All about Steve Hansen

After four days with only occasional cat naps between crises. Steve Hansen really anticipated some sleep. He stood in front of his kitchen door. Using the toe of his boot, he chipped away just enough ice to allow access to his kitchen. He lugged two one-gallon bottles of water inside. Enough for coffee in a few hours but not enough to get a good wash. He had to be satisfied with a wet soapy washcloth followed by a wet one for a rinse. “Thank God for deodorant!” No one in town has enough water for the luxury of a shower. That won’t happen until the emergency crews can replace the main valve at the base of the now empty water tower. Restoring electricity will allow pumping water through the filtration system to refill the tower, a twenty four hour task. Everyone who can handle a chainsaw has been busy cutting up fallen trees. Best estimate is two to three days to get all services back.

Steve was bone tired. Taking off his boots, he sat on the edge of his bed. He could sense the “Sound.” It pushed its way through the memory foam mattress. It wasn’t exactly soothing but he should be able to sleep….

His beautiful wife, “Hope” came surfing by riding the first wave of dreams. He stretched out his hands hoping to touch her for even the tiniest moment. Even that was denied him. He woke up saying, “She is gone and I wasn’t there.”

He sat up knowing that sleeping now would be nearly impossible. The past three years have done very little to heal his mortal wound. It is much deeper than those inflicted by bomb or bullet. His Hope is gone, a casualty of his chronic not being there. He could not deny that she was a sacrifice to his addiction to the thrill that springs from being close enough to feel the hot breath of “death” and still survive.

A missions-end photograph complete with raised beer glasses was the only undeniable proof of life. A marker for each milestone of his career. It no longer is enough for him, not even a beginning.

He had no choice except to resign. How could he ask his men to put themselves in harm’s way? He felt he lost the commission to lead anyone. The fact that he was not there when Hope needed him most, was solemn testament that his life was a sham.

He left his command saying goodbye to no one.The ones who matter are still deployed. He stood for a long time staring into a mirror in a cheap motel that he had stopped at close to where he was debriefed. He ripped his rank, insignia, and medals from his uniform. They were still laying on the well worn vanity when he left without looking back.

Hope had died a painful death trying desperately for the fourth time to give birth to his child. She had nothing more to give, and he was not there to share the tiniest bit of “what only he could give.” His priority at that moment was catching a renegade dictator. Reaching home required forty eight hours of running from flight to flight to catch a ride somewhere closer to his goal. There was a lot of waiting between flights, time to think. No amount of impatience could get him home one second sooner.

She was long gone by the time he reached her side. Good intentions carry very little weight in situations like this. He stood helplessly by the stainless steel shelf which held her remains. There was so little of her left to see. He let his mind drift to the day they tipped over their canoe. She was blue with cold, but still laughing and full of life, not the blue-gray color of the mass wearing her toe tag.

Nothing is left of her after being refrigerated for two days. There is no energy that he can tap into. No essence from her remains, not even the faintest whiff of her favorite hair conditioner. It is all trapped somewhere between countless layers of air filter. Any particles which passed through have long since dissipated into chemical fragments much too small for his starving senses to identify.

He breathed “goodbye,” to someone no longer able to hear him, and hurried down the hall heading out of the morgue wondering what he should do now. It was a fact that she was gone! Not a single spark of her remains, not even her fundamental frequency by which she so easily tuned his cello and adjusted every string of his soul. Steve felt no compunction to hang around for a funeral. Her sister, Connie, would be the only one there he might talk to, but he expected to do his talking with her long before the funeral.

He would never rock the boat, that would be disrespectful of Hope’s wishes. Steve had legally placed everything into Hope’s name, never dreaming for an instant, that she would outlive him. Hope had willed everything to her little sister, who stayed with her when Steve was elsewhere.

He arrived by taxi at little sisters “new home” after calling ahead. The remains of his past life were waiting for him on the front porch, an ancient cello carefully stowed in a well traveled case and an equally well traveled barracks bag. Connie reached deep into the pocket of her flour smudged “it’s baking day” apron and handed him a wrinkled but unopened letter. She said, “Hope had this letter for you when she died. No one opened it, she wanted to give you this in person. She said it was important. I guess she must really have wanted you to get it.”

A glance revealed that It isn’t really important, not now of all times! He didn’t have to open the most recent communication from his aging and somewhat forgetful grandfather. He knew exactly what it said beforehand. “Steve, Come home before it is too late.” He’d opened four of them spaced one month apart. Pa always sent them to Hope, knowing she would keep them safe. Pa had felt duty bound to send his message one more time.

He stood on the porch fumbling for the words that he really wanted to tell her. “Thanks, Connie, and just in case, Little Sis, don’t even think about it! You two were close, it’s only right! I don’t need more than my two bags, anything more would have to go to storage anyway. Please enjoy your inheritance.” He grabbed the strap of his barracks bag in one hand and the handle of his beloved cello in the other hand, turning to leave.

Connie came up to him and threw her arms around his neck. For just fragment of a second they were keenly aware of each other. It was heretofore never breached territory. “I have no idea where I’m going,” said Steve. “She is completely gone, I see no reason to even hang around for a funeral. It isn’t like she will be standing around with a microphone saying, “Thank you. Thank you all for coming to my big show.” He turned and walked toward an awaiting taxi.

“Stop being so cruel to yourself,” Connie said. “When the fit strikes you, call, I’d like that,”she said..

He didn’t look back. “There is nothing there, now. He knows that rebuilding a life requires a new point of origin. It can only be done a little at a time. It is all from scratch now.” The taxi let him out and he wandered into the train station with no conscious plan for the immediate future.

He sat down on a long butt-polished bench. He absentmindedly pulled Pa’s letter from his pocket where it lay. This one was different from the others, It had one word only. “Hurry.” Steve crumpled it, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it into a trash container.

Steve wondered out loud. “Why not?”It isn’t like he had somewhere else to go. He suddenly realized that it had been over twenty years since he had seen the old man. He purchased a ticket to the place where he had left Pa standing on the street corner shaking his head in disapproval as Steve boarded the bus. He disapproved even more each time Steve shipped over. Steve dozed off thinking about the old man. He definitely wants him to come home now and Steve needs somewhere to go.

In a few hours he was back. He got off the bus thinking “Everything changes when you aren’t there to make note of it.” He crossed the street to the freshly painted, Sunshine Cafe. A sign in the window said ‘Under new Management.’

Steve sat down on a stool at the counter. He looked at the pretty fortyish woman behind the counter without really seeing her. “You need coffee? Our cups are bottomless,” said Verna. “We have a brand new menu that is full of surprises. You’ll love my cooking.” She left to get a pot of coffee. “I saw you get off the bus, are you going to be staying in town?’

Steve mumbled, “If he’ll have me, I’ll be staying over at my Grandfather Eric Hansen’s place. It is just a couple blocks from here.”

“Everyone in town knows old Eric Hansen. We call him Mr fix-it. He has fixed at least a thing or two for every person in town.“

Steve, put cream and sugar in his coffee. He took a sip, “Good, very fresh too.” Verna smiled very pleased with his approval of her coffee. She continued to voice her thoughts about the old man, “I’ll bet if I were to call him, he would be happy to come get you, and then I could sell you both a good hot supper. I think he forgets to eat sometimes. He is getting quite thin.”

He found it quite unnerving that everyone in this small town would know all about his business long before he knew himself. “The blessings of a small town,” he thought.

“Please call him,” Steve rested his feet on his bulky barracks bag. He held the cello close to him. Perhaps it was wishful thinking that he had smelled her on the cello. He hadn’t opened it since he came back. He clung to the thought, that a little of her essence still lingered with the instrument. She had lovingly tuned it only a week ago, hoping that he would be on time to play music for the birth. Steve’s awareness shifted to a sparkling, like new, Blue over White 1957 Fairlane Hardtop that pulled into a parking space right by the door. Pa got out, the spring in his step had weakened through the years, but he still radiated enthusiasm. His smile was contagious.

“Steve,” the very old man said in a voice much stronger than his years would indicate. “I knew you’d come home, eventually. I’m just sorry about the circumstances.”

Steve might have been surprised that the old man knew about Hope’s death, but very little about Pa was ever surprise material. When Steve spoke, his vocal cords were swollen with emotion. “She is gone Pa, just gone!” An enormous lump in his throat prohibited another word.

“Yeah, Painful, that,” Pa said nodding his head in agreement acknowledging their shared experience. With those two words he showed more empathy than Steve had ever experienced before. “Stow your gear, Steve.” He opened the mammoth trunk lid and waited until Steve had placed his two bags on the floor of the trunk. The old man gently closed it back and said, “Let’s talk. after we eat.”

When they went into the cafe, Verna showed them to the back room. It contained four empty tables. All the other customers were out front. “Enjoy your celebration,” she said, setting a thermos vacuum pot of coffee and two fresh mugs on their table. “Do you want to order off the menu or should I just make something special to celebrate your reunion?”

“Surprise us,” said Pa, smiling in anticipation. “Remember I can’t eat much these days.”

“This will make you hungry” Verna said, as she set two cups of thin but very fragrant soup in front of them..

Steve felt his whole digestive tract come alive in anticipation of the rest of the meal.

After a few spoons full of fragrant broth had passed his lips, Pa smiled, “I am hungry, my appetite is back! I can’t tell you how glad I am of that.” He busied himself chasing the last drop.

“Happy that you are finally here, Steve. I have a lot to tell you and not much time do it.”

The odor of things delicious, boiled in a cloud from the kitchen. The odor of gently blooming spices rose from the simmering white sauce and freshly made Cesar dressing.

Steve had not eaten anything except for a dismal excuse for a ham and cheese sandwich from a vending machine two days ago. He had thrown the last half of that into the trash.

It was long past time to eat for both of them. Diner conversation consisted of no limited number of exuberant mmms, ahhs, and oooos. That made Verna blossom with radiance from deep within her self. Steve paid giving her a generous tip, knowing how hard it must be to survive in a little town, like Seaside.

“Let’s go out to your car, Steve. I saved it for you. Remember when we restored this gem?”He laid his hand lovingly on the cool blue surface of the passenger door. “You better get used to driving it. You are going to need it to get around.” He tossed the keys to Steve, underhanded, and crawled into the car.

Steve backed into the street and was about to turn the corner to Pa’s house when The old man said, ”Go to the fire station, there is someone you need to meet.” When He pulled into the driveway of the fire station a burly very gray-haired giant stepped up to Pa’s side of the car.

“What do you say, my friend. Is this the grandson of yours we’ve been hearing so much about?” He came around the car to the driver side.

“Get out so I can get a good look at you, son.” He stuck out a huge paw as he looked Steve up and down. “I’m Fred Marsh, the about to retire fire chief. “You look military through and through. I can tell that you are exhausted all the way to the center of your, Army to the core, bones.” He stopped, closing the car door for Steve.

“Get this man some sleep.” He had finished his inspection. “Come by soon, I have a proposition for you.” He stood watching the saucer size taillights disappear into the night.

When they went inside the house the old man said, “It’s all yours now, the house, the car and five hundred acres on top of the west facing cliffs along the sound.”

Steve was shocked until dawned on him, that he is after all the last of a long line of Hansens.

“Knew you’d come back so, I put it all in your name right after you left.”

He paused a moment to let it sink in. “I sold over one hundred acres where they built the marina. I put put the proceeds into interest bearing securities so you’d never have to worry about taxes.”

The old man lead Steve to the door of his old room. It was freshly made up with clean sheets. “Towels are in your bathroom. Clair comes in twice a week” He turned to leave then paused saying,” In the morning we need to go see my attorney, and make sure all our ducks are in a neat row. I got the cancer. Steve, It’s in my brain! Any day now it will be lights out!

Steve stood very quietly, totally unable to speak.

“I’ve made arrangements for an old friend to drop me into the sound in a weighted bag with a window, I have always wondered what was down there. When it storms you’ll be able to feel my presence.” He smiled and walked to his room down the hall.

Even though three years have passed Steve still can trace outline of the old man’s path through the hall. He spent so many years being absorbed by his environment that some of him remains behind.

Steve got a small drink from the bottle of medicinal Kentucky Bourbon, that Eric always kept in the cupboard. He washed it down with a cup of water that he poured from one of the plastic gallon jugs in the kitchen.

Steve decided to try to get some rest. He would need every bit of strength that he could muster, just to deal with tomorrow. Hopefully, before long they would have their power back on. Normalcy is on the way.

He laid on his side. The Sound was distinctly there but had fallen to a very soothing level. Perhaps this time it would help restore him.