A cross still remains at the T-intersection of two county roads, still reminding passers-by of the vibrant young life that was snuffed out one summer day long ago. We often notice these small white crosses along roadways as we speed by. Draped with wilted flowers and faded ribbons, they stand in mute testimony to tragedies we try to ignore. They remind us that life can end in an instant.
A cross still remains at the T-intersection of two county roads, still reminding passers-by of the vibrant young life that was snuffed out one summer day long ago. We often notice these small white crosses along roadways as we speed by. Draped with wilted flowers and faded ribbons, they stand in mute testimony to tragedies we try to ignore. They remind us that life can end in an instant.
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Overview
A cross still remains at the T-intersection of two county roads, still reminding passers-by of the vibrant young life that was snuffed out one summer day long ago. We often notice these small white crosses along roadways as we speed by. Draped with wilted flowers and faded ribbons, they stand in mute testimony to tragedies we try to ignore. They remind us that life can end in an instant.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781440194498 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | iUniverse, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 01/19/2010 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 248 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
Read an Excerpt
A Cross by the Road
Memoir of a Death ForetoldBy Jane Quint
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2010 Jane QuintAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-9448-1
Chapter One
The Dream
That is when it usually happens. You are in a profoundly deep sleep and something keeps nagging at you to get up. Maybe it is your customary wake-up time, and the habit prods at you. Yet there is a hazy awareness that it is the weekend, and you planned to sleep in after an exhausting week. So you ignore it. Maybe you have a vague feeling that it is really late and you should get up before the day is gone. Yet your mind gropes for any urgent plans and remembers none. So you try to ignore it. Then you dimly realize it is your nagging bladder, and it will not be ignored. The pressure is persistent and worsens until it forces you to attend to matters. That is how it was on that fateful morning in August of 1992. I managed to roust myself out of bed. Afterward, still bone-tired and groggy, I returned and sank down on the edge of the bed. The room was semi- dark because of the drawn drapes and cool from the humming air conditioner. It was quiet; no one else was home. Nothing needed my attention. I could not resist the still-warm sheets and slid back under the covers to continue my sleep. I drifted back across the threshold of consciousness into the hypnagogic sleep state where profound insights and prophetic visions often occur.
It seemed like minutes later when I bolted awake, shaking from a nightmare. My heart was pounding, my throat constricted with fear. I leapt out of bed and ran to the hallway in a panic. I tried to speak, but the words only came out in a choked whisper. "No, no, no, no, no, no!" There was no one to run to for comfort, no one to tell of my horrific vision. I stumbled back to the bed and clung to the edge of the mattress in stunned disbelief. Still trembling, I tried desperately to persuade myself that it was just a nightmare, but deep down I knew that wasn't true. It was not an ordinary nightmare. It wasn't even a common dream. It was a premonitory dream that portended my son's death, exposing my deep-seated fear of losing him. To quell my feelings of hopelessness, I resolved that I must take action. I had to warn him of the impending danger. I grabbed on to the knowledge that we were taking a trip that weekend to his home. Yes, I would tell him then about the dream. I lay back on the bed, closing my eyes to recall the dream and decipher its meaning.
For as long as I live, I will never forget this dream, but capturing the essence of it in words is difficult. Words are linear, following rules of grammar in an orderly, logical sequence. Dreams are synchronistic, flowing not by logic or laws, but by a hidden meaning that is coded in symbolism. Yet through the exercise of putting a dream into words, the mind must choose certain elements, and in choosing those elements the meaning is revealed.
The Dream
The dream began with my husband, myself, and our son, Mikey, setting out for a boat ride on one of the many lakes near his home. We had recently given him the old Renken speedboat that we used on our many family vacations to Burntside Lake in Minnesota when our children were young. Mikey came to love being in the outdoors because of all the years we spent in those beautiful northern woods. In the dream, my husband was initially steering the boat, but the scene soon shifted. The dream pulled both my husband and me into seats toward the back of the boat as our son took over the helm. He was standing at the wheel, the wind blowing through his hair. I looked down, noticing how the edge of the boat cut through the gray water and churned up a spray of droplets. Ahead on the right there was an extensive bed of reeds, with a waterway like a road through it. There were more beds of reeds farther off in the distance. I began to feel apprehensive, because we were going very fast and I could not clearly see what was ahead. Mikey was happy and unafraid. He always liked the thrill of living on the edge. The dream shifted again. My husband and I were now pulled out of the boat into the upper balcony at the back of a dark movie theater. Our heads were silhouetted like cartoon characters against the large, brightly illuminated movie screen. When the movie began, the screen darkened around the edges, obscuring the background. I sensed my son's presence as he came into the scene; I somehow felt that he was still standing and moving fast through the air as if he were still in the boat. Everything was shrouded in black except for the sun shining like a spotlight on his face. He was looking back at us and smiling. A feeling of bliss washed over me as I realized how completely happy he was. As I lovingly watched him, I felt a strange sensation. I felt like I was inside his body and could feel what he was physically feeling. I felt the wind stirring his hair and streaming over his face and body as he cut through the air. I felt the tension tighten in his hands as his rate of speed accelerated. I felt as if we were one. Suddenly, my attention was drawn far ahead to a field of tall corn in the distance to the right. The tops of the corn were being bent aside as if a hidden vehicle was coming through them at an angle. I became alarmed. I looked up and saw a huge rectangular transparent object flying fast and low through the air just above the field. I could not perceive what it was, but I could see the blue sky and clouds through it. As it came closer, I realized it was a monolith of unyielding, deadly force. I was immobilized by terror as I watched it speed toward my son. They were on a collision course, and he did not see it. In horror I watched a huge radiator break through the corn at the edge of the field. The "camera" zoomed in on a dry, umber-colored substance that was being churned up alongside something gray. As I tried to comprehend what it was, a newspaper telescoped out of the sky, spinning in the way old movies dramatized a shocking event. It abruptly stopped, and the headline filled the screen: Fatal.
I lay there gasping at the horror. The overall message of the dream was clear. Our son had an accident, and it was fatal! The details were unclear. Did it happen on the water in the boat? Or by a cornfield when the corn was high? What was that transparent object? The movie scene had few helpful clues, but still I knew that somehow I had to warn him.
Chapter Two
Angola
Mikey lived in Angola, Indiana, which lies in the northeastern corner of the state near the Indiana Toll Road. The main tourist attraction in the area was the Pokagon State Park, a popular year-round resort. The park bordered Lake James on the west and south and Lake Snow on the north. These lakes linked into a chain of smaller lakes. Boating and fishing were popular activities. The beautiful beaches were ideal for swimming and volleyball. There was a formal inn, rustic cabins, RV hook-ups, and youth camping sites. There were also trails for hiking, bicycling, and horseback riding. The winter season offered cross-country skiing and a refrigerated twin toboggan slide. On the east side of the park was the Potawatomi Nature Preserve and Nature Center. Mikey took my mother and me there one year to see the live hummingbird display. He often gave his guests tours though the park, describing fascinating facts and places of interest.
Our family bakery business was in the northwestern corner of Indiana, near Chicago. It was a three-hour drive across the entire span of Indiana to get to Angola, but it was a trip we made countless times since Mikey moved there eight years earlier. His move to Angola had not been his first career move. Immediately after earning his electrical engineering degree from Purdue University in December 1981, he turned up in Texas. I don't remember if he told me about his plans or how he got there. There must have been a buzz at school about unlimited employment opportunities in Texas. In the late 1970s, Houston was the epicenter of the Sun Belt population boom. The 1973 oil crisis had caused an enormous demand for workers in Texas. Newscasts in the northern Rust Belt reported that so many job seekers descended upon Houston that tent cities had sprung up on the outskirts of the town as well as in the city parks and under highway overpasses. Before long, he landed a job at an electronics company in Houston.
Our daughter, Peggie, was in her final semester at Purdue. During spring break in March, she and I took a flight to Houston to visit Mikey. He couldn't wait to take us to Gilley's Club, a popular honky-tonk nightspot founded by country music star Mickey Gilley. Gilley's was made famous in the film Urban Cowboy that starred a new, young actor named John Travolta. While at Gilley's we rode the mechanical bull, El Toro, danced the two-step to a country music band, and soaked up the cowboy atmosphere. Mikey won a Lone Star beer at the "Hi-Striker," a device where you swing a sledgehammer to drive a weight high enough to ring a bell. He impressed a crowd of onlookers with the impact force he registered at the punching bag. He taught us the correct way to eat jalapeño peppers. The next day he drove us to Galveston on the Gulf Coast where I was amazed to see houses on stilts. Mikey related to us the history of the deadly Galveston Hurricane of 1900 that had killed thousands of people and reshaped the coastline forever. He loved history and was already immersing himself in the history of Texas. He soon had a beautiful girlfriend. Although I never met her and now don't remember her name, I have a picture of them posing together outside that most famous of Texas landmarks, The Alamo. Texas evoked images of legendary frontier heroes, sprawling cattle ranches, and wealthy oil tycoons. Everything about Texas was bigger than life. It was the kind of place that matched Mikey's expansive and adventuresome spirit.
Since Mikey had completed his studies midyear, in May he decided to return to the Purdue West Lafayette campus to participate in the formal graduation ceremony. Peggie would also graduate that May, having earned a degree in psychology. So brother and sister had the unique experience of taking part in the regal commencement fanfare together. I took pictures of them parading in the traditional walk across campus with their respective school cohorts. The sun was shining and the outdoor carillonic bells were playing school songs as they circled around the Loeb Memorial Fountain on the Purdue Mall. Mikey later told us that his supervisor was not pleased that he had requested time off to attend the graduation ceremony, but it was an important milestone to him. I am grateful now to have those pictures of that special day, the two of them together, smiling and optimistic about the future. On the wall next to my desk I keep a small golden framed photograph of Mikey in his black cap and gown, the orange engineering tassel hanging significantly on the right. I find consolation in remembering the joy of that sunny day so long ago.
Mikey's sudden return from Texas within six months was totally unexpected. In retrospect, I suppose it shouldn't have been, since his return had been foretold in a most unusual way. I had been invited by my theatrical sister, Sarah, to attend a birthday party for a photographer friend of hers. The party was held in his Chicago art studio where he lived and worked. The studio was decorated like a cluttered attic. Partitions of gauzy material were draped over sagging clotheslines, creating a maze of rooms. As entertainment, the host had hired a fortune-teller to do readings for his guests. The psychic's name was Marie. She looked like a gypsy with her wild black hair, long colorful skirts, and gaudy jewelry. Her glasses had coke-bottle lenses that magnified and distorted her eyes, making her gaze unsettling. Her purse was clipped to a long brassy chain that was double-wrapped around her body. I wondered whether she was forgetful or untrusting. I can't remember if she used tarot cards or a crystal ball, but I do remember one perplexing thing she said. She predicted that a fair person was coming back. I asked what she meant by "fair." She said someone with blond hair or blue eyes. Mikey had blue eyes, but I had no reason to think he was returning home, so I dismissed it.
A few weeks later Mikey was back home in Indiana. My first experience with a psychic had left me a baffled believer. Mikey never said why he was terminated. I was secretly glad he was closer to home, although I was sad that his first job ended badly. I later wondered if he was caught with marijuana or if he had been going out to bars and drinking and not getting enough sleep. Excessive alcohol use was a bad habit he picked up during his college years. He was always one to burn the candle at both ends. He was driven to live life to the fullest, to experience all that he could. He never appeared to worry about his grades or his job. I remember once complaining to him as I was on my way to take a test at work that the weather was so beautiful I'd rather be outside than inside taking a test. I was speechless when he said, "Blow it off, Mom!" That option never occurred to me. So, I suspected he may not have been worried enough about his first job performance review either. He still had the party mindset of a college student.
Houston, Texas, April 29, 1982 Peggie, Well, I guess you've heard about my new car! It's a NEW '82 Camaro Z-28 with a V-8, 305 cu. in. engine with crossfire injection, electric windows, electric mirrors, electric door locks, tilt steering wheel, T-top, AC, and nice wheels. The backseat folds down to provide more room under the hatchback. The color is dark blue with silver stripes along the bottom. Oh, well ... it gets me around. Two weeks ago I got a speeding ticket for doing seventy-five in a fifty-five. But, that's nothing. Last Sunday I got two speeding tickets! The first was at 1:50 am for going ninety-five in a fifty-five zone! Later on that day, about 8 pm, I was stopped for going seventy-two in a fifty-five mph zone. Fear not, because they were all in different counties (different judges). I hope I don't get my license suspended. The bars down here always have good bands. For instance-Uriah Heep on April 16. Humble Pie at Rockabilly's last night, Joan Jett & the Blackhearts April 19, plus the usual good bands at Cardi's and Struts. I am progressing rapidly in my job. As of now, there are nine people in the calibration lab, and there is a lot of competition for a single job. The scuttlebutt is that the engineer in mechanical R&D is going to get canned and that I am a possibility as a replacement. I plan to come home for your graduation. I am going to ask my supervisor for Friday and Monday off so I can drive home. I figure it should take about twenty hours. We can party down when I get there! I hope everything is going good at Purdue with all your classes. I remember December '81 when I had so much to do before "the end." I look forward to seeing you on the 15th. Until then, Hang loose, Mike
On the other hand, many people were losing their jobs at that time. The population boom ended abruptly in Houston shortly after Mikey arrived there. The economy was beginning to sour from the oil glut, and the northern transplants were beginning to return home. As the Texas economy began to weaken in the 1980s, the rest of the country was sinking into a recession as well. The job market was also tight at home. The steel industry dominated the economy in our area and had been losing market share to foreign competition in recent years. Mikey went back to working at our family bakery while continuing to look for an engineering job. He would occasionally get calls from headhunters, but nothing materialized. One day in the bakery I noticed he was trying to hide the fact that he was distraught. I learned later that his Texas girlfriend had broken it off with him. She couldn't wait any longer for him to return or send for her. It was the first time I ever saw him fighting back tears. He was normally a cheerful, upbeat, quit-your-whining kind of person.
After nearly two years of searching, he finally found a position as a manufacturing engineer in Angola, Indiana. I remember his beaming face when I told him how proud I was of him. He said they were impressed with his work ethic when he told them he had worked in the bakery throughout high school and college. Because the job was in Angola, he made a joke that he only got the job because he claimed he was fluent in Swahili. As we all stood there together laughing and hugging, inexplicably, I felt a shudder of apprehension go through my body. Startled by the incongruous emotion, I quickly suppressed it. I wanted to relish the joy of the moment. I was relieved and happy that he had found employment that used his education, even though once again it would take him some distance from home.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from A Cross by the Road by Jane Quint Copyright © 2010 by Jane Quint . Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Preface....................xiAcknowledgments....................xiii
Prologue....................xv
Chapter 1 The Dream 1....................1
Chapter 2 Angola 2....................5
Chapter 3 Lucky Man....................16
Chapter 4 Alcoholics Anonymous....................22
Chapter 5 The Warning....................31
Chapter 6 Daydreams....................38
Chapter 7 Premonitions in Spring....................46
Chapter 8 The Sailboat Party....................54
Chapter 9 Day of the Accident....................61
Chapter 10 Scene of the Accident....................66
Chapter 11 Wake in Angola....................72
Chapter 12 Funeral in Munster....................75
Chapter 13 Afterward....................80
Chapter 14 People Grieve Differently....................84
Chapter 15 Accident Reconstruction....................91
Chapter 16 Strange Happenings....................98
Chapter 17 The Compassionate Friends....................103
Chapter 18 Spirituality....................110
Chapter 19 Coping by Reading....................115
Chapter 20 Synchronicity....................121
Chapter 21 The Psychomanteum....................128
Chapter 22 Far Journeys....................133
Chapter 23 The Psychic Medium....................137
Chapter 24 Spirit Communication....................141
Chapter 25 The Psychic Circuit....................149
Chapter 26 The Wedding....................156
Chapter 27 Another Death in the Family....................162
Chapter 28 The Gold Standard Psychic....................166
Chapter 29 The Last Psychic Reading....................169
Chapter 30 Divorce....................183
Chapter 31 Adopted Grandson....................189
Chapter 32 Existential Crisis....................193
Chapter 33 The Turning Point....................200
Chapter 34 Writing the Story....................204
Chapter 35 Ridin' the Storm Out....................211
Chapter 36 The Letter....................216
Epilogue....................221
A Sister's Promise....................223