When Two Generals Make One – A Caesar’s Story
By Laura Chechak-Roy
Copyright 2011 Laura Chechak-Roy
Editors: Subir Roy and Julius Gomes
Production & Design: Amit Roy
Published at Smashwords
Table of Contents
Chapter Four: 5th Row, 5 Seats
Chapter Seven: Just A Small Hiccup
Chapter Ten: The Ending… Sort Of
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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I reserve an absolutely massive Thank You for my husband Mr. Amit Roy and my sweet and smiley son. Their support has made this process a lot smoother, more than I could have ever thought possible. I am very lucky to have such an amazing family.
First I would like to give my gratitude to Mr. Subir Roy and Mr. Julius Gomes, for having been patient with all of the last minute revisions and ideas. They make it easy to look forward to future collaborations together. Thank You!
As always a special Thank You to Mr. Amit Roy. His input and dedication to all of my work is incomprehensible and if you knew him you would expect nothing less.
A big Thank You to all of my friends and family for taking interest in the first story Reverse Atlantis - Saph’s Tale, and getting a copy of their own. I would also like say cheers to Jillywon for getting a paper copy straight away because she is a such loyal cheerleader of mine. Also I would like to note Debbi-lon and Scotty McScotterson for purchasing the first electronic versions, thanks guys.
How good is your memory? Where were you when Kennedy was shot? When the Berlin wall fell? …When my dad died?
I was sitting on my back porch plucking the glow from lightning bugs and spelling my name in bright neon, when my mom called me by my full name, Antony Caesar!
Then and there, I knew something was wrong. Could she have possibly found out that I tried to flush Toby the turtle down the commode? Or that I have been brushing my teeth with chocolate syrup for the last two weeks? No! She had come to tell me that my father, the man who was as valuable to me as life itself, had been killed.
My father, (the best father known to man) had offered to work on his first day off in two years! No joke, the man was dedicated. He always made time for his family. I knew my dad cared for me. I was so young at the time. My memory is hazy at best but I do remember his smile, also his scent… lilac with a hint of spearmint. My mother had a thing for making our clothes smell like flowers. If the weather was iffy (a possibility of something being bad), she would leave the laundry hanging out on the clothesline only for a few hours, because she said they would start to go off. What she meant was because we lived near a sea, if you hung your clothes out all day, and mist came off the water, your clothes would have a fishy / moldy / musty aroma. It was not nice.
There was a family in town that used to leave their clothes hanging out all day. Even if it rained they would just leave them there! They were called the Carpenters, but kids used to call them The Carps. They did actually stink but whatever… My mom and dad were friends with them. My parents were friends with everyone. Well, the Carpenters didn’t have many friends. Not just because they smelled (at which, by the way, my mother used to hint), but they were also kind of antisocial. They didn’t like trick or treating. They didn’t really join in on the block parties, for Christmas and the Fourth of July. On the last Saturday in July, there would be a street fair where people sold baked goods and knickknacks, but they rarely got involved. Who knows why?
My dad didn’t give up on trying getting them to mingle. My dad was a good guy. He would help out a friend or neighbor at a drop of a hat. An example is the day of the accident.
My dad filled in for a co-worker whose wife was nearly two weeks overdue with their first child. The chemical plant was unusually busy that week with all of the yearly inspections taking place. Someone had to be on duty 24/7 the whole week, not including the security guards. They were testing the equipment at all hours of the day and night. They had to make sure everything was functional even if it wasn’t used during the night.
Well, my dad’s co-worker was supposed to be doing the 3 PM till 11 PM shift, but his wife called. She had gone into labor that afternoon (at that auspicious time of course). There was a trainee shadowing the inspector on that shift. He was a curious fellow, too curious really. He did an excess test. Which meant he ran a pressure check on the valves. But having been pressure checked only three hours prior to that, he went ahead with it anyway. The inspector allowed him too, even though he knew of the possible unlikely implications.
It was around 4 PM when a pressure valve on the third tank in the boiler room cracked. It began seeping hazardous material into the incinerator, causing a concentrated explosion in the quarters. Two people sustained severe injuries and there were three fatalities that afternoon. An eight-inch piece of steel pipe pierced through the side of my father’s neck, barely missing a major artery by a centimeter. However, he bled to death waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
The doctors tried to comfort my mother by saying that he would not have been in pain for very long, maybe a few minutes at most, as his body was in extreme shock. My mother said to them, “When you are facing death, you tell yourself what you told me today and see if it comforts you. A few minutes can be an eternity.” They had no response.
As for the lucky co-worker, when the baby was born they named him Alexander (which means protector of men), in honor of my father. It was actually my fifth birthday. My father was out shopping for gifts when he got the call from his co-worker. He had wrapped my present in his office and was planning on putting it in the trunk of his car so he wouldn’t forget it. As he was locking his office door, he realized he had misplaced my gift. He went back in and it took him five minutes to find it. He finally left his office and made his way down the hall.
He literally had his hand on the exit door when the valve broke. The inspector and the trainee died instantly. Three others were injured. I do not venture to think or really want to imagine, what his last moments were like for him. Peace is what I hope he had. It is amazing how so much can happen in two minutes, even if the exit is only 20 feet away. I wish I had more memories of my father. I do have a few…a precious few.
Last week I saw some brat throw a tantrum. He was probably about 5 years old, although I can’t be sure because his fury could rival road rage. He had a technique that he seemed very comfortable with. I was sitting at a food court, in a mall in town, having coffee, waiting for Saph to finish work. The place was busy and packed.
The kid and his mom sat two tables away and I could see he was chipping away slowly but surely at his mother’s patience. First, she bought a pizza for them to share. Then the kid said, “I want my own pizza with pepperoni and without Mommy cooties!”
She just rolled her eyes and said nothing. The kid decided to stand up on his chair, cross his arms and let out some kind of animal squeal. Something like a squirrel with its tail on fire that accidentally fell into a fan.
The place was so quiet I could hear the public toilets flushing. The woman grabbed the kid by the arm, put her head down and made a sharp exit. It didn’t end there. They did not leave the mall because once Saph finished work we met outside the front entrance and I saw the woman and her kid again. Only this time the kid had a bottle of juice and a soft pretzel in his hand and he said something like, “Why did you get it? I hate this smelly juice.” His mom said, “You haven’t even tried it. You might like it and stop shouting, people are looking at us.” Then he opened the bottle, took one sip, put the cap back on and threw it in the garbage can. His mother grabbed his left hand and jerked him towards her, which caused him to drop his pretzel. He looked at it on the ground. His mom looked at him and said, “Don’t you even think about it. It’s dirty now.” The kid looked his mom straight in the eye, stepped on the pretzel and then picked it up and ate it. What a demon child! The woman didn’t say a single word.
A cab pulled up and they hopped in. Before they left I could hear them arguing about him putting on his seatbelt. If that is what having a kid is like then I don’t care if my bloodline ends now. Well, I guess I shouldn’t jump to judgment so quickly. My mother told me as a child I could be just a tiny bit difficult.
When I was four, we went to see the circus. I can’t remember much but I know I was excited. It is a memory that is hazy and cloudy at best for me. I remember sitting a few rows from the stage. It was only my parents and I who went. My siblings couldn’t go because they all had chicken pox. My mom got it two days before I was born, which is extremely dangerous to get as an adult as well as being pregnant. I had chicken pox when I was a less than a week old. My mom and I stayed in the hospital until it was over. So, when one of my sisters caught it, all of the kids got it. Sucks for them but it was a great day for me.
There were clowns (which Saph hates), acrobats, a ring leader and a lion. The last performance was a motorcyclist riding in a rotating steel ball. It was brilliant. I wanted more. I wanted to see it again, just because I said so! My parents told me that everything was finished; that everyone had gone home. I stayed seated. I insisted the stunt man return. But it fell on deaf ears, because my parents said nothing could be done.
So, for the next two hours which was the journey back home, I cried and put up one hell of a tantrum. So, when the circus came back to town the following year I had a plan but my parents had a plan as well. This time I was the only one that couldn’t go to the circus. How was it possible? A whole year passed but they still remembered? I mean they were hardcore... even Santa forgave me that year.
Even though this memory is a bit fuzzy I cherish it because I remember my father being there. It makes me smile because I think of his smile. I would get rid of a thousand good memories if that meant I could remember a complete one with my father in it. Come to think of it there is one moment… One person… I would love to erase from my memory...
The experience of losing my father at such a young age made me feel invincible. Like if I was going to get struck by lightning tomorrow I might as well live for today. Perhaps as a teenager I got a bit cocky, ok absolutely cocky. Who isn’t at that age? The world is at your finger tips. When I was 15 years old I spent three nights locked up in Juvy (Juvenile Hall). I was arrested for assault and battery and kidnap with illegal transportation by an unlicensed driver. That sounds like I was a wild child but not really. I wasn’t the best student but I wasn’t a troublemaker either.
I was in between popular and not. I was not a football player or a wrestler. I played lacrosse. So the cool kids would say “What’s up?” I was not a nerd or weird, so I didn’t get bullied, but I didn’t bully anyone either. So, if you were not popular I wouldn’t punch you in the face for saying “Hi.” So, I guess I was just in the middle.
It was a Thursday afternoon and I had come home early from school because there was a football PEP Rally. Attendance was optional, so I left. When I walked in the front door, I was greeted by my unsuspecting mother and her bloody lip.
Upon closer inspection, I noticed she had scratches all over her back and arms. She was gripping her stomach as if she couldn’t breathe. She confessed to me that her boyfriend, (the soon to be deceased) Jack Holland, had hit her. I patiently waited for him to return home and when he did, I beat him up.
I don’t remember much of the attack… it is a bit of a blur. I just kind of couldn’t stop hitting him. I am not a violent person, but when it comes to my mother and Saph or any woman really, it makes sick to think a man can’t refrain from beating a woman.
His filthy blood was all over my clothes. I couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. I grabbed a lawn chair from my back porch and put him in the back of my mom's pick up truck. I propped him up in the front seat and drove him to the middle of town. I threw him in the chair and tied him to the Town Hall flagpole. I took his clothes off and tossed them in the middle of the road (I kept him in his underwear). Then I just left him there.