Post by lee on Dec 1, 2019 18:59:32 GMT
Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen
Tragedy
What does it take to push a man to that fine line where civility, morality, and common decency ends, and madness begins? Does it depend on how a man’s brain is hardwired, or an impurity in his soul, or is it a simple switch that is flipped by nothing more than a random, meaningless act? For myself, it took a careless--no, stupid--act of irresponsibility that set me on an emotional roller coaster which ended with me at that line with one foot poised to take that fateful step.
Time becomes meaningless when your entire world crashes in on you, though, in truth, my journey to that frightening point only took a couple of weeks. It began not with a single step, as most journeys do, but with an early Sunday evening phone call.
“Hello?” I said, as I answered the telephone that was ringing off the hook when I entered my apartment. It was Dad.
I knew there was something wrong the moment he said my name. Dad never calls me by my name; it’s always “Sport” or “Big Time” or even “Hard Shell”, but never just “Jim.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, cutting out the small talk that I expected to follow.
For a moment, I thought we had been disconnected then I realized that he was just trying to pick his words. “Jim,” he said, his voice soft, “we’ve got a problem.”
I don’t know why he chose those words, but they caused my mind to start racing. What kind of problems could we have that would have initiated this phone call? “What’s wrong?”
Dad attempted another deep breath, but, this time, his breath caught in his throat and a sob was the only sound he made.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No.” His reply was weak. He sobbed again.
I gave him a moment.
“Jim,” he finally said. “Sandy’s gone.”
My mind shut off. “I…what…how…what happened?”
His sobs may have become more pronounced, but I didn’t notice. I had dropped to my knees and had begun to sob myself.
“…listen to me,” I finally heard him say. “Jim. I really need you to listen to me.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“There was a wreck,” he began. “A man was coming towards her and crossed the line into her lane. She was heading home from church.”
Dad’s voice had gotten stronger and I used his strength to find my own. “What about Matt and Nick?” I asked. “Were they hurt?”
“They weren’t with her,” he said. “She was going to stop by the hospital to visit a friend of hers.
Beyond that, there wasn’t much he could say simply because there wasn’t much to say. Our conversation drifted to the small talk I had avoided earlier, mainly because we were both reluctant to hang up. He told me he was in L.A. and would be leaving in the morning for Mapleton. I told him I would try to get a flight out of Metropolis as soon as I could, and that I looked forward to seeing him again.
“Jim,” he said, just before he hung up.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” he said.
I managed a sad smile. “I love you, too, Dad.”
We hung up and I immediately called Perry. It took four rings for someone to pick up; it felt like forever.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Alice?”
“Yes?”
I sobbed. “Alice, it’s Jimmy. I really need to talk to Perry.”
“Jimmy, dear, what’s wrong? Hang on. Let me track down Perry. I think he’s in his den.”
I could hear her walking down the hall.
“Almost there,” I heard her say, as she pushed open the door to Perry’s den. “Dear,” she said, not bothering to cover the phone, “it’s Jimmy. The poor thing sounds terrible. He needs to talk to you. Here he is, dear,” she finally said to me.
“Olsen,” Perry said, “what’s wrong?”
At that moment, I realized just how much of my adult life had been shaped and molded by this man. Yeah, he yelled at me quite a bit, but it was only because, in his own little way, he was trying to teach me. At times when my own dad was traveling the world, going from one archeological dig to another, Perry had easily stepped into the roll of surrogate father.
I wept.
And, he let me.
He allowed me to cry without judgment and once I had regained my composure, he then spoke. “What happened?”
My words still came out in sobs. “She’s gone, Chief. She’s gone.”
“Who’s gone, Jimmy?” Perry asked, his words soft and soothing. “What happened?”
“My cousin, Sandy…was heading home from church…an accident. She didn’t make it.” Again, I began to cry.
“Just try and settle down and listen,” he said. “As of now, you are on bereavement leave. As soon as we hang up, I’ll call Jennifer and have her take care of the flight arrangements; the Planet will take care of everything. I’ll have her call you with the details and we’ll get you to the airport. Have you talked to anyone else yet?”
“Just Dad,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ll let the staff know what’s going on, then.” Perry paused, as if in thought. “You know they will want to start calling you and stopping over. Do you want me to tell them it’s okay, or not?”
I wasn’t sure I could handle the sympathy. Part of my mind just wanted to forget the entire thing, to ignore it like a bad dream.
Perry began speaking again. “I won’t even pretend to know what you are going through, but let me tell you this. There are a whole lot of people who care about you, and it is only natural that they are going to want to express their love and condolences. I’m sure there will be a point where you don’t want to listen to it anymore, but remember one thing--when someone offers you their condolences, they are offering you a part of their strength. And in the days ahead, you’re going to realize that what they have given you will be what you need to carry on.”
It’s a shame that the world only gets to see the gruff exterior of Perry White. At that moment, I saw the true heart that makes him who he is.
“I’ll give Clark a call first,” Perry said.
Clark. I hadn’t thought of him. He could have saved the Planet a few bucks on airfare, but, no, this was about Sandy. Mapleton doesn’t need a visit from Superman.
I hung up with Perry and began packing my suitcase for the trip. I knew Jennifer would arrange everything and probably have it done quicker than I expected. I guess when the Planet’s main receptionist speaks, people listen.
Within the hour, my apartment had begun to fill up with friends who were willing to help out in any way they could. Clark did, indeed, offer to fly me out, but he understood why I politely refused. He promised that he and Kristen would be at the funeral. Lois also promised to be there. I found it strange that Meg hadn’t showed up.
An hour and a half after talking to Perry, Meg and Jennifer both arrived.
“The car is downstairs waiting to take you to the airport,” Jennifer said, “and Meg has your tickets.”
“Jen called me before she called the airline,” Meg said.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Jennifer apologized, “but, I thought you would like some company.”
“Thanks,” I told her.
I really wanted to do this alone, but I remembered what Perry had said and realized that a shoulder to cry on might not be such a bad idea.
Everyone began to grab their jackets and head to the door, each stopping to give me a hug before leaving. Clark had my suitcase before I could say anything, and Lois promised to clean up and make sure everything was locked up before she left. Meg, Jennifer, and Kristen went ahead to the car, leaving Clark, Lois, and myself standing there alone.
Lois hugged me for the third time, and as Clark and I finally started towards the door, my phone rang again. Lois answered it.
“Hello?” she asked.
“This is Lois Lane.”
“Jimmy is still here. He was just getting ready to leave. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Oh, okay.”
“Oh, no.”
I glanced at Clark. I saw his heart break and I knew things had just gotten worse. I guess sometimes having super-hearing isn’t all that great.
Lois hung up the phone; there were tears in her eyes. She put her arms around me and held me for a moment before speaking. Clark left the room and went on to the car.
“Jimmy,” she said. “That was your cousin, Brad. He said that the police chief just called your uncle. The man…the man who hit Sandy was drunk.”
I felt my legs go weak.
Something that had been so tragic could have been prevented. In addition to taking our precious Sandy from us, now, even our mourning was being stolen. How can you cope with your grief when anger overshadows everything?
Seconds later, Clark had returned. He had apparently told the others the news because they weren’t far behind him.
At that point, everything became a blur. I know Meg and I made our plane, and Clark, Kristen, and Lois promised they would be at the funeral. Meg promised to let them know when we found out the arrangements. I don’t remember much of the flight other than Meg holding my arm and guiding my head to her shoulder. It was almost midnight when we arrived in Mapleton.
“Here you are, folks,” the cab driver said, as we pulled up in front of Aunt Ruth and Uncle Jim’s.
He got out and walked around to the back. Less than a minute later, he had our bags setting on the porch. I reached for my wallet to pay our fare, but he just held his hand up and shook his head.
“We got orders that anyone coming in from out of town to see Jim and Ruth are to be brought here at the company’s expense,” the man said.
“Thank you,” Meg told him.
“Think nothing of it,” he replied. Looking at me, he said, “Son, your cousin was one of the finest people in this town. She taught my kids in Sunday School and they thought the world of her. We’re all devastated by what has happened, and if you need anything, don’t you hesitate to let us know.
“Thank you,” I said, grasping his hand.
As the man drove off, he waved. I waved back before I realized that he was looking past me. I turned and saw Brad coming down the stairs.
What a lot of people don’t realize is that in some families, there is not much difference between cousins and siblings. That’s the way it was among the Olsens. Brad, Sandy, Terri, all of us, grew up as though we were brothers and sisters, not cousins. Our love for each other didn’t depend on who we called mom and dad. That love also meant that, at a time like this, words weren’t necessary.
Brad was off the porch and had me wrapped in his embrace before I even had a chance to introduce Meg. His grip on me was tight, almost as tight as I was holding him. That embrace was more than just a hug, it was a gathering of strength and neither of us were willing to let go too soon.
“It’s warmer in the house,” Uncle Jim said, motioning for Meg to join him.
I heard them introduce themselves as Brad and I climbed the steps.
“Is that short for Megan?” uncle Jim asked. When Meg assured him it was, Uncle Jim smiled. “Sandy would have liked you.”
Brad grabbed our bags and carried them in the house.
Inside, the scene was surreal. Despite the late hour, there were several people huddled together in small groups talking. At my appearance, many of them began to surround me and greet me with hugs and kisses. I accepted them all with open arms as I tried to make my way to Aunt Ruth.
“Your dad will be here first thing in the morning,” she said, as I hugged her.
It was well past 3 AM when we finally went to bed. I ended up in the room I had used years before when I lived here and went to school. Meg got Terri’s old room.
The rest of the night passed, and that’s really about all I can say. I saw every minute of every hour tick by on the old wind-up clock that used to wake me every morning. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who didn’t sleep, either.
With the exception of Meg, the rest of us were in the kitchen by 6 AM, and it was the first chance I had to see what the neighbors had already done. There wasn’t a single flat spot that didn’t have a covered dish, loaf of bread, tray of pastries, or stack of eating utensils occupying it. Terri, her husband, and her son were already there and she had a pot of coffee going.
From the front of the house, we heard a knock on the door. Brad seemed to have slipped into the roll as official greeter, so he went to see who it was. Seconds later, I heard Dad’s voice.
“How are you doing, Brad?” he asked. “I know that’s a stupid thing to ask, but…” He let the rest of his comment go.
“Ah, man,” I said. “Does he know about the driver?”
Uncle Jim shook his head.
I left the kitchen and met the two of them in the front hallway. The first thing I did was to grab my dad and hold on so tight that not even Superman could have pulled us apart. When we finally let go of each other, I looked him in the eye and told him that I had more bad news. He did not take it very well.
“Are you kidding me?” he said. “She died because some idiot decided to go for a drive?”
Dad always had a special place in his heart for Sandy. Of all of the cousins, she was the oldest. He used to tell her that of all the treasures he had uncovered while on his digs, none were worth more than her.
Meg joined us shortly after dad’s arrival, and she seemed to hit it off with him immediately. In truth, the entire family made certain to embrace her as one of us.
“You need to latch onto this one for keeps,” Uncle Jim told me.
I glanced at Meg and Terri who were chatting away like they were old friends. “We aren’t to that point, yet,” I told him, “but, yeah, she is something special.”
Shortly after 8 AM, Matt and Nick arrived. They both seemed to be holding up as well as could be expected, but, like the rest of us, it was nothing more than a well-maintained façade.
“When will your family be here?” Aunt Ruth asked Matt.
“Mom and Dad should be here sometime this afternoon, and Shelly and the kids will arrive in the morning,” Matt told her.
After making his rounds of hugs and kisses, I saw Nick slip out the back door. A few moments later, Terri’s son, Will followed. My heart broke even more thinking about all that Nick had lost. He was a momma’s boy through and through, but in a good way. He was always there whenever she needed him, and she was his biggest supporter in everything he did. I gave them a few minutes alone, then slipped out the back door to join them.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
Will stepped back as I put my arm around Nick. I looked at him and smiled. “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, as I held my other arm out.
Will smiled and joined us. As I held my cousins’ sons, I realized how short I was.
“I can’t believe this guy was allowed to even be on the road,” Will finally said.
“He murdered my mom,” Nick said. “I hope he rots.”
“I know you do,” I told him, “but, what would your mom think about that kind of talk?”
“My mom’s not here because of him,” Nick said, as tears of pure rage filled his eyes. “That…that…”
“I know,” I told him, as I hugged him.
I let him cry on my shoulder as long as he needed to before steering the conversation to stories of growing up with Sandy. After we gotten to the point where we had had a few laughs, several of which were at my expense, we went back inside. That was the last of the “just family” moments we would have for the rest of the day.
From about 9 o’clock on, a steady stream of friends and neighbors stopped by. Each arrival brought more food and more good memories of Sandy. Mrs. Gladstone, my old English teacher from high school, even stopped by. After speaking with her for a little while, she informed me that she had retired from teaching and had opened a bed and breakfast after her husband passed away. She said that if we had anyone coming in from out of town that needed a place to stay, her door was open. I went ahead and made arrangements for my friends…no, my family…from Metropolis.
Around 5 PM, a man stopped by and I saw uncle Jim, Dad, and Brad talking to him. As I approached, I could see that none of them were very happy.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“The driver of the other car,” Dad said, “is already out on bond.”
I felt like I had just been punched in the gut by Darkseid. “Are you kidding me?”
“Son,” the man said, who I learned was the police chief, “I did everything I could to keep him behind bars, but my hands were tied.”
I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
“So, murder is now just a slap on the wrist,” I said, and immediately regretted it.
“Jimmy,” Dad said.
“I’m sorry,” I told the police chief. “It’s just…”
“Son,” the man said, “I asked the same thing. This guy has so many strikes against him, he shouldn’t have seen the light of day for another decade.”
“Then, why is he out?” Brad asked.
The police chief shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’ve already started my own investigation to see if it was the system that broke down, or if someone turned a blind eye.”
After the obligatory small talk that followed, the man excused himself. I checked my watch, then asked uncle Jim if I could borrow his truck to run into town.
He dug into his pocket, then tossed me the keys. I started toward the truck and Dad stopped me.
“You want some company?” he asked.
“Not really,” I replied. “I just need to clear my head, and I thought I might stop by the paper for a bit. Tell Meg I’ll be back in a little bit.”
Dad put his hand on my arm. “Son,” he said, his voice was low, “don’t do anything stupid.”
I nodded, but made no verbal promises.
When I hit town, my first stop was the Mapleton Gazette. After several minutes of hand shakes and condolence offerings, the editor led me to a small room that housed the paper’s archives, most of which were on microfilm. And hour later, I had enough information collected on the guy that killed Sandy to turn my stomach.
I thanked the editor and left. I checked my watch and decided I had been gone long enough.
Turning Uncle Jim’s truck around and pointed toward home, I was less than a mile away when I passed Paddy’s Pub, the local watering hole. I don’t know what made me slow down, but as I did, I saw the front door open and a very intoxicated patron bodily ejected. I slowed down even more and rolled my window down.
“I don’t want to see your face in here again,’ the man doing the ejecting said. “After what you did yesterday, you have some nerve coming in here drunk. My God, you were just released a few hours ago.”
I tapped my brakes and watched with even more interest. As the drunk staggered to his feet, I got my glimpse at his face and my blood ran cold. It was him. At that moment, in that instant, I reached that line I mentioned earlier.
The bouncer glanced my way and all I could do was shake my head. He shook his head as well, then turned to go back inside. I continued on up the block. I didn’t want him to know what I was thinking.
I took a left at the corner, followed by a second one, a third one, and a fourth. Before starting up the block again, I made certain no one was around. Uncle Jim always kept an extra ball cap in his truck, so I grabbed it and put it on, the bill pulled low on my forehead. I rolled to a stop beside the drunk.
“Need a lift?” I asked, looking around once more.
The man looked at me with bleary eyes, and I could tell that he was trying to decide if he knew me or not. I’ll never know which he decided, but it didn’t matter because he staggered around the front of the truck and climbed into the passenger seat.
Up ahead, coming toward us, I spotted the police chief. If he saw me with this murderer, he would surely know what I had planned, so I had to think quick.
“There should be a bottle under the seat,” I said.
Immediately, my passenger leaned forward and began to search. Thanks to the height of the truck, all the police chief saw when we passed each other was me. I waved and he did the same.
“Don’t see no bottle,” the man finally said, his words slurred.
“My mistake,” I told him.
“Say,” the drunk said, trying to focus in on my face. “Who are you, anyway?”
I ignored the question. “When you were arrested yesterday, you told the reports that you were sorry, that you wished it was you.”
The drunk belched and I wanted to gag.
“Yeah, I said I was…hic…sorry,” he said. “Bleeding hearts eat that crap up and push for the judges to go easy on ya.”
I did my best not to show it, but, at that moment, I was so angry that I could have beat him so bad it would have made the Joker puke. “That how you avoid jail?” I asked.
“Heh, heh.”
That was it. No real response, just “heh, heh.”
There were two roads that turned off just before you got to Uncle Jim’s. One headed west to Hartsdale, the other to an old fishing hole; I turned off and headed to the fishing hole.
“Where we going?” the man asked.
“Fishing,” I replied.
“I don’t got no pole,” he complained.
“Won’t need it,” I told him.
Moments later, we arrived at our destination. I shut the engine off, got out, walked around the front of the truck, and opened his door. “Get out.”
“I think I want to go home,” he said.
“Before he had a chance to close the door, I grabbed him by the collar and drug him out of the truck. He hit the ground, hard, and I didn’t offer to help him up. Instead, I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to the water’s edge. I gave him a shove and he fell face first into the pond.
“I can’t swim,” he shouted.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Stand up.”
He did. “What’d you do that for?” he asked, his words not as slurred as before.
“Because,” I said, “I want you sober when I beat you to death.”
“You can’t do that,” he said, defiantly. “I got rights.”
“Rights?” I asked, kicking him in the stomach. “Rights?! What about her rights?” I was almost shouting. “She had rights. She had a right to live out the rest of her life. She had a right to see her son grow up, to see him get married, to become a grandmother. She had a right to kiss her husband and tell him she loved him.”
I wanted to tell him every other right she had, and then I wanted to beat him to death, but what I thought was the rustling of clothing behind me stopped me.
“He deserves all of this and more,” I said to whomever was behind me.
“What about me?” a very familiar voice asked. “Do I deserve it?”
I spun around, hoping against hope that it really was her, but there was no one there.
“I know you love me, Jimmy,” Sandy’s voice continued, “and I know the others love me, too. I know everyone is hurting, but this won’t make the pain go away; it will only bring more pain.”
I wasn’t sure if Sandy’s words were really coming from her disembodied spirit, or if they were a figment of my imagination, but I couldn’t deny that they were the truth. This wouldn’t be what Sandy wanted.
He was no longer drunk, but he was watching me and trying to figure out what was going on.
“Get in the truck,” I told him.
He did. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“Where do you live? I’ll take you home.”
The man was silent for a moment, then told me what I wanted to know. Nothing else was said as we headed back into town. When I pulled up in front of his house, he looked at me, then got out. I drove back to Uncle Jim’s.
The next few days were a blur of family and friends and food, of memories and laughter and tears. On the morning of the funeral, the police chief stopped by the house and gave us the news.
“The man who had killed Sandy was arrested last night,” he told us, “for drunk and disorder, no less.”
“Are you serious?” Brad asked.
The police chief held his hand up. “Hear me out.”
“Go ahead,” Dad said.
“His lawyer came to bail him out,” the man continued, “but, he wouldn’t leave. He demanded that we contact the judge and tell him that he doesn’t want to go to trial. The lawyer tried to get him to shut up, claiming he was still drunk, but the man ended up firing his lawyer on the spot. He told me to let the judge know that he was ready to go to prison for what he did.”
We were all in shock.
“The judge came down to the jail and listened to what the man had to say. This morning, he agreed to forego the trial and issued the maximum sentence possible.”
“What brought all of this about?” Uncle Jim asked.
“He wouldn’t say,” the police chief said. “All he said was that Sandy had a right to justice.”
The End
Tragedy
What does it take to push a man to that fine line where civility, morality, and common decency ends, and madness begins? Does it depend on how a man’s brain is hardwired, or an impurity in his soul, or is it a simple switch that is flipped by nothing more than a random, meaningless act? For myself, it took a careless--no, stupid--act of irresponsibility that set me on an emotional roller coaster which ended with me at that line with one foot poised to take that fateful step.
Time becomes meaningless when your entire world crashes in on you, though, in truth, my journey to that frightening point only took a couple of weeks. It began not with a single step, as most journeys do, but with an early Sunday evening phone call.
“Hello?” I said, as I answered the telephone that was ringing off the hook when I entered my apartment. It was Dad.
I knew there was something wrong the moment he said my name. Dad never calls me by my name; it’s always “Sport” or “Big Time” or even “Hard Shell”, but never just “Jim.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, cutting out the small talk that I expected to follow.
For a moment, I thought we had been disconnected then I realized that he was just trying to pick his words. “Jim,” he said, his voice soft, “we’ve got a problem.”
I don’t know why he chose those words, but they caused my mind to start racing. What kind of problems could we have that would have initiated this phone call? “What’s wrong?”
Dad attempted another deep breath, but, this time, his breath caught in his throat and a sob was the only sound he made.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No.” His reply was weak. He sobbed again.
I gave him a moment.
“Jim,” he finally said. “Sandy’s gone.”
My mind shut off. “I…what…how…what happened?”
His sobs may have become more pronounced, but I didn’t notice. I had dropped to my knees and had begun to sob myself.
“…listen to me,” I finally heard him say. “Jim. I really need you to listen to me.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“There was a wreck,” he began. “A man was coming towards her and crossed the line into her lane. She was heading home from church.”
Dad’s voice had gotten stronger and I used his strength to find my own. “What about Matt and Nick?” I asked. “Were they hurt?”
“They weren’t with her,” he said. “She was going to stop by the hospital to visit a friend of hers.
Beyond that, there wasn’t much he could say simply because there wasn’t much to say. Our conversation drifted to the small talk I had avoided earlier, mainly because we were both reluctant to hang up. He told me he was in L.A. and would be leaving in the morning for Mapleton. I told him I would try to get a flight out of Metropolis as soon as I could, and that I looked forward to seeing him again.
“Jim,” he said, just before he hung up.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” he said.
I managed a sad smile. “I love you, too, Dad.”
We hung up and I immediately called Perry. It took four rings for someone to pick up; it felt like forever.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Alice?”
“Yes?”
I sobbed. “Alice, it’s Jimmy. I really need to talk to Perry.”
“Jimmy, dear, what’s wrong? Hang on. Let me track down Perry. I think he’s in his den.”
I could hear her walking down the hall.
“Almost there,” I heard her say, as she pushed open the door to Perry’s den. “Dear,” she said, not bothering to cover the phone, “it’s Jimmy. The poor thing sounds terrible. He needs to talk to you. Here he is, dear,” she finally said to me.
“Olsen,” Perry said, “what’s wrong?”
At that moment, I realized just how much of my adult life had been shaped and molded by this man. Yeah, he yelled at me quite a bit, but it was only because, in his own little way, he was trying to teach me. At times when my own dad was traveling the world, going from one archeological dig to another, Perry had easily stepped into the roll of surrogate father.
I wept.
And, he let me.
He allowed me to cry without judgment and once I had regained my composure, he then spoke. “What happened?”
My words still came out in sobs. “She’s gone, Chief. She’s gone.”
“Who’s gone, Jimmy?” Perry asked, his words soft and soothing. “What happened?”
“My cousin, Sandy…was heading home from church…an accident. She didn’t make it.” Again, I began to cry.
“Just try and settle down and listen,” he said. “As of now, you are on bereavement leave. As soon as we hang up, I’ll call Jennifer and have her take care of the flight arrangements; the Planet will take care of everything. I’ll have her call you with the details and we’ll get you to the airport. Have you talked to anyone else yet?”
“Just Dad,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ll let the staff know what’s going on, then.” Perry paused, as if in thought. “You know they will want to start calling you and stopping over. Do you want me to tell them it’s okay, or not?”
I wasn’t sure I could handle the sympathy. Part of my mind just wanted to forget the entire thing, to ignore it like a bad dream.
Perry began speaking again. “I won’t even pretend to know what you are going through, but let me tell you this. There are a whole lot of people who care about you, and it is only natural that they are going to want to express their love and condolences. I’m sure there will be a point where you don’t want to listen to it anymore, but remember one thing--when someone offers you their condolences, they are offering you a part of their strength. And in the days ahead, you’re going to realize that what they have given you will be what you need to carry on.”
It’s a shame that the world only gets to see the gruff exterior of Perry White. At that moment, I saw the true heart that makes him who he is.
“I’ll give Clark a call first,” Perry said.
Clark. I hadn’t thought of him. He could have saved the Planet a few bucks on airfare, but, no, this was about Sandy. Mapleton doesn’t need a visit from Superman.
I hung up with Perry and began packing my suitcase for the trip. I knew Jennifer would arrange everything and probably have it done quicker than I expected. I guess when the Planet’s main receptionist speaks, people listen.
Within the hour, my apartment had begun to fill up with friends who were willing to help out in any way they could. Clark did, indeed, offer to fly me out, but he understood why I politely refused. He promised that he and Kristen would be at the funeral. Lois also promised to be there. I found it strange that Meg hadn’t showed up.
An hour and a half after talking to Perry, Meg and Jennifer both arrived.
“The car is downstairs waiting to take you to the airport,” Jennifer said, “and Meg has your tickets.”
“Jen called me before she called the airline,” Meg said.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Jennifer apologized, “but, I thought you would like some company.”
“Thanks,” I told her.
I really wanted to do this alone, but I remembered what Perry had said and realized that a shoulder to cry on might not be such a bad idea.
Everyone began to grab their jackets and head to the door, each stopping to give me a hug before leaving. Clark had my suitcase before I could say anything, and Lois promised to clean up and make sure everything was locked up before she left. Meg, Jennifer, and Kristen went ahead to the car, leaving Clark, Lois, and myself standing there alone.
Lois hugged me for the third time, and as Clark and I finally started towards the door, my phone rang again. Lois answered it.
“Hello?” she asked.
“This is Lois Lane.”
“Jimmy is still here. He was just getting ready to leave. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Oh, okay.”
“Oh, no.”
I glanced at Clark. I saw his heart break and I knew things had just gotten worse. I guess sometimes having super-hearing isn’t all that great.
Lois hung up the phone; there were tears in her eyes. She put her arms around me and held me for a moment before speaking. Clark left the room and went on to the car.
“Jimmy,” she said. “That was your cousin, Brad. He said that the police chief just called your uncle. The man…the man who hit Sandy was drunk.”
I felt my legs go weak.
Something that had been so tragic could have been prevented. In addition to taking our precious Sandy from us, now, even our mourning was being stolen. How can you cope with your grief when anger overshadows everything?
Seconds later, Clark had returned. He had apparently told the others the news because they weren’t far behind him.
At that point, everything became a blur. I know Meg and I made our plane, and Clark, Kristen, and Lois promised they would be at the funeral. Meg promised to let them know when we found out the arrangements. I don’t remember much of the flight other than Meg holding my arm and guiding my head to her shoulder. It was almost midnight when we arrived in Mapleton.
“Here you are, folks,” the cab driver said, as we pulled up in front of Aunt Ruth and Uncle Jim’s.
He got out and walked around to the back. Less than a minute later, he had our bags setting on the porch. I reached for my wallet to pay our fare, but he just held his hand up and shook his head.
“We got orders that anyone coming in from out of town to see Jim and Ruth are to be brought here at the company’s expense,” the man said.
“Thank you,” Meg told him.
“Think nothing of it,” he replied. Looking at me, he said, “Son, your cousin was one of the finest people in this town. She taught my kids in Sunday School and they thought the world of her. We’re all devastated by what has happened, and if you need anything, don’t you hesitate to let us know.
“Thank you,” I said, grasping his hand.
As the man drove off, he waved. I waved back before I realized that he was looking past me. I turned and saw Brad coming down the stairs.
What a lot of people don’t realize is that in some families, there is not much difference between cousins and siblings. That’s the way it was among the Olsens. Brad, Sandy, Terri, all of us, grew up as though we were brothers and sisters, not cousins. Our love for each other didn’t depend on who we called mom and dad. That love also meant that, at a time like this, words weren’t necessary.
Brad was off the porch and had me wrapped in his embrace before I even had a chance to introduce Meg. His grip on me was tight, almost as tight as I was holding him. That embrace was more than just a hug, it was a gathering of strength and neither of us were willing to let go too soon.
“It’s warmer in the house,” Uncle Jim said, motioning for Meg to join him.
I heard them introduce themselves as Brad and I climbed the steps.
“Is that short for Megan?” uncle Jim asked. When Meg assured him it was, Uncle Jim smiled. “Sandy would have liked you.”
Brad grabbed our bags and carried them in the house.
Inside, the scene was surreal. Despite the late hour, there were several people huddled together in small groups talking. At my appearance, many of them began to surround me and greet me with hugs and kisses. I accepted them all with open arms as I tried to make my way to Aunt Ruth.
“Your dad will be here first thing in the morning,” she said, as I hugged her.
It was well past 3 AM when we finally went to bed. I ended up in the room I had used years before when I lived here and went to school. Meg got Terri’s old room.
The rest of the night passed, and that’s really about all I can say. I saw every minute of every hour tick by on the old wind-up clock that used to wake me every morning. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who didn’t sleep, either.
With the exception of Meg, the rest of us were in the kitchen by 6 AM, and it was the first chance I had to see what the neighbors had already done. There wasn’t a single flat spot that didn’t have a covered dish, loaf of bread, tray of pastries, or stack of eating utensils occupying it. Terri, her husband, and her son were already there and she had a pot of coffee going.
From the front of the house, we heard a knock on the door. Brad seemed to have slipped into the roll as official greeter, so he went to see who it was. Seconds later, I heard Dad’s voice.
“How are you doing, Brad?” he asked. “I know that’s a stupid thing to ask, but…” He let the rest of his comment go.
“Ah, man,” I said. “Does he know about the driver?”
Uncle Jim shook his head.
I left the kitchen and met the two of them in the front hallway. The first thing I did was to grab my dad and hold on so tight that not even Superman could have pulled us apart. When we finally let go of each other, I looked him in the eye and told him that I had more bad news. He did not take it very well.
“Are you kidding me?” he said. “She died because some idiot decided to go for a drive?”
Dad always had a special place in his heart for Sandy. Of all of the cousins, she was the oldest. He used to tell her that of all the treasures he had uncovered while on his digs, none were worth more than her.
Meg joined us shortly after dad’s arrival, and she seemed to hit it off with him immediately. In truth, the entire family made certain to embrace her as one of us.
“You need to latch onto this one for keeps,” Uncle Jim told me.
I glanced at Meg and Terri who were chatting away like they were old friends. “We aren’t to that point, yet,” I told him, “but, yeah, she is something special.”
Shortly after 8 AM, Matt and Nick arrived. They both seemed to be holding up as well as could be expected, but, like the rest of us, it was nothing more than a well-maintained façade.
“When will your family be here?” Aunt Ruth asked Matt.
“Mom and Dad should be here sometime this afternoon, and Shelly and the kids will arrive in the morning,” Matt told her.
After making his rounds of hugs and kisses, I saw Nick slip out the back door. A few moments later, Terri’s son, Will followed. My heart broke even more thinking about all that Nick had lost. He was a momma’s boy through and through, but in a good way. He was always there whenever she needed him, and she was his biggest supporter in everything he did. I gave them a few minutes alone, then slipped out the back door to join them.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
Will stepped back as I put my arm around Nick. I looked at him and smiled. “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, as I held my other arm out.
Will smiled and joined us. As I held my cousins’ sons, I realized how short I was.
“I can’t believe this guy was allowed to even be on the road,” Will finally said.
“He murdered my mom,” Nick said. “I hope he rots.”
“I know you do,” I told him, “but, what would your mom think about that kind of talk?”
“My mom’s not here because of him,” Nick said, as tears of pure rage filled his eyes. “That…that…”
“I know,” I told him, as I hugged him.
I let him cry on my shoulder as long as he needed to before steering the conversation to stories of growing up with Sandy. After we gotten to the point where we had had a few laughs, several of which were at my expense, we went back inside. That was the last of the “just family” moments we would have for the rest of the day.
From about 9 o’clock on, a steady stream of friends and neighbors stopped by. Each arrival brought more food and more good memories of Sandy. Mrs. Gladstone, my old English teacher from high school, even stopped by. After speaking with her for a little while, she informed me that she had retired from teaching and had opened a bed and breakfast after her husband passed away. She said that if we had anyone coming in from out of town that needed a place to stay, her door was open. I went ahead and made arrangements for my friends…no, my family…from Metropolis.
Around 5 PM, a man stopped by and I saw uncle Jim, Dad, and Brad talking to him. As I approached, I could see that none of them were very happy.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“The driver of the other car,” Dad said, “is already out on bond.”
I felt like I had just been punched in the gut by Darkseid. “Are you kidding me?”
“Son,” the man said, who I learned was the police chief, “I did everything I could to keep him behind bars, but my hands were tied.”
I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
“So, murder is now just a slap on the wrist,” I said, and immediately regretted it.
“Jimmy,” Dad said.
“I’m sorry,” I told the police chief. “It’s just…”
“Son,” the man said, “I asked the same thing. This guy has so many strikes against him, he shouldn’t have seen the light of day for another decade.”
“Then, why is he out?” Brad asked.
The police chief shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’ve already started my own investigation to see if it was the system that broke down, or if someone turned a blind eye.”
After the obligatory small talk that followed, the man excused himself. I checked my watch, then asked uncle Jim if I could borrow his truck to run into town.
He dug into his pocket, then tossed me the keys. I started toward the truck and Dad stopped me.
“You want some company?” he asked.
“Not really,” I replied. “I just need to clear my head, and I thought I might stop by the paper for a bit. Tell Meg I’ll be back in a little bit.”
Dad put his hand on my arm. “Son,” he said, his voice was low, “don’t do anything stupid.”
I nodded, but made no verbal promises.
When I hit town, my first stop was the Mapleton Gazette. After several minutes of hand shakes and condolence offerings, the editor led me to a small room that housed the paper’s archives, most of which were on microfilm. And hour later, I had enough information collected on the guy that killed Sandy to turn my stomach.
I thanked the editor and left. I checked my watch and decided I had been gone long enough.
Turning Uncle Jim’s truck around and pointed toward home, I was less than a mile away when I passed Paddy’s Pub, the local watering hole. I don’t know what made me slow down, but as I did, I saw the front door open and a very intoxicated patron bodily ejected. I slowed down even more and rolled my window down.
“I don’t want to see your face in here again,’ the man doing the ejecting said. “After what you did yesterday, you have some nerve coming in here drunk. My God, you were just released a few hours ago.”
I tapped my brakes and watched with even more interest. As the drunk staggered to his feet, I got my glimpse at his face and my blood ran cold. It was him. At that moment, in that instant, I reached that line I mentioned earlier.
The bouncer glanced my way and all I could do was shake my head. He shook his head as well, then turned to go back inside. I continued on up the block. I didn’t want him to know what I was thinking.
I took a left at the corner, followed by a second one, a third one, and a fourth. Before starting up the block again, I made certain no one was around. Uncle Jim always kept an extra ball cap in his truck, so I grabbed it and put it on, the bill pulled low on my forehead. I rolled to a stop beside the drunk.
“Need a lift?” I asked, looking around once more.
The man looked at me with bleary eyes, and I could tell that he was trying to decide if he knew me or not. I’ll never know which he decided, but it didn’t matter because he staggered around the front of the truck and climbed into the passenger seat.
Up ahead, coming toward us, I spotted the police chief. If he saw me with this murderer, he would surely know what I had planned, so I had to think quick.
“There should be a bottle under the seat,” I said.
Immediately, my passenger leaned forward and began to search. Thanks to the height of the truck, all the police chief saw when we passed each other was me. I waved and he did the same.
“Don’t see no bottle,” the man finally said, his words slurred.
“My mistake,” I told him.
“Say,” the drunk said, trying to focus in on my face. “Who are you, anyway?”
I ignored the question. “When you were arrested yesterday, you told the reports that you were sorry, that you wished it was you.”
The drunk belched and I wanted to gag.
“Yeah, I said I was…hic…sorry,” he said. “Bleeding hearts eat that crap up and push for the judges to go easy on ya.”
I did my best not to show it, but, at that moment, I was so angry that I could have beat him so bad it would have made the Joker puke. “That how you avoid jail?” I asked.
“Heh, heh.”
That was it. No real response, just “heh, heh.”
There were two roads that turned off just before you got to Uncle Jim’s. One headed west to Hartsdale, the other to an old fishing hole; I turned off and headed to the fishing hole.
“Where we going?” the man asked.
“Fishing,” I replied.
“I don’t got no pole,” he complained.
“Won’t need it,” I told him.
Moments later, we arrived at our destination. I shut the engine off, got out, walked around the front of the truck, and opened his door. “Get out.”
“I think I want to go home,” he said.
“Before he had a chance to close the door, I grabbed him by the collar and drug him out of the truck. He hit the ground, hard, and I didn’t offer to help him up. Instead, I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to the water’s edge. I gave him a shove and he fell face first into the pond.
“I can’t swim,” he shouted.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Stand up.”
He did. “What’d you do that for?” he asked, his words not as slurred as before.
“Because,” I said, “I want you sober when I beat you to death.”
“You can’t do that,” he said, defiantly. “I got rights.”
“Rights?” I asked, kicking him in the stomach. “Rights?! What about her rights?” I was almost shouting. “She had rights. She had a right to live out the rest of her life. She had a right to see her son grow up, to see him get married, to become a grandmother. She had a right to kiss her husband and tell him she loved him.”
I wanted to tell him every other right she had, and then I wanted to beat him to death, but what I thought was the rustling of clothing behind me stopped me.
“He deserves all of this and more,” I said to whomever was behind me.
“What about me?” a very familiar voice asked. “Do I deserve it?”
I spun around, hoping against hope that it really was her, but there was no one there.
“I know you love me, Jimmy,” Sandy’s voice continued, “and I know the others love me, too. I know everyone is hurting, but this won’t make the pain go away; it will only bring more pain.”
I wasn’t sure if Sandy’s words were really coming from her disembodied spirit, or if they were a figment of my imagination, but I couldn’t deny that they were the truth. This wouldn’t be what Sandy wanted.
He was no longer drunk, but he was watching me and trying to figure out what was going on.
“Get in the truck,” I told him.
He did. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“Where do you live? I’ll take you home.”
The man was silent for a moment, then told me what I wanted to know. Nothing else was said as we headed back into town. When I pulled up in front of his house, he looked at me, then got out. I drove back to Uncle Jim’s.
The next few days were a blur of family and friends and food, of memories and laughter and tears. On the morning of the funeral, the police chief stopped by the house and gave us the news.
“The man who had killed Sandy was arrested last night,” he told us, “for drunk and disorder, no less.”
“Are you serious?” Brad asked.
The police chief held his hand up. “Hear me out.”
“Go ahead,” Dad said.
“His lawyer came to bail him out,” the man continued, “but, he wouldn’t leave. He demanded that we contact the judge and tell him that he doesn’t want to go to trial. The lawyer tried to get him to shut up, claiming he was still drunk, but the man ended up firing his lawyer on the spot. He told me to let the judge know that he was ready to go to prison for what he did.”
We were all in shock.
“The judge came down to the jail and listened to what the man had to say. This morning, he agreed to forego the trial and issued the maximum sentence possible.”
“What brought all of this about?” Uncle Jim asked.
“He wouldn’t say,” the police chief said. “All he said was that Sandy had a right to justice.”
The End