Date: Wed, 19 Jan 2000 08:58:03 GMT
From: Wayne Patrick <wppsd@hotmail.com>
Subject: searching for a son

Disclaimers:
I'm only going to say this once, so pay attention.  This is a story which
contains some man to man relationships.  If you shouldn't be here, please
leave now.  You know who you are.

Some events depicted here are based on events that have occurred in real
life.  The characters are fictitious.  They are not anyone living or
deceased.  If they hit a little too close to home, then maybe I've done my
job.

I accept comments or suggestions.  The only promise I make is that  this
story will be written to a conclusion.  Whereever that may take us.


Chapter 1

The five year old walked up to the heavy wooden doors of the building.  He
had never been to this building before, even though he had been with his dad
when he had driven by it many times.  It was, after all, on one of the main
streets of the city.  He had no idea what went on in the building, but
certainly it was too grand to be someone's house.  Even at nighttime, as it
was now, the building shined from the glow of the floodlights.  The front
lawn was always perfectly manicured.  Whatever went on in that building, it
certainly was important.  Tonight, he would get to see inside that building
for the first time.  Little did he know that what lay inside would haunt him
for the rest of his life.

His uncle parked the car in the lot next to the building, turning off the
headlights and windshield wipers.  Joey leaped out of the car's back seat,
running ahead of his aunt and dodging the raindrops that fell heavily from
the sky.  It was spring time in the south and it wasn't unusual for heavy
downpours to open up at any time.  He flew ahead as he wanted to get in
there fast to see what happened in that house.

"Please wait for us," begged his aunt.  She was dressed in her Sunday
clothes, her black dress moving smoothly with her body as she tried to keep
pace with the scurrying little boy.

His uncle was also wearing his Sunday suit.  "Joey, slow down.  Someone may
open the door into you and hurt you."  What he would see inside would hurt
much worse that any physical pain.

Still the little boy was undeterred.  He grabbed the marble handle of the
door, pulling with all of his might.  The door was heavy, opening slowly,
but still relatively easily for the little boy.  He tried to slip inside
through the small crack he had made, but his uncle was too quick and grabbed
him by the elbow.  Uncle Ray lifted him into his arms.  They walked past the
sign that simply said in white letters, "Matthew Edwards, viewing 6 to 9
pm."

They walked down the hall to the first room on the left.  It seemed to be a
grand living room, the kind of room you would only see in pictures of
mansions.  It was the kind of room that Joey knew his father would warn him,
"Do not jump on the furniture.  You need to show your manners."

The drapes facing the street were a golden white in color, not garish, but
simple and elegant.  And although the room  looked like a living room, the
furniture seemed strange to Joey.  Why were there chairs all lined up in
rows in the middle of the room?  There was another piece of furniture at the
far end, but Joey was too short to see into it.  He was, like all
five-year-olds, curious to see what was in there.

Standing next to it was Joey's mom.  Her face was pale, hollow, empty.  She
didn't smile and from across the room, Joey could see that her eyes were red
and they sunk deep into their sockets.  His other aunts were standing with
Mom, and nearby was Grandpa.  Everyone's face was serious, but to Joey,
nothing seemed terribly wrong.  In just a few seconds everyone in the room
knew this sweet, loving little boy's world was going to be destroyed.

"Oh, baby!" said his Mom, as the tears began flowing again.  "Come to me."

"Hi, mommy!" Joey's face lit up.  He hadn't seen his mom since yesterday,
when he had been shuffled off to the neighbor's house as Mom ran off
hurriedly to do an errand.

She picked him up, hugged him tightly, and said something totally unexpected
by Joey -- "Let's go see your daddy."

She turned with him in her arms toward that piece of furniture Joey didn't
know.  He looked in an saw someone laying in there, stiff, still, eyes
closed, asleep.  The face was familiar, yet very pale.  The hair was wavy,
combed neatly as it always was. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and
black jacket.  Dad.  It didn't occur to him immediately that his best pal in
the whole world was gone.  But it took less than a second for the pain to
tear through his mind, causing him to wail out the most mournful of sounds,
not quite human, and definitely not the sounds that came from that little
boy only moments earlier.

"Daddy, daddy, wake up!"  The words came to his mind but he had no idea
whether they had traveled to his mouth.  The room began spinning as he began
scratching and punching to get away from what he saw, from what he felt.  He
wanted to go back to another time and place.  Anywhere but here.  Joey felt
arms grab him, bear hugging him tightly as he continued kicking, exhausting
himself until everything turned to black.......


Chapter 2

Stephen unlocked his car door, throwing his briefcase in the back seat.  It
had been two years since the accident that killed his family, and he hadn't
really done anything except work, eat, sleep.  Then do the same thing the
next day, and the next, and the next.  Fortunately for him, being a CPA, he
always had lot of work backlogged and found ways to work 12 to 14 hours days
almost every day that he wanted to.  Everyone at work kept one eye on him,
trying to read him to see if he would ever get over what had happened that
night.

Stephen lived with an anger that he kept to himself.  His life was in
shambles, and for that he had no one to blame.  Stephen made sure not to let
anyone see another emotion behind his blank facade.  He was determined not
to let anyone in his life again.  As he looked back on his life, he resented
the choices he had made, the ones that had brought him here.

He had been pulled apart by his emotions as a teenager.  One part of him
wanted to be a father, to have children and a family, to live a regular
life.  He had no dreams of being a star, rich, or famous, simply
comfortable.  But there was another part of him that nagged in the back of
his mind.  He never dated in high school.  He wasn't interested in the girls
he met.  They just didn't do anything special for him.  There was no
electricity, no thunderbolts.  He had met Susan in college, dated a while,
and decided that she was a decent, kind person that he could share his life
with, one wanting children just as he had.  He decided that the desire to
have a family was greater than whatever else was out there.

They married, worked hard and had settled into their routine when Scott came
along.  He was to be the first of many, they hoped.  He was a beach goer
would call a tow-head - blond hair that would turn brown as he matured and
blue green eyes.  If you looked at him long enough you could see that he had
been blessed with the better features of both his mother and father.  He was
definitely their son.  As it was, he turned out to be the only one.  They
both threw themselves into loving their son.  He was a good kid, very smart,
and with a maturity one didn't expect from a six-year-old.  Every one called
them the most perfect family.  But perfection doesn't really last, does it?
It didn't for Stephen.

He had been the one who had gone to take Scotty to soccer practice every
week, but that week he decided to work on an account just to get the work
out of the way.  He had gotten Susan to drive their son to practice that one
time.  He still blamed himself for that.  If he had driven to practice, they
would have gone a different route and then their car would never have been
hit by the police car that was in a pursuit.  Susan and Scott never saw what
hit them.  It was instant.  It was over.

After the funeral, Stephen could not stand to walk in their house.  He sold
it as soon as the shock wore off and he was able to get himself together.
Now, he lived in a one-bedroom apartment not far from the ocean.  It was all
he needed.  Even though friends had tried to encourage him to go out and
date, he refused all offers.  He still grieved for his wife, for his son,
but mostly for himself.

It was Friday afternoon, and Stephen faced a three day weekend.  Their
office building was closed on Monday as there were safety inspections
planned, and the building manager had informed the tenants that only minimum
staff would be allowed in the building.  That meant that Stephen would been
spending the weekend doing absolutely nothing.  Even though he lived near
the beach, he decided that he would get away for once.  He had planned on
spending the weekend at a hotel just outside of town where his room would
open right onto the beachfront, giving him the ability to avoid any and all
contact with other people if he chose.

He had skipped lunch that day, planning to get a jump on the Friday rush
hour by leaving a little early.  On his way to the hotel, he planned on
stopping by a sandwich shop, then beating a fast retreat to his safe haven.
He parked his car in the strip mall parking lot, in one of the spaces marked
"10 minutes only."  He stepped into the store, approached the counter and
looked at the menu on the boards over the work counter.

"Welcome to the Sandwich Shoppe, may I help you?" came the voice from behind
the counter, emotionless, as would be expected from someone who spent all
day behind a counter waiting on the public.

The man looked to the teenager.  Their eyes met.  He stared.   His mouth
opened to recite his order, but no words came out.  He was dumbfounded.  He
was overwhelmed by the look of this kid.  Brownish blond hair that curled
neatly on his forehead, reminding one of sheep's wool.  And blue-green eyes
that were highlighted by the blue uniform shirt of the shop.

The boy waited a few seconds, then repeated, "May I help you, sir?"

The voice snapped Stephen back to the real world, but he still couldn't get
any words out of his mouth.  He stared at the kid's handsome face, a face
that somehow looked familiar, and then at the name tag on his pocket.
"Joey."