Chapter 6: Friday, June 29, 1984, 2:17 pmThe piece of layer cake sitting on the plate in front of Jean sure looked appetizing; it was chocolate with marshmallow whip frosting. But she was not in the mood for it, which was strange, because, like any visit to Terri’s house, a piece of cake usually cheered Jean up. But not today. Today she was. What? Preoccupied. And tired.
Usually, whenever she felt out of sorts, a visit to Terri’s house would fix whatever was ailing her. She wasn’t quite sure if it was her friend’s good-natured, common sense approach to life that put her at ease or if it was the house itself. To put it bluntly? Terri’s house was simply better than Jean’s, no doubt about it. Terri’s house, built in 1981, was new and modern.
And, most importantly, clean and uncluttered. In comparison, Jean’s was old, in need of repair, and crammed to the rafters with stuff.
That’s what happens when you have three daughters, she thought, as she absentmindedly stirred her coffee; you end up accumulating a lot of stuff. And once those daughters (or most of them) move out, you end up with a lot of things you don’t have any use for. Jean had spoken with both Jeanette and Helen about picking up their belongings a long time ago.
Helen told Jean to throw it all away, which seemed a bit harsh—what about all the childhood memories? Didn't they matter to her? On the other hand, Jeanette simply chose to ignore her request, something Jean was starting to get used to when it came to Jeanette. Needless to say, what with Helen and Jeanette leaving their stuff for her to deal with, Dorie moving back home for the umpteenth time, and the addition of Missy to their fold—Jean's house was starting to resemble an overstocked thrift store.
But not Terri’s. Not only had her kids taken all their stuff with them (they had no choice—it was that or the curb), she then got a second lease on life by building a new house. For that is the beauty of a brand new house; you get to start over with a clean slate Throughout Terri’s home there was a sense of space and an economy of design Jean had only seen pictures of in Good Housekeeping. The living room was her favorite, decorated in various shades of muted mauve with accents of forest green; it made Jean feel sophisticated just sitting in it.
Not that she got spend a lot of time in that room. The two women usually sat at the kitchen table and talked, just as their mother's had with their friends before them. It was the traditional way to visit a neighbor; chatting over a cup of coffee in the epicenter of the house: the kitchen.
Terri was a year younger than Jean. They had married the same year and had their first children within months of one another. While they had a vague memory of the other in high school, they really didn’t become friends until several years later, when both couples chose the Camden neighborhood to settle in. The two had been friends ever since.
Terri and her husband, Paul, were a Mutt and Jeff pair; Terri, short and wide, and Paul, tall and wiry. They also possessed completely different temperaments. Terri seemed to ooze fun, was quick to laugh, and always excited to try something new. Not exactly bursting with personality, Paul frequently struck Jean as the kind of man you wouldn’t want to get stuck in an elevator with. Engaging him in conversation was like pulling the truth out of a politician; it just wasn’t going to happen unless you had a court-ordered subpoena. Through the years, Tom had frequently commented on Paul’s inability to converse, always pissing and moaning when it came time for the two couples to spend time together; complaining that once again he was going to get stuck with the ‘corpse’. Jean frequently wondered what a sparkplug like Terri saw in someone as mopey as Paul. But, after thirty-four years they were still together and in all that time Jean had never heard Terri so much as make fun of Paul’s lack of social skills. Maybe they balanced each other out. Fortunately for Jean, Paul still went to work every day, which meant she could visit Terri in the afternoon without running into him.
When she first got to know Terri, Jean was initially taken aback; Terri had a lot of energy and a rather blunt manner of speaking which seemed even more intense due to the slightly higher pitch to her voice and her frequent, rapid fire delivery. Both women came from sturdy, blue-collar, Northside stock, but, whereas Jean had always been told to accept her lot and place in life and that good girls do not speak unless spoken to, Terri’s mother had pushed her to stand up for herself and to speak her mind - which Terri did frequently and loudly. So it could be that Paul was not the mouse he seemed. Maybe it was only in contrast to Terri's abrupt manner and strong opinions that Paul appeared muted and ineffectual.
Since Tom’s passing, Terri was one of the few friends Jean made an effort to keep in contact with. It would be easy to assume that this was a matter of proximity, but the fact of the matter was Terri made Jean feel better about herself - and that’s what good friends should do for one another. Not that Terri hid her opinions or always agreed with everything Jean had to say, but she certainly listened well and was considerate, though blunt, when offering a different point of view. Jean appreciated that.
This afternoon they’d already covered Jean’s issues with Dorie, the state of cleanliness found at the community pool, nuisances in the neighborhood, and possible future plans to visit a new ice cream shop, Sebastian Joe’s, that was featured in Sunday’s Tribune (Terri had heard really good things), when Terri abruptly stopped talking mid-sentence.
After a hefty pause (for Terri), she spoke again, "Okay, I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you, but when you’re ready to talk about it, you let me know.”
Jean, cocked her head in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Are you not feeling well? The heat getting to you? Taking care of Missy getting to be too much for you? ‘Cause to be honest; you just are not looking very enthused about life, living or breathing.” Without waiting for a reply, she continued, “It’s that cake, isn’t it? It's stale." Rising, Terri whisked the offending plate from the table, and headed toward the trash can beside the refrigerator. Muttering under her breath while scraping it into the trash, she continued. "I knew I shouldn't have served it. I wish you would have said something earlier"
"Oh, for God's sake, Terri, there’s nothing wrong with that cake. It’s delicious." But Jean was too late Terri was already throwing open her cupboards in search of something else to serve "I have some Nilla Wafers, or a couple Little Debbie's, ooooor..." and with this, she opened the fridge. “There's a cantaloupe I could slice up for us. It’s nice and fresh."
Again, Jean protested, “Terri, sit down. I don't need anything else. The cake is just fine.”
“Then why didn’t you eat any of it?”
Jean didn’t know what to say. “Just not hungry, I guess.”
Standing in front of the open fridge, her mouth twisted into a knot of doubt, Terri turned to face Jean. With a shake of her head, she closed her eyes, shrugged her shoulders, and using her right foot, closed the fridge before returning to the kitchen table. “Well, you might have said something before I dumped it in the garbage. Eh. Never mind. Paul was getting sick of it anyway.” Plunking herself back down she continued, “You know he’s the only reason we have anything sweet in the house. And look at him! Hasn’t gained an ounce since the day we got married.” Her chin dropped low into her shoulders, in a conspiratorial manner, “His mother claims it’s because I’m such a lousy cook, but if you ask me it’s genetic. Something wrong in that family. Too damn many skinny people.” With that, she sat back, her coffee cup clasped in her tiny hands in her generous lap. “Okay, Jean . . spill it. It’s the cancer, isn’t it? You got some bad news?”
This was typical of Terri. It came from spending way too many hours watching her daytime stories. She was hooked on them and seemed to feel that real life was as fraught with drama as her shows were, or at least that it ought to be.
“No, no,” protested Jean. "It’s nothing like that. I just... I had a bad night. Didn't sleep well at all.”
"Why not?”
Jean hesitated This was just the sort of thing that Terri would blow totally out of proportion, but she felt the need to share it with someone “Well, okay, so I had this dream...”
Terri sprang to life, “Oh, A dream. I love dreams. I think I can interpret them. I don’t know why I think that. It’s just something I feel. Was it about cancer? Your dream. Was it? Oh, okay, so I’ll shut up. Now, tell me about your dream.”
Jean felt herself grow small. This felt impossible, but she did feel the need to share.
“Okay, so don’t jump to any conclusions. You’re going to think I’m crazy. But I’ll just tell you what I see, uh... saw.” Jean took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m in a room. It's dark and very warm, but there’s also this weird kind of chill in the air. The warmth is from a fire, coming from a furnace. It’s one of those big octopus things, like the ones that we grew up with, only even larger. Its arms are all wrapped in that thick, white insulation. It’s immense and I keep thinking it’s going to come alive and pull me inside. So I back away... and things start to get much cooler. And slightly damp. The floor isn’t smooth, it isn’t cement. It’s brick or cobblestone—very uneven. I back up until I’m standing with my back against a wall. The wall is also brick, but very smooth. Then, all of a sudden... this dark, figure moves past me, very quickly. I think it’s a man, but I don’t know... I’m not sure. He’s pushing something, someone, prodding them on. I close my eyes, because I don't want to see and I don’t want them to see me.”
“When I open my eyes again, I see a hallway... and even though I know I don’t want to see what’s at its end and don’t want to know where it leads, I start walking anyway. I find myself lost in some kind of maze. There are these high, blue towers that I have to weave in and out of They get tighter and tighter, closer and closer together, until the next thing I know, they’ve surrounded me. I’m panicking and about to scream when this door appears. Just an ordinary door, really, made of metal, I think. Just by looking at it I know that it’s thick and heavy. It looks impossible, but I’m thinking this is my only way out, so I try the knob. When I reach out to grab it, the whole door dissolves and I’m able to pass through it. Inside, the room is small and crude It’s not as polished or as old as the rest of what I've seen - maybe I’m someplace else now, I don’t know. Instead of brick and stone like the hallway or the room with the furnace, this room is made of cinder block and the craftsmanship looks rushed - like it was hastily built. I touch the wall, running one of my hands along its surface. It's like the mortar between the blocks is still oozing out, but frozen in place. I keep running my hand along the wall, walking the perimeter of the room, until I touch... this... this giant eye.”
Jean paused to gauge Terri’s response. She knew she was way out there, but Terri seemed engaged, if guarded; her brow knit in concern. After gathering her courage once more, Jean continued.
“This eye? It’s staring at me. And it keeps growing in size. I’m so frightened of it, because I sense that it means to do me harm - it’s evil. I’m so scared that I begin backing away from it and as I do, I sense that there’s something behind me. I don’t want to turn around, but then I don't want the eye looking at me either, so I turn and see this cot, an old army cot with a green, coarse blanket on it. I notice that there’s something under the blanket. Again, I don’t want to know what it is, but I know I have to; it’s my duty, to find out what it is. So I reach out and begin lifting the blanket. And there, lying on the cot is a book, you know, like those little, thin children’s books from a long time ago, like The Pokey Little Puppy? The kind with the hard cardboard covers?”
With this, Terri sprang back to life. “Like a. a Little Golden Book? Used to cost like a quarter when we were up. I bought a lot of those for my kids. It was good that they were so cheap, because my kids? They’d leave ‘em all over the place. We must of lost hundreds of those books. And I’d have to replace them because they loved them so much. ”
Jean was patient as Terri rattled on. In a way, Terri was a lot like a wind-up toy; once you wind them up, you have to let them go until they wind down.
“.. because the kids would be hooked on the stories and they would just have a fit if they couldn’t hear about Tootie The Train for the eleven-hundredth time, even though they knew the damn thing by heart But that didn’t matter. Of course, they didn’t love that book enough to keep track of it, but then I figured that those books they lost? They ended up in the hands of little kids who didn't have a book and so that made me feel better And I suppose I could have helped the kids learn about responsibility and stuff by not buying them that same book more than once, but those books only cost like, what? Sixty-nine cents or something, so if it kept ‘em happy and quiet and got ‘em to fall asleep a little faster, then what’s the harm?”
Terri, paused and blinked her eyes. Yep, 'Tootie The Train' had finally run out of steam. Suddenly realizing that she'd hijacked the conversation, Terri’s hand moved to shush her mouth. “Oops. Sorry. I didn’t mean to... you were talking. Go on. You lifted the blanket and there was a book underneath. Go on.”
Jean hesitated again. “Am I boring you? Is this boring?”
“No, no, not at all!” Terri’s eyes went wide. “This is as good as anything One Life to Live comes up with. Finish your story. I’m all ears.” Terri leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table, resting her chin on top of her hands to indicate she was ready to listen.
Not fully convinced, Jean picked up where she’d left off. “This book, it’s about Easter or something.. I'm about to reach out and pick it up, when I realize it’s being held by someone. This little boy. He’s sitting on the cot with his back to me, so I reach out and touch his shoulder. I can tell he’s sad. That he’s been crying. He starts to turn his head to look up at me. . and that’s when I realize. it's the Arneson boy, that little boy that’s been in the news. He’s crying, has been for quite a while from the looks of it and I want to hold him. I just want to take him in my arms and hold him and let him know that it’s all right now. That he's safe and we can go home.”
“And I almost have him... when I get distracted; I hear this noise, a clanking sound. That big furnace is firing up again. There's a rush of warmth and the smell of something baking, like bread, or rolls The little boy? He must be very hungry or something, because he gets up and starts to run. He runs right through that door and I follow, struggling to keep up through the maze of blue towers, but he’s too fast for me. All I catch are glimpses of him disappearing behind the towers. I’m trying to figure out where he’s going. I keep calling out his name—“Jack, Jack it’s all right.” But he doesn’t pay me any attention or he can’t hear me. And the next thing I know, my feet are sinking into the floor. I’m getting slower and slower... being pulled down. I try to keep up with him, but I can’t. Then there’s this wall of sound that’s all around me. It’s chanting, like in a church. It feels so heavy and thick, like incense... I feel like I can’t breathe. And I'm straining; swimming up, and then I wake up. I wake up and I’m exhausted; completely spent and hopeless.”
Jean felt as if she had just relived the whole thing all over again. Feeling slightly shook up, she looked over to her friend and asked, “Well, what do you think?”
Jean was met with stone silence as Terri’s mouth pulled into a skeptical knot.
For once, even she was speechless.
Terri and Jean sat frozen for a short time. Neither spoke. Neither looked anywhere, except into the other’s eyes. Finally, Terri spoke. “I don’t know about you, but I need to get out of this kitchen. Out of this house. C'mon, let’s go for a walk.” The two women moved through the side door that led through the garage. Once in the garage, Terri hit the automatic door opener, and the garage door seized to life with a mechanical shudder. The afternoon sun poured in and the ladies swiftly and wordlessly moved toward it.
They walked for about a half a block before Terri broke the silence, “Jean, that dream was just too, too much. All that detail. It’s creepy. And too strange. Maybe you're watching too much news. God, that poor, poor child I can’t imagine. So? What are you going to do?”
Jean stopped short. It hadn’t occurred to her that she needed to do anything. "What do you mean?”
Terri stepped closer to her friend, tilted her head and looked directly into Jean's eyes, “Don’t you think you owe it to that poor boy’s mother to go to the police?”
Jean reacted in horror. “Whaaaa... no. Absolutely not.”
But Terri persisted, “Are you kidding me? You have to. Don’t you see? Sometimes this is how these kinds of cases get solved. I think I saw something about it on Sixty Minutes. Or it might have been an old episode of Columbo. But if you know something...”
"But I don’t”, Jean protested. She continued walking, quickly picking up speed. “I don’t know anything.”
“Jean...”
“No. That’s crazy. I could never go to the police with this. They’d lock ME up. It was only a dream - one dream. It might not mean anything. In fact... it doesn’t mean anything. You know what? Maybe you’re right; maybe I have been watching too much TV.”
Jean was walking so fast Terri was struggling to keep up, but that didn’t stop her from talking. “You’re right. You’re right. It was only a dream... one. Before you do anything, you should sleep on it. You should sleep on it and see if it happens again. Maybe you have one of those psychic connection things going on. Hey!” Now it was Terri’s turn to stop dead in her tracks, her little round face flushed with effort. “This is a walk, not a race. Slow down for criss sake. My legs aren't as long as yours, you know.”
“Oh. Sorry, I didn't realize I was going so fast.” Jean didn't know what else to say. She waited for Terri to catch up and then the two resumed their walk at a more reasonable pace. It was a lovely day, with the afternoon light playing through the leaves of the trees. Jean thought to herself, maybe they should simply enjoy it. Resolving to do so, Jean looked at Terri, smiled, and said, “Know what? Let's not talk about this anymore It's silly. And I'm sorry I brought it up Let's, let’s just... walk.”
And without another word between them, they did.
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