Finding Parker by Scott Hildreth
“Nine one one, do you have an emergency?” the operator asked.
“Yes. It’s my mother. She isn’t responding and she feels kind of cool.”
“Your address. What is your address, ma’am?”
“648 Wichita Ave, El Cajon. She won’t. She doesn’t respond.”
“Ma’am, I’ll dispatch an ambulance immediately. When did she last show signs of responding or speak to you?”
“Uhmm. After. After I took my…no I mean before. I’m sorry, I’m nervous. It was before my shower. Maye thirty minutes ago.”
“Is she taking any medications or did she ingest anything that you’re aware of? Does she have any allergies?”
“She uhhm. She just took an OxyContin. Or I think she did. She was taking one when I was getting into the shower. I asked her to turn the T.V. down. Can you hurry? She doesn’t feel really cold, just kind of cold. Like just not really normal. ”
“Does she have a history of using pain killers, ma’am?”
“Yes. She had an accident at work. She takes them daily. Can you hurry?”
“Yes, ma’am. They’re en route now. It’ll be a few minutes. Are you near her now?”
“Yes, I’m standing here in the living room.”
“Softly open her eyelid and describe her pupil, the black center portion of her eye. Let me know if it’s large or small. Are you comfortable doing that for me?”
“Yes, just a minute.”
“It’s tiny. Is that normal? Is it supposed to be big?”
“The pupils dilate ma’am. They change from large to small, back and forth, depending on medical condition. I’m simply collecting data. Is your house number visible from the street? And can you describe the house to me?”
“It’s kind of greyish. The garage is on the right. There’s an alley on the right side of the garage that leads to the school behind us. It’s more of a walk way. My car is in the driveway. It’s an old school Celica.”
“Toyota Celica, ma’am? And what year and color?””
“Yes, it’s a Toyota. 1978. Yellowish. Faded yellow.”
“I need to call Parker. Can I call you back?”
“I’d like to keep you on the phone, ma’am.”
“I really need to call him, can I call you back? They’re coming, right?”
“The ambulance is en route, ma’am. If you’d like to hang up, I’ll call you in two minutes. Six one nine four four seven one zero three five?”
“Uhhm. Yes. Six one nine four four seven one zero three five.”
“Parker, it’s me. There’s an emergency, I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay, it’s my mom. She’s had a reaction or something. She isn’t responding.”
“What’s your address?”
“It’s okay, they’re sending an ambulance, I don’t need…”
“Victoria. What’s your address?”
“It’s all the way in El Cajon. I don’t need…”
“Victoria. What is it?”
“648 Wichita Avenue.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can get there.”
“Okay, I need to go. The operator’s calling me back in a minute.”
“I’ll be there soon, Victoria.”
“Victoria?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Parker.”
As the sound of the distant ambulance grew louder, I stepped beside my mother’s chair and carefully picked up the loose pills from her lap. One by one, I dropped them into the bottle and secured the lid. Slowly, I walked into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and placed the bottle on the shelf.
She’ll need those as soon as she wakes up.
PARKER. I had no expectation of Victoria’s mother dying so soon. I suspect my position regarding death is probably different than most other people – I view death as the last chapter in the book of life – the ending if you will. I’ve made the comparison many times. It’s difficult to judge a book or give an honest opinion about a story until you’ve completed reading it. Prior to the formulation of the ending, it’s nothing more than a series of events as expressed in a number of various chapters. Upon completion, the ending ties everything together and turns all which preceded it into a finished story. The ending has the ability to make or break a story, and typically wraps everything up with a nice little bow, allowing a series of highlighted events to come together and make perfect sense as a whole. In the absence of the ending, it’s simply an unfinished story. Death is the completion of life, the ending of the book. As a wise woman once said, from our feeble beginning, through all of the complications, and to what will certainly be an unscheduled and unwelcome ending, life happens.
An unscheduled and unwelcome ending. They’re all unscheduled and unwelcome when you think about it. Having an understanding of this doesn’t necessarily make it easy for everyone to digest, but for me, dying was part of life itself. It had been two days since her mother’s death, and it seemed Victoria was either in a state of denial or a state of relief regarding the matter. She had not yet shown any signs of remorse, which troubled me. I desperately wanted to comfort her, but so far she appeared to need nothing from me to help her through this. Kenton seemed more troubled regarding the death than anyone, and as I wasn’t capable of providing Victoria with any form of relief, my current focus was Kenton.
“I worry about her Parker,” he sighed.
“So do I. But at least for now she appears to be doing rather well,” I responded.
“That she does. It doesn’t change the fact that the time will come when she needs someone, someone to be there for her, comfort her, and provide for her. She needs to know you’re always available. I don’t want her to need and not have,” he said over the top of his menu.
“She won’t, I’ll always be here and I have made it crystal clear. And she knows,” I nodded.
“I know she does. I’m rambling, my apologies. Everyone handles death differently. Maybe she handles it better than most, who knows,” he placed the menu on the table and looked over his shoulder for the non-existent waitress.
“Well, her father passed when she was an infant, and now her mother. It doesn’t sound as if she’s had too much exposure to death. Not having an active father and growing up in a home without him was a constant reminder of just how permanent death is, but that doesn’t make understanding it easy,” I said as I scanned the room for the waitress.
Kenton began to cough, and as he covered his mouth, he looked down and around the table. As he shook his head in apparent disbelief, I realized we were not only were we missing a waitress, but we were without anything to drink.
“I never knew my father, and my mother died of breast cancer when I was in my mid-thirties. It’s almost as if we’ve all been drawn together by an outside force to comfort each other with strength gained from our experiences. When was she planning on showing up?” he asked as he glanced at his watch.
“Three-thirty or so,” I responded.
“It’s twelve now. We have plenty of time, but this is ridiculous,” he said as he attempted to clear his throat.
“It is. So, your mother died of cancer?” I asked, shocked this was the first I’d heard of it.
“She did. And my father was a man I never had the opportunity to meet,” he said as he rested his elbow on the table and tapped his lip with his index finger.
“My grandmother died of cancer, I’m sure you remember. She was basically my mother, you know. I never knew she had it. I always felt if I had known, maybe there would have been something I could have done. Not knowing, in some respects made it easier, I suppose. I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” I said softly.
“I knew about my mother’s cancer, and it was a harrowing experience. A very heartbreaking struggle filled with excruciating pain for both of us. I wouldn’t wish the type or degree of pain I felt during that time upon anyone. I’m certain hers was much worse. And
After a quick scan around the dining area for who I suspected was the waitress, he turned and walked toward the entrance of the restaurant. Almost immediately, he returned to the room where we were seated followed by a waiter. As he lowered himself into his seat, he tilted his head to the side as if there was something he wished to say. After a few seconds passed, he merely shook his head and remained silent.
“I’m sorry gentlemen, we’re short-staffed. I’m Shane; I’ll be your waiter. Can I get you something to drink? Wine, beer, tea, soda, water?” the waiter said cheerily.
“I’ll have iced tea, and I’d like to order as well,” Kenton sighed as he looked at his watch.
“Go right ahead sir,” said the waiter.
“I want the fried octopus, but not as an appetizer, bring it with the meal, please. And for lunch, I’ll have the pine crusted whitefish, the special,” Kenton picked his menu from the table and held it in his hand as he spoke.
“I’ll make it easy, I’ll have the same,” I smiled.
“And to drink?” the waiter asked.
Apparently still frustrated, Kenton raised one eyebrow and turned to face the waiter.
“Tea, I’ll have the tea as well,” I chuckled as I handed Kenton my menu.
“Alright, and now as far as iced tea goes, we have the black tea, green tea, and today we have peach tea,” the waiter smiled.
Simultaneously, Kenton and I responded.
“Peach.”
“Peach.”
“Peach it is,” the waiter said as he pulled the menus from Kenton’s grasp.
“Have you tried the octopus here?” Kenton asked as the waiter walked away.
“I have not. Actually, I’ve never eaten here.”
“They’re simply marvelous. They’ll all be tiny, fried up and served on a plate. Like a family. They’re the babies, I guess. The bodies range in size from about the size of a nickel to the size of a quarter. And the legs are like pieces of twine. They cook them whole here. They’re considerably more tasteful than the chopped up pieces, which I refuse to eat. I’ve never known why, but I don’t like thinking about eating their tentacles alone. It reminds me of eating an arm. For the same reason, I won’t eat a chicken leg. The thought of it seems savage. But I have no concerns eating their arms as long as they’re attached to their bodies. Go figure,” he laughed.
“Maybe it’s about sacrifice and commitment,” I responded.
“How so,” he asked.
“Well, if you have a chicken leg or a chopped up octopus tentacle on a plate, you really don’t know about what happened to or with the rest of the animal. It could have been a torturous affair, the removal of its limb. But, if the entire animal is on the plate, even though it didn’t have a say in the matter, it’s all there. It’s as if the octopus committed itself to you, entirely. It made the sacrifice to be served as a meal,” I nodded my head, satisfied I had made the point I intended to.
“Sacrifice, I like that. I’d say you may have something there, Parker. I like how your mind works. You’re a thinker,” he chuckled.
As Kenton laughed, the waiter arrived with a tray containing our entire order. As he lowered the tray to the elevation of the table, Kenton tilted his head toward the waiter.
“Well, that was fast,” Kenton said, “I was afraid I would expire from this cough before you returned.”
“We’re always fast at lunch time, sir. Maybe not to take the order, but to prepare it, yes,” he began to place the food and beverages on the table as he spoke.
“Anything else?” the waiter asked.
“No thank you,” Kenton responded.
Kenton quickly took a drink of tea and cleared his throat. In looking down at the octopus, Kenton’s facial expression turned to one of disgust. As he studied the plate, he slid it to the side and pulled the plate of fish in front of him.
“For some reason, I can’t do it today. It’s too much a reminder of the entire death thing. I’m becoming a softie, Parker,” he said as he shook his head lightly.
I slid the platter of octopus across the table until it was positioned directly in front of me.
“I ordered them, and I’m going to eat them. I know they didn’t run out and catch them solely to prepare my meal, but it’s just…well, I don’t want these little fellows to have made the ultimate sacrifice for nothing. I think we all die for a reason, and they died so we can eat them, there’s no other reason I can really think of. If I eat them, it’s completes the cycle, and they’ve died for a reason. If not, their death was meaningless. And I believe everything happens for a reason, including death. Sometimes it’s difficult to interpret, but with these little guys, at least I understand why,” I chuckled as I picked one of the fried delicacies from the plate and plopped it into my mouth.
“Here’s to not dying a meaningless death,” Kenton laughed as he pulled the plate of fried octopus in front of the fish.
And, although we had been laughing over the death of a fried octopus, something about the lunch with Kenton gave me hope. Hope that Victoria’s mother had not died without there being some form of greater reason, one I was currently incapable of seeing. I realize life isn’t always for me to understand, but I do feel a responsibility to regularly practice acceptance.
“You know, they say when you drop a lobster into a pot of boiling water, they scream. You think these little guys suffered, Parker?” Kenton laughed as he picked one from the plate.
“Absolutely not,” I responded as I picked a perfectly sized one from the plate.
And at that particular moment, it made sense – perfect sense – at least to me.
Suffering.
Victoria’s mother was no longer going to suffer, nor was Victoria. They were both now free of their bindings. Her mother had, in a sense, beaten her drug addiction and was no longer in agony. And Victoria should be able live with the comfort knowing she cared for her mother until her death. Satisfied, I looked down at the last octopus lying on my plate.
“Here’s to understanding why,” I said as I lifted it from the plate.
“Amen,” Kenton nodded.
The suffering has ended.
Amen.
PARKER. Six days had passed since the death of Victoria’s mother. Although Victoria didn’t appear to go through a noticeable grieving process, I’m quite certain she grieved or continues to grieve in her own way. She didn’t cry at the funeral service, a small affair over an urn of ashes in which the funeral home director gave the eulogy to a small and somber group. I, on the other hand, found the funeral to be quite sad. Based on the lack of attendance during the service, it was apparent there was very little interest in her mother’s death.
Or her life.
Kenton, Downes, Victoria, one neighbor and I comprised the entire wake.
The value of a person’s life is measured by the amount of people they touch in living it. Based on this belief, I have always further believed a person’s funeral would be a depiction of the perceived value in the life they’ve lived – the means of measure being the people in attendance at the funeral – the touched souls.
For that reason, and that reason alone, I found the funeral of Victoria’s mother to be rather unsettling. Throughout the service, I tried to think of the people who would attend my funeral. I made a conscious count of people I was satisfied would attend, and added others which may be in attendance. The result was humbling and almost as unsettling as the funeral service itself.
The total amount – six – caused me to feel regret for the life I have lived to date. Although I have attempted and continue to pursue living a life with no regrets regarding my behavior or beliefs, I have a very small circle of people who know me, love me, or have been touched by something I have said or done.
Frustrated and somewhat disappointed wit
As I counted and recounted I began to become saddened by the fact Victoria, Kenton and I had no family. We only had each other. We would be required to develop a family of our own through reproduction, friends, associates, and those we touched through the course of living our lives.
Life is easy. Live it while you’re alive.
Because when you’re gone you won’t have an opportunity.
As the funeral director continued speaking, I held Victoria’s hand. Slowly, I slid my free hand from the armrest of my seat and onto Kenton’s left forearm. As my hand moved toward his wrist, he turned to face me, smiled lightly, and gripped my hand in his. And, as I held the hands of what little family I had, I closed my eyes made a vow.
To begin living life.
While I was alive.
VICTORIA. I gripped the handrail in my palms as I stared out at the horizon. The light morning breeze blew the smell of the beach into my face, providing me with a feeling of relaxation in an almost magical sense. Slowly it faded away, and with it, my gratification. Eager for its return, I closed my eyes and inhaled softly through my nose.
Crap, that never works.
I will always find the unexpected scent of lilacs filling my nostrils while jogging through the park much more rewarding than forcing my nose into a bouquet and inhaling the same essence. One is encountered unexpectedly, as if it were provided as a gift; and the other taken. Personally, I prefer provision to theft.