We called the diner, the one right off Interstate 40 near Kingman Arizona, and told them that we were stopping by in about 20 minutes and they’d better clear the place out.
Our red mini-van with the rotating blue light was tooling along at about 65. We held the required two-mile separation between the nearest car and us.
“Mommy, the desert is so pretty in the spring.”
Kimmy was wearing her blue cotton dress and she had put her blond hair up in pigtails and pink bows. The bows sat kind of lopsided on her head, but she was happy with the results. She sat straight up in the passenger seat, clutching her little, white, vinyl purse full of “Jolly Ranchers.” She reminded me of how I looked as a kid going off to Sunday school.
“Yes dear, the desert is very pretty.”
Well, the cactus flowers were in bloom, and those scraggly excuses for shrubbery had greened up a bit, but we’d seen it all before -- wilderness, deserted roads, evacuated buildings. Often the lights are on, but we know nobody is home. It’s really all the same after a while. Maybe you get used to it -- one gigantic hide and seek game with no chance of finding a soul.
We were in New Jersey on Tuesday when we turned around and headed back for the West Coast.
Just Kimmy and me.
I think that was the 57th trip east coast to west for us. What I’d give for a crowded mall, or a beach full of sunbathers, or a carnival or even one of my Mother’s blessed family reunions. Now that’s a real circus. All the cousins from down south come up and chatter away about their pick-ups and pig farms -- spittin’ tobacco juice through the holes made by their missing teeth. And those are the women folk.
* * *
When we got to the Kingman Oasis Diner and Truck Stop, it was cleared out. We pulled up to the pumps and filled up. I didn’t have to, but I folded two twenties into the pump handle.
As we approached the glass door to the restaurant, I noticed a shoe box on the welcome mat. I murmured to myself, ‘not again, doesn’t anyone obey the regulations?’ I tried to rush us past so Kimmy wouldn’t notice, but it was too late. She picked up the shoe box and opened the lid. Laid out on some tissue paper was a dead kitten, a perfect little calico -- only a few months old. Next to the kitten was a folded note on pink lined notebook paper, with the message written in green crayon. Despite Kimmy only having a kindergarten education she has always been a good reader. She read the note to me.
“Kimmy, this is the best kitten in the whole world. She loves to play with string and purr so loud when you pet her. Can you help her?”
It was signed Allison, age 8.
“Allison’s the same age as I am, Mommy. I bet she really loved her kitty. I want to help, Mommy, please?”
“Kimmy, you know the rules. You remember, sometimes dead is a good thing.”
She looked up at me and looked down at the shoe box. I knew she was going to do what she wanted to do anyway.
“Come here kitty.” There was a brief flash of light and the kitten jumped into her arms. It began to purr and lick Kimmy’s face. She giggled as it climbed up her arm and nestled on her shoulder
“Can I keep her Mommy?”
Before I could answer, she had second thoughts.
“No, this is Allison’s kitty and she’ll miss her if I take her.”
She took the kitten off her shoulder and held it securely in her arms. For a moment I thought she had changed her mind.
“Sleep,” she told the kitty. The kitten immediately went limp. It looked dead again except for the slight rising and falling of its tiny chest.
She placed the sleeping kitten back in the shoe box. Then she found a stick near the pumps and used it to poke some air holes in the lid. She covered the shoe box with the lid and left it there by the door.
“Allison will be back for the kitty, right Mommy?”
“I bet she will.”
Allison and her family were probably on top of a ridge somewhere, a safe and barely legal distance away watching the whole thing through binoculars. As soon as we pulled away they’d come down the ridge and claim the cat.
“Can we have pancakes, Mommy?”
We’d been to the Oasis at least a dozen times so I knew where things were. I made Kimmy chocolate chip pancakes and I made scrambled eggs for myself – nice and runny, just the way I like them. I poured myself a cup of coffee and OJ for Kimmy. We sat in a booth by the window. I used to enjoy watching the big rigs pass when we were at a place like this, but no such luck anymore. I tried to have a meaningful conversation with an eight-year-old.
“Can we have a kitty sometime, Mommy?”
“I don’t think a kitty would like driving all around the country in our van. Kittens like to run and play.”
Kimmy put on that sad pout that always broke my heart, but we both knew what the rules were and the consequences of breaking them.
“Maybe if you’re a good girl we can stop some time at a pet shop and you can play with the kittens there.”
“Okay Mommy. Where we going today?”
“California, dear. By tonight we should be ready to turn around. We can stop to see the ocean, if you behave.”
“Are there any pet shops in California?”
I checked with the GPS unit. It told me that there was one not far from the highway in a strip mall just outside of Bakersfield. I told it okay and it plotted our route. When we were going to an isolated place, like the Oasis, it was easy, I just called ahead and hoped they knew the drill and the troopers, who monitored our phone calls would stop before we got there and make sure all went like it was supposed to. But for this one, I had to contact the Feds. The National Guard needed to clear out all the stores, motels, houses and so forth for several miles, starting from the exit and going as far as two miles beyond the pet shop. It was a hassle, but we never heard a complaint.
Maybe there was a Wal-Mart or something at the strip mall so I could get some new clothes and get out of these rags. All of Kimmy’s jeans were becoming “high waters” as well. She was growing so fast.
But more importantly maybe there was a liquor store. Oh, I don’t drink and drive. I don’t know what the Feds would do. But, late at night watching repeats of “Hallmark Classic” TV movies I can really use a little snort or two… or three.
* * *
Kimmy goes to sleep early, usually around 9:00PM KST, that’s Kimmy Standard Time. We found out pretty quickly that we couldn’t be constantly changing the clock as we gallivanted around the U.S. of A. But sometimes KST is pretty early, and the sun is still high in the sky. So while Kimmy’s lying like an angel in the bed next to me, I have plenty of time to think about things, and pretty often I think about my ex-husband Ken.
We didn’t have an ideal marriage, but it was cozy and comfortable. He's a mailman -- good, solid, dependable work. We’d sit on the porch -- I’d read a book, he’d just stare ahead at the clouds, or the moon, thinking, planning our vacation, or figuring out what to fix around the house. He was a loving, gentle man with a huge toothy smile who I thought would do anything for Kimmy and me.
At night in the motel room, to the flickering images on the TV, I often shed a tear and hoist a glass full of Jack Daniels in honor of the man of my dreams. I know he loved me.
* * *
“Okay dear, we can play with the kittens around dinner time, if you’re a good girl.”
The sadness was over already for Kimmy. A big smile covered her face from ear to ear. Before we got back in the van we gave each other a big bear hug. Kimmy was indeed a happy child.
What happened with Allison’s kitten used to happen more often. At the beginning we were constantly being tracked down. There were protests too, and pickets, but the National Guard always managed to disperse the crowd before we got there so we’ve never even seen one. But as the government disclosed more and more about what they knew about Kimmy and since CNN began their series of reports on, “The god child: blessing or curse?” the nation knows to stay away. But in a way we’re never really alone. The Feds installed a state of the art GPS Unit in the van, not only so we could find stores and restaurants and motels and stuff, but so they could keep track of us. There’s always someone nearby -- state troopers or National Guard -- insuring that no one gets too close and arresting people when they won’t quietly move on.
The only problem with leaving Kingman and going west is the amount of road kill we come across. The government is supposed to sweep ahead and get rid of any, but they got better things to do I guess.
Ten miles out of Kingman, Kimmy saw the armadillo along the side of the road.
“Stop Mommy, I want to help.”
I pretended I didn’t hear her. I whistled a tune, pretending to be distracted. Maybe Kimmy would just let it go.
“Mommy stop! The funny animal -- Stop!”
I had nothing to do with it. The van stopped and then crept backwards until the dead animal was right alongside Kimmy’s window.
The entire hindquarters of the armadillo were crushed into the pavement. All that was left was a dirty red blotch with a few hunks of bone and a scruff or two of flesh. It must have been run over more than once, I saw at least two sets of tire tracks. And believe me the desert sun even in the spring can cook up road kill pretty good.
“Kimmy it’s really dead, been dead for a while. I think we should just go and let it be?” Kimmy did think about it a while. But Kimmy was sad about the funny animal and only one thing would make her happy again.
“Get up animal, go home to your Mommy.”
After the brief flash of light -- the armadillo began to scream and yelp. It obeyed Kimmy’s orders and slowly, using its front paws, shuttering along, dragged its mangled hindquarters back into the desert looking for its Mommy.
I could only bear to look for a second. I called and told the Feds to send out the local ASPCA to find the poor beast and put it out of its misery. It would take a while to kill it though. Kimmy is good. When she makes something alive it stays alive. Chopping it up won’t work -- each piece keeps on going. Too many chunks when you blow it up and cremating takes way too long until it’s dead. They tell me they finally figured out a technique using a meat grinder and a vat of acid.
Now imagine what would happen, God forbid, if Kimmy saw a dead person along the side of the road, or if we passed a cemetery? Don’t bother, just ask my ex-brother-in-law, Bill -- he’s writhing in pain as we speak.
* * *
It began with a pet hamster. Kimmy got it when she was five, too young to take care of a living thing in my book, but her father thought it was okay. Anyway, I was right. She forgot to feed it one too many times and the water bottle was dry too often. So she came home from Kindergarten, and she ran upstairs to her bedroom and tapped on the bars of the hamster’s cage on her dresser, wanting to play -- and it was dead.
She cried and cried until I thought there was no more liquid in her to drain out, and we couldn’t console her. No promise of a new hamster would work -- she wanted “Pookie” or whatever it was called.
After Dinner she went back to her room and yelled. “Mommy, Daddy -- come quick, hurry, hurry!”
We were like lightning up those stairs. But when we got there she was smiling and laughing and playing with “Pookie.” She had him in her hand.
And we were real happy, figured it fainted or something, told her she was lucky and she promised to take better care of it in the future.
I mean we’ve all heard stories of pets, usually little ones like hamsters or goldfish, who come back to life. Their owners think they’re dead -- stiff as cardboard or floating on top of the bowl and the next minute they’re moving around like nothing happened. Happens all the time, so we thought nothing of it.
But then came Bill. Looking back there may have been a sparrow or two that she found on the way to school, but you know we weren’t paying attention. We didn’t know what we were looking for.
Bill was Donald’s -- my ex’s -- brother. He drank and I mean a shit load. Anyway, he got sick and his liver was a cirrhotic mass and there was nothing we could do.
Someone told us you don’t take a six-year-old to a viewing, but did we listen?
Bill was laid out nice in the casket -- in his only suit. Hadn’t looked so good in years. But of course he was all made up and full of embalming fluid.
Kimmy came into the room and saw all the people in the funeral home sitting straight in their chairs all gloomy, a real depressing atmosphere, and she sensed it because -- all in all -- she is a caring loving child and she didn’t like what she saw. She began to cry and carry on. She wouldn’t look at the casket -- but we made her look, to get closure and all. We made her walk up to the casket and say goodbye to Uncle Bill.
But she didn’t want to say goodbye. She squirmed and tugged and hid behind me. She saw how all of us were so sad and her father, never one to show emotion -- was in tears as were her Grandma and Aunt Peg and so on, all the people she loved.
So she said something that has been said millions of times at funerals. “I wish Uncle Bill was still alive.” And there was this flash of light.
* * *
Kimmy took a nap. She usually did after she raised the dead and after the kitten and the armadillo, she was a bit tuckered out. Of course, maybe she’s not tired per se, just content, like a cat basking on a windowsill after a long morning of doing not much of anything.
The cell phone rang. It was the Feds, wanting a meeting and I suggested the pet shop in Bakersfield. They saw no problem with that.
It was no big deal. They meet with us once a month or so, to share any changes in the rules and such, to make sure all is okay with us, to spot us cash -- whatever. Had it been a month already?
Kimmy was still sleeping when we crossed the state line into California. I was doing 85, not that I was in a hurry, but I knew that everyone had to stay out of the way and the need for speed was one of the few joys in my life.
The Feds called again, confirming our meeting and asking for an ETA. I told them around 6:00PM or so.
They told me to expect more cars than usual. The National Director was paying a visit. Usually just the field officers met with us. We had met only once, about two years ago when this whole thing began. He was the big cheese in charge of checking out the regulations, coordinating our routes through the federal, state and local highway systems, and making sure we were spreading things out like we were supposed to.
* * *
Now please remember what they do in a funeral home to prepare a body for the viewing. They suck out the blood and fill the veins with embalming fluid. Them they pump that through to reach the brain and the other organs. Now in Bill’s case there were some heroic measures there at the end, and his liver was pretty well cut up and his abdomen was in pretty bad shape, with veins and arteries and pieces of organs and such left, as they were, in mid-procedure when they declared him dead. And there was this huge incision sloppily tied together postmortem.
So to recap, what we have left is some pickled brain and organs, not all intact, and a slab of embalming fluid soaked meat and bones with a big gash in it.
You can imagine that if somehow the brain and body are switched on at some level, living like that has got to hurt. We’re not sure how much Bill understands at this point. What they needed to do was float his brain in morphine but that’s not enough. He has a pulse, and a heartbeat, but he won’t seem to heal.
Now, if Kimmy can bring dead things back to life, why can’t she fix them -- you know, repair their organs, restore the animal’s limbs and so on?
Well we don’t know if she can’t or she won’t or maybe she doesn’t understand, or maybe she just likes it that way. In fact we know Kimmy can do a lot of things, and we know that her powers have seemingly an unlimited range, but we’re not sure if she can do everything.
* * *
The Feds wanted the hamster.
And we had Kimmy tested -- we did, the CIA, the FBI, Homeland Security, NIH, NIMH, anyone you can think of had a piece of her. What did the tests conclude? What did all those electrodes and ink blots and crayon drawings and cat scans and EEG’s and whatever else say about her? They told us she’d never hurt a fly. Everyone was sure of that. She had not a mean bone in her body, goodness through and through. The psychiatrists said that Kimmy was nearly incapable of doing harm to anyone or anything. All she wanted was to help and be loved. Imagine that. But there was that nearly word, maybe one chance in a thousand. But considering what could happen, was that an acceptable risk?
And what if she heard that there wasn’t enough drinking water and she wanted to help so she took all the salt out of the oceans?
And what if she heard that prisoners weren’t being treated well in jail and released them all?
And what if she thought that people liked sunny days so much that she took all the clouds away?
So many ways to help, and believe me she wants to help as much as she can.
* * *
We cleared out a Burger King for lunch. We called ahead and our burgers were in the drive through waiting for us. We pulled into the parking lot to eat and stretch a bit. We decided to play with the kittens before we found dinner. Kimmy thought Taco Bell. She always wanted to plan her meals way in advance, which was okay. Our GPS unit gave me the address of a Taco Bell a few miles from the pet shop.
After lunch we got back on the highway.
“Mommy, you know I really like riding around in the van; but Mommy, when are we gonna go home?”
I hated that question.
“Kimmy, this is your home, remember we have that important job that the President and Congress and all those important people in Washington want us to do.”
“Yes I know, but I miss Daddy and my swings.”
“We can find a park and play on swings.”
“I want to play on my swings!”
“But Kimmy if we don’t do our job, remember what I said would happen?”
“Something real bad, real bad… right Mommy?”
“Yes that’s right -- so we got to keep on going, for a little while more, okay?”
I can’t tell her that Daddy couldn’t deal and ran away from his family. The divorce papers included a one hundred-mile restraining order. We can’t get near Medford Oregon anymore.
Kimmy calmed down and played checkers with herself, or something like that. Let’s say that both the black and red checkers moved. Then we sang the Barney Song. Then she read a Harry Potter book. Pretty soon we were approaching Bakersfield.
That’s when I looked in my rear view mirror and saw the line of black cars -- Lincolns, well within the two-mile limit. Must be the Feds, I thought. Usually they just meet us where we’re supposed to go. There were six cars in all and four of them were pulling away from the line. Then I saw what they were up to. I was in the right lane -- two black Lincolns in front, two beside me and two in back.
It was a escort. Even Kimmy was worried. She stared out the side window at the Lincolns along side. They smiled and waved at her. A woman agent showed her a handful of lollipops.
We pulled off the highway at the exit and drove to the strip mall. The parking lot was deserted of course so there was plenty of space. They circled the Lincolns up around us, hemming us in.
I stepped outside and asked Kimmy to sit tight for a while. One of the Feds in trench coat and dark glasses walked to me.
“Mrs. Freeman, the Director would like a word with you.”
Mrs. Freeman -- that was my name I guess. Of course I was divorced -- but it was nice to hear someone call me something other than Mommy.
“But what about Kimmy?”
“Agent Kelly will take her to the pet shop.”
Agent Kelly was an attractive blond. Brave lady, this Agent Kelly.
“Kimmy, I got to talk to a nice man about our job. You can go with Miss Kelly to the pet shop.”
“Mommy, don’t you want to play with the kittens?”
“I’ll be along soon.”
Agent Kelly didn’t look the least bit afraid. Soon they were holding hands and walking off to the pet shop sucking on lollipops.
One of “the suits” escorted me to the Director’s Lincoln. The door to the back seat was opened and “the suit” motioned to me to get in.
The inside was what you’d expect, deep leather seats you just sank into -- reminded me of my grandpa’s old comfy chair. Around the seats mounted to the Lincoln’s interior were all kinds of electronics -- computers, monitors, phones, and surveillance devices. But the Director was not denied a certain amount of creature comforts. Below the partition that separated his “command center” from the driver was a well stocked mini bar.
I was seated next to this short, dark haired, middle aged man in a dark suit sporting bifocals, who offered me a Coke. He was Director Garabaldi of what I call “Kimmy’s Keepers,” but formally known as "Operation Safeguard." Garabaldi had some sweet positions in the Department of Homeland Security before getting this special assignment. We exchanged hellos but you could tell he was all business.
“Let me get right to the point Mrs. Freeman. We’re contemplating a major change in plans.”
“Do we get to go home now, finally? Do you think Kimmy’s old enough to understand what she’s all about?”
“No, Mrs. Freeman, not exactly” Garabaldi paused for a moment. ”I have to say that you’ve done a marvelous job keeping Kimmy and the American public out of harms way these two years. But something has come up.”
“What’s that?” I tell you my hands were shaking, my eyes wide open -- I knew the other shoe was gonna drop.
“Mrs. Freeman -- you listen to the radio, watch TV, the news on occasion; you know that things are not going well for us in China. They’re using chemical weapons, biological weapons, everything they got, against us. Well, we’re dropping like flies. Intelligence says they’re thinking about deploying their nukes and we have to stop them. We send over more troops and you see, it’s the attrition, there’s just so many more of them.”
Garabaldi looked at me. He was a desperate man with a plan. “We’d keep her real safe and comfortable, out of harm's way. She’d have all the toys she wanted, and kittens and puppies and you could be there and maybe even, we could get a little girl to be her friend and there’d be teachers and everything in the world for her.”
I glared at Garabaldi and his little nervous smirk, ”So now you want to settle us down. Why didn’t you do that two years ago? But no, even though we’d be on Federal Land, the surrounding States were concerned. Fear of loss of population, tax revenue and congressional power. People don’t want to live anywhere near Kimmy, not even five hundred miles away. But now all that’s changed.”
“All she’d have to do is help us with the attrition. We’d bring her some soldiers, ones that weren’t dead long and not too messed up -- I mean injured extensively, you understand, and she could bring them back to life. I think you get the picture Mrs. Freeman.”
I leaned over right in his face, “So that’s why you put up with all this garbage these two years. Whatever we wanted, we got -- motels, restaurants, malls, national parks, you’d even close Disneyworld for us you said. Whatever made Kimmy happy. That’s why you didn’t say ‘enough of this already’ and sneak up behind her with a loaded 45.”
Garabaldi stopped looking at me. He stared at a TV monitor showing the outside of the Pet shop.
“Mrs. Freeman, I’ll be frank. We need Kimmy. Do you understand?”
There was silence for a while I took it in. I sat there quietly sweating -- “Do I have a choice?”
“Not really, Mrs. Freeman.”
“You know, we had an agreement. We’ve been keeping our part. Do you know what I’ve been through these past two years? Protecting Kimmy, protecting the citizens of the United States from Kimmy. Do you know what it’s like to pull up to another abandoned motel every night, night after night? Become some kind of hermit on wheels -- all for national security. Well forget all that, I’m tired of it.”
He was still staring at that monitor.
“Mrs. Freeman the government commends you on your diligence and patriotism, but times and situations have changed. Either you cooperate and I tell Agent Kelly to bring you your daughter, or I’ll lock these doors and you and I will be off to Fort MacArthur.”
“Does it have to be today? I’d like to try to explain to her.”
“We understand. We’re going to give you 24 hours. But we’re not going to let you out of our sight.”
I got out of Garabaldi’s car and waited outside the van until Kimmy was done playing with the kittens. A few minutes later Kimmy and agent Kelly left the pet shop and, hand in hand skipped towards me. When they got to the van, Kimmy gave Kelly a big hug. After Kelly got in her car the Lincolns broke formation and drove to the other side of the parking lot where they stopped, but continued to idle. Kimmy got in the van.
I put on a happy face for Kimmy’s sake. Anything for Kimmy. “Now that you’ve played with the kittens, let’s go see the ocean, okay?”
Kimmy nodded.
We almost forgot the Taco Bell. We had to drive around in circles for a while to give them time to evacuate. Our “posse” was following us, even lining up behind us through the drive through.
Kimmy thought the whole thing silly.
“They’re following right behind, just like a parade, right, Mommy?”
We both laughed.
* * *
The Feds had specifically promised not to do this. But what are promises in wartime?
I was sure Kimmy would love the toys and a house to call her own, and her own swings and the pets. I’m also sure that she’d love to help all those brave broken men. It might be the best thing for her, make her the most happy.
But then I remember her Uncle Bill.
Sure, they’d bring the recently dead with minimal injury -- that would be their intent.
But sooner or later they’d misjudge, or get sloppy, or desperate -- they’d need more men to win the war and the standards would drop.
Imagine the chronic life long pain of the ones that shouldn’t have been helped -- the pain that would never go away. Maybe thousands would suffer, tortured, and crippled for maybe forever. And what if they were injured again, badly injured? Even if they were shredded limb from limb -- they wouldn’t die unless they were vaporized by one of those nukes. All this because of Kimmy.
* * *
I set my sights on the GPS unit. I took my left shoe off and in three whacks the thing was smashed to bits. We were only an hour from the Pacific. We were on course to take Rt. 58 to San Luis Obispo and turn around there. I made a sudden left turn onto Rt. 5 and headed south.
I hoped I could shake them, outrun them. But I couldn’t turn off that annoying blue light on the roof and there was no time to stop and smash that too. It was starting to get dark. I floored it.
They were on our tail, forming a V shape of black Lincolns, keeping back about 50 yards. Behind the Feds a couple of troopers had joined the chase. The Speedometer pushed past 100 and the fuel gauge was way below a quarter. I’m sure they figured that we’d run out of gas and then we’d be theirs.
Kimmy had squirmed around in her seat belt and was staring out the back windshield. For a while it had been funny, but now she was confused. She wasn’t used to seeing cars anywhere near us.
“Mommy is everything okay? Why are those men still following us?”
All I could muster was, “Every thing’s fine.” I don’t think I was too convincing.
When we got close to Santa Clarita, just a few miles from LA, I think they began to panic. I was almost on empty, but maybe they weren’t so sure and I was never supposed to take Kimmy into heavily populated areas.
The Feds got impatient. I saw them draw their guns and I’m sure that they were aiming for the tires. But there was a sudden dip in the road and that’s when the first shot rang out. The bullet hit the back windshield and shattered the glass.
Kimmy screamed. Even as a baby Kimmy never screamed. She was terrified and she began to glow, like she had a light inside her that turned on.
Kimmy screamed, “Go away!”
Then there was a flash of light and they did go away. The cars were gone, -- but gone too was the landscape. All that was left was the van and the road and barren, bone dry, lifeless dirt. There were no plants, no animals, no birds, no buildings, no cars, no billboards. There weren’t any of the usual jet vapor contrails -- for as far as I could see. The only thing left was dirt, rock and asphalt, nothing more; even the painted lines on the road were stripped off.
I kept on driving.
“Mommy, I was scared and so were you. I wanted to help get rid of the bad men so we wouldn’t be scared anymore.”
I turned on the radio and set it to scan -- there was nothing. When I turned the dial myself I think I heard some far away stations through the static, but it was hard to tell. As the sun set I looked towards LA, to the city lights -- there were none.
“Kimmy dear, what have you done? Where did everything go?”
“I don’t know Mommy.”
“Kimmy bring it back, bring it all back, everything that went away.”
“I don’t know where it went Mommy. I lost it.”
Kimmy began to cry, but I knew she was being honest. I told her that it was okay and that I loved her and she should take a nap. She was tired and she fell asleep right away.
Probably dreamt of kittens.
* * *
The last beams of sun before nightfall made the ocean glow. It was one of those beautiful twilight panoramas -- picture post card perfect -- wisps of clouds, the colors pink, orange and red.
It was a great life, just Kimmy and me.
We tried to skip a stone across Lake Superior -- couldn’t do it, but did make it out around 100 feet.
We conquered the Mighty Mississippi. Many times we stopped mid span to gaze at the lazy, muddy waters of “Old Man River.”
We chugged and sputtered across the Continental Divide wishing we had filled up with high octane.
We appropriated some fossils from Dinosaur National Monument that probably should have stayed where they were.
But how could this go on? Kimmy could never live with herself if she realized what she had done? It had to stop. One holocaust was enough.
I kept on going at 100mph -- and soon we were approaching the cliff. I lined the van up, closed my eyes and floored it again.
* * *
I guess it was two weeks later that I woke up at Walter Reade. Kimmy had already sent me a letter about her new house in Taiwan with a swing and a sandbox and a whole litter of kittens. She also sent me a picture of her new little friend Michelle and her new big friend, Agent Kelly who loved her so much.
She said she liked helping the funny soldiers get better.
As soon as I floored it I knew something was wrong. We were probably running on vapors by then and there just wasn’t the power. I think we actually slowed down as we approached the cliff and we didn’t get as much lift as I expected so we dropped more than flew. It seems that the sudden change in gravity woke Kimmy up. It was a long drop and we landed on the beach hard. I was thrown from the van, through the dashboard and into the windshield, and then I crashed into a pile of rocks. They tell me that Kimmy was uninjured. She told the Feds she jumped out of the van and began to look for me.
She says it was pretty dark and she looked and looked and finally, there I was on the rocks, dead. Because she loved me so much, she brought me back. As I came to, through my one remaining eye and the searing pain, I could see that my left leg was yanked off at the knee, my right leg was crushed up to my hip. My back was broken and bent into an “L” and my left arm was missing at the elbow. A piece of the dashboard was sticking through my abdomen. I asked Kimmy to put me to sleep. With all the confusion they tell me it took the Feds two days to find us.
Today is my first day awake since then. They’ve done all they can. The nurse just came in to change the morphine drip. Hell it ain’t no drip, it’s a constant flow and I’m still blinded by the pain, half crazy with the pain.
Kimmy wrote this at the end of her letter, bless her little heart, and I quote -- “Get well soon, Mommy.”
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