Life's Soundtrack

The Spirit of the Radio

The Spirit of the Radio

Garrett Woltman coughs. It is a deep, rattling cough which echoes both in the room and in his body. Garrett, however, ignores it completely. He is used to its presence. It is after the coughing stops when Garret grimaces. It is then that Garrett notices the ache in his body, and he is never without some type of pain. The cancer living in his lungs will ultimately consume him.

Garrett sits looking at his doctor, Stephan Lowe. He has known Stephan since childhood, was one of his best friends in high school. Sitting now as his patient, Garrett shuffles in his chair, hiding the grimace from the bolt of pain which rifles through his body.

Stephan looks up from his papers, peering over his glasses.

“Do you know what happened to Kris Bellows, Garrett?” He asks.

Garrett runs his hand through his greying hair. Although he is only forty-seven years old, he has aged several years in just a few months. His frame, never overly large, has started to shrink. The inevitable wasting as the invaders in his body demand more of everything life sustaining.

"That's a strange question. I thought we were here to discuss my current state of affairs."

"We are. Do you know what happened to her?"

Kristine Bellows. There was a name that Garrett had not thought of for a long time. During their many years together as friends Stephan never mentions the third member of what was an inseparable group, and Garrett spends all his time on his successful business never taking the time to reminisce about childhood pals. Now Garrett's mind brings up the image of a young, blonde kid. A kid who always smiled and who always held a grey, non-descript radio. Garrett sees the fun of a summer evening.

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The Fourth of July was always a special time for Garrett. As a small child, Garrett’s father had impressed the young lad with a myriad of fireworks that filled the night sky. With each passing year, Garrett’s father demonstrated to him how to safely handle the various pyrotechnics until, as a teenager, Garrett basically ran the show. The good news was that tonight’s festivities were over and the real fun was in full sway.

One of the important lessons that the elder Woltman passed along to his son was that despite having expertise, lighting a bottle rocket can be a tricky adventure even during the most controlled launches. At this moment Garrett was not thinking about past lessons, he had his sites on his enemy. Garrett gulped air, breathing heavy as he slid to a stop behind some low bushes, fired up his lighter, and pointed the rocket in the direction of his foe. This time he didn’t lose an eye or a finger, and he watched the rocket soar away from him. He listened to high pitch of the missile and heard the small pop of the explosion. Disappointment. No loud shriek of pain or enraged curses to break the new silence. It was time to move again.

Garrett heard the answer to his recent salvo and tried to gauge where the explosive might land, hoping that it wouldn’t be on his head. The familiar whistle of the firecracker grew ominously louder. Unfortunately for Garrett, he had lost site of the shot his opponent had fired, he heard a brief sizzle, and then the rocket exploded loudly right next to his ear. Garrett stifled a pained curse and hurried to return fire, but lighting a bottle rocket can be a tricky adventure even during the most controlled launches. Garrett’s attention was not complete, how could it be what with his nemesis dialed in on his very location?

He tried to do everything right, and his brain told him what to do. His body, however, would not cooperate. He lit the rocket, shifted the bottle in an effort to aim it in the direction of his target and realized that his aim was way off. It only takes a millisecond of indecision for problems to arise, and as Garrett moved to shift the bottle’s position, he dropped the bottle. Subconsciously Garrett wished that the rocket might shoot somewhere other than where it was pointed, but bottle rockets have no opportunity to choose what they would like to do. The launch was perfect. The whistle was more piercing than Garrett ever remembered, and the rocket shot straight into his crotch promptly blowing itself into bits, just as it was designed to do.

“Owwwwww, Shit! I think I blew my balls off. Time Out.”

Time out? Garrett’s second lesson that he would learn on this Fourth of July was that during a war, there is no such thing as a time out. The scream of another rocket launched toward him answered his request to momentarily stop.

Garrett made a quick assessment and noted that his misfire had done minimal damage, some scorch marks on his shorts and the momentary pain right at the moment of impact. As he made this evaluation, he never took his eyes of off the firecracker which detonated well before reaching the ground. Garrett yelled out, “You bitch, I called timeout.”

Across the street a smiling young girl appeared from behind a tree. Wisps of her blond hair spilled out in all directions from her hat which she wore turned around. In her hand the approaching figure carried a gray radio tuned into the local FM station. Garrett could not hear the music yet, but he knew that the ever present device that his still grinning friend carried would be playing something he liked.

Kris Bellows and her radio sat down. The radio issued forth its song, which, as Garrett had predicted, he liked. "Man," Kris said, "there's no stopping when you're under fire, and there's no stopping when you still have a good shot. Up and away my good man. Up and away! By the way, you shouldn't use such language. At least not in the presence of a lady."

As Garrett prepared to launch into a diatribe about the use of language amongst friends and about silly games into which he begrudgingly agreed to participate, Stephan's voice boomed from behind startling them both.

"I'm not sure which of you is the bigger dolt. Is it the pyrotechnics expert that nearly blows himself up, or the girl with the radio for a hand releasing sounds so loud even a deaf guy could pinpoint her location with almost perfect accuracy. Idiots, both of you."

Stephan plopped down next to both of them. His face mimicking the beaming grins of his two friends. Instinctively, Kris reached down and goosed the volume knob of the radio. In her house her mother would beseech her to "Turn down that cacophony of idiocy."

Outside the three sat together, their conversation turning toward the seemingly deep, philosophical topics that young friends debate.

"So, are the Eagles a rock band or a country band?" Inspiration for this question coming, as so many did, from the song playing on the radio.

Both Kris and Garrett fully backed the Eagles as pure rock, nothing less. Stephan pointed out that "in no way, shape, or form was Desperado anything but a country song, period. Hell," he said, "even Hotel California could fit into the country mold, if you thought about it. That is anyone who hasn't been overcome by a bout of cacophonous idiocy."

This is how the three friends spent their summer nights together. The debate topics would change. What would their teachers be like next year? Who was the greatest guitarist of all time? Was Kris old enough to "do it"? The last question, when raised, brought a resounding "No" from Stephan, a curt "You bet your ass, should I find the right person" from Kris, and a mumbled non-answer from Garrett. Kris threw a glance at Garrett, still blushing from the conversation's topic, commenting how shooting bottle rockets in a shoddy manner might make the whole point moot.

A shrill whistle emanating from the person of Stephan's father would bring the debates to an end. The whistle, loud enough to overcome the loudest of tunes bursting forth from Kris' unnatural arm extension, prompted Stephan to rise and half hop, half run to his home. The two remaining friends would watch him disappear towards his home and would call it a night.

That whistle, heard every night during that summer represented their summer of incomplete independence. The time when these young men and one young woman faced true, albeit limited, responsibility for the first time. It was a time to disappear from the ever present oversight of parents. A time when these friends could just sit in the grass and talk or get on their bikes and ride away for long moments.

Kris, Stephen, and Garrett knew in their hearts that their freedom was measured by distance. Riding their bikes, they pedaled the three miles to the high school parking lot, a sort of mecca for their group, where they raced and jumped. The high school, in preparation for next year's drivers education class, had painted lines on the concrete. The lines mirrored, in miniature, the local neighborhood. The teacher felt that, if nothing else, he was going to be safe in the area where he had the highest probability of meeting these students who scared him to near death each day.

For Kris and Garrett, these lines were the race tracks of their dreams. Kris coaxed Garrett into racing around the curves or drag racing down what was Upland street in real life. Best of all this straightaway part of the lot was perfect for jumping.

When it came to approaching the wooden ramp that each of them helped build, Garrett noted how Stephen did not really perform any actual leaps, preferring the more conservative route. His speed crawled, and as he hit the ramp, Garrett often wondered if Stephen even had enough speed to clear the wooden structure which they placed at the imitation intersection of Upland and High streets. His jumps were more movements across a straight space with a slight bump at the end.

Conversely, Garrett marveled at how Kris attacked each jump. Preparing in her mind the ultimate maneuver each time she motored down the lot. Rushing the clear length of the pavement, her blond hair flowed as she gained the necessary speed for her monumental spring into the air, hitting the ramp, she and her bike launched together. At the pinnacle of her leap, Kris would twist the front wheels, spinning them violently around, or she kicked out the back end bringing it towards her. Each time she completed the landing perfectly and gracefully, pausing only long enough to listen to the radio placed near the landing area, in what would be someone's house on the real High Street.

One particular day, near the end of their vacation, Kris informed the guys that she has something special in mind. Sitting next to her radio, she bobbed her head to the tune, singing out loud. When the song ended, she grabbed her bike and moved to the end of the markings, the beginning of imaginary Upland Street. Now was the time.

Garrett waited next to the ramp, prepared to see something wild. Stephen was near the landing zone, prepared for the worst.

Driving towards the boards Garrett saw the determination in Kris' eyes. Nearing the ramp she seemed ready to jump, but as the wheels approached the boards, she veered sharply away and turned back to her friends, smiling.

"You never want to try the big jump on the first try. Just watch me now."

Again she reached the end of the straight-away, and again she burst forth her feet spinning and pushing the pedals furiously. Her long hair flapped into a wind-swept wave of golden straw. Garrett looked into her hazel eyes which were focused yet reflecting the adrenaline rush needed to complete this impossible feat. Reaching the launch zone, she did not turn away. The front wheels hit the ramp followed by the rear wheels, and she vaulted into the sky. Airborne, Kris released her hands from the bars and pushed her feet away from the frame. She and the bike became separated in mid-air. She let out a whoop of enjoyment. Reaching the apex of her jump, Kris reached for the bike and the perfect landing.

Except she missed.

The bike hit the ground, twisted violently, and fell to the ground. Kris's body did the same, and she turned as best she could to minimize the blow. Skidding across the ground and rolling to a stop, she lay motionless next to the radio.

Stephen, who would always be the doctor, reached her first. Garrett moved quickly as well.

As he approached the pair, Garrett heard Stephen continually asking Kris if she was hurt.

"She won't tell me if she's allright," he said. "She pushed my hand away and told me to shut up, but I can't tell if she's really hurt."

"Kris," Garrett pleaded, "let us take a look."

The girl rolled over and sat up. She lifted the side of her shirt revealing a road rash which covered her side. Her leg and shoulder matched.

She lay back down and smiled through the pain. "I'm gonna nail that jump. Do you think you can turn up the radio? I really like this song."

Stephen obliged her, and the two boys sat down with her.

"Man, you really planted on that one," Garrett screamed through the sounds of Van Morrison. Kris sat up, smiled, and brushed off her pants.

"Yeah, but I tried. I tried. Next one is up and away. It was such a rush when I was in the air. It felt like really living instead of just existing. You know what I mean?"

Garrett understood and was awed by Kris' will, but when he looked at the rips in her clothes he doubted he would ever be able to reach those heights.

Stephen looked away from both of them mumbling, "We should probably get some peroxide on those cuts."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Garrett looks back at Stephen. "Up and away. She always used to say that after her big plans came to fruition."

"Yes," Stephen agrees, "she had that vision even then. I saw her about six years ago at the hospital. This was obviously before you came back to town."

During his time away, Garrett earned a considerable income. He worked long hours and never once felt guilty about the money he rightfully earned. His business allowed him to finally move back home to where he was always most comfortable.

"Oh yeah," Garett says, "what was she doing there?"

It was Stephen's turn to drift away.

"She never left the neighborhood, really. She ended up getting a job as a morning radio DJ. She was the voice of the town, really. She was always outgoing. She told me that she had become somewhat a creature of habit. Not surprising really. You know how she was once she had a plan. She focused on what needed to be done and just did it. She never saw any reason to change. Part of her daily habit included taking the same road to work everyday. You remember Upland, right?"

Garrett thinks of the failed jump on those imaginary streets again. He also remembers how Kris eventually made that daring jump later on that Summer. He smiles.

"The intersection, you might recall, is at the apex of two hills converging at one mound. Kris said she was off to work and unhappy with the song on the radio. Of course she wouldn't let that deter her. She reached down to change the station and entered the crossing. She was never sure what would have happened if she hadn't been distracted, but she saw the other car far too late. It crested the hill at top speed and failed to stop. The impact sent her careening towards the electrical pole at the corner where the collision ended. I can only imagine the scene, but I've seen the results far too often. She must have been knocked unconscious because she did not try to leave the car. Fate can be cruel at times Garrett."

Garrett, whose body ached with every new breath, knew what he meant.

"The other car struck Kris' front passenger side. Normally not a big deal, since she was driving alone, but he must have broken a fuel line. The car caught fire which engulfed the car with Kris inside. The conflagration reached the driver's side and either enough time had passed or the pain was so great that Kris finally awoke. At the hospital she couldn't remember much, but she knew that she flopped from the car and extinguished the flames on her body as best she could. When the paramedics reached her she was near death, but she didn't die."

Garrett nods encouraging Stephen to continue.

"For three months she lay in the hospital wrapped in bandages, full of pain medicine so that she could survive. I visited her as much as I could, and she gave me the details of the crash as I've now given them to you. The story wasn't delivered by Kris, but by some mummy that was her duplicate. Her golden hair...gone. Her smile, once bright and beaming, now a frozen remnant of her injuries, pasted to her face by the lack of recognizable lips. Her anguish, constant even with the morphine that her doctors pumped into her system."

"She fought, but the injuries were too severe. The body can take only so much. the last time I saw her her body was literally a shell of what she used to be. She motioned to me with her eyes, her body could not move a muscle, and I bent down to what remained of her mouth.

'I want to go up and away one more time', she rasped out in a whisper."

Garrett looks at Stephen. His gaze tells Garrett that Stephen is still in the hospital room peering down at a broken friend.

"She suffered great pain all the way until the end," Garrett's doctor says. "I had to help her, Garrett. That's what friends do."

Stephen blinks at Garrett, fully back in his office and in reality.

"I have a couple of things for you, and then we'll be done for the day."

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The drive to his house is not far, which is fortunate. Garrett pays little attention to the road. The recent appointment concluded with Stephen walking to a tall cabinet at the back of his office, grabbing a couple of items, "Gifts", he says.

"I never really did anything for Kris until the very end. I watched her waste away day after day, and there was nothing to be done but watch. I want you to think of her Garrett as you review your condition. You know your prognosis. Time will quickly pass, and your body will continue to destroy itself from within. If you think you are in pain today, you know nothing. I am your friend Garrett. Friends help friends."

Stephen hands Garrett the items, shakes his hand, and points him to the door.

"Perhaps I'll see you next week."

At home Garrett reads the label on the bottle. Of the three mates, Stephen was the most conservative, yet it is he that provides Garrett with the means to his end. And why should he suffer unnecessarily? Garrett's disease is incurable and each day can only lead to one more day closer to death. It would be easy enough to end it. What else should he do?

Garrett sits back in his chair and ponders. He remembers a beautiful blonde girl who dared to try any adventure, dragging him and his reluctant friend along with her. Garrett sighs. Today will not be that day. Perhaps the time will come when the contents of the bottle are the answer, but Garrett knows that there is more to life than existence culminating in death. As long as he can move and think there is still time to live. With life he can still produce and have a purpose.

Garrett hasn't forgotten that tomorrow is the Fourth of July, and he wonders if he has any fireworks. If not, oh well he concludes, he can go to the store and pick something up.

Garrett walks over to the kitchen table, pauses for the inevitable coughing fit, and turns the nob on a black and grey radio, his other gift. A song from The Eagles blares forth.

"Up and away," he says to both the past and the future.

Title inspired by Spirit of the Radio by Rush.