5:30 AM October 5th.
It's early morning. The predawn light starts creeping over us, giving our once starry world a faint glow of opaque blue. I turned slightly, clamping the covers with my hands to keep the warm over us as I glanced at my watch.
I hate getting up this early, but ever since I've settled into a sober motherhood my body won't let me sleep in. Not even on weekends. I've tried to, but all my being forces me up and before I can protest it I find myself tending to Little Phil and making coffee.
"Might as well bang out that column," I said to myself as I slowly rise to stretch out the kinks and crinkles of my tired back. It only takes me a few moments to realize that Arnold and our son is nowhere to be seen. In a nanosecond I'm out of bed fully robed and ready to find them, somehow convinced that they had been taken away.
"Should I get coffee first? What about Big Phil and Gertie? Should I tell them? Oh no! What if they're gone too? Where could they be!" my mind continues to race like mad, hands whipping about crazily when I notice...he's sitting in the rocking chair with Little Phil. Trying not to laugh. Arnold's hand covers his gaping smile that's slicked across his face. Our son matches his father in his sans-giggle effort, though looking like he might crack any moment.
"Mommy funny," he lets out, face red with laughter, "Pig-gin. Mommy Pig-gin." He rocks back into his father who finally chuckles as I try to think of what to say, the moment of panic escaping me with no plausible reason for this. I just stand there, blanked faced.
"So Crazy Lady, are you going clue us in now? Or is there an act two of the show?" Arnold asks, laughing again.
"Oh yea...this is real funny. Mommy wakes up to an empty bed and panics that someone took you. Yea, a total knee-slapper there."
"Helga, why would someone take us?"
"I don't know! It's just what I felt ok! And why are you up this early? You two are never up now!" LP pointed to something. A tattered book with a faded cover, frayed edges, and worn pages, some painted in what used to be vibrant watercolors with pencil outlines. I wedge myself between my boys, taking our son into my lap as I looked at it more clearly. It was The Journal.
"Oh...learning about Grandpa Miles are we?"
"Yea, I thought it's about time he did. Plus, I think it's important that knows from an early age that grandpa is his Great Grandpa. He should know as much family history as we can tell. Even yours!"
"Not so sure about that one Arnoldo. All we can get out of my gene pool are swimmers that should have stayed dry!"
"Hey," Arnold said as he picked our son and started toward the hall, "I thought you and your sister made up." I sighed. It was true. Since the last drama-filled dinner we had made a point to chat every now and then. Sometimes we even ate out, catching up old-style over coffee and pancakes. I hate to admit it, but it's kinda fun. Now that she sees Blowhard Bob the same way I do we've connected on a deeper level that's quite nice, and...Olga can be kinda tolerable. OK...so... it's more then that. But give me a moment to accept it will ya? I grew up thinking we'd never see eye-to-eye. Let it sink in a little.
"Yes, we have. But I'm pretty sure the line stops there."
"If you say so." We got to the kitchen and I saw that no one else was up, it still being a few minutes before 6. I went right to the sink and started prepping the peculator, rubbing my eyes and yawning. Arnold sat Phil down into his high chair and started getting out the milk and oatmeal. Our son points at The Journal that my husband put on the table. As soon as Arnold can, he grabs it, opening to the last page he was on.
"See that there? Thats San Lorenzo! The place were your grandparents went! They went because..." his voice fades away as I turn the old radio to the local news networks as I sip my coffee. I try to keep the sound low, but I know it's soon to bother my sweet husband no matter what decibel level.
"Helga can you please turn that guy off? He's worse then your father!"
"I know! But I have to listen today. He's been really going off the rails about the new Hillwood Health care plan for the underemployed. Normally I'm all for privatized health-care, but this guys seems a little extreme. I mean come on, Bucko! Get with the program already!" Arnold rolls his eyes, hearing this one too many times. So I stop talking and listen, the station determinately braking through the crackled static.
"And I'll tell you something folks, this problem won't go away! We can't sip our lattes and hope the government will get it right, OH NO! Not with this socialist, give-something-for-nothing guy! It's going to be a COLD day in hell before I let my government choose the best health-care for me, and trust me folks, it's going that way. It may start with a little help for the needy, but it will get bigger! There's more after the break, you are listing WHBN: The Hillwood Bradcasting Network." More static came through before station broke in with the morning news.
"It's 6AM on October 5th. Another homeless man were found dead yesterday night from an undetermined illness. Like the other two victims the man had appeared to be sleeping on a park bench when he died suddenly. 'I had never seen anything like it,' reported park official M. Shuemen who was on watch, 'I tried to get him up, but he would not budge. I was about to call the cops when he just...died.'" Suddenly Arnold dashed out of his seat and turned up the radio to a more audible volume. He pointed his ears to it, eyes going wide as the newsman's voice continued, "Hospital doctors are baffled on the apparent causes of the disease but remain positive that it shows no signs of being contagious. They do caution, however, to continue washing hands when in public until more information is gathered. In other news..."
He quickly grabbed The Journal and flipped it's pages wildly in search of something I didn't get. My mind cranked at full speed with him, trying to figure out what this all means.
"There!" Arnold blurted, "See?" he was pointing to a line of scribble that looked barley readable. I bent over with my still decaffeinated eyes, confused at what he saw.
"It's the sleeping sickness! I just KNOW it is! See? Right there my father writes about how it makes the Green-eyes get unbearably tired before death!"
"But I thought your parents never met the Green-Eyes. How could he have know that?" I asked, getting uneasy, "I mean, all you've ever ever read to me was the that the sleeping sickness ran rampant, and that your parents discovered a cure."
"But it's CALLED The Sleeping Sickness, Helga, what else could that sickness do?" Arnold says, his voice now shaky and excited. His hands moved rapidly and for a second I thought he would rocket right off the kitchen floor. "We have to wake grandpa and grandma! They have to know about this! This could be a clue! This way could be way to them!" He was about to bolt for the stares when I snagged a corner of his pajamas.
"Whoa, slow down a moment..." I moved my hands to his shoulders, preparing to hug him. "I don't think we can assume this illness is THE Sleeping Sickness just because they seem the same. I mean, come on! If this IS the one your parents cured then how it did spread from South America to here?"
"Plus," I sadistically added, unable to shut up my mouth that should have stopped talking words ago, "Lets say this IS the sickness and IT HAD traveled. Your parents either did a terrible job of curing it, or didn't really cure it all. Face it, it's just an odd coincidence." Arnold let go of me, stepping back some as my evil words settled over him, his face slacking when the excited moment left him.
"I guess you're right," he sighed deeply, his head lowering in utter sadness, "I just...wanted to see my mom and dad again. Every year with out fail, no matter how old I get I ALWAYS think...maybe this will be the year...maybe THIS will be the year my parents can meet you and their grandson." My husband turned away from me, his voice barley able to crackle past his now frail lips, "I'm going to get dressed. Please watch Phil for me..."