I stood there with one shoe in my hand.
The cop had called. I left in a rush. And now there I was, in the driveway, darkened by the 9:30 night, holding one shoe in hand, watching the cop hold his hand out in "stop" from the middle of the driveway turn-around; my brother-in-law waving "forward" from the porch stairs.
I had gotten the call that night, sometime around 9. I was home that night. Setting up for my Bloom Brunch. I would have never took the unknown call, except that a friend had just called, Erin Hiske, about the brunch. Otherwise, I would have never heard nor answered on a Friday night after 9. But this night, I did.
He introduced himself. I thought it was a prank. He said, "I'm standing here with your dad, you need to come to your house." I was confused; I was at my house. I asked again what he needed. He said, "I'm standing here with your dad, at your dad's house. Take your time, but you need to come to the house." I still wasn't sure.
I thought it was maybe a prank because earlier that night, I had run out for pizza and came back to the condo, finding my computer on an odd pages. (I had talked to my mom afterschool outside, and used a different door, leaving it unlocked.) I had called my dad to stay on the phone line while I walked through the house. He was at his house, taking brick off the front of the garage with a crowbar. He said to call him back in another fifteen minutes just to check in again that everything was secure and okay. I did.
So when the cop called, I thought it was either a student prank, or that my dad had called the cop to come and check out my house for safety.
But I asked again, and he said, "Your siblings are on the way. Take your time, but you need to come to your parent's house."
I was still uncertain, and started shaking. I called Kelly's cell, Josh's cell, their home phone. Josh picked up. I could hear Kelly in hysterics in the background; all I said was, "Are you going to mom and dads?" And he said, "Yeah, we're on our way."
Thus began that drive I knew I would remember forever. I knew driving there that that drive would always be something I would remember. I didn't know why yet, but I knew. So I paid attention. I remembered the street signs, the lights along the darkened roads. The speed limits, the calm in my shaking heart. The thoughts; the rationale. The thinking and protective wondering. Did dad fall off a ladder? A heart attack? The bricks from the garage? Did someone break into the house? I thought of different scenarios, but stayed guarded, being careful not to assume the worst. But still remembering my mom's words: that the night her parents died, the siblings were all called to meet up at their house.
So there I stood, one shoe on and one shoe in my hand. The cop motionless on his phone, in paused position, and Josh on the second or third step, pulling my forward with his movements. I looked from one to the other, one to the other, one to the other. Waiting, wondering. About what's going on. About if I should proceed forward. About who to obey. About if I should put my shoe on.
I finally made the distinct choice to trust Josh over the cop and moved forward, past the dark uniformed officer. Josh was stable, until he grabbed me in a hug, and stood on the steps, pulling, and saying, "It's mom."
I remember only next, walking into the front, farmhouse door, Kelly at the stairs in a weeping, quick hug, and dad, grabbing me, heavy. A motion of undetained movement, knowing what I said in this first hug, this clamoring embrace would last forever. And all I said, all I meant, was: "I love you, dad."
We cried. Unable to make gestures or sense of space. Sitting in chairs, at the mantel. Waiting for Blake, Melissa, then the cop with Grandma.
Eventually, the house filled with relatives, words, then stunned, stunted absence of concept. Phone numbers of friends, relatives, and workers were pulled from her little blue, tin farmhouse-looking address box, divided among Kelly and me as we separated into rooms. Her, the office; me the bedroom, to make the calls.
The night was thick with space, ancient with time, and loaded with marked memories that I knew, in those very moments, would somehow arrive here... forever... at sometime, on paper, in thought, in life, in eternity. I do remember them, exactly as so. Clearly. Poignantly. Precisely. Just as I knew I would living them. Odd how that all marks itself together.
Still, the memory that comes most clearly, first, and most profound,ly is the memory of standing in that driveway, holding that one shoe.
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