The Harland Highway - PREMIUM MEMBERS - Hear part 7 of Harland's short story, before anyone else.

Episode Date: October 19, 2016

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Brett woke up the next morning at 6.45 a.m. The sun had just climbed over the distant horizon and he could see its fiery orange brilliance out of his hospital room window. It felt warm and comforting. He just stared as it slowly rose higher in the sky. Everything was quiet. The commotion usually heard on the hospital floor was almost zero. The world was just waking up. Brett shook his head trying to clear some of the groginess induced by whatever it was they had injected into his veins the night before. His memories of yelling at Tommy came back, as did pieces of the conversation about his dad. Brett didn't want to go there. He knew he shouldn't

be stressed. He shifted his focus to Sherry. There she was again, curled up in the chair next to his bed, asleep, close, connected. Brett studied her gentle features as the morning sun bathed her skin and made it glow ever so softly. He took in every detail of her face, the lines, the textures, the beauty. What a fool I've been, he thought to himself, realizing in his vulnerable state, what a rock she had been, what a wonderful wife and mother she had been, and that he had been everything short of what she was, that the effort he had put into the family was certainly not up to par with hers. Brett felt ashamed in that moment, a shame that it took a crisis like this to make him see what a disappointment he was. It was too painful to wallow

in his shortcomings. He needed to get up, off the bed like the useless failure that he felt he was. Not wanting to wake Sherry, Brett slowly rolled out of bed and walked over to the window to look outside. Before him was the wide open sky, clear and blue, a light canopy of clouds floating aimlessly to the east. Brett rubbed his arm, scratching the two little puncture marks that had scabbed up where the IV had been inserted. He marveled at the miracle of modern medicine and how it could save lives. It gave him a fresh perspective

as he stared out at the wide open, clear sky. Sherry moaned in her sleep and shifted slightly. Brett turned and looked at her again, taking her in, feeling the love for her and his heart swell, knowing she had been by his side every devoted second. He felt so insufficient in that moment, he needed to give back to her some of what she so unselfishly always offered.

He needed to remind her, and himself, just how deep his love for her was. He scanned the room as if he would find something there would be the answer. There was nothing. Frustrated, he turned his back on the white, empty room and resumed taking in the view outside. His gaze shifted from the sky down to the lawn and garden below. low. The grass was green and lush, the trees full and leafy, a buzzed with small birds and a few frantic squirrels. But then, off to the side, near the far wall, Brett saw something that surely must have been a sign from above, a small answer to what he needed. Protuding from the ground was a

beautiful rose bush, peppered with flowery white roses, the kind of white roses he had promised he would give Sherry every year to remind her of his love for her, the kind of white roses he had neglected to bring for a very long time. Half rolled with guilt and half overjoyed, Brett could not contain himself. With the utmost stealth, he crept past Sherry as she slept and snuck out of his hospital room. Outside, Brett could feel the moist grass crawling up in between his toes. Somehow he found it refreshing. That and the crisp summer morning air made Brett feel alive, excited. From his vantage point on the hospital lawn, he counted the floors and stared up to his window. He wondered how many other tormented souls lay inside this giant building full of human suffering. And it was in that

moment that Brett had a realization that this was the same hospital as father had been in back in the early 80s, St. James Hospital. So strange, Brett thought. This is where my father died all those years ago. Quickly, Brett shook those unhappy thoughts away. He wanted to keep his energy positive and focused on Sherry. He walked quickly over to the rose bush and searched for the fullest and most beautiful blossom he could find. As he located it, right near the top of the rose bush, he couldn't seem to shake off thinking about his father and what his final moments must have been like in this hospital. Brett's thick fingers bent and twisted the stem of the rose, cautious not to be pricked by the thorns. Eventually the stem gave way and snapped. Brett had his beautiful white rose for Sherry.

The lingering thoughts of his father pushed away due to his small success of acquiring the rose. Brett smiled and felt good inside, picturing his wife opening her eyes and finding this beautiful flower and all it represented, resting in her lap. He pictured Sherry smiling, then laughing, then her laughter turning to tears. He pictured them embracing, maybe crying together, staring into each other's eyes and saying, I love you to each other for the first time in what seemed forever. He pictured all that. until suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something hanging on the wall beside a small shrub,

wound tightly and neatly on a holder. It was a hose, a big, green, long, garden hose. Brett stared at the hose intensely, almost the way one does when coming face to face with an angry stray dog. You just stop in your tracks, thinking, planning your next move, wondering what it should be. And in that moment, Brett's mind rewound all those other moments,

all the miraculous trips back in time, some beautiful, some pleasant, and some horrific. They were all moments from his past that he had lived before. And for the first time, Brett realized that they were chronological. They started with him as a boy,

playing catch with his dad, and the latest one being the horrible episode of seeing his mother being beaten. So what would be next, Brett wondered. Would the journey be bad or good? And why here? Why now? At the hospital where his father had died?

And with that observation, Brett's face suddenly narrowed. He felt a slight tightness in his chest. What if Tommy had been right? What if the journey back could take him to a place he had never been? The place standing right in front of him. the hospital where he had refused to come and see his dying father. A trickle of sweat meandered down the side of Brett's temple.

He squeezed the white rose in his hand. He knew he had seen enough that he had been through too much emotionally, physically. He knew that another stressful event could severely impact his heart. He knew he had to walk away. With stern determination, Brett turned his back on the garden hose and began walking back across the soft emerald grass lawn. But it was only after about ten steps that he came to a halt. He cautiously looked around as if he was about to do something he shouldn't.

Upon seeing that no one else was in the vicinity, Brett took a deep breath, turned around, and purposely marched back towards the garden hose, hanging on the wall. As Brett picked the hose up in his hand, he stuffed the rose in a strap on his side. his hospital gown. No matter what happened, he had to hold on to Sherry's rose. With his other hand now free, he reached for the faucet, his hand trembling slightly as he

hesitantly turned it on. As the pressurized water rumbled through the hose, Brett took one last look around at his surroundings, the trees, the grass, the sky, even the hospital. He knew that this time there might be no coming back, that this time his heart might not be able to take whatever was waiting for him on the other side. His curiosity was too great, perhaps even his need was too strong. He had come this far. He knew he had to keep going. And with angst in his heart, he slowly brought the trickling hose up to his mouth and began to drink. Young man? A woman's voice startled Brett. He instantly whirled around and saw a nurse standing on the laneway at the other side of the lawn. Brett was relieved to see that he hadn't been transported anywhere this time. It was the same

lawn he had crossed in his bare feet just mere moments ago. There's a drinking fountain inside, young man. I wouldn't drink out of that dirty old hose. Come on, I'll show you. The friendly nurse motioned for Brett to come to her, and he felt more than happy to oblige. He dropped the hose, and began a slow run across the lawn. But the closer he got to the nurse, the more he sensed that something was wrong. First of all, he couldn't feel the softness of the grass on the soles of his bare feet.

And second, as he got closer to the nurse, he noticed her clothing. It looked rather odd, kind of dated, and very old school. The little white nurse hat perched on top of her head seemed like something right out of the pages of an old life magazine. And then Brett looked beyond the nurse, towards the parking lot where all the cars were.

Something was different. All the cars were older, vintage 1970s and 80s. Brett looked down at his feet. He now knew why he couldn't feel the grass in his toes. He was wearing sneakers, the blue ones with the white stripes that he owned when he was 18. Tommy had been right. Brett was back in the past again. except this time it was in a scene that he had never lived through before come this way the nurse said as brett finally caught up to her she walked him back to the doors of the hospital and pulled one open brett had a full view of her nurse's uniformed and realized this is how ridiculous they looked back then she pointed down the hall there's the fountain on the left it's probably a lot colder too brett nodded and thanked her as he stepped inside who are you here to see she asked helpfully brett was blindsided by the question because he wasn't really sure he had never been here before but somewhere in his subconscious he had a feeling who it might be uh my my dad uh norm coleman did you know what floor he's on brett couldn't believe he had just said that

for two reasons one what were the odds his father was even here and two, Brett had no desire to see him after what he had done to his mother. Oh, yes, Mr. Coleman is on the 12th floor, room 79, I believe. I was working that floor yesterday. The nurse smiled, hoping that she had been of help. Thank you, ma'am, Brett stuttered, unsure if he even wanted to know. You're welcome, she replied cheerily, before turning and walking away down the long, shiny hallway. Brett stood there alone, unsure of his next move. He was here, his father was here. Brett had no idea how to process it. Every fiber in his body was telling him to turn and run away. But a lingering pain, deep in his heart, was telling him he had to go to the 12th floor. After standing in the empty hall for what seemed like forever, Brett finally began the long walk toward the elevator at the foreign.

to the hall. After 30 years, he was finally going to get his chance to say goodbye. The elevator ride up was surreal. The other passengers dressed in clothing that went with the time period. Brett felt like he was in a movie or something. Even he was in clothes that he had long since discarded. Have a nice day, folks, importantly man said as he left the elevator on the eighth floor. Brett watched the doors close and he wondered to himself if the man he had just seen was still alive back in the real world. And then, seconds later, the elevated doors eased to a halt on the 12th floor. The brass doors slid open and Brett emerged into a long ivory hallway, the floor shimmering with floor wax, sounds of the dead and dying, their

coughs and moans echoing off the featureless walls. A small placard on the wall indicated the direction to room 79 where his father was. Brett felt a pit for him in the bottom of his stomach. He wondered if this was the right time, the right place. What if he walked in the room and it wasn't his father? What if this was just a random memory or a vision that was all for naught? Slowly, Brett turned and walked toward room number 79. His feet felt heavy, like lead. Part of Brett was still fighting the idea of seeing his father, if in fact he was really there. Brett had signed off a long time ago, since that night of the beating, that he never wanted to see his father's face again, that he never wanted to talk to him or hear his voice. Brett had known his whole life that

that horrific night had changed him and his family forever. They were never close again. His sisters seemed angry and unforgiving of all of them. His mother never seemed the same. She always seemed to have a far-off look in her eyes, almost as if she were staring off into a different life, a better life. And Brett, he knew that his idea of love, of family, had been rocked. He no longer trusted in the idea of marriage. of togetherness. Guiltily, he knew it was Sherry's relentlessness and unselfish love of him that made it possible to find in her a sanctuary, a safe place that he could trust,

be loved. The only problem was Brett knew that since the night of the beating, he was never fully able to give her the same love back. It saddened him. It hurt him, because he knew it hurt her. He knew that she loved him, Regardless. Brett was pretty sure she knew he wasn't giving her all she deserved. He knew that he had never lived up to the promise of the White Rose. As all these thoughts and emotions washed over,

Brett, they just as suddenly stopped. His heart skipped a beat as he now stood in front of a thick wooden door with the number 79 on it. Brett stood outside for what seemed forever. He could couldn't even touch the door. The best he could do is put his ear close and listen for movement, a sound perhaps, some kind of clue that would let him know if his father was on the other side. But no sound ever came. Brett began embracing the idea of leaving, turning around and leaving well enough alone, leaving the history in the past where it belonged. No, Brett didn't need to do this. he was resigned to the way he had handled it. He had come to accept the punishment he had fortuneed his father.

He deserved it for what he had done. Brett turned and walked away, perhaps two or three steps, when suddenly he heard something that stopped him dead in his tracks. "'Bretty!' came a hoarsome muffled voice from behind the door. Brett stood frozen, the sound of his father's voice like a punch to the gut. like an arrow through his heart. Brett's mouth suddenly went dry, his heart racing. "'Bretty!'

The ghostly voice came again. This time slightly louder or more agonized. Brett couldn't take it. It was too close, it was too desperate. He could feel his father's need as he called to Brett by his childhood name. "'Ready!' The third time was enough to make Brett crack.

He knew, he wanted to punish his father, but this, this would be too cruel. To be so close and not make an entrance would perhaps be something not even Brett himself could live with. Slowly, Brett turned back to the door. Nervously, he pushed down on the handle and opened the door a crack. Instantly a slight swoosh of air wafted into his face, assaulting his nasal passages, the scent of medicine, death and his father, all concocting in his sinuses, a precursor to what he was about to see.