Ruins
The dilemma had me in an MMA (mixed martial arts) headlock only worse. At least in MMA they have a time limit.
Making a slight turn of the steering wheel, I entered the traffic circle and felt my body shiver. I told myself, ‘Do it, keep going, face it. Once you do, you can finally put it behind you, throw off the burden, let your mind rest.’
Bearing right at the end of Wagner Ford Road, I exited the traffic circle pointing my rented Corolla northward on North Dixie Drive. Traveling another half mile, I made a right turn entering the Rite Aid pharmacy parking lot. I crept past the pharmacy heading straight for the abandoned concrete slab in front of me. Parking a few feet from the weather-worn concrete slab, I pondered my next move, ’Why am I here? Why dig up painful memories, the sleepless nights, the paranoid fear of getting caught? Why dig up a disturbing event that’s over? What good will that do? Instead of digging it up and examining the ‘bones’ why not leave it buried, leave it deep in the ground where it belongs? Why not leave the memory alone, let it rest, let it be?’
My mind shifted.
’Get out, relive the night, face it. Destroy the demons, get it out of your system. Facing the truth is the way to go. Remember what the preacher says, ‘The truth will set you free!’ So do it! For God’s sake – do it! Get out of the car – confront the memory. Remember what happened. Remember until it has no effect. Don’t let it control you anymore!’
Trancelike, I heard the car door close behind me and found myself walking towards the concrete slab where the ‘Living Room’ nightclub used to stand.
Memories gushed over me like New Orleans floodwaters, ‘This is where we stood when we heard the painfilled groan coming from the back of the building. And that’s where the front door used to be.’ I remembered his words from all those years ago, ‘You get the door. I don’t want to touch anything yet.’
Of the two people on the planet who knew what happened that night, I’m the only one left. A half hour ago I stood at his gravesite reading the accolades, ‘One of the most accomplished doctors in US history … a world-renowned cardiologist … graduated from The University of Cincinnati medical school in 1991 … died 11 December 2018, Dayton, Ohio, age 59, gone too soon.’
I retraced our steps from that night, ‘This is where we walked, yeah down the parking lot in the darkened area and through to the hotel parking lot next door.’ The ‘next door hotel’ is where I stayed during that fateful summer of 1986. I looked at where the old Travelodge used to stand, nothing but an abandoned slab of concrete. I began feeling the same distress I felt that night, the same fears. I shook them off, ‘It’s over. You made it. You survived. You got nothing to worry about, nothing to feel guilty about, you did the right thing.’
I turned right and cut between the old Travelodge to my right and the old Denny’s to my left. In my mind’s eye, I could see the old Denny’s restaurant, but all that remained is another slab of concrete. A vivid memory from that night smashed into my forehead, ’Wow, I sat at the counter ‘til four in the morning drinking coffee. Staring into oblivion wondering what to do, what’s the right thing to do, how do I handle this, should I tell someone, should I go to the police?’
The dilemma had me in an MMA (mixed martial arts) headlock only worse. At least in MMA they have a time limit. This headlock wouldn’t let me go. The friendly waitress that night offered me food, “How ’bout something to eat,” she said, “You been drinkin coffee all night, you need something in your tummy. How ‘bout a grand slam breakfast; that’ll get ya going?’ But I couldn’t eat. If you’re on the sinking Titanic, are you going to order breakfast? And my Titanic wouldn’t sink, it just kept threatening to sink. At least, if I went down with the ship, it’d be over, done, finished. But no, my ship kept threatening to sink, dragging it out over years, causing distress, anguish, fright. The disaster, always about to happen, always a threat hanging over my head, but … doesn’t happen.
I walked back to my car, got in and, through the rolled down window, glanced over the scene; the ‘Living Room’ nightclub, the Travelodge and Denny’s all reduced to concrete slabs; nothing but ruins. A thought came rushing forward, ‘Why not make the memory from that night a ruin too? Demolish it, break it down so all that’s left is a barren concrete slab, nothing there, gone, disappeared, forgotten?’
But how? Even after all these years, the memory is too strong, too hard pressed into my brain, like a cattle branding on the inside of my forehead, permanent. Even after all these years, I feel the same pain from that night, the same anguish, the same terror.
I took a few deep breaths, closed my eyes and began chanting an unimaginative, almost involuntary, mantra, ‘What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What …?’ I fell into a dreamy state. A minute, ten minutes or an hour elapsed when suddenly, my eyes opened up to the size of manhole covers, awakened by the ‘voice’ of my subconscious mind, ‘Tell the story. The whole story. The truth of what happened that night. Release it to the world, get it out in the open, the truth will set you free!’ I called out through the open car windows, ‘Yes, that’s it, I can’t keep it bottled up any longer!’
The story you’re about to read is ‘the story.’ I’ve never told anyone. So, here it is, the truth of what happened that summer night in Dayton Ohio …
