The Crossover

The Adamson family was on vacation, driving to visit their cousins and grandfather in Northern California. They had always stopped at this section of the two-lane state secondary road along the edge of the Sierra Mountains, about halfway to their destination.

The family had always enjoyed the site, year after year. The father, Jonathan, had known of the area since childhood when his mother would bring him there. Today, they all spoke of their calm feeling when walking in the meadow and woods.

Susan, the younger of the three children, sitting in the rear seat of the family SUV, in front of the family’s suitcases, between her sister Mary Ann and brother Junior.

I consider how lucky I am and wonder, as a fifteen-year-old, if I should even question my station in life? On these long trips with the family, I play the badminton net between Junior and Mary Ann with their banter about which one is smarter, cuter, or, as Junior claims, better. I understand they can’t argue age, but every other topic is fair game.

From memories of past trips to our grandparents’ ranch in McLake, California, and by listening to the others, I know we will soon be at our family’s designated rest stop. A special place that my grandmother called heaven. I only know of one town’s name nearby. The landscape of heavy tree growth signals an elevation change from the Southern California area we left earlier this morning, and now the atmosphere within the car is changing. I watch the tree canopy out the windshield as it gets thicker and almost covers the entire roadway, creating a tunnel. The forest shade and cooler temperature signals us to open the car windows.

“God’s country,” Dad calls out louder than the music playing on the car stereo.

“I taught Dad that line,” Junior said.

“You did not,” Mary Ann returns the shot.

“I did, really, before you were born,” Junior retorts.

“Everybody says that line. It’s the trees. Cause we’re getting close to Oregon. Everyone calls Oregon God’s country. Did you teach everybody that line?” Mary Ann asked.

I see Dad turn toward Mom and wink, accepting the backseat banter.

“Yeah, sure I did. Prove me wrong,” He often used this for his final volley shot.

“Dad, did Junior teach you that line?” Mary Ann serves the last shot on this subject.

“No, guys, your grandfather was the first one I heard it from, but hundreds of people have said that line. Well, maybe not hundreds, but you know what I mean.”

Everyone smiles as the euphoric atmosphere within the car grows stronger. Junior apologizes to Mary Ann for arguing about his ridiculous point. Quite different from his usual behavior, but exactly what we expect when we get to this part of our trip. I always knew it wasn’t just my impression of our choice picnic spot, as Mom and Dad called it. Though we rarely ate there, we each knew something special was happening in this area.

I think momentarily as Dad pulls the car to the opposite side of the road, where a wide stretch of dark green grass leads into the forest.

Mary Ann is the best thing I have. She often yells at me because I like to spy on her, but she is my example of how to act when I get older. If she gets upset about things, whether it’s Mom, her friends or Junior, I get instructions on how to handle stress in the future. There was one time some years ago when she found me under her bed while she was talking to her best friend, Jessica, on the phone. She started jumping on her bed. Of course, there was only just enough room for me under the bed. When the bouncing started, I yelled, giving away my hiding spot. Mary Ann screamed, first for Mom, then called me a rotten sneak. Mom looked mad when she got into Mary Ann’s room; she made me apologize and say I would never sneak into her room again. Mom walked me out of her room and kissed me on the forehead, letting me know I was alright for an eight-year-old. Having an older sister is great. Mary Ann protected me often, telling me when to pay attention. “Watch this kid; this is important.”

I suppose we are normal children, bickering over insignificant details. Mary Ann, now age sixteen, I’m guessing, has always been resentful of me taking away her position as baby of the family. Through the years, Mary Ann often accused me of taking her belongings and clothes without asking. She was usually right, but why wouldn’t I want to look like her? But here at the roadway pull-off, our personalities and language usage change. We can always feel it — an air pressure change. Mom, Dad, Junior, and Mary Ann talk about their feelings. I always seem to know we are standing on the edge of a different world. I didn’t question it. To me, it was just a fact of life. Maybe because my parents brought me here at least twice a year during my life, I accepted it like the blue sky.

While here, we each try to express how our feelings are different. We have trouble finding the exact words but always try, hoping to find the perfect words. Even when we are away from the area. Jon Junior, my older brother, often has the most descriptive words to explain his feelings. As I dwell on it, he has visited the area for seventeen years.

We all get out together, and I reach out for Mary Ann’s hand. She gladly takes my hand, and we follow Junior, who takes off running. Mom yells out, “Stay where we can see you,” which the three of us acknowledge by turning and looking back.

It wasn’t an official rest stop, but this one section of the roadway was flat with lush green grass. Therefore, they could pull their car a hundred feet off the road. There were no road signs, but they sometimes found other travelers also taking a break at the same spot on the long, monotonous road.

Another 200 feet off the roadway, the forest began, a thick growth of tall trees, including sequoia, pine, maple, and oak trees.

Jonathan was most interested in the trees. Walking with his wife Alice, he commented on the trees.

“These trees don’t belong here,” he explained to her. “Not only are they in different places since last year, but Sequoia never grows in this area.” Everyone agreed with him and only comment, saying, “these trees know where they belong.”

As they walked, the family always kept proximity to each other.

“Yes Jon, we know.”

“I can’t help it, Alice. I have a scientific mind, and I know trees can’t move themselves,” he said.

“Yes, Jon, you’ve been coming here a long time and repeat that every time. Have you ever considered that the trees aren’t real?” she asked.

Jon walked to the nearest tree, leaning against it with both hands and pushing. “Now that’s a considerable thought. I wonder!”

“The grass is perfect,” Jonathan continued. “How does the grass grow right up to the tree trunk? And who keeps the grass cut? This lawn is perfectly manicured every time we come here. Someone has to come here and do it. Every year we come, and the grass is two inches tall and lush, better than any carpet I’ve ever stepped on.”

Alice always held his hand and spoke softly, agreeing with his description, while watching the three children. Mary Ann, looking forward to being a high school senior, stayed close to Susan, soon to celebrate her fifteenth birthday, as she explored her own trees, bushes, and flowers.

“I think Grandma is here,” Junior said. “This is just like the place she described to me when I was a baby. She told me this was the most peaceful place on earth. Probably what the Garden of Eden was like. Grandma said there was a connection between this grove of trees and heaven.”

“Can we stay here?” Susan asked.

“Junior, would Grandma mind if I called this place heaven?” Alice asked out loud.

“I’m sure she would agree with that name,” he answered.

The family walked a little further into the forest grove this year. They could barely see the car parked off the roadside, but still heard the occasional faint whoosh as cars drove by. The temperature always seemed perfect at the edge of the grove, even on a cooler day.

“You know it was windy before,” Jonathan said out loud. “But within the trees here, there is no wind at all. I can’t believe this,” he paused, spread his arms wide, and inhaled in an exaggerated manner. “I smell my mother’s lilac perfume.”

“Sorry to disagree with you, dear, but that smell is roses,” Alice answered and twirled around, thinking she would find a rose bush.

Junior laughed and said, “You two can’t tell, it’s Jasmine.”

Mary Ann, who was standing ten feet away, looked at her parents and said, “I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad.”

Her voice echoed as the air resonated with a noticeable cacophony of silence. They all heard it but couldn’t speak. Then, with a high-pitched hoot, Mary Ann said, “Oooohhhh. This is so nice.”

The other four watched, and each used the same words later as they recalled, saying, “She began to glow. Then she began to fade. Sparkling lights outlined her body. She kept looking at each of them, smiling.” Mary Ann’s voice faded with an added echo, saying, “I love you.” Then the family watched as her body image faded into an apparition of sparkling lights flitting back and forth, keeping her outline for a second, then randomly moving in different directions. A hundred firefly-like lights flickered, then dimmed until her outline was no longer visible. The lights rose and slowly became fewer, then rose higher toward the tree branches.

The family watched in silence. Alice squeezed Jonathan’s hand. Susan reached out and took Junior’s hand, who then reached out to his father. They stood in a semicircle on the lush grass within the shade of the trees, watching the flittering lights rise above them, slowly diminishing in brightness and number. The last light twirled in a corkscrew shape and then shot upwards into the sky, becoming less and less visible, then disappearing. Susan broke the silence. “She’s gone!”

Mom asked hesitantly, “She’ll be back, right?”

Jonathan answered, “Well, I guess I don’t know. That was different.” He looked at all the family members. “How do you feel?”

“I feel at peace,” Susan said.

“Jon,” Mom’s voice cracked. “That was our daughter that just crossed over to somewhere.”

“Let’s sit here,” Jonathan suggested, bending his knees and squatting down.

“Yes, you know, it’s like this place is a sort of portal,” Junior said, sitting on the lawn. Jonathan ran his fingers through the blades of grass, pushing his fingers down into the lawn.

“This grass isn’t real.”

“This whole place isn’t real,” Alice said.

“Why do I always think of Grandma when we come here?” Junior asked.

Jonathan knew why, but didn’t answer. He remembered visits from childhood and knew the stories his mother had told him. She gave small descriptions of a place we could go when we were finished on Earth. He recalled the chapter of his life when his mother had cancer. She always expressed her sentiments to family members, of whom only Junior was old enough to remember a few of his grandmother’s memories, but Jonathan remembered and cherished them all.

“Why aren’t we scared?” the father asked.

“Because this is the most peaceful place on earth,” Susan answered as she sat, completing the circle of four.

“You’re right, Jon. I’m not scared,” Alice said. “Mary Ann wasn’t scared either. Did she look scared to you?” she asked, directing the question to the others. Each shook their head.

“Are we supposed to report this?” Alice asked.

“What?” Junior said loudly. “Oh yeah, sure. Yes, officer, she slowly turned into fireflies and disappeared into the sky.”

Jonathan spoke authoritatively, realizing he knew the area better than the others and needed to be the authority figure. “This area could be a portal. Maybe she crossed over to another universe. We need to consider bringing her back. I should call my dad. He may know something.”

He contemplated the situation.

I introduced Alice and the kids on a road trip much like this one, years ago, always keeping the knowledge of the special atmosphere to myself. It was good for the family to visit, always leaving with a peaceful, altruistic attitude toward life. Now I need to reconcile the day my father called me about Ma, when he said, “Your mother is in a better place.” I never asked questions. I figured Dad had reported the death to the authorities, but I never pried into exactly what happened. Now I must consider that my father had taken my mother to this “Gateway to Eden,” the term my mother often used to describe this place.

“How much time has passed?” Junior asked.

“Fifteen minutes, I guess,” Susan said.

“It feels timeless,” Alice said. “All the previous visits we’ve stopped here. Time doesn’t seem to pass.”

“It feels like fifteen minutes,” Susan added.

“How are we going to tell people?” Jonathan asked.

They all started blurting out answers.

“We lost her.”

“She’s gone to heaven.”

“She’s on vacation,” Junior said.

“I like, she’s gone to heaven,” Alice said. “As a mother, I feel comfortable saying that.”

“She passed over to the other side,” Susan suggested.

“I like, it’s crossed over,” Junior said. “We saw her leave. She didn’t pass. She is still alive, but not in our universe right now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alice said excitedly. “She’s coming back. She crossed over, but she’ll be right back.”

Jonathan moved close to his wife and put his arm around her shoulder. “Of course, dear, we’ll wait. It’s this part of the forest. We’ve always felt it. There is something special here.”