November 30, 2006 at 10:33 pm — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: manuscript

At that moment, the door to the meeting room burst open. Officer Dortmunder raced to the third step and shouted, “Nobody expects the Span–”

THE END

“Oh, bugger.”

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November 30, 2006 at 10:28 pm — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: manuscript

“So then the horse does this weird thing. It goes completely docile. It looks around and sees this guy who seems to be in charge. And offers itself up to the guy, basically asking the guy to spare it and maybe even protect it.”

Watermelon stopped and looked at each of the four others in turn. He settled on Jeremy. “Do you see now?”

Jeremy turned to look at Aaron. Calmly he said, “Did you do this to us?”

“Et tu, Brute?”

“Answer the question.”

“Nils still hasn’t answered my question. Even if I could do something like that, why would I?”

Nils said, “Aaron, don’t do this.”

Watermelon threw his hands into the air in frustration. “Good grief, do I have to spell it out for you? He made us all this way so we would have nobody else to turn to for help. Nobody else but him.”

Jeremy said, “There, Aaron. You have your answer. Now what about my question? Did you do this to us? Did you make everybody forget us?”

“Come on, Jeremy, you know me better than that. How could you think that about me?”

“Well, for one thing you’re not denying it.”

Suddenly Page said, “Hold on a minute. Nils I have a question for you. Did Aaron ever talk about his family with you?”

Aaron said, “I told you, Foley, I never talk about my family with anyone.”

Page ignored Aaron’s interruption. “Nils?”

“Maybe once or twice. No more than that. Why?”

“What is his sister’s name?”

Aaron shouted, “Hold on a minute. What does that have to do with anything? We’re trying to figure out why you two remember people that nobody else remembers, and you want to know my sister’s name? Let’s stop this foolishness right now and–”

Jeremy said, “Aaron, shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up, you little–”

“Deena,” Nils said.

Aaron shouted, “You lie. Her name is Nadine.”

Nils looked at Aaron with a puzzled, hurt look on his face. “What– Aaron, what–”

Foley said, “Earlier to day Aaron told me a story about how his sister got her nickname Deena.”

“I did no such thing,” Aaron said. “You can’t prove that.” He turned suddenly to look at Jeremy, as if remembering Jeremy’s earlier jab at him. “Well, he can’t.”

Jeremy said, “Page, what’s this all about?”

Aaron said, “That’s a great fucking question.”

Jeremy said, “Aaron, shut up. Page, why are you making a big deal about Deena’s name?”

“Because I think Aaron remembers you.”

Aaron shouted, “That’s crazy! Nobody remembers a Forgotten!”

“I do,” Page said, “and Jeremy does.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Page said, “Jeremy, how did Deena get her nickname?”

“I was two and a half years old when she was born. I couldn’t pronounce her name. I called her Deena. Gil and Aaron and Dad thought it sounded cute, so they started calling her Deena, too.”

Page said, “Two hours ago Aaron told me that it was Gil who couldn’t pronounce her name.”

“I said no such thing.”

“Then what’s your version? Why do you call her Deena?”

“I don’t. Her name is Nadine.”

“Then why did you call her Deena when you were talking to Gil?”

“When I was– How do you know what I said to Gil?”

“Because he told the police, and the police told me.”

“The police! What are you doing talking to the pol–”

Jeremy said, “Will one of you two please tell me what you’re talking about?”

Page looked at Aaron. “Do you want to tell him?”

“Tell him what? What do you think you know?”

“Jeremy, do you remember what happened with the poster I told you about? And my picture in the newspaper? And the newspaper story about you?”

“How could I forget? They changed.”

“They changed. The details about you disappeared. The details about me disappeared.” Page turned to Nils. “How about you, Nils? Do you remember what happened to the markings on your bedroom door?”

Nils nodded.

“Jeremy, as far as your family knows you never existed. If you never existed, then you were never there to mispronounce your sister’s name.”

Aaron said, “Maybe Deena got her nickname some other way.”

Jeremy said, “Shut up, Aaron.” To Page he said, “But Aaron has a point. Maybe Deena got her nickname some other way.”

Page said, “But that’s not what happened, Jeremy. Without a two-and-a-half year old Jeremy in the family to mispronounce her name, Nadine stayed Nadine until yesterday.”

Jeremy said, “Yesterday? What happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday Nadine announced that she wanted Gil to call her Deena.”

Aaron said, “Yesterday? Mister Foley, that’s a little bit too much of a coincidence, don’t you think? You’re going to have to come up with a better story than that.”

“No, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. You see, she got the idea from a strange boy who showed up at her house and called her Deena.”

“Jesus,” Jeremy said.

“So,” Page said, “Until yesterday, nobody in the world but you remembered Nadine as Deena. So why did Aaron call her Deena?”

Aaron said, “That’s not true.”

Nils said, “It is true, Aaron. You told me her name was Deena.”

“Maybe in all this confusion you’re remembering it wrong.”

Page said, “So, Aaron, when did you start calling your sister Deena?”

“I don’t have to answer to you.”

Jeremy said, “Jesus Jumping Crimeny, Aaron, have we sunk to ‘You’re not the boss of me’? Answer the question.”

“I must have heard the name from you.”

Page said, “But you used the name with Gil last night. And you didn’t talk to Jeremy until this morning.”

“Maybe Gil told me last night and he doesn’t remember.”

“No, he remembers quite distinctly. He was most upset when I knew her name, and then when you said it unprovoked a half hour later he was stunned. He was convinced that you, Jeremy, and I were all in some kind of conspiracy together.”

Nils turned and walked away from the others.

Jeremy said, “Aaron, I need to hear it from you. I want a straight answer. Did you do this to us?”

“God, no! What’s happened to all of you is terrible? Why would I do that?”

Watermelon said, “Because we worship you.”

Aaron turned to Watermelon with a shocked look on his face. “What?”

“All of these kids– all of us worship you. You’re all we’ve got. You’re the only family we’ve got now.”

Jeremy said, “A savior.”

Page said, “What?”

“Something Nils said. ‘Your brother has been something of a savior to me. To all of us.’”

Nils said, “Aaron was there for me when nobody else was. Now I understand why.”

Aaron said, “Nils, what are you saying? You think I did this to you on purpose? My God, Nils, you’re like a brother to me.”

A chill ran down Jeremy’s spine. Like a brother to me. Something about that phrase– “Oh, my God. Oh my God!” Jeremy turned and grabbed Aaron by the shirt, sending him stumbling back. “Oh my God! Aaron, what have you done? Dear God, what have you done!”

“Jeremy, I haven’t done anything. Calm down.”

“You haven’t done anything!” Jeremy said. He turned to Nils. “How old are you?”

“I’m fiftee–”

“Johnny, how old are you?”

“Twelve–”

“Nils, how many ten-year-olds do you have?”

“Ten-year– Just two. Just the two… girls.”

“Nobody older than fifteen. Two ten-year-old-girls. Johnny is twelve. How many do you have in between those ages?”

Nils thought for a minute. “There are clusters. Fifteen years old and twelve years old. And then the two girls…”

“Jesus,” Aaron said. He had a faraway stricken look. “What– What have I–”

Jeremy grabbed Aaron again. “What did you do? What did you do?”

Aaron suddenly went rigid and his face drained of color. “Guh,” he said.

Behind Aaron, Watermelon made a quick upward motion with his arm. Blood sprayed in slow motion in an arc off his hand.

“Abbit…,” Aaron said. “Eff…” And he fell. Jeremy still holding onto Aaron’s shirt, fell with him.

Nils shouted, “Johnny, no!”

Jeremy looked up at Watermelon, who was staring at the insanely tiny bloody pocketknife that he held his bloody hand. Watermelon opened his fingers and the knife fell. He turned his open-fingered hand and looked at it in fascination.

Jeremy looked down at his brother, whose eyes went in and out of focus.

Weakly Aaron said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t–”

Jeremy said, “Stop, Aaron. Don’t say anything.”

“Jeremy, I– I remember you. I–”

Jeremy threw his arms around his brother’s neck. “Shh. It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

Aaron jerked in Jeremy’s arms. “Jer… family…”

Aaron deflated and went limp. Jeremy relaxed his hold on his brother. Aaron’s shoulders and head slid gently to the floor. His glistening eyes did not see his brother’s face. His pallid skin did not feel his brother’s tears.

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November 29, 2006 at 11:05 pm — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: commentary

With that latest bit, I’m over 50,000 words. That means I’m a NaNoWriMo winner! Yay, me!

And congratulations to underpope and jenfullmoon (two thirds of my readership) who also won this year!

Yay, us!

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November 29, 2006 at 10:54 pm — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: manuscript

[NOTE: Here is part one of what I think will be the last scene of the book--the last scene for this draft, at least. I may write an epilogue at the final write-in on Thursday night. And even with that, I know I'm leaving a zillion questions unanswered.]

When Page finished his story, Jeremy looked over to where Aaron sat with his arms folded across his chest. Everyone sat in silence.

Finally, Nils stood up and looked at Aaron. “Aaron, that thing he said about the Vietnamese guy, about how he seemed to be straining or concentrating or something. I’ve seen you do that.”

“It’s called praying,” Aaron said.

“I know, you told me you were praying. That’s what you said before, but–”

Jeremy jumped up, “Nils, what are you saying? You think Aaron did this?”

“No, no, that’s…” Nils shook his head. “I don’t know…”

Aaron stood up. He held his hands out to the side and said, “Nils, for Christ’s sake, you can’t seriously–”

“I’ve never seen anybody pray like that, veins popping out, face turning red… It looks like your head is going to burst.”

Nils turned to Page.

“That sounds about right,” Page said.

Jeremy shouted, “Jesus, you two, how could you even think that? You think that Aaron would do this to you, Nils? To me? To his own brother? To all of us?”

Aaron stepped beside Jeremy and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Nils looked at Aaron with the confusion of someone who is trying his best to deny what his gut is screaming at him. “Aaron, I–”

Aaron said, “For goodness sake, Nils, what possible reason could I–”

Jeremy wheeled and grabbed Aaron by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you say it. Don’t you finish that fucking sentence. Nobody ever says that if they’re innocent.”

Aaron looked at Jeremy serenely. “There’s a first time for everything.” He looked back at Nils. “Nils, why on earth would I do such a thing?”

“Jesus,” Jeremy said. “What’s next? ‘You’ll never be able to prove it.’?”

Aaron ignored him. “Nils?”

Watermelon spoke. “The horse whisperer.”

All four of the others turned toward Watermelon as if they weren’t sure they had heard him say what they had heard him say.

Jeremy said, “What?”

“It’s like that guy who tames horses. The horse whisperer. I saw him on TV once showing how he tames the horses. He gets it in a round corral and flicks a rope at it. The flicking rope scares the horse. It thinks the rope is some predator and it runs around and around the corral. He keeps flicking the rope and the horse runs and runs until it can’t run any more.

“Did you know that a horse can run about two and a half miles? And do you know why? Because a lion can run about two and a quarter miles. Horses evolved so that they can run just a little bit longer than lions.

“But the horse whisperer guy doesn’t let the horse stop. When it gets tired he keeps flicking. The horse starts to panic. It should be able to outrun the predator, but it’s getting tired and the predator keeps coming.”

Jeremy said, “Johnny, what are you talking about? What does that have to do with us?”

“I’m getting to that. At some point the horse can’t keep running and it stops. It figures that the predator has outrun it and it’s done for.

“So then the horse does this weird thing. It goes completely docile. It looks around and sees this guy who seems to be in charge. And offers itself up to the guy, basically asking the guy to spare it and maybe even protect it.”

Watermelon stopped and looked at each of the four others in turn. He settled on Jeremy. “Do you see now?”

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November 29, 2006 at 6:51 pm — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: manuscript

In 1961 I was sent to Vietnam as what they called a “military advisor.” Most of my advice was to my commanding officer, in the form of reports about what the Viet Cong were doing. My job was to sit in the woods on a hill in the middle of nowhere and listen to the radio for days on end. Every night I would radio back to my CO with a summary. Sometimes he would have specific things to listen for, and I’d make notes to listen for those the next day.

One night at sunset I thought I saw something move in the trees. I moved into off at an angle and saw a VC with a rifle creeping up the hill toward my station. He poked around in my gear for a minute, then put his rifle to his shoulder and started scanning the woods.

I didn’t wait for him to find me. I shot him. As he fell I heard a gasp behind me. I whirled and there was another VC staring at me in horror. I pointed my gun at him and he put his hands in the air.

Then he dropped to his knees and… I don’t know how to describe what he did. He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his mouth open. He moved his hands a little bit in front of him like a bad mime in a box. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to take a dump or meditating or praying or what. Whatever it was he was concentrating intensely, and it took all of his attention.

As far as I could tell he didn’t have a gun or a radio. I went over to where his buddy lay dead on my gear and took his gun and my radio. Then I ran.

I radioed back to base that I was coming in, but the guy there kept asking for my code name. I gave it to him three times, and each time he asked for it again as if I had given him the wrong code. Finally in frustration I yelled my real name and tag number over the radio to the guy. Yelling was probably a stupid idea, but I didn’t see another VC on my six hour run back to the base.

Yelling my real name in the clear wasn’t smart either, because if the VC were listening that could give away information we’d rather they not have. I was supposed to be just an “advisor” after all, but here I was spying in VC territory.

But the radio guy at the base never responded. I didn’t know at the time whether he had cut me off to shut me up, or what. Whatever reasons he had, I decided to stay quiet for the rest of the run.

When I got back to the base, I was greeted at rifle-point by six MPs who wanted to know who I was, what I was doing there, and why I was wearing a U. S. Army uniform.

I spent the next three weeks in a cell, except for the few hours every day they were interrogating me in a room significantly less pleasant, Jeremy, than the one in which Officer Andollo grilled you.

The Army, my interrogators said, could find no record of my mission or of me. I gave them the particulars of my enlistment, including the name of my recruiter and the the diner where he took me for franks and beans as he made his sales pitch. As far as the Army was concerned, I did not exist.

Eventually there was nothing else they could do with me. They had no interest in sending me home. They couldn’t find any evidence of me back home, either.

I think if they had remembered my mission I would have been in big trouble. It’s not healthy for strangers to know the details of secret missions. But they had no idea what I was talking about, and that, I supposed, convinced them that I was nothing more than a loonie American wandering around where he shouldn’t be.

So they sent me on my way, after my repeated and sincere assurances that I would not ever “try a stunt like that” again.

I made my way to Saigon where I did odd jobs until I could so enough money to go home. I tried to call home a few times, but the telephone system was abysmal. So I wrote letters, and the letters were not answered.

I arrived in Los Angeles in April, 1962. My passport still had my picture on it. Looking back on it, I wonder that it was not wiped out along with the memories of my loved ones and my boot camp graduation photograph in the newspaper.

At the time I entered the country, of course, I would have no reason to think my passport photograph remarkable. But after what happened in the next few days, after thinking about those events for the last forty years, after what happened to that poster of Jeremy, I’m surprised that my passport still had my picture on it. But it did. Maybe it’s because the passport was on my person the whole time. Or maybe it’s because the government would have no records of my passport, so anyone analyzing my passport would conclude that it was a very good forgery. Whatever the reason, I still have that passport. It’s the only bit of hard evidence I have that I existed before that day on the hill in Vietnam.

Six days later I arrived in Chicago and took a taxi to my home. I won’t bore you with the details, which I have no doubt are essentially the same as the ones you’ve heard from a dozen suddenly and involuntarily homeless children.

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November 29, 2006 at 12:19 am — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: manuscript

Aaron came down the stairs. Behind him came Page.

“Page!” Jeremy shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“Long story,” Page said as he walked to Jeremy. He extended his hand and Jeremy shook it. Page said, “It’s good to see you again. How are you? What’s going on?”

Jeremy didn’t know where to begin. “It’s crazy. There are lots of kids like me. You won’t believe how big this thing is.”

“Aaron has given me an idea of the scope. I understand you have some new–”

“Nils,” Aaron said, “tell me what happened.”

“Jeremy knows Johnny.”

Aaron looked at Page, then at Jeremy. “You two have something in common.”

Jeremy said, “We both remember somebody that everybody else forgot.”

Aaron said, “You know that that has never happened before, right? Nobody has ever remembered a Forgotten.”

“Yeah, that’s what Nils said.”

“So what’s special about you and Mister Foley? What do you two have in common that nobody else has?”

Jeremy said, “Maybe it’s something about Waterme– Johnny and me.”

Aaron looked from Jeremy to Watermelon and back. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe what’s special isn’t about who is remembering, but who is being remembered.”

“I don’t–” Aaron paused. “You’re both from Sacramento.”

“And we’re both Forgotten.”

Nils said, “You mean that the Forgotten don’t forget each other?”

Aaron spun and looked at Page, who seemed to be lost in thought. “But then–”

Jeremy said, “No, that doesn’t make sense. I remember Johnny, but he doesn’t remember me.”

Nils said, “But that’s something. You knew each other before. That’s something. All of the other kids are from all over the place. They couldn’t have known each other. But you two–”

Aaron shook his head. “I think we’re on the wrong track here.”

Jeremy looked at Aaron, as did the others, waiting for him to say what the right track was.

Watermelon said, “Jeremy, when did it happen to you?”

Jeremy remembered the awful moment that started the whole chain of events for him. He remembered the curious look on his mother’s face and the awful words What did you call me? “It was four days ago. Thursday afternoon.”

“So you were Forgotten after me?”

Page said, “No, that’s not right.”

Jeremy turned, surprised. “What do you mean, that’s not right? I was there. You weren’t.”

“No, Jeremy,” Page said. “You have that backwards. You were there when you found out. But you weren’t there when it happened. I was there when it happened.”

Nils said, “My God, Mister Foley, you’re right. Aaron told me that you called his mother–”

“I called his mother year ago. I saw that poster of him a year ago.” Page turned to Watermelon. “When were you Forgotten?”

“April.”

“Are you sure?” Page asked. “Could it have happened before or after that?”

“No, I was only gone for a few days. Dad made a lot of noise. It was all over the news for like a day, then nothing. I thought the police would find me and drag me home. A day after that I– I got hungry. I didn’t want to eat garbage but there was nothing else to eat. I didn’t dare to steal anything because I figured the people in the stores would recognize me from the news. I mean, I was really hungry. So I gave up. I went home.”

Page said, “And nobody remembered who you were.”

Watermelon started to answer, then pressed his lips together and said nothing. His eyes looked puffy.

Nils said, “So Johnny, your question was a good one. Maybe… Maybe…”

Watermelon nodded his head and said nothing.

Aaron said, “Maybe what, Nils?”

“Nothing. I had an idea, but it doesn’t fit.”

Foley said, “Let’s hear the idea. If something doesn’t fit we can set it aside.”

“I was thinking,” Nils said, “what if the Forgotten don’t forget?”

Aaron said, “No that doesn’t fit. We’ve found twenty seven kids who have been Forgotten, and until now none of them have remembered any of the others.”

Nils said, “Maybe that’s just because they never knew each other, so there was nothing to remember.”

Jeremy said, “So why doesn’t that fit?”

Nils turned to Page. “Well, maybe it fits, but it doesn’t explain how Mister Foley remembers you.”

Page said, “Maybe it does. I believe that, like you and Jeremy and Johnny, I was forgotten.”

Aaron jumped out of his chair and glared at Page. “You– you–”

Jeremy said, “It’s true. He told me about it, a little bit anyway. When he was in Vietnam in the Army.”

“Jeremy, he’s lying,” Aaron spat. “I don’t know–”

Page said, “No, Aaron. It’s true.”

“You lie, Mister Foley! You’re lying!” Aaron rushed toward Page. Page tried to step out of the way, but was not fast enough. Aaron crashed into him and they both fell to the floor.

Jesus, Jeremy thought. What the hell was Aaron doing? He rushed to where Aaron was pushing Page’s shoulders to the floor and trying to sit up.

“You’re a liar!” Aaron shouted.

Jeremy grabbed Aaron’s shoulder and tried to pull him off Page.

Nils gripped Aaron’s arm on the other side and tugged. “Aaron, get off him!”

Aaron fell backward off of Page. Page awkwardly scrambled back a few feet.

Aaron rolled and stood up. “Jeremy, he’s lying. He’s been lying to you ever since he walked into that police station. He said he was your grandfather, for Christ’s sake.”

Nils moved in front of Aaron and said, “Aaron, calm down. We’ll sort through this. We’ll figure it out.”

Foley struggled to his feet. He began to brush himself off with his hands.

Jeremy said, “Jesus, Aaron, what was that all about?”

“He’s lying, that’s what it’s about. He’s been following you around because he’s selfish. He doesn’t care about you, he just wants to believe he’s not crazy.”

Jeremy said, “What are you talking about?”

“He saw that poster of you change last year and it freaked him out. He thought he was going crazy. ‘Utter and unqualified mind fuck,’ those were his words. The only reason he came here is to ease his own panicked mind. Don’t you think it’s quite a coincidence that he never mentioned until now that he was Forgotten? He never mentioned it until Johnny and Nils–”

“No, he told me yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Aaron turned to Page. “You never told me, old man. What else are you trying to hide.” “I never told you,” said Page. “You’re right. But as Jeremy said, I did tell him about it yesterday. Do you want to hear my story, or do you want to insist on calling me a liar?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t trust me? You walk into my little brother’s life and lie to the police that you’re his grandf–”

“Your little brother?” Page said.

“Yes, of course, my little brother. I know how this works. He is my brother whether I remember him or not.” Aaron looked at Jeremy. “Jeremy, look how he’s twisting my words. He says he doesn’t trust me. What reason do I have– do we have to trust him?”

Page said, “How about if I tell my story, then let these boys decide whether to trust me or not?”

“Oh, you want to tell your story so that you can spout more lies!”

Nils shouted, “Aaron! Shut the fuck up.”

Aaron stepped back, stunned. “Nils…”

Nils put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Aaron, it’s okay. We’ve been through a lot of confusion over the last three years. We always get through it. There’s always something new to learn, and it never fits at first. But we talk it through and talk it through and slowly we see how it fits.”

“But–”

“Let’s let Mister Foley say his piece. If it helps us to understand what’s going on, if it shows us a way that maybe we can help these kids…”

Aaron glared at Page. He walked to the third row of folding chairs and sat down. “All right, let’s hear it. But you mark my words, he’s going to play on your vulnerability. You mark my words.”

Page looked at Jeremy and the other two boys. “Why don’t we have a seat as well.”

Nils sat on the table. Jeremy and Watermelon each dragged a chair so that the four could sit in something like a circle. Page sat in a chair across from Nils, his back to Aaron a few rows behind him.

Page leaned foward and placed his forearms on his knees. “In 1961 I was sent to Vietnam as what they called a ‘military advisor’ …”

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November 28, 2006 at 12:31 am — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: manuscript

Watermelon ran to Jeremy, nearly tripping over his own feet. “You remember me? You really know who I am?”

Johnny Waterman had tried out for little league in 2005. The tryouts were run by the coaches of the teams, whose job was to run the kids through their paces to gauge their skills. One of the coaches hit ground balls to the infielders and fly balls to the outfielders.

They put Waterman in right field. When the coach lobbed a soft fly ball toward right field, Waterman braced himself, stuck his left hand, his gloved hand, as far away from his body as possible, and raised his right arm in front of his face in case he had misjudged the path of the ball. The ball plopped ten feet in front of him and rolled. Waterman politely stepped out of its way and and watched it roll to a stop fifteen feet behind him. Then he ran to the ball, picked it up, reared back dramatically, and threw the ball lovingly into the first base dugout.

Jeremy was sitting with Aidan Corliss and Manny Tucker on the four-tiered metal stands behind third base.

Manny burst into laughter. “All right, Watermelon! You go, girl!”

“Lousy aim,” Aidan Corliss said. “But a good arm, at least.”

The coach hit a few more fly balls, even softer if that was possible, toward Waterman. Each time, Waterman braced, and the ball landed at some safe distance.

Manny Tucker said, “Watermelon’s Dad owns half the Starbucks in the central valley. He’s got muchos dineros, so you know his donut hole kid will get picked.”

Aidan turned to Manny. “Do all of your insults involve food? Have a sandwich, for crying out loud.”

Actually, Jeremy thought, Watermelon would get picked no matter what. That was one of the rules. Anyone who tries out gets picked. The only question was which team would get stuck with which dorks. Jeremy didn’t know how that was decided. Maybe a lottery. More likely by unsanctioned trading and haggling among the coaches.

Watermelon ended up on Jason’s Computers. But within a week he apparently decided that baseball was not his sport and he quit before the first game.

Now, two years later, looking at Watermelon in the basement meeting room of the First Congregational Church of Portland Jeremy said, “Yes, I remember you. A few years ago you were on my little league team for about a week. You, uh, weren’t very good.”

Watermelon blushed. “I didn’t really–”

Nils said, finally, “You remember him? How do you remember him?”

“I don’t know,” Jeremy said. He turned to Watermelon. “More importantly, Johnny, do you know me?”

Watermelon stepped back and looked Jeremy up and down. “I don’t think so. It’s weird that you remember me.”

Nils said, “It’s more than weird. We’ve never heard of this before, somebody remembering a Forgotten. Not until yesterday, I mean.”

Jeremy said, “Yesterday? What happened yesterday?”

“I thought you knew. That guy Foley remembers you.”

Jeremy had wondered about that. “Well, yeah, I was wondering why Page remembers me when nobody else does. But I didn’t– You mean this doesn’t happen all the time?”

“No,” Nils said. “It’s never happened before yesterday. And now it’s happened twice. And you’re in the middle of both.”

The three boys stood in silence for a minute, each looking back and forth from one of his companions to the other.

“This is big time,” Nils said. “I’d better call Aaron right away. This is big time.”

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November 27, 2006 at 9:35 pm — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: manuscript

[NOTE: Okay, so the scene ends after all, and quite nicely if I do say so myself.]

“No, Mister Crowther, that goes way beyond remarkable, and deep into the territory of the utter and unqualified mind fuck.”

Aaron said, “I concede your point. And I’d like to make a point, if I may be so bold. What you’re saying is that your interest in Jeremy is not entirely for his benefit.”

Foley thought for a minute. Of course Aaron was right. His purpose in following Jeremy to the library and his purpose in ‘rescuing’ Jeremy from the police had been mostly for his own benefit. He had hoped that Jeremy’s experience could help him understand his own.

But Aaron did not know the depth of Foley’s interest. Foley wanted to keep it that way. “Well, that wasn’t what I was trying to say, but I suppose I’ll return the favor and concede your point.

“When I saw Jeremy that morning at the school with Gil, I decided to follow him. Clearly he was experiencing something extraordinary and devastatingly painful. It seemed clear to me that it was connected to what had happened a year earlier. Perhaps, I thought, if I understood more about what Jeremy was going through I could understand what had happened to me. That’s why I followed him to one library and then another. And that’s why I intervened, perhaps foolishly, with the police. So, yes, my initial interest was selfish. But I did, and do, care about Jeremy for his own sake.”

“I understand completely,” said Aaron. “I must say that my own initial interest in Nils was mostly curiosity. What he was doing was very strange. But the more I talked to him, the more I saw how wrenching his situation was for him.”

From behind the counter, Karoline said, “Pie?”

Foley and Aaron both nodded at Karoline.

Foley said, “So Nils was reeling from the realization that nobody knew him. How did you go from there to running your program in the basement of his father’s church?”

“The first thing was that I just got to know Nils. He seemed to know some details of my life, like how I had come to know his father–”

“And about your family?”

“No, I never really talk about my family with anyone. Jim asked a few times, but that’s not something I ever talked about. At least until Jeremy appeared.”

Foley wondered whether that were true. “I wonder if you ever talked to Nils about your family. Before you forgot him.”

“No, I asked him about that. He says I didn’t want to talk about my family.”

“Why didn’t you want to talk about them?”

“I still don’t want to talk about them,” Aaron said. “But of course Jeremy complicates things. It will be hard to help him cope with his Forgetting without talking about his family. My family. Maybe I will let Nils do most of the work with Jeremy. And maybe you can help with that.”

“And stay aloof yourself?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. Jeremy remembers me, but I don’t remember him. I don’t know whether my involvement will help him or hurt him. He will be looking to me for signs of recognition, and I just won’t be able to give them.”

“Didn’t Nils have to go through that with you?”

“Yes, that’s true. But the relationship he remembers between us was minimal. I was just a friend of his father’s, a member of his father’s church. Apparently we had talked a few times, but at the time his attention was mostly elsewhere. Kids his own age.

“So even though Nils knew me, I was essentially a stranger to him. He didn’t have the kind of strong memories of me that I fear Jeremy might have.”

Foley said, “Perhaps the decision of how to involve yourself would be better made by Jeremy.”

“Maybe,” said Aaron. “It isn’t clear to me that a twelve year old boy would know how to decide that.”

Foley started to respond. Why would a twenty one year old know any better how to make that kind of decision? He couldn’t think of a way to ask that question without being antagonistic.

“Did Nils see his father often after he returned?”

“Some. Not often. The better I came to know Nils, the more I believed that he wasn’t crazy. That was a real puzzle for me, and I didn’t know how to resolve it. Neither his father nor I remembered him, but he seemed sincerely to remember us. I essentially split myself in two about it. When I was with Nils I believed his story. When I was with Jim I talked about the situation from his perspective.”

“And when you were by yourself?”

“I tried to make sense of Nils’s story. The most sensible thing was to dismiss it. But that didn’t work. He knew details that he could know only if he were Jim’s son.”

“What did Jim think of the details that Nils described?”

“He was torn. Even he was empathetic toward Nils. That makes sense, I guess, given his calling. But it was hard for him.

“Nils wanted me to check out some things in the house, things he remembered. His bedroom, for example. He had bookshelves and games and toys and all of his clothes. ‘Go and take a look,” he said. ‘You’ll see. Why would Jim have a kid’s bedroom in his house if he doesn’t have any kids?’

“I talked to Jim about that. He took that especially hard because Jim and his wife had wanted children. They tried for years with no success. When she died the thing Jim grieved about most was that he had never been able to give her the children she wanted.

“So when I told him that Nils wanted me to look in the bedroom, he said, ‘Why don’t you bring him in so that he can see for himself?’ The idea was to present the truth to Nils as directly as possible so that he couldn’t deny it any more. I thought Jim was being almost heartless, but he said–then any many times since–that no matter how painful, the truth is always gentler than a lie.”

“Jim sounds like a wise man.”

“Yes. You can see why I like him so much.

“So we invited Nils into the house. He went right to the bedroom. When he got to the doorway he looked in, hesitated for moment, then physically recoiled. I had never seen anybody do that before. He looked at Jim with tears in his eyes and said very quietly, ‘Is this how it was? You didn’t change it?’

“Jim said no. Sarah had used the room as a guest room, and sometimes a sewing room. After Sarah died Jim couldn’t bear to change it.

“Nils said, ‘What about the closet door?’

“Jim didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Nils said that every year on his birthday they had marked his height in pencil on the inside of the door.

“At that point Jim began to cry. He pointed toward the door with his hand, inviting Nils to take a look. As Nils went to the door, Jim turned and walked down the hall to the living room.

“I watched Nils open the door. I knew what he was going to find, and I think he did, too.”

Foley said, “There were no markings on the door.”

“Right. Bare wood. Nils just stood and stared. I’m glad it hadn’t been painted, because that would have given Nils false hope.”

“Maybe the door had been replaced,” Foley offered. He remembered how inventive he had been in finding ways to deny the reality that so differed from his memories.

“Nils thought that, too, but just for a second. Then he saw the words, ‘Jerry Williams Doors’ stamped into the wood near the top of the door, and the nail scratch that ran down through the doormaker’s stamp at an angle. It was exactly the way Nils remembered it. And he was sure that the knots were just as he remembered, too. No, this was the same door. The only thing missing was…”

Foley finished the thought. “The only thing missing was Nils.”

“Yeah. Nils stood there for a long time. Then he looked up at me and said, ‘Let’s go.’ He walked past me down the hall to where Jim was looking at the fireplace. ‘I’m sorry for bothering you,” Nils said, and walked out the front door.

“I started to run after him, but Jim stopped me. He looked at me with tears running down his face. ‘Aaron, If there’s anything I can do for that boy,’ he said. ‘Anything.’”

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November 27, 2006 at 3:44 am — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: manuscript

[NOTE: This scene may never end.]

“Oh,” Aaron said, and laughed. “Sorry, I went off on a tangent there.”

“It’s okay. This situation seems to lend itself to philosophical tangents.”

“Yes, it certainly does. Where was I?”

“You were becoming fast friends with pastor Jim. And I’ll guess that Nils was about to enter the picture.”

“Yes, that’s right. That was very strange. One day Jim calls me in a panic. He says some kid had showed up at his door calling him ‘Dad’ and making all kinds of strange demands. I ask Jim what kind of demands and he says, ‘Like I’ll have to stop pushing him into the ministry.’ Jim says he’s been going round and round with the kid and he doesn’t know what to do. ‘Maybe you can talk to him,’ Jim says. ‘He’s closer to your age. And he asked for you.’

“So I rush over to Jim’s house and there’s this kid on the couch. When the kid sees me he jumps up and runs over to me shouting, ‘Tell him, Aaron. Tell him who I am!’

“So I say, ‘Okay. But first tell me who you are.’”

“The kid stops yelling and goes white as a ghost. He looks back and forth from me to Jim a few times, as if we are pulling some kind of cruel prank on him. Then he runs out the door. We didn’t see him again for days. Not until Sunday when he came to the late service.”

Foley studied Aaron’s face for signs of deceit. He saw none. And so far Aaron’s story fit what Foley would expect, what he imagined it would be like for someone in the pastor’s situation.

Foley said, “What did you do after the kid left?”

“It took me an hour to calm Jim down. The kid really shook him up. He said the kid had told him things that a stranger wouldn’t know. Like stories about Jim from when he was a kid.

“Like this one. One day when Jim was eight years old he found a litter of newborn puppies in a ditch. It was the middle of winter and there was ice all over the roads. Jim touched one of the puppies and it was cold. He touched the others. Seven of the puppies were dead, but one of them moved a little bit when he touched it. He took that one home and tried to nurse it back to health. He kept it in a blanket in shoebox and fed it warm milk with an eyedropper. But three days later the puppy died. Jim hadn’t thought about that puppy in maybe twenty years. And here was this kid telling him about every detail–the number of puppies, the milk from the eyedropper, everything. It freaked him out.”

Foley said, “Your family must be going through something similar right now. Jeremy’s return must be bizarre and awful for your mother and Gil and…” Foley stopped, unsure which name to say after all of the confusion of the past two days.

“And Deena,” Aaron said.

Deena! There it was, the slip that Foley had been waiting for. He called his sister Deena. Was there an explanation? Had Aaron heard her name from Gil or Jeremy? Foley decided to probe a little harder.

Aaron was still talking. “… I know they’ve had time to work through my running away, but still they don’t need to be stirred up even more right now.”

Foley said, “I regret that my visit may have stirred them up even more. Gil seemed quite upset, although Deena– Is it Deena or Nadine? Gil called her Nadine, but she insisted on Deena.”

“Deena is a nickname. Her real name is Nadine, but–” Aaron’s cheeks whitened slightly and he appeared to hold his breath. He looked at Foley and narrowed his eyes.

“But?”

Aaron took a sip of soda from his bottle. “But, uh, Gil couldn’t pronounce Nadine, so he called her Deena. We all liked Deena better than Nadine. All except Mom, that is. Every time we said ‘Deena’ in her earshot, she would ‘correct’ us.”

“Ah,” Foley said. He had the confirmation he needed. Aaron was lying about Deena. Foley didn’t know what that meant, but he knew Aaron was trying to deceive him.

But Foley didn’t want to push further and tip his own hand. “I guess Gil is taking your mother’s side now.”

Aaron took a bite of tuna salad.

Foley said, “You said Nils is your right hand man now. After that initial confusion, how did that come about?”

“The Sunday after he showed up at Jim’s house with his crazy story, he came to Sunday service. At the end of the service he ran outside. I went out to look, and he was shaking each person’s hand, calling them by name, and looking them in the eye. I asked him what he was doing. He said that he knew every one of these people by name. He had known them all his life. ‘One of them will recognize me,’ he said. ‘One of them has to recognize me.’

“I stood off to the side and watched as person came out of the church, shook the kid’s extended hand, and walked away glancing over their shoulder wondering what that had been about.”

Foley said, “That must have been awful for him.”

“You know Jeremy’s thing with the newspaper? That’s what this was like for Nils. As each person shook his hand and walked away in confusion, Nils watched another piece of his reality, of his identity, fall away.

“When the last person left the service, Nils went to the door and looked inside. He stood there for a long time, then came over near me, sat down on the grass, wrapped his arms around his knees, put his head down, and cried. He was so quiet, and he tried to keep from shaking, but you could see he was crying.

“As I watched him, first shaking hands with all of those people, then crying so quietly on the lawn, I found myself crying, too. I don’t know why. I couldn’t figure out what was up with him. I mean, was he crazy? Or a scam artist? Neither one of those seemed to fit. He just seemed so sincere. It was awful to watch. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him.”

Foley said, “I can imagine.”

“Well, you have more empathy than I do, then, Mister Foley.” Aaron took another sip of his soda. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? There are some things that have puzzled me, and with me talking so much I haven’t been able to eat my lunch. Do you mind?”

Foley looked at his plate, which was empty. “No, go ahead.”

“Why did you go to the police station that night?”

Foley had to take care how he answered. “I didn’t think they would understand Jeremy’s story.”

“And you would?”

“Well, not exactly.” How could he say this without giving himself away? He would have to stick what Aaron already knew. Aaron already knew that Foley remembered Jeremy–or at least evidence of who Jeremy was and who his family was–from before Jeremy was Forgotten.

Foley cleared his throat and continued. “But I knew that at least part of his story was true. A year earlier I had talked to his mother. Your mother. At that time she had been in great pain over Jeremy running away. So I knew that he was Natalie Crowther’s son.

“Then I saw the way he was acting toward that boy who was beating him up at the school. I later learned that the boy was Gil Crowther, but at the time I didn’t know that. I knew only that Jeremy seemed to believe that this boy who was beating him up was his brother. He seemed to believe it with every bone in his bruised and bleeding body.”

Aaron said, “The way I saw something in Nils.”

“I suspect so, yes.”

“But there was something else, wasn’t there?” Aaron picked up a leaf of lettuce and bit off a piece.

“Yes,” Foley said. How far could he go? How much of the truth could he admit and still keep his secret from Aaron? “Do you remember that missing person poster of Jeremy, the poster I mentioned just before you so rudely hung up on me?”

Aaron laughed. “I’ll be apologizing for that forever. Yes, I remember. It’s why I invited you here.”

“Well, the day after I took that poster down off the telephone pole and brought it into my home, it changed.”

Aaron put his fork down and sat up, looking at Foley with what Foley believed was genuine curiosity. “Changed? In what way?”

“It was no longer a poster of Jeremy Crowther. It was now a poster depicting and describing another missing boy. A boy named Paul Quinn.”

“Mister Foley, that is remarkable.”

Foley laughed. “Yes, well at the time I thought it was a damned sight more than merely remarkable. I flipped it over about thirty times, trying to see if I were simply looking at the back side of the poster about Jeremy. I ran outside, nearly forgetting to put on pants, to check the other posters still onthe telephone poles. All Paul Quinn. I searched my house five times. I went through every paper in my filing cabinets, every book on my shelves, every drawer and cabinet, looking for the original poster, the one of Jeremy. Nothing. Finally I called Natalie and asked her what I’m sure was an incoherent question or two about her missing son Jeremy. She assured me that she had no idea what I was talking about.”

“What is remarkable, Mister Foley, is that you remember the poster from before Jeremy was forgotten.”

“I’ll take your word for that. But you asked why I was so interested in Jeremy. It’s because something extraordinary happened that day a year ago. A poster of a missing boy somehow became a poster of a different missing boy. And a mother of a missing boy named Jeremy Crowther swears that she has no such son.

“No, Aaron, that’s more than remarkable. Remarkable is the story you told me about Nils, about a young man who appears and claims to be a person that neither you nor his own father knows to exist.

“Now imagine waking up to find that a missing person poster has inexplicably transformed from one boy to another overnight as it sat on your coffee table. Then imagine having a conversation with a grieving mother about her missing son on one day, then having another conversation with the same mother on the next day, and finding that in the twenty four hours between those two conversations she has forgotten that she ever had such a son.

“No, Mister Crowther, that goes way beyond remarkable, and deep into the territory of the utter and unqualified mind fuck.”

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November 25, 2006 at 11:06 pm — Jeremy Comes Home — Tags: manuscript

[NOTE: Yes, I know Foley's explanation of what happened with the police would not satisfy Aaron. I have some ideas about how to fix all that, but that's for the second draft. This is the NaNoWriMo draft. Damn the coherence; full speed ahead!]

In Karoline’s Kitchen, three tables seated at most twelve people. Karoline did not offer a menu. The daily special was described in three colors of chalk on a black slate board that hung on the wall beside the cash register. Today’s special was meat loaf with green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. Above the chalk board a carved wooden sign identified the only other lunch item: Tuna Plate, $even dollar$. A note on the wall near the cash register explained that Karoline did not believe in the standard pricing scheme that attempted to fool people into believing that a $6.99 tuna salad was a bargain over a $7.00 tuna salad.

Foley and Aaron were the only two patrons. Aaron stood at the counter and Foley sat at one of the small tables. Earlier Foley had ordered the meat loaf special. When Aaron arrived, a few minutes later, Foley had suggested the he too order lunch before they got down to business. Aaron had wanted to know what happened with the police, but Foley refused to talk before Aaron ordered.

Aaron ordered the tuna salad, picked a Stewart’s Key Lime soda from the cooler, and sat across from Foley.

“So what happened?”

“Miscommunication. Sacramento had called of the manhunt, but Portland didn’t get the message until just about the time I arrived at the station. The Portland police were quite apologetic, and asked a few nosy questions which I answered as concretely and truthfully as I could. The were kind enough to chauffeur me back to my car. By the time I called you back I was famished. I hope Karoline’s is acceptable.”

“Karoline has a wonderful reputation. I’ve never eaten here myself.”

“I take it you’ve seen Jeremy by now?”

“Yes. He’s with Nils, who works with me. He’s a great kid, and my right-hand man.”

“One of… What did you call it? The Forgotten?”

“Yes. The first, as a matter of fact. We work in a basement meeting room in a church where his father is pastor.”

“His father? If he’s a Forgotten, why does his father remember him?”

“He doesn’t. It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

Karoline brought their meals and set them on the table. “Hot sauce?” she asked.

Foley said, “No thank you.” Aaron shook his head. Karoline disappeared into the back of the restaurant.

Foley said, “Tell me about Nils and the pastor.”

“Three or four years ago I started attending a Methodist church on the west side, which is on the other side of the river from here. I’d gotten my feet on the ground here in Portland. I had a job at a CD store. I had a tiny apartment. But I was searching, and I didn’t know what I was searching for. I visited all kinds of churches, attending a sermon or two, and other kinds of services. Nothing felt quite right.

“But when I walked into First Congregational the pastor–that’s Jim Rollins–met me at the door and talked with me for a long time. I don’t remember what we talked about, but he has a knack of listening so that you feel heard. You know people like that?”

Foley nodded.

“So I started attending every Sunday. And I would come by other times just to talk. We talked about everything, about the stuff you’re not supposed to talk about in polite company, politics, religion–”

“Sex?”

“Well, no, not sex. I’m sure Jim would have been okay with that, but he never brought it up and neither did I. We just hit it off and became great friends.”

“You were what, seventeen years old?”

“I had just turned eighteen. Yeah, I know the stereotype. A man of the cloth and a boy. But there was never anything untoward about our relationship. We just like talking about life. Philosophy, I guess. I liked having someone to talk to who has thought about life, and I think he saw me as something like the son he never had.

“Or at least that’s the way I remember it now. It’s very strange, because I know in my head that what I remember isn’t the way it really was, that in reality Jim had a son, Nils. But no matter how much I tell myself, intellectually, that Jim had a son, I also know just as certainly that he did not. It’s a strange duality to live with, but guess I do what most people do when faced with a contradiction. I focus on one set of facts and pretend not to notice the contradicting ones.”

Foley said, “You do seem to enjoy talking about philosophy.”

“Oh,” Aaron said, and laughed. “Sorry, I went off on a tangent there.”

“It’s okay. This situation seems to lend itself to philosophical tangents.”

“Yes, it certainly does. Where was I?”

“You were becoming fast friends with pastor Jim. And I’ll guess that Nils was about to enter the picture.”

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