~ PG ~Donatello goes on an unexpected trip to New England. Told from his POV - six (short) pages
Jim and I worked for hours on the old boiler, taking the occasional break from the grease in order to take readings on the archaic machinery and refresh our coffee. We spoke together like old friends, kindred spirits regaling one another with stories of our lives, each in his own turn being silent with wide-eyed wonder. Jim claimed to be impressed by my ingenuity; in all honesty I think I was more impressed by him, by his wisdom. When I looked at him I saw what I might become in half a century. If I were human, that is.
We were so wrapped up in one another's company that the time just seemed to vanish and it came to the point where his morning replacement would soon be there to relieve him. I wasn't eager for the opportunity to run away again so I suggested that it might be better if I waited outside in the truck. Jim agreed, noting that I had been through enough hell in the past couple days. I gathered together my pads, bloody duster, and purloined cap and stepped out of the warm, noisy boiler room and back into the crisp New England air. There was a thick fog all around and it gave the industrial park an ominous glow as it diffused the dawning sunlight. And it was silent. Over the past hours I had grown accustomed to the bangs and clanks and hisses within the powerhouse. Now, in their absence, it seemed as if there were no noise at all.
Through the mist I saw two muted circles of light and heard gravel being crunched beneath the four tires of an approaching car. The car, itself, rode quietly and I imagined it must have been well-treated... or spoiled. I sprinted to Jim's truck, unable to see it until I was a meter or so away. I opened the unlocked passenger-side door and hopped inside, ducking a little and staying perfectly still so the day-watch wouldn't see me - not that it would be much of a problem with all the fog. I watched the headlights come nearer and pull into a spot beside the old red pick-up truck. I listened as the almost noiseless vehicle's engine was shut off and watched as the headlights were extinguished. The car's door opened and then slammed shut, followed by footfalls on the loose gravel drive as the mechanic made his way to the powerhouse door.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, letting myself enjoy a fatigue that was, for the first time in days, not related to running for my life or getting hit on the head by Massachusetts pavement. I started to drift off, letting my mind bounce from place to place within my crowded memory of my unexpected journey. I saw Linda's smiling face and the startled look of the guy who had tried to hold me up at gunpoint. My mind shifted to the image of the man in his trunk, staring at me, unblinking as I rooted through his groceries. The memories grew darker as I recalled the addict as he held the child to him. I heard the report of the gun as it discharged, but this time it was not aimed at me - it was still pressed into the child's back. I listened to the screams of the passengers and the terrified anguish of the mother as she called out the name of her baby. I felt a warmness on my face and reached up, wiping the blood away. My anger was extreme and it forced out all other thoughts as I rushed forward. I began to beat on the addict, tearing into the man with all of the hatred in my soul. The passengers stood back and watched in approval as I smashed his body against the windows and seats. When I stepped back from my rage I saw him, broken and bloody... dead on the floor of the bus. I turned and saw the faces of the passengers, mixed expressions of approbation and horror on each one. I kneeled down and picked up the little girl, her body limp and lifeless as I held her to my plastron and began to cry...
Shocked, I woke from the awful images. I hadn't noticed the point when the remembering had become the dreaming, but it had happened. I felt another warmth on my cheek and reached up, brushing away a tear. While awake it had occurred to me how differently the confrontation could have been, how tragic it could have turned out - but there was just something about a dream that made it feel real, that possibility...
I jumped at the sound of a knock and spun to face Jim as he tapped on the outside of the driver's-side window. I reached over and unlocked the door, putting on a difficult grin when he stepped up into the truck. He coughed and cleared his throat and then looked over into my pseudo-composed expression.
"You okay?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yeah, I just drifted off for a couple minutes..."
"Bad dream?"
"Kinda'."
He put a cigar in his mouth and pulled a set of keys out of his jacket pocket. I could tell that he knew I wasn't ready to discuss the dream and he respected that wish. He put the keys into the ignition and cranked it, the truck was loud and surprised me when it broke the quiet. I was more surprised by the fact that Jim, with all his mechanical expertise hadn't fixed it.
"Does your truck always make this much noise?" I asked, putting on my seatbelt.
"Only when it's running," he joked. "I'll get around to fixing it up one of these days... when I get bored."
He put on his own seatbelt and lit the headlights, putting the old Chevy into gear and pulling out of the parking space. The day was growing brighter and the fog lifting away as we drove out of Chicopee, towards Springfield and Jim's apartment. There were trees lining the road for most of the trip, a phenomenon that was unheard of in New York City. When we came out from amid the trees it was for the purpose of crossing an old bridge, large and rusting at the rivets. I looked down at the water below us and smiled.
"The Connecticut River," Jim said.
"I know," I replied. "Reminds me of a river back home."
"Prob'ly just as dirty, too."
Beyond the river and down the road we passed by the Basketball Hall of Fame, which I had previously only seen by foot. I guessed we were pretty close to Jim's place by then.
"I'm right up the road," Jim said, responding to a thought that I hadn't put into words. We drove under an overpass and hit a quick left, Jim pulling the truck into a free space by the curb. "Home, sweet home," he said, killing the engine and shutting off the headlights.
The building was old and made of brick, an Italian convenience store on street level and two floors of apartments above. The store wasn't open for the day yet, its door padlocked and canopy furled, above were balconies with old pots that had long since given up the plants that had once been grown in them. To the left of the convenience store's door was another one, solid wood and painted white with a trio of brass numbers on it indicating the address, we went inside and up the creaky wooden stairs, coming to the first landing and continuing on up to the top.
"My apartment is the only lived-in one," Jim said, sorting through his keys. "Albano made me a deal: I pay half-rent if I fix up the other ones. I haven't got much chance to this time of year, though."
"Albano?" I asked.
"Big family in this town. Decent folks, all..." Jim opened the door at the top of the stairs and we went inside. "Tony Albano owns the store down below. Good kid, a little cocky. I knew his dad."
Inside the apartment I could see what Jim had meant about the place needing to be fixed up. I assumed this was the best of the lot, which wasn't saying much. The door we came in opened to the kitchen, which seemed to have been held back from the 40's. There was huge old gas stove flanked on the right by a white-painted, chipped and rusting sink. On the wall to the far left was a latch-lock refrigerator, the kind that manufacturers had long since stopped producing for safety's sake. The floor was linoleum that was much more yellow than the manufacturer had intended it to be twenty-five years ago; even the walls gave away the apartment's age, cracking and brown from years of cooking smoke permeating into the paint.
But somehow it felt comfortable, lived-in and loved. I looked around me and could see in my mind's eye, families growing up in his environment, coming and going and all the while calling this place home. It made me long for my own home, for my family. I sat down at the wooden table and hung my head.
"Feeling a little lonesome?"
I looked up at Jim and sighed. "Could I use your phone?"
Jim motioned to a door opposite the sink. "The living room's in there, the phone's on the coffee table."
"Thanks," I said.
I stood and walked into the living room and sat on the olive-green couch, it was surprisingly comfortable. Through the door I could see Jim reaching under the sink and pulling out a bottle of dish liquid. He set to work washing out a stained coffee pot and I shifted my attention to the phone. As I dialed April's number I wondered what I would say to her and my brothers and Master Splinter. I knew that they all must have been very worried and had probably spent many hours looking for me, that knowledge made it that much more difficult to call.
"Hello?" I heard the woman's voice say on the end of the line. That was the sweetest sound I had heard in so long...
"April?" I said, trying not to sound too emotional. "It's me."
"Don?" she said. "Don! Oh, my god, are you ok? We've been looking all over the place for you! What happened? Where are you?"
I smiled, it was a little nice to hear that I was so missed. "I'm okay," I told her. "Where are the guys?"
"Out looking for you. Where are you?"
"Springfield, Mass."
"How the hell did you get there?"
"It's a long story," I said. "Can you get the... hold on..."
I put my hand over the receiver and yelled into the kitchen. "Jim! Can I give them your number?"
"Go ahead. It's on the phone," he yelled back.
I put the receiver back to my mouth. "April?"
"Still here."
"Can you get the guys to call me here?"
There was a pause as April got a piece of paper and a pen. "Go ahead."
I found the number written in marker across the front of the phone. I read it off to her and she read it back, just to be certain she had gotten it right.
"Have them call me as soon as they can, ok?" I said.
"No problem," she replied. "God, it is so good to hear your voice! We were so worried, you have no idea..."
"I know," I said. "I'll talk to you later. Bye"
"Bye," she said and hung up.
I hung up the phone and sat staring at it for several seconds, almost as if I expected it to ring right then and for my brothers to be on the other end. It didn't ring. I could smell the enticing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafting in from the other room. I needed another cup like I needed a hole in the head, but I wanted one, so I stood and joined my new human friend in the kitchen.
"Get through to them alright?" Jim asked, grabbing two mugs down from the cupboard.
I nodded. "They're gonna' call me back."
He filled up the cups, making mine the way he knew I liked it; after all, he had seen me make it for myself several times at the powerhouse. He set the steaming mugs down on the table and lowered himself into one of the rickety old wooden chairs; I sat in the one across from him. He reached into a box of doughnuts that I hadn't noticed and pulled out a honey-glazed one, then pushed the box across the table to me. I helped myself to a chocolate doughnut and took a bite. It was stale, but good. Jim was picking at his own pastry and I couldn't help but laugh.
"What?" he asked.
I tried to compose myself. "Last night I saw you drink seven cups of coffee," I said. "Now you're on number eight. I was wondering if you ever ate anything... I guess you do."
He smiled back. "Only 'cause my stomach wouldn't shut up."
"Caffeine, the fifth food group," I jested.
"The breakfast of champions," Jim offered in kind. "Along with two-day-old doughnuts."
I took a sip of the coffee, it was even better than the stuff he had made at the shop. For some reason, though, it didn't seem to be keeping me very awake. There was a knock at the door and I spilled some of the dark liquid onto the front of the coveralls Jim had given me. He tossed me a kitchen towel and I began to clean it up.
"Who is it?" he yelled, sounding annoyed.
"Me, Unc!" came the reply.
"I don't know nobody named me!"
"It's Pete! Cmon, let me in!"
"Go home!" he yelled at his nephew. "I don't need any of your crap today!"
"I just need to wait here for Ian and Michael, is that ok?"
"No," Jim said. "I need some sleep. I just got off work and I'm dead tired."
"I won't bug you, I promise!" Pete whined.
"Good-bye, Pete..."
I heard the kid swear and stomp down the stairs. He was obviously not happy with his uncle.
"You didn't have to send him off on my account," I said. "I could've hidden."
"It wasn't on your account," Jim said, taking a sip of coffee. "I wouldn't have let him in, anyway. I love the kid, but him and his friends are pains in the ass."
We sat silently for a long while. Our doughnuts disappeared and our coffee dwindled, but neither one of us spoke. I was thinking about my family... what April had said about them being so worried about me. Such is the penalty for stability, if it had been Raphael gone for a day and a half we would have passed it off as one of his moods. Sometimes I wished I weren't so predictable.
The phone in the other room rang and Jim got up to answer it, I followed close behind.
"Hello?" he said after picking up the receiver. "Yeah, he's here." He turned to me and held it out. "Guess it's your family."
I sighed and took the phone. I still wasn't sure of what to say, so I just began to talk.
"Hello?" was all I managed to get out of my mouth.
All at once there were three worried voices asking me where I was and if I were okay. April had activated the speaker phone in her apartment so none of them would have to wait... and none of them did.
"Hey, hey, hey!" I called out. "One at a time, okay?"
The voices calmed down and I heard Leo speak up. "Don, are you okay? What the hell happened?"
"It's a long story," I said. "I was following this guy at the Greyhound station, he got on a bus, I went after him, then all hell broke loose. I ended up in Springfield, Mass."
"What happened?" Mike asked.
"A lot," I said, not wanting to get into it on the phone. "Could you guys get up here and pick me up, by any chance?"
"No prob," Leo said.
"I'll drive!" Mike volunteered.
I heard Raph let out a sarcastic laugh. "Sure, Mike, you can drive. That way we can see if there really is an afterlife."
"Haw, haw..." Michaelangelo replied flatly.
"Is Master Splinter there?" I asked once the guys were done with their verbal sparring session.
"I am here, my son," I heard our sensei's calm voice say. "I am glad you are well."
I smiled, that was Splinter's way of saying he was terribly worried about me. "I'll be home soon, Master. I'm sorry I had everyone so concerned."
"Safe journey," he said. I almost began to cry.
"Do you, like, have an address there, or do we have to put out an ad in the paper?" Mike asked.
I heard Raph mockingly say "Missing, one turtle - green with purple bandana - answers to the name of Donatello..."
"Hold on," I said and looked at Jim. "Can I use your address?"
Jim rooted through some envelopes and handed me an unopened electric bill, the address was written across the front. I read it off to the guys.
"Okay," Leo said. "Me and Mike and Raph will head out right away."
"It was good to hear you guys arguing again," I told them. "I miss it."
"We miss you, too, dude," Mike said.
"See you soon, ya' big braniac," Raph added.
"Bye."
There was a chorus of 'good-byes' and I heard the guys still arguing about who would drive as the speakerphone was switched off. I hung up my end and smiled at Jim.
"Thanks," I told him.
"Don't mention it," he said, yawning. "Just try to get some sleep."
He left, heading for his bedroom. I stretched and laid myself down on the soft couch. It didn't take me long to drift off again, but this time I did so with trepidation. I hoped I would not have another nightmare...
