed.
“I guess you're right. Anyhow,” Bernie said, suddenly bored, “She's short, dressed like a stone cold butch, in her fifties. Ring any bells?”
“A dyke named Valerie,” Ellie said affectionately. “Nope, no bells.”
“well, then, this could get interesting,” Bernie said. “I told her about game day. I guess maybe I should have called you first. I told her she could bring a guest and come over any time after 4.”
“Thank God for that. I'll have to think about it,” Ellie said. “What are you doing til then?”
Bernie was thankfully less graphic about her plans than she was about her bowel movements. Ellie knew Bernie would be more mellow than usual when she came over. Daniel had a wonderfully sedative effect on her sister.
“Well, have fun, Bernie,” Ellie said. “Patrick and Kevin just showed up, and I need to tend to them. See you no later than 4, Bernie, ok?”
Bernie was routinely late to events, and again silently thanked Daniel for being around. He couldn't tolerate being late. “Tell Daniel four sharp, Bernie,” Ellie asked. “I'm sure I'll remember this Valerie, but it'll be a lot less awkward if you're here to make the introduction, in case I don't know her.”
“Oh, I know you do. She talked about you, your house,” Bernie trailed off, “Well, I guess we'll just see. Bye for now.”
Kevin was in the fridge, looked for sandwich fixings. Patrick asked if he could set up his computer in the breakfast nook. “I don't study very well if there's a TV on,” he explained.
“Well, I'm thinking you might like to set up in the den, or the cabin. The cabin gets cold, but there's a lot to look at. The den is just off the TV room, but the door is pretty solid,” Ellie explained.
“How long are you going to be in here cooking and stuff?” Patrick asked.
“Well, I like to use my game days to craft,” Ellie said. “I was thinking about trying my hand at watercolors today. I like doing that in here,” Ellie pointed to a far corner. “I have a card table. It's in the mud room.”
Patrick seemed lonely to Ellie today. She saw him as a lost kid today, Ellie realized. She had trouble shaking feeling bad for the boy. She didn't know why.
“Let's work in here together, if that's ok, Patrick,” Ellie suggested.
Ellie turned to her brother, “What are your plans, Kevin?”
“Kevin took a beat up copy of a Carlos Castaneda novel out of his back pocket. “If you've got food and coffee, I'm good anywhere.”
The three of them passed their day in relative silence. KBCO played, and each found it comforting to be around people who felt no need to fill the air with words. Each pursued their joy silently, happily.
Patrick didn't tell Ellie, during their quiet afternoon, just what had caused him to feel so peaceful. He felt odd about feeling so at peace with his mom's passing, and didn't know just how to bring it up. Ellie never pushes me, Patrick thought, as she began to put away her painting supplies, readying for the dinner meal.
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