Ashes to Ashes (3 page)

Later that evening Ashe found himself finally
returning home after a long day, one filled with a new inmate,
unanswered phone calls, and a creeping headache that never seemed
to move into the frontal cortex of his brain. It remained in the
back of the mind, lurking and threatening, slightly throbbing,
showing him the potential of further pain that might arrive at any
moment. He would rather have the full agony and discomfort and get
it over with. He didn't care for the lingering and the possible, he
only wanted to experience the present and not worry over what could
get him from the shadows.

Hit the obstacle head on, Ashe always
believed. Hit it with a truck and the drive by. Hitting the
obstacle, though, meant seeing and understanding it, which was
often easier said than done.

The sun was setting behind Ashe as he pulled
into the driveway. It was becoming nothing but a sliver on the
horizon, growing smaller and smaller, like a closing eye. Even
though some daylight still shone, it was late in the evening. The
springtime was letting the day hours and the daylight hang round
longer and later than the winter had.

While sitting and watching the sun as it
shrunk, he felt his own eyes growing heavy. The long day had
drained him, as the night will drain the light from the day. He
thought about sleep and wondered how much he would actually get.
What would keep him awake? He would have to wait and see. Some
nights he was able to get to bed at a decent hour, but most of the
time something kept him awake. Work mostly. Research on the
internet. Reviewing session note.

Ashe loved his quiet, quaint little home. He
lived in Mineral Ridge, which was a comfortable distance from
Youngstown and the madness that seemed to go with the little city.
Youngstown was small compared to the nearby Cleveland but large in
many ways, like in poverty and crime and bankrupted businesses. It
had once been a central community in what had been known as the
“Steel Belt” of America, but that steel eventually rusted. Even
though the steel mills began to dry up, the little city held on for
many years but the most recent recession had not been kind, leaving
abandoned buildings and desperate people and helpless despair in
its wake. But that was nothing strange or rare in that part of
Ohio. The recession had come through like a roaring tornado,
sucking up hope and jobs only to drop them in Mexico or across the
ocean in places like India.

Leaving work to return to his home in the
quiet suburbs was like going from one world into another, as if
returning to reality after leaving OZ. Except that he wouldn't be
caught dead in ruby red footwear. He might get mugged for them.

The chill of the coming night was already
setting down around him. A shiver touched his neck when he exited
his 4-door Mazda. Grasping his black leather case, Ashe hurried
into his white house, ready for the quiet of his home. But instead
of appreciating the silence and solitude his small house gave him,
the psychologist power walked over to his answering machine which
hung from the kitchen wall. The black box only ever showed one
message on its digital dial. Only ever one. Yet, Ashe looked and
saw a red number two blinking on the dial, meaning that he had a
new unheard message waiting for him.

It blinked like a beacon.

A message from Scott?

Ever since he had gotten his cell phone many
years ago, no one ever called the house phone. And he never used
the landline to call out. Cell phones had taken over long ago and
home phone were falling away, following the fate of the short-lived
car phone. He sometimes thought it pointless to still have the
phone line, and yet was certain that he would never, ever have it
disconnected, unless he was one day forced by the phone company to
do so.

After setting his briefcase on to the marble
top of his kitchen's island, Ashe quickly played the message.
“Hello, Ashe. I think that I got the number right, you didn't say
your name in the message. I guess I will leave a message anyway.”
Giggle. “Oh...right...this is Katherine Wright...and I believe that
we have a date tonight. At 9 o'clock...eastern standard time. Just
calling to see if it was still happening. Maybe I am just a little
nervous about having a date with someone until I at least hear
their voice. That is against the rule of blind dates, I know.
Sorry. I hope...that you are well. If...the plans have
changed...you have my number. I am pretty sure that your sister
gave it to you. If not...I will see you in a couple. Bye-bye.”

Damn! The message wasn't from Scott. It was
from the woman that his sister Sarah insisted that he meet, as if
he needed his sister to fix him up on dates. It was true that Ashe
hadn't been on a date since…in quite a while, but he also wasn't
lonely, or at least didn't feel lonely. Why would he date, if it
was not out of loneliness? Wasn't that why people dated?

Solitude sometimes comforted Ashe. Even
though he knew the longing for companionship was natural and
healthy, he understood the comfort that isolation often brought
him. Perhaps he was in denial. He admitted it to be a real
possibility. Sometimes, though, denial was a happier pasture,
covered in green grass and roaming cattle.

Lost in thought, Ashe forgot to push STOP on
the answering machine. A few feet from the sink, on his way to get
a cold beer, he froze in place. A familiar voice sung out from the
machine's speakers.

“Sweetheart,” a woman spoke. “Love you. Love
you.” The voice was soft and delicate and forced Ashe to choke on
air as if it were solid. “I just wanted to let you know...” before
the woman could continue, he jumped at the machine and silenced
her.

She had been his wife. Susanne. And she had
been gone for a little over 4 years. Ashe would do anything to keep
her voice alive, even if it meant paying a bill for a nearly
obsolete phone service based on the slim chance that canceling the
service would cause him to lose the message. Yet, at the same time,
he rarely allowed himself to listen to the message. There had been
a time, however, years before, when he would have listened to the
message over and over. It was a sick and sad compulsion. It was not
a way to mourn his wife, however, but a way to torture himself,
forcing himself to relieve the pain and blame, again and again.
Self-destructive. Ashe knew. But at the time he felt that he had
deserved repeated injury.

Hearing the voice of his wife had become
something that he both coveted and avoided. One day, someday,
eventually, he might be able to let the message go, but that day
was far off over the horizon, which made him immediately feel
guilty about the looming blind date.

Ashe repeated the message from Katherine and
then deleted it.

He had time to shower and change and make it
to the date, if he hurried. The night was never simple, no matter
how much Ashe sometimes wanted it to be. No early bedtime for him,
again. There always seemed to be someone new to meet, question, and
diagnose, except this time it was supposed to be leisure, pleasure,
instead of work. He wondered if he still knew how to meet someone
for casual talk, simple conversation.

It was worth a try.

What could it hurt?

Chapter 3

Ashe hurried, barely feeling the falling hot
water of the shower. With a quick swipe of his toothbrush and
spritz of some cologne, he was out the door, unsure that he had
made the right clothing selection. A gray button down shirt with
tan khakis? Would that work? His shoes were black and far from
shiny. He was aiming for a look that was not too casual and not too
formal. And he deeply hoped that the combination would be okay.

What did present day daters wear, anyway?

He remembered what he had worn on dates in
the past and tried desperately not to wear anything similar. He
didn't want it to be obvious the he hadn't dated in many years,
even though he was sure that his sister had already mentioned that
tidbit to Katherine. Sarah had a thin filter between her brain and
her mouth, which often reminding Ashe of a 5 year old child, blunt
but honest.

It didn't matter what Sarah had told his
date, Ashe thought. The less surprises the better. But, he quickly
reconsidered that thought when he reflected on the types of
information his sister might have shared with Katherine. There
were
a few things about himself that he would rather handle
on a second or third date…or fourth or fifth…or sixth or seventh…or
ever.

Why in the world she would even show up at
the restaurant? He wondered. Maybe Sarah didn’t tell her as much as
assumed. Ashe wouldn’t know until the date began. That fact made
him a little nervous.

While rushing through the pre-date routine of
bathing and smelling pleasant, Ashe had no doubt that he would end
up being late for the date. The time was 9:14. However, he ended up
being the first to arrive, instead. He realized that he was the
first to arrive whenever he communicated his name to the hostess,
who in turn replied, “Ashe Walters. Says here you are a party of
two
? Is that
right
?” She mockingly scanned around his
obviously solo presence, trying to spot another person who was
possibly hidden or out of sight. The hostess than asked in a dry
manner, “Someone else showing up to be your...
of two?”

The hostess was a young woman, looking as if
she had just climbed down from a booster seat. Ashe didn't take her
sarcasm to heart, blaming it on the proverbial teen boredom, which
seems to be infecting the entire teenager popular. Soon it would be
a diagnosable mental illness, like ADHD and DID. It would have its
own section in the
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental
Disorders,
the bible of psychology. Ashe almost laughed to
himself. With 3D movies, high tech video games, video chat, and
online porn, why
wouldn't
teens of the world be suffering
from severe boredom?

Ashe clarified to bored youth, “I hope so.
But you never know, right.”

The hostess took two menus into her hands and
insisted with a smile, “Follow me,
sir
.”

Which he did. Bobbing and weaving through the
restaurant, the psychologist noticed that the place seemed to be
filled to the brim with nibbling, laughing, conversing customers.
He took all the chatting people, wondering what they were
discussing. Politics. Weather. Sex. A mere discussion could tell a
lot about a person, if the right questions were asked, even if they
weren't answered truthfully. Lies could often reveal more about the
mind of an individual than truths.

“Here we are,
sir
,” the waitress,
motioning Ashe to a booth. Placing the menus onto the table top,
the hostess was swiftly gone.

Finding himself alone, Ashe began to skim the
menu, while also trying to eavesdrop into the nearby conversations
taking place at the surrounding tables. He wasn't able to make much
out, even from those close to him.

In what might have been between five to ten
minutes, the hostess had returned, accompanied by a tall,
attractive redhead. “Ashe Walters. Your
of two.”
And then
the youth was gone again.

After scooting into the booth, Katherine
introduced herself, which Ashe reciprocated. Before any more talk
could take place, a waitress arrived to take their drink orders.
Ashe was caught off guard when his date ordered a Sam Adams. It was
a pleasant surprise. For a brief second, he didn’t say anything. He
began to feel good about the date. He happily told the waitress to
make it two.

“So,” Katherine began once the waitress had
gone, “I pictured you as a Budweiser man.”

Ashe jerked his head back and forth.
“Not.”

“Your sister has told me a lot about you,”
Katherine revealed.

“That can't be a good thing.”

“Is it ever,” Katherine replied.

“I guess not.”

“So,” Katherine began again, “why did you
rape and murder and eat the brains of your mother, father, and
family beagle?”

Ashe perked up his head, puzzled.

“I'm sorry,” she explained and chuckled. “You
are the one who is supposed to ask that question. I didn't mean to
steal your thunder.”

“I guess Sarah did tell you everything.”

“I guess so.”

The waitress returned with their alcohol and
asked if they were ready to order. They both shook their heads.
Before the waitress made another exit, Ashe ordered them a second
round of beer, believing deeply that he may need a steady flow of
alcohol. Katherine seemed feisty. And he was unsure whether or not
that would end up being a good thing.

“My sister never did tell me what you did,”
Ashe stated after taking a sip of his Sam Adams. “So what...do you
do...for a living?”

“I don't
do
.”

“Pardon me.”

“I
am
,” Katherine clarified with a
mischievous smirk.

“So,” Ashe began, “what exactly
are
you?”

“At this moment in time, I am a writer,” she
answered. “If you would have asked that question 2 years ago, I
would have answered differently, as would I have 2 years
prior.”

“You get bored easily, then?” he asked.

“Do I sound boring to you?”

Ashe thought about the question and wasn't
sure how to answer it. He considered how Katherine sounded.
Spontaneous? Ambitious? Reckless? Irresponsible? Living with her
face on a cloud? Taking a massive gulp of his lager, he couldn't
help but to be intrigued.

“You are intrigued by me,” she announced, as
if reading his mind.

“Am I?”

“Why wouldn't you be?”

“Would you like to order, now?” the waitress
asked, startling Ashe with her sudden presence. She placed down
their second beers and once again pulled out a pen and pad.

“You have no idea,” Ashe answered. “I would
like the sirloin, and I want it to still be mooing at me as I eat
it. Mashed potatoes with it, smothered to death in dark gravy.”