(Originally written December 2007)
As soon as he woke up, he knew they were gone. The house was cold and quiet and gray. No laughter peeled off walls. No tiny feet pummeled floors. There were no cries of protest. Shrill pleadings and every sign of life had been sucked from the building. Now the wind slammed the house, hammering it with buckets of rain. And he was alone.
It was supposed to be a small break for him. She’d take the kids to church and he’d get extra sleep; but the minute he woke he knew it was more permanent than that.
What would he do? Sell the house, of course. Unfinished as it was, he could not stay here. And the business? Yes, that too. Perhaps his brother would take over both.
As he stepped from the shower, images flipped across his mind like flash cards: an elk herd, their van, his kids…his wife.
He wondered why no phones rang and why the house was quiet and why the wind wouldn’t stop whooshing trees and why the damn gutters kept leaking drip-drip-drip-drip.
He was out of the house then and back in the cold spaceship his crew had abandoned. An alarm flashed blip-blip-blip-blip. He was still alone. There was no house. Just instruments and curved walls. He checked the oxygen supply—low. He must have been hallucinating. Remembering a life lost.
Moving into the long corridor, he wished they’d made it pink. Anything but this gray walling him in so silently. He’d take any color now. He’d take any noise now—an angry wife, even a crying kid.
His kids. He’d joined the Space Corps knowing they’d be at risk. But he determined not to let that hinder him. They belonged to God, not him, and like every human had their appointed time to die.
Their appointed time to die…
While alive, he had steeled himself against their departure by voraciously loving every minute with them—tasting, laughing, feeling, and thanking God for it all. He knew he couldn’t wrestle with them forever.
He didn’t know then the silence would ache so without them. That once they were gone he’d give his entire career to have them back. He didn’t know then that hurtling through the heavens could mean nothing. He’d rather be on his king-sized bed tickling them or playing peek-a-boo in the sheets.
Their laughter rang out to him now like bells. As did their toddler voices, high-pitched and musical with words bent oddly yet offered so earnestly. He heard them now like a small choir, like angels waiting to receive him. He would go to them, he thought, fitting on his helmet. He would find them.
The chamber ripped open then and the peculiar light of space spilled in. Jagged walls swung away until he hung on the edge of infinity.
He heard it again: the laughter of tickling, the voices of love. And he saw only light.
So he let go.
Watt Childress says
This piece knocks me to the ground, Rick. I believe you read a few paragraphs to me as you were writing it and with just that nibble it stuck in my mind for twelve years. Now the whole nugget is lodged in there for my heart to work over. Your spare yet cosmically-rich story lazers in on a grief that nobody wants to imagine yet it consumes folks every day. Being brave enough to grab hold of that reality may enable us to hang on to life, or at least help someone make it through the day.
Rick Bonn says
Thank you, Watt. It knocked me to the ground, too. Maybe that’s why I was reluctant to share. I hope it helps those ‘on the edge’ feel like they’re not alone.
Jbonnfire says
RIck, It’s your brother here. Thank you for writing and sharing this wonderful story. It will be your birthday in a few days, Jan 20 2025. It’s been almost 5 years since you left this world and went home to heaven. Your Odyssey story ending has a familiar ring to it. You also saw the light and let go. Not of your own volition but from a series of events to big for this story. You were not alone, and you are still loved. I read this story for the first time just a few days ago, thinking about when it was published in 2019, there were so many things going on in my life at that time. You and I were not close, but I longed to be. I have always looked up to you in many ways, your writing being one of them. I then noticed this was first written in 2007, and thinking back upon those times, I wish I could have done more for you. For example, buy the house and business as you mentioned in your story. I believe there is a lot of truth in your fictional story.
After a year of saying I would, I finally saw the movie Oppenheimer with my wife and oldest son. He first saw the movie when it was released. I remember him, with tears in his eyes, coming home from the screening of it. He had gone to it with his brother and friends. He was very moved by the music and storytelling of it.
The next day as I was thinking of the ramifications of the atom bomb, when it was developed and how, now in the 21 century no country still has never used it again. I wondered what your review of Oppenheimer might have been like? Would you have interlinked a story of God in and through it? Of course you would have.
I knew that Christopher Nolan had directed the movie and has also directed the movie Interstellar. I remember you loved that movie so much and couldn’t stop talking about it. I heard you went to the theater several times to see it. I too enjoyed it but wondered why it impacted you so much. Did you write anything about it? If so I would love to read it. I had to revisit the space of it. Watching it from a fathers perspective I was able to relate to Matthew McConaughey’s character. I haven’t been near the end of my life in reality, but as a father, I know that when I’m away from my family, I can recall the images and sounds of different moments from my kids and my families life. Maybe you were foretelling some of what you might see. I don’t know but your words in the story made it come alive. I saw it, I felt it! I know those kids and those memories.
Upon the first couple readings I still didn’t see that maybe you meant the story to be more of a description of depression and anxiety and the possibilities if you don’t reach out to others. I have been there, so deep and dark, but I’m a believer and know that God is still working in my life. I have reached out before. I found out I wasn’t alone. When I read yours and Watts comments I realized that is where you were thinking. Or, maybe it’s just an amazing imaginative story where inner thoughts collide with the reality of the page somewhere on The Upper Left Edge. Thanks again.