…Life Beyond the Window a short novel by Sahara Sutter The Fairy Tale was merely propaganda

We pulled up to the clinic parking area. She started to get out of the jeep. I handed her the food and blanket. “Can I at least stay here with the lights on until you get to where you are going?”

“I won’t go anywhere until after you leave, so that is probably not going to help much.”

“Then please give me at least one more hug to add to my tally,” I said.

I left uneasy. I called Sal to see what he thought of the situation.

“I think I understand your concern. (Always and foremost such a Social Worker, I thought). I am not sure she actually has a home. I know at times she has stayed with others, but not as a rule. She has a few possessions, so she must have somewhere she stores them. Nevertheless, she will not let you know where she lives. She has never let anyone know that. She manages to take care of herself very well. You have done everything you could. She knows you care,” he said.

I knew I would not be able to get the image out of my head tonight. What life is capable of doing to people makes the atom bomb look like a hand held sparkler on the Fourth of July.

She’s Not There - Zombies

This time, the cats met me at the back door. They are usually on alert to listen for the garage door opener knowing that dinnertime had arrived. Not only that, but I smelled of KFC.

I put down whatever I was carrying and opened the refrigerator to warm up some left over cat food from breakfast for my famished feline friends. As I was taking the container to the microwave, the back of my head talked.

I am here to tell you good-bye.

I turned to find her by the kitchen sink in all her sparkly attire. Reality was just becoming too difficult to define anymore. I felt like I had just sped through to the opposite end of the reality spectrum and slammed into the other side.

“Please wait. Tell me what you mean.” I still was not real sure if it was necessary to actually say this aloud for her or she could just read my thoughts.

“I still have so many questions and I don’t know how to ask them.” I obediently fed the cats as they had trained me to do so well.

“It must be lonely for you. Tell me what you do all day and what can I do for you?” I asked.

I have found my soul mate. He is a 20-year old surfer and much like you, he has sacrificed his youth to go help others. We will spend our lost time together.

“Wait,” I fumbled for something coherent to say, “what do you know of this guy? How can you believe what he tells you?”

At this point, I had to sit down. The whole time space continuum twisted parallax of disordered social scales and parallel universes were converging at angles that just could not attach to anything solid in the overtaxed grey matter upstairs.

“OOOOKay --- how do you propose that I explain that tidy piece of information to him?”

“Please don’t leave me,” as tears were coming up yet again. I had gone for decades without the ability to cry – not at weddings, not at funerals, not at sad movies, not at anything. I refused to allow myself such a petty display of useless emotion. Lately, it seemed I could not escape it.

I did not want her to leave me. Despite the acknowledged possibility that she was a sign of my looming mental illness, I enjoyed her spontaneous company. I was intrigued by her and comforted. I wanted to learn more, to know her better, to share secrets and dreams, for her to be my confidant.

“But where would you go? What would become of you?”

It did not help. I was sad. I knew she was serious about permanently leaving.

She was gone. A bottomless emptiness echoed throughout and became a black hole sucking in my entire life through a narrow, tight opening directly to nowhere.

In essence, some people are best defined as God’s houseplants. They are granted the right to live but are delegated to a secondary and restricted existence. Unlike the strong bonds of family, their shallow roots have no ability to reach out and touch the community of humanity just beyond the stained glass.

I met Sal at the clinic on Wednesday to show him what I had put together so far and get his feedback. It was early and Milner had not arrived yet. Sal could barely contain himself as I showed him the template and card readers. His concern however was how Milner, me, Dr. P and Laurie were going to enter info into the system during the visit.

“We don’t have access to a computer from multiple sites in the clinic. What if two people need to use it at once?” he asked.

“Sal that is where portable iPads come in handy. They can go home with you every night. We can get one for each of your staff. The patient will leave with an updated card that you just swipe in the next time they show up. If they forget the card or lose it, the latest info is saved on the hard drive and you can easily make a new card from that. You can run reports that show how many visits were completed in a specific time frame, what type of complaint, what you did. You can see who shows up for follow-ups and the outcome of care. You can show who was vaccinated and when. If they go to the hospital, it will show what you have done here and provide history and contacts for the patient. I am not so sure if every client will cooperate and want documentation about them, but it is worth a shot and when they discover that it can help with their care maybe they will see things differently. Later, maybe we can work with the local Health Department to see what we can align and integrate there.”

“Cindy, you are a blessing,” he said with an extra dose of humility. “But where do I get the money to make this happen? I am sure that we will have to do without paper towels for a very long time to pay for this.”

“Sal, let me worry about that part. You figure out what needs to be on the template and what else you want included – living wills, that type of stuff,” I said.

Shortly after I told him I would see him tomorrow at the home of his grandmother and how I was looking forward to a real Thanksgiving Day meal with friends. I asked what time and what I could bring and was told nothing. I thanked Sal for being Sal and before exiting out the back door, I wrote my saying for the day on the chalkboard – Omnia vincit amor.

“OK, I do not do well with Latin. What does that mean?” he asked.

“This is perhaps the only time all my classes in Latin have done me any good – at all!” I said.

“This translates into ‘Love conquers all’. See if Milner approves.” I waved good-bye and exited out the back door of the clinic.

Something caught my eye in the wooded area behind the building. It did not appear to be the usual trash that made its way around things here and there. It was too big and colorful for that.

Walking through the twigs and underbrush, I saw on the ground the blanket I had given to Laurie. It had the appearance of being slept in.

I left it undisturbed and returned to the back door and into the clinic.

“Sal, I just thunk a thought. Are there any zoning or construction issues with adding a small extension to the back of this building for supplies, wiring for the computer wireless system, and maybe a small bed?” I asked.

“No, actually we looked into it once, because we thought we could use some extra space. I would need to get a building permit and inspections, but it really is not a big deal in this area of town. I know some block masons and roofers looking for work – and I am sure they know an electrician,” he said.

“Ok, can you bounce around that idea with Dr. P and see what dimensions you have in mind and get back with me. Thanks, see ya soon.”

“Drive careful. See you tomorrow!” he replied.
The trip back home was so well rehearsed by now that I could do it with my eyes closed and from the back seat, if the mail jeep had one. I stopped by the florist to pick up a nice floral arrangement for Antonio’s mother tomorrow and went home to take a long hot bubble bath – anything to distract my thoughts and senses.

My cell phone rang as the bath water was filling the tub.

“Cindy, how are you doing? Long time, no see.” It was Antonio.

“Antonio, how for art thou?” I asked.

“I was just talking with Sal. He is hyped! Looks like maybe you have a solution to our documentation problems. You are so great. What can I do to help?”

“I don’t have everything worked out yet but I think it is all do-able. I am waiting on some parts to see how things are going to work. I gave Sal a few assignments to make sure we put together something that does what you need,” I said.

“He is working on it already. Hey, are you going to make it to my mother’s house tomorrow? It would mean so much to have you there. She wants to meet you.”

“Of course I will be there,” I replied.

“That is great. There will also be someone there I want you to meet – family folk,” he said.

“Is there anything I can bring or do or something?” I inquired.

“Bring your appetite and plan to stay awhile and enjoy the company.”

“Cindy, I have to tell you thank you so much for everything. I am guessing you want to add a room to the back of the clinic to give Laurie a place to sleep,” he added.

“You are one smart guy,” I said.

“I’ll see you soon, I have to run. Please drive carefully. I can’t wait.” He hung up.

I added the bubbles to the warm water and watched as it did its magic and transformed a boring necessity into a sensual pleasure that invited me to partake. I soaked and relaxed and allowed every fiber of my being to experience a cruise on a sailboat upon a lazy sea on a sun kissed day filled with dolphins and the music of seagulls and a gentle warm wind across the bow and turkeys looking through my window.

Over the River and Through the Wood - Lydia Maria Child

The Incognito Torpedo appeared anxious to get out and become part of the day and celebration. Because I had enough time, I washed her up a bit and put some wax on the hood and trunk areas. Then I went back inside to get myself ready for the Thanksgiving Day visit.

It was a mildly warm day and I was sure that an ocean breeze would meet me at the home. I selected a flowered sundress with a simple over blouse that I could put on or off as needed and choose some low-heeled sandals. It was conservative yet carefree and comfortable and with a gentile hint of elegant. I polished my nails and applied some make up. I pinned back my hair with a metal flower barrette of the same colors as my dress. The transformation into ‘girl clothes’ begot a renewed spirit as I was reminded of the advantages of being female. Beauty is in the mind of the beholder. Today, I am beholding!

The cats of course knew something was up. My usual jeans and tee shirt were on the floor in the corner of my bedroom and in a heap. That was not unusual but for this to occur during day light hours was. They were weary and on alert. Please do not invite people over to invade our territory. We so hate that! It was written all over their worried faces and mannerisms.

I tried to calm them a bit with dummy yummies – my name for cat treats. I called the treats that simply because I could. I was not sure the extent of their human comprehension of vocabulary but I was sure it did not include this terminology. I was safe, besides they now knew no other name for the bribes I provided frequently, but in sparingly little parcels and pieces.

The weather station on the TV said the day was to be nothing short of glorious. It was the ideal day for folks to take off work and enjoy with family and friends over good food, drink, and football. Moreover, the football game was today. Wow – I had forgotten to even look. I did not know who was playing or where. That was a first. So I looked it up online just so I could converse about it if the subject came up. I always tried to feel sorry for the poor players made to work on such holidays but I quickly get over it when I realize how much they get paid to do it. Nonetheless, their families have to spend the day without them and often they are several states away. I wonder if they give their live-in cooks the day off. Perhaps that is a benefit to working for a highly paid professional athlete.

I made everything ready to take off to the beach house. Got the flowers out of the refrigerator where they had spent the night safe from the cats and locked up the doors to the outside. I closed a few windows I had opened recently when the nights became so pleasant when under the covers and snuggled deep into the bed.

I got into the Torpedo with time to spare and backed out of the driveway. I was admittedly distracted with just feeling like everything was right when reality reminded me it was still out there and waiting for my absent mindedness. I felt a thump at the backend of the car. Rats. What could be in my driveway now – a flying saucer?

I put the car into park and got out to find a young turkey on its side and under the bumper of the car. Crap.

He was breathing but dazed and not moving much. The bumper height looked to be about head level for an upright bird of his smaller size. Great, Thanksgiving and I kill the turkey. I apologized to the turkey and asked the Torpedo to be more careful. Not being an expert on turkeys (the ones with feathers anyway), I did what I could of an assessment. No bleeding was noted anywhere. Nothing looked obviously broken or displaced. Perhaps it was just a mild concussion of a head too small to do the remaining body justice and would resolve with a little bit of time.

I could not leave him there on the driveway – not only could I not get the car out to the driveway with him in the way, he would be too vulnerable to prey – and not to mention neighbors who may not believe their luck at such a find on Thanksgiving Day. There was an emergency vet clinic about 10 miles away but they only worked on dog, cats, goats, and horses. Specifically, no birds.

I grabbed a beach towel and an old dog kennel I had in the garage. I placed the towel around the turkey, covering his eyes in hope it would lessen any fear and struggle. Picking him up gently, I placed him into the kennel. The kennel was large enough and he was small enough he could sit upright in it if he wanted. While I was behind the car, I inspected it for damage and as usual, the bullet proof nature of its constitution kept its appearance pristine and belied the multitude of stuff that had managed to find the back of my car over the years.

Slowly, I placed the turkey-containing kennel onto the spacious back seat of my car atop a large blanket to protect the upholstery. I will just take him with me. Maybe Antonio has some ideas as what to do for him or maybe Sal knows a turkey vet. I threw in some wild feed that I throw out in the yard a few times a week.

I drove slowly to my destination. There was no complaint coming from the back seat. My occupant was quiet, sitting up, and looking out the rear passenger window. He provided quite the entertainment for stopped cars next to us at traffic lights.

I arrived at the beachfront home of Sal’s grandmother and turned into the driveway. Several other cars were already there. Antonio was waiting near a garden of blooming flowers adjacent to the front door.

“The Buick! I am glad you brought her. Sal has never seen it,” he said. “Thanks for coming! It means a lot.”

“I brought company. I hope you don’t mind.” I said pointing to the back seat.

“What? A Turkey!” He laughed out loud. “That is something different. Where did you find that?”

“Behind my car on the driveway when headed here. I could not just leave him there. I think he is going to be all right. He is just a bit dazed I hope. Would you mind taking a look?”

“Hang on. Let me go get my uncle. He’s here and he is a veterinarian.”

Antonio left to go inside the one story sprawling Spanish style beachside home and returned with a tall distinguished older man probably in his mid 70’s, but very well preserved.

“Cindy, this is my Uncle Jonathan, but we usually call him Randy for some unknown reason. He is my father’s brother and lives over on the west coast near Tampa. Uncle Jon, this is Cindy.”

“Cindy, I am very happy to meet you. He has told me so much about you,” Randy said.

“I think I saw you in an old picture --- didn’t I?” I asked turning to Antonio.

“Yup, this is the guy. If there was ever someone who specializes in turkeys, this would be your man.”

“It is nice to meet you, Uncle Jon,” I smiled “What do you know of wayward turkeys who get hit by unsuspecting cars driven by guilt-ridden women?”

“I have a family full of them!” he said. “Let me take a look.”

Jonathan crawled into the back seat and opened the cage enough to enter his hand. He covered the turkey’s face with the towel and felt along the legs and wings for signs of injury. Finding none, he removed the towel and his hand to get a safe view of its head.

“I can’t find anything major going on. He may have just been whacked on the head and needs time to recover. If he is up and with it when you get home, let him go back where you found him. Otherwise, give me a call and I have a friend who may be able to help further.”

“Not too many people bring their own turkey to dinner here. I’m impressed,” he added. I smiled.

“I didn’t mean to do it. Most of the turkey in my yard are much taller than this guy and I would have seen them and stopped before plowing them over.”

I left down the window, made sure the kennel was secure with food and water within reach before leaving my car and entering the home with flowers in hand.

Antonio introduced me to his mother – an enchanting woman named Gloria with flowing black hair and wearing a long beautiful and colorful skirt. She welcomed me warmly and accepted my flowers with grace.

Sal came over to me with a hug and a smile.

Uncle Jonathan introduced me to his wife, Sally. She was equally as welcoming and kind. Antonio introduced me to his former wife, Margaret. She was likewise accepting and polite and someone I wished to know better. Her trials and tribulations with being married to Antonio must have been a challenge for anyone. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to forever stand in line for some attention from your husband. The man is possessed by his work.

Antonio showed me around the house and the glorious view of the ocean. The glass sliding doors were open and the scent of sea breeze colored the air. Antonio was wearing a suit that was doing its best to get comfortable about a person who had no use for the image. “My goodness, you clean up nice!” I joked.

“I had to lose the tie and the jacket is next,” he said. “But I wanted to show you that I can do it when I need to.”

“Margaret is nice and very pretty,” I said.

“She and I have an understanding. We get along fine but she does not ‘get it’ – she hates poor people. She arranges wedding ceremonies for local wealthy patrons and does that very well.”

Someone was playing some movie themes on the grand piano in the living room. It was Sal.

I went to find Gloria to make myself useful. There was a small flurry of activity in the kitchen so I took handfuls of silverware and set the dining room table for seven guests. The flowers were already placed at the center. I folded the linen napkins and set the crystal glasses. Sally lit the candles. Margaret added the salt & pepper shakers and wine glasses. Uncle Jon was bringing in some extra chairs and evenly spacing them about the table.

Gloria started bringing out steaming plates and bowls and platters of wonderful food. Antonio took to carving the turkey but not before I took a picture. Soft classical music was playing in the background. Spanish artwork adorned the walls.

“Sal, what a wonderful place to grow up. This is absolute heaven,” I said to him.

“Yes, watching the sun come up everyday over the Atlantic Ocean was a rough thing to do but I did it! I set my clock every day for six years and did not miss it once…unless I was out of town.”

All My Life’s a Circle – Harry Chapin

For the first time ever, I did not think about pizza and football on this day. A part of my brain was at an ease it had not experienced previously. So this was family – this is what it is about. Most of them were not even biologically related and it did not matter.

Dinner was followed with coffee. After cleaning up the plates and removing them to the kitchen, Gloria wheeled in a cart covered with a multitude of desserts including the customary pumpkin and Antonio’s “famous” pecan pies.

After the feast, the men returned to the living room while we cleaned up. Gloria had Tupperware containers and zip lock plastic bags ready to pack up left overs into individual meals. I assisted thinking she was going to freeze these for her own use. I was surprised to watch her place each meal into a specially prepared cooler with “A. Peterson” written across the top.

“He takes these back to the clinic each year and finds good homes for the food,” she told me.

“Your son is an extraordinary person,” I said, mindful that Margaret was nearby.

“Yes, he is.”

Moments later, Uncle Jonathan asked if he could borrow me for a few minutes.

“Sure,” I said. “What can I do ya for?” I asked.

“Come with me, I have something to show you.”

We walked through the open glass sliding doors and beyond the pool deck where he invited me to sit with him on the steps overarching a concrete sea wall and leading down to the beach and a gaily-playful Atlantic Ocean shore.

“I have something to show you. Something that you probably have not seen before.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I have kept this for many years right here in my wallet. It is something that has always been very special to me,” he said.

He pulled out an old somewhat tattered and grainy photograph. “I want you to have it,” he said.

I looked at a 3 by 4 picture of a generic a black and white world save the bright smile of a young lady making her transition into adulthood. She wore Bobby socks and a ponytail and was holding a small white poodle.

“This is a picture of the girl who lived next door to me when I was growing up. She was six years younger than I was. She was very bright, personable, energetic, kind, and very special. She loved animals and wanted to study zoology. I took this picture on her 15th birthday. The puppy was a present from me. I was 21 at the time. She named the puppy Winslow and said that was the name she wanted for her little girl someday.”

I watched the picture motionlessly. I felt the girl in the photo was being held hostage in print and had something important to say to me. Then, and before I was aware of it, hot tears where invading my cheeks uninvited again and made a jump start on what he was about to say next.

“Her name is Sophie Sherman.”

My lungs suddenly inhaled deeply. I did my best to maintain some sense of composure.

“But, but …how did this happen - - how did you know?” I stumbled terribly and nearly incoherently. I did not see this coming – at all.

“A few months after I took this picture, she came over to my house one night very upset. I lived in DeLand and was home on break from Vet College in Tampa. She told me about a bunch of local college guys attacking her on her way home from the Stetson library about 7:30 that evening. Apparently, they had just made a pact among themselves on a dare of initiation rights or some such to gang rape the next female. Any female they saw. In case that was not bad enough, she had a large laceration on her upper arm from where her father, Walters, had pushed her up against the wall and hit her - being the delightful old grumpy drunk he was. He accused her of lying and said that wealthy college boys would never do such a thing. If it is possible to make things any worse the poodle, Winslow came to her defense and bit Walters. He then kicked the puppy across the room where it died after slamming into the piano.

She told me she was leaving by train the next day out of DeLand and asked if I had a suitcase she could have which of course, I supplied and I think I gave her twenty bucks. Sure enough, she was gone the next day. I asked if I could call the police or take her to the hospital. She refused and was afraid of the consequences with her grandfather. I did hear the police came by Walters home a few days later when he reported her missing I guess. By then, I had already returned to school in Tampa. She would not tell me where she was going. She said she planned to go visit family nearby but she would not say who or where,” he said.

“That is because she did not have any other family anywhere,” I said.

“My father was offered a professor position at the University of Florida about that time and my parents sold the house and moved to Gainesville within six months. My older brother, who became Antonio’s father, had moved out a several years earlier. However, I do recall my father telling me a story he heard from our previous neighbors about one night maybe two years later, when Walters Sherman, in a rage, threw furniture, boxes, papers, and pictures into a heap in the back yard and burned them. He stayed more than the usual amount of fairly well inebriated from then on. My father tried to talk with him when he came back to visit family in the area, but Walters was too angry and almost despondent. Dad asked the neighbors to make sure Walters had food and keep an eye on him, but your grandfather unfortunately was not someone to let others into his life much.

“I had no idea what happened to Sophie until Antonio called me several days ago and told me about you.” He paused a few moments.

“Cindy, there is more. My actual name is Jonathan Krandel Peterson. I was named after my father, but to lessen the confusion and avoid my god-awful legacy of a middle name, I went by Randal. Once I left home for vet school in Tampa and for professional reasons, I have gone by Jonathan. But I still have some holdouts in the family who call me Randy.”

“Randal Peterson? … They looked for you – the Case Managers records said so. You were the one listed as her husband on the admission form?” I asked – kind of, due to an astonished and surreal state furiously overcoming me at a blinding rate of disorganized speed.

“The only thing I can figure, Cindy, is that Sophie wanted to give you a last name other than Sherman. Maybe she was afraid your grandfather would try to take you away or hurt you. My name must have been what came to her mind at the time. Please, believe me that if they had asked me to raise you I would have gladly done so as my own child. Your mother and I were great friends, but we were never married and it is not possible that I am your father. I would tell you if there was a chance but there isn’t. And I never attended Stetson University.” He patiently and graciously allowed me to catch my wits before continuing.

“Cindy, I don’t know who your father is, but I can tell you that your mother went out of her way to bring you into this world and keep you as safe as she could. The Case Managers and workers at the hospital may have looked for me, and I wish they had found me but if they were looking for Randal Peterson instead of Jonathan K., they could have been looking for a long time.” He took another long pause.

“I cannot express how sad I am for your loss or imagine how difficult it must have been for you. I do know she would be very proud of you and I wanted to let you know how very special she was. I remember her chasing fireflies around the yard one evening when she was about eight years old. She said they were what made dreams come true. She had a contagious smile and laugh, she was always helping others, and she was very much like you in image and in spirit. And she never ran out of hope.”

I was staring off to the horizon of ocean. The clouds were parting in my consciousness to reveal a vast open view of clear blue sky and both feet firmly planted on solid ground. “Winslow. My name is Winslow Sherman.”

“Jonathan, how can I ever thank you? You were there for my mother when there was no one else. You have given me something I did not even know existed. Years of dead ends had prepared me to give up hope of finding anything more. And this picture could not be more priceless to me.” I held out a bit to keep any stray tears from finding it. “You gave me something incredible and precious - a family, a name, and from absolute nothingness, a beginning.” It was as if a pressure valve had opened and released an extra 300-psi from my mind and replaced it with an official membership card and helium balloons welcoming me to the planet.

“Don’t thank me. Thank the guy standing behind us,” he said.

I turned to find Antonio behind and watching over us. I had no idea how long he had been there.

“You know he adores you and I can see why,” Jonathan said.

“That man is the standard by which the angels themselves are judged,” I whispered to myself.

I stood and embraced Antonio. My streaked makeup ended up on his uncomfortably starched white shirt.

“You, my dear, are the most decent human being ever to grace this universe. But, according to Uncle Randy, I guess I can’t call you cousin after all.”

“Welcome to the family anyway.” He smiled. “Looks like fairy tales come true after all.”