Dead Blue Eyes

Dead Blue Eyes
By
Raman Jalota

   Mark Pudinsky stared into those blue eyes. They look like my wife’s eyes. . . . . But there’s something wrong with those eyes. They don’t seem alive. They are blue, but … dead eyes?    The coroner put his hand on his shoulder. It was only then that he looked at the whole face. And then the body. He nodded his head as tears burst uncontrollably from his eyes. The coroner led him out of the morgue and helped him sit in a chair.
   “What about my son?”
   “She was all alone in the car when it was pulled out of the ditch.”
   “But my son … … my son Russ was with her when she left.   Where can he be?”
   The cop saw the coroner’s gesture and walked over, “Mr. Pudinsky, we have not been able to find your son. He was not in the car or near the car.   We are searching for him in all the places around the accident site.”
   “But he is only seven years old. He can’t survive on his own … He doesn’t know anyone other than the neighbors.”
   The cop nodded his head reassuringly but Mark just sat there shaking his head.

…..

   Russ shivered. It’s cold … and wet! What’s happening to me? He opened his eyes and saw dirty muddy shapes, out of focus movements that he couldn’t recognize. This is fun. I don’t even have to breathe. There’s something wrong with this … but what?
   He lifted his head, stood up and looked at the stream. Who’s lying there? Oh no! That’s me. But I am standing here too.   How can that be? He sat down on a big rock and ran his hands down his side. He felt the sun warm him and he looked up at the sun. There was a faint white shape on the right hand side of the sun. He stared unblinking.
   “Mom?   Is that you Mom?”
   He heard her very clearly, “Come to me Russ. Hurry … I have to leave. You must hurry son. Come on … come to me … run.”
   Russ stared at the shape. Oh yes! That’s Mom all right. He looked back at himself lying in the stream and tried to move towards his mother. His feet didn’t budge at all. He stared at his feet. His shoes had come off as he had tumbled out of the broken window of the car and his feet were bare, yet he felt like they were encased in cement. He could stand up but couldn’t move an inch.
   “I can’t move my feet, Mom. Help me.”
   “Hurry Russ, I don’t have much time.”
   He stood there unable to move; staring as his mother slowly dissolved into nothing. He stared at his feet and back at the spot where his mother was a moment ago. His feet seemed to be free and light but his mother was nowhere, just the burning whiteness of the sun.

…..

   The sound of the evening breeze rustling through the trees woke him. It is going to get dark soon. I must get home. He stood up and started walking. He could taste the salt from the tears on his face. He walked uphill, through the trees till he came to a dirt road. Where’s the highway? He could hear cars racing in the distance but couldn’t tell where they were. He kept walking, past farms and small shacks when the wind suddenly picked up. I can smell it … Peanuts ... and chocolate … I must find it. Peanuts and chocolate … yes! Snickers ... I must get a Snickers bar. Where is it?
   And then he saw the house. It looks familiar … but I have never been here … what is it about this house? A young boy was playing in the front yard. As he got near, he could see that the boy was playing with a big brown dog. The dog stopped in the middle of his run and stared at Russ. He growled and started to bark.
   “What is it Cinnamon?”
   The dog continued to bark.
   “I don’t see anything? What is it?”
   Russ waved his hands and yelled, “It’s me. I am Russ.”
   The dog’s ears stood erect and it charged in his direction.   The dog came running at him. He tried to move away, stumbled and fell. The dog jumped at him.
   “Oh no.”
   To his surprise, the dog went through him. The dog turned back, growled and stood there shaking and whimpering. The other boy walked up to the spot where Russ and the dog were and stared.
   “I don’t see nothing.”
   “It’s me. I am Russ.”
   “I don’t see anything but I think … I feel that I am hearing something. Someone’s telling me … a … another kid telling me … his name is Russ. Is that right?”
   “Yes, I am Russ. What’s your name?”
   “I am Justin … who are you? What are you? … Are you my invisible friend?”
   “I am seven years old. I was in a car accident. I think I died.”
   “Holy cow! Are you really dead? I can’t see you and it’s scary.”
   Russ walked up to him and touched his hand.
   “I feel something soft and cold. Is that you?”
   “Yes.”
   “This is cool. Can you be my friend?”
   “Yes, but I am dying for a Snickers bar. I can smell it. Do you have any?”
   “Yes, my Mom’s got some in the fridge, she let’s me have them, but not more than one a day.”
   “I must have one. I have been walking for miles … I smelled that chocolate and peanuts and kept walking all this way.”
   Soon Russ was sitting in Justin’s room with a Snickers bar. He tried and tried but couldn’t unwrap it. “Hey Justin, can you take the wrapper off for me. I can’t get my fingers to tear it.”
   He then opened his mouth and bit down on the Snickers bar. Nothing ... He tried again … he could smell the chocolate and the peanuts, the smell was so overpowering, he could taste it … yet he couldn’t take a bite out of the bar. He sat on Justin’s bed and started to cry.

…..

   It took several weeks before Russ relearned how to use his fingers, hands and his mouth. It had become a normal practice, he would hop into the school bus with Justin and hang around him almost all the time, sometimes talking to him, sometimes playing tricks on Justin’s friends, sometimes just hanging around. And, his favorite time was when they shared a Snickers bar. The overwhelming lust for a Snickers bar kept him around. He was satisfied; scared but satisfied.
   Wednesday the 19th was like any other day. Russ and Justin sat in the bus on their way home from school.   At the crossing of Franklin and Lincoln, the light turned yellow. The bus drove into the intersection and a fast moving van drove into the intersection from the opposite direction intending to make a left turn. The bus swerved to avoid the van but couldn’t. The van hit right in the middle of the bus almost exactly where Justin and Russ were sitting.
   Justin’s head snapped and hit the side of the bus. He fell unconscious to the floor of the bus. The kids were screaming as the bus stalled and stopped. The driver helped the kids off the bus. Three others were too injured to walk, he carried them out of the bus and laid them on the pavement. He came back and touched Justin. He lay there unmoving. He put his ear next to his mouth and felt a faint breath.
“He is still alive.”
By the time the ambulances arrived, Justin’s head was swollen and he had stopped breathing. Russ climbed into the ambulance and followed Justin as he was led from the emergency room to the operating room and into intensive care. Russ stayed with him. At midnight Justin’s heart finally collapsed. “Code blue” brought a group of doctors and technicians who tried to revive him. After fifteen minutes, it was all over. They left Justin’s lifeless body in the room and the doctor in charge prepared himself on how he would break the news to his parents.
   Russ stood alone in the room watching shocked and amazed. Finally he could see Justin standing beside himself and whispering, “Now it’s both of us. This is really cool.”
   There was a shining bright light at one end of the room; a soft voice was calling out, “Come here, Justin. You too Russ.”
   Justin looked at Russ and ran happily towards the light.
“Wait for me” screamed Russ. His feet were fixed, unmoving. He tried and tried but couldn’t move. The room soon became dark and silent. Russ, who could move now, walked to the bed and reached out with his hand to touch Justin’s face.
   A whirlwind started around his feet lifting him dizzyingly. He closed his eyes and screamed. It was over in a minute. When it was quiet, he opened his eyes. My chest hurts … and oh no! My head … what’s wrong with my head? He tried to move but couldn’t. He stared at the ceiling of the room, as he lay trapped in his friend’s foreign body.

…..

   Mark had well settled in his new life, without his wife and son. The days had blended into each other in a blind haze at first, but now he was focused and alive. His attraction to women had re-materialized and he had started his search for a companion again. The void left by his son had remained; his feeling of impotency of not being able to do anything to locate his son was heartbreaking at first and just an ache now. The cops had closed the case of his missing son, attributing his disappearance to wild animals that may have found his dead body and dragged it away
   The dreams started a few days ago. A blue sky, a blue stadium and everyone wearing blue. And then it became clearer … A baseball game and blue colors for everything. It became overpowering till he checked the Rockies schedule; they were playing the Toronto Blue Jays on Thursday May 18th.
   That’s tomorrow! But I have to go … there’s something about that game that’s extremely important … I just wish I knew what.
   He awoke in the middle of the night with a sweat. What did I dream … blue eyes staring at me … blue eyes everywhere …blue everywhere … and the screams.
   Mark bought his ticket at the game and wearing his dark glasses moved slowly to section 138 between third base and home plate. Batting practice was going on as both teams were slowly warming up for the start of the game. He took f his cap and with his head tilted back, covered his face and dozed off.

…..

   Russ walked down the stairs rubbing his eyes.
   “Hurry Justin, eat your breakfast and get ready. Your bus will be here in fifteen minutes.”
   He somehow managed, “Yes Mom.”
   Today is the day! I have to get to the baseball game … somehow …my dreams have led me this far …I have to do the rest ... whatever it may be.
    He drank his milk slowly as he tried to decide how to get to downtown Denver and Coors field and finally the game. He managed to get ready and ran out of the house clutching his daypack. He didn’t stop at the school bus stop; instead he walked down three blocks and joined two women waiting for the regular bus.
   He hopped on and put six quarters into the meter, “Do you go all the way to downtown?”
   “No, I’ll take you to Broadway and I-25, you need to transfer to go to downtown.”
   The driver handed him a transfer. Relieved, he walked to the back of the bus, nervous but trying to pretend he had done this a hundred times.
   The transfer was easy; he just followed others from the same bus, going to the heart of Denver. Once there, he walked around and looked for street signs.   He knew it was around 20th and Blake and he moved towards 20th Street. And there it was. He smiled. I made it.
   And then he saw the people walking through the gates and his face fell. How do I get in … I don’t have money for a ticket or anything … I have barely enough to get back home.
   He hung around the gates and then he saw them. A group of kids with two men were walking towards the gate. He walked back, turned around and started walking behind the group, almost as if he was part of it. As they went through the gate, he followed them in. The man checking the ticket didn’t notice an extra body sneaking in and Russ separated from the group and headed towards home plate.
   He noticed it was crowded and walked midway between home and third base and walked on to several empty seats and sat down. He watched the activities on the field, stood up for the anthem and clapped and shouted loudly as the game began. Slowly, the seats around him started to fill as other spectators moved to seats that were empty.
   By the fifth inning, he was hungry. He opened his daypack and ate the cookies and apple he had packed. He felt satisfied. I could really use a Snickers bar now. He smiled as he thought of his meeting with Justin and the Snickers bar he had such a hard time in eating.

…..

   Mark was awoken by the sound of shouting and clapping. Oh! The game is starting. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and watched for a while. He was bored with the action-less game and walked to the concessions stand during the fourth inning. He bought some chips and a coke and on a sudden impulse, he also bought two Snickers bars.
   He walked back to his seat and sat watching the game. It was the bottom of the fifth inning and the Rockies were up. The first batter got a hit and ran safely to first base. The crowd cheered as Larry Walker walked up to bat next.
   The crowd roared as Larry swung hard at the first pitch. He missed it completely.   He didn’t make any attempt at the second pitch and it was called a ball. He swung at the next pitch, hitting it into the stands, behind first base. Strike two. The crowd was now clapping and shouting. Ready for a big hit, may be a home run. As the pitcher threw him the next ball, Walker turned on his back foot and swung at the ball, catching it squarely in the middle of the bat.
   The ball seemed to fly towards third base but curved away from the field and headed towards the stands. Mark stood up, staring as the ball headed in his direction.

…..

   Russ cheered with the crowds and stood up as the two-one pitch was delivered. He screamed as he heard the bat make contact with the ball and the ball headed straight towards him. He jumped on top of his seat and as the ball dropped, he jumped to catch it, falling to his right and back.
   Mark jumped up as the ball seemed to drop just inches ahead of him.
   Russ and Mark’s hands touched and held, the ball slipped from their grasps. As the crowd scrambled trying to find the ball, Mark helped the young boy back to the ground just ahead of him. He looked at him and smiled.
   Mark Pudinsky stared into those eyes. They look like my own eyes. . . . They are my son’s eyes … But there’s something wrong with those eyes. They are not blue … not blue … not dead blue eyes … but live brown eyes.

The End               2686 words

Copyright © 2004 Raman Jalota. All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.

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