Resolution

The rain fell gently against the windows of Oliver's bedroom as he lay on his bed in solitude. It was a relatively dreary day outside, but he liked it, and in fact preferred it over any other kind of weather on that particular day. He was recovering well from his illness, and the pitter-patter sound of the raindrops hitting the glass soothed him. The only other sound in his room was from the flowing piano melodies of Keith Jarrett on the record player. He needed time to relax, and listening to the master of jazz improvisation himself seemed to do the trick. Oliver knew he hadn't been acting himself lately and that his family was probably a bit concerned, but he was grateful that nobody was treating him like some kind of mental case. His wife and sons appeared to understand that he was going through some sort of strange mood swing, but that was probably only because they attributed it to his recent fever. He knew that they couldn't possibly understand what he was going through because even HE didn't know exactly what it was. Was his past catching up to him psychologically? Did he even desire anything at all from his past? Was he worried about the future? He didn't know. He would have loved to simply classify it as a "mid-life crisis", but honestly, he wasn't sure if that was what it was. "Stop thinking about it," he told himself. "It doesn't matter. It'll all work itself out in the end. The end. The end to all this anxiety, to this paranoia, this confusion. When will it be the end?" He knew the answer, but at the same time, he didn't know.
All of a sudden, Oliver heard a loud boom and felt the walls and floor of his Thallow Flats apartment tremble. He shot up out of bed and stumbled onto the ground in a panic. The room suddenly got a whole lot darker. "What the--?" He had no idea what had just happened. He knew it had to be some kind of explosion, though. That sound couldn't have belonged to anything else. He looked across his bed at the window and saw that a thick smoke cloud and pieces of debris had covered the glass. Getting up quickly, he opened his bedroom door and raced into the living room.
"Dad!" yelled Jonathon, who looked just as shocked as he was. "What's going on?" "I don't know," said Oliver. "Where's your mother? Have you seen Wilbur anywhere?" "They went out to the store about half-an-hour ago," said Jonathon. "Did something explode?" Before Oliver could reply, he felt a sudden wave of lightheadedness coming on, and crouched to the floor immediately. "Whoa, hold on, got up too fast," mumbled Oliver as he sat there holding his head. A few seconds later he could start to see clearly again and got back up. "God, I hate that. Okay, Jonathon, follow me downstairs. Whatever that was, we probably shouldn't stay inside. You hear me?" "Yeah," said Jonathon. As they hurried downstairs, they could see other residents of Thallow Flats heading outside to see what exactly had exploded. They ran out the front door and looked to the right, where the empty lot had a gigantic smoke cloud and fire erupting from a large crater right in the middle of it. "Well, I'll be damned. They blew up the lot," murmured Oliver. "Now I've seen it all." And at that moment, he felt he truly had. And he felt fine.

Chapter 5

Oliver slowly walked down the sidewalk in the brisk evening simply because he needed some time to collect himself after a strange week. The cold air felt good blowing against his face, and every time he took a breath, it was cold enough so he could see it. There was a full moon overhead and a clear sky, so that he could make out several constellations in the stars; if it were not for all the street lamps the sky would be completely lit up with them. He remembered looking up at the night sky in Scotland as a small child, when his sense of imagination and innocent wonder was all he needed in order to have a happy life. He recalled his father watching the stars with him on chilly nights such as this one, and remembered him pointing out which bright lights were Mars, Venus, and Mercury, and which were suns that each had their own individual planets floating around them. Half the time he didn't know exactly what his father was talking about, but he still believed every word he said. Oliver looked up to his father, who seemed to know everything about not only the world, but about everything in the universe.

Oliver was 13 years old when he heard the knock on the door that would change his life forever. As he watched his mother answer the door to find two authorities standing there, his heart sank because he felt at that point that something terrible had happened. It turned out his father had been killed in a car accident on his way to work that morning. From that point on, Oliver never had a point in his life where he felt completely safe or secure, all because the airbag in his father's truck failed to open that one morning.

"Ah Dad," he said aloud. "Why'd you have to go?" He wasn't angry, though. He even cracked a thin smile when he thought of his father's kooky sense of humor and how he probably laughed at the whole situation when he got up to heaven. Just thinking about his father made him feel good, because he was one of the only people who ever HAD made him feel good about himself. These days, it wasn't so easy for Oliver. Oliver looked at his watch and saw that he had been walking around for an hour and a half, and figured he should probably get back home to his family. They are, after all, his life, he thought to himself. He was fortunate enough to have his wife and two sons who love him no matter what, and he seemed to forget that from time to time.

Oliver was walking past the auto mechanics shop when he heard a loud clanging noise coming from inside the building followed by a loud yell. "What the--?" Oliver said loudly in surprise. "Hello? Are you all right in there?" He figured there must have been somebody in there, and whatever they were yelling about, it probably wasn't good. There was no answer at first. Oliver yelled again, "Hey! Is there anybody in there? I heard somebody shout!" There still was no answer, but when Oliver put his ear against the stained, blurry windows to the shop, he heard what sounded like someone stumbling around, knocking into things, and audibly cursing every two seconds. Oliver then decided to open the front door and see if whoever was in there needed any help. He opened the door and walked inside, finding himself inside a large garage with a car jacked up in the middle of the room. There was a dim light on in the far corner of the room, and right in front of it, Oliver saw a man sitting on a chair clutching his hand and mumbling to himself. "Hey, are--are you all right?" Oliver asked the man quietly so as not to startle him from behind. Too late; the man jumped, said "Whoa!", and nearly fell off his chair as he looked at Oliver in surprise.

"Who're you?" he asked. The man had a Southern accent, and was still clutching his hand. "Sorry, I was outside your shop and I heard you scream. I just came in to see if you were all right." "Oh..." he said. Then he looked down at his hand. "Yeah, I just, uh, got my hand slammed by the hood of this here car." He winced as he peeked underneath the bandage on his hand. "I reckon it ain't too bad, but I'ma tell you right now, it still hurt REAL bad." He chuckled as he looked back at Oliver. "Sorry, the name's Jimmy. What's yours?" "Oliver Stone, nice to meet you," said Oliver, relieved that he wasn't going to have to perform CPR on anybody that night. "Well, it sounded pretty bad, are you sure you're okay?" asked Oliver, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Oh yeah, ain't the first time that happened to me. Been working on cars since I was a kid, and when you been doing it that long, you're bound to get banged up pretty durn good by these things," Jimmy said as he patted the hood of the car next to him.

"So, uh...you like cars, Oliver?" Jimmy said, probably just trying to make some small-talk. "Well, to be honest, Jimmy, not really. It's just I've sort of had a....bad experience, uh...relating to cars," Oliver said. "Bad experience, huh?" asked Jimmy. "Well, if ya don't mind me inquirin', what happened?" "Well, uh....my...my father was killed in an accident....when I was 13," Oliver told him softly. "Oh. I'm...sorry, Oliver. I...I know how that feels," said Jimmy. "My dad....died when I was young, too." "I'm sorry," said Oliver. There was a brief silence, and then Oliver said with a courteous smile, "Well, I'm glad your hand's alright, Jimmy. I should probably get going, though." "Oh yeah, thanks, I should get finished with this dang car myself. Nice meetin' ya, though." "You too," said Oliver, and he walked out of the garage. As he continued to walk towards Thallow Flats, he felt strangely comforted by his run-in with Jimmy. He felt like someone else understood him, and even if Jimmy hadn't fully understood Oliver's predicament, he at least was good enough to extend some kindness towards him. Maybe his week hadn't turned out so bad after all.

Chapter 4

Oliver lay in his bed in the mid-afternoon, looking around the room as it were a cage, and he was the feverish bird wanting to escape. It had been two days since his strange hallucinatory dream of the girl and her questions he could not answer. He felt extremely cooped up inside his small apartment bedroom, with the lights always off and the sunrays faintly shining through the thick curtains, leaving a gloomy look within the room. With his fever gradually disappearing and his health being regained, Oliver decided it was time he got up from his bed and actually move his limbs for the first time in a couple of days. He sat up, and noticing that his head didn’t feel so stuffy and clammy, he got enough strength to rip away the covers and simply get out of bed within a few seconds. His fever seemed to have almost completely gone away, and nothing could have made him happier.

“Ahhhh…” he sighed as he stretched and opened the curtains to a bright, blinding glare from the sun on the cold window. He felt fully rejuvenated, and at that point in time he wasn’t even thinking of his strange, haunting experiences during the past week; in fact, he wasn’t thinking much at all. He just felt good. After making his bed and letting more light into the apartment, he took a hot shower, made a breakfast of toast and eggs, and began playing a Keith Jarrett album on the record player. As he sat back on his bed and ate his breakfast, he attempted to wonder why exactly he had been feeling so strange lately, and even more so, why he suddenly felt so carefree. To his surprise, he simply couldn’t remember what had irked him so much about the past several days. He thought about the morning when he was disturbed by the silence of his apartment, he thought about the gangster movie on TV that had made him surprisingly uncomfortable, and in no way could he forget the dream of the girl. He tried to find a reason for his unusual emotions, but somehow he couldn’t come up with a logical answer. Besides, there was no point in trying to rationalize his past misery, and as he finished his breakfast, he decided to take a walk around the town.

It was about 8:00 when Oliver walked out the door into the second-story hallway of Thallow Flats. His family was already home, so there was no need to lock the door. He walked downstairs and was almost out the door when he turned the corner in the hallway and ran right into a man walking the opposite direction. “Whoa!” exclaimed Oliver, as he stopped in surprise. “Sorry, are you alright? I didn’t see you there.” The man looked up, and Oliver instantly recognized him, from where he couldn’t remember. “Oh…yeah, I’m fine,” the man said. “It’s okay. Sorry about that.” He began to walk past Oliver, but Oliver turned around and said, “Sorry, but don’t I know you from somewhere?” The man turned towards Oliver with a puzzled look on his face and said, “Um…I…don’t know. My name’s Ace, but I don’t know–“ “Oh yeah, Ace!” Oliver said, suddenly remembering who he was. “That’s right, I remember you from poker down at the tavern. I don’t know if you remember me, though, it was a while ago, and I’ve only been a few times.”

“Oliver?” said Ace, looking closely at him. “Hey, yeah, I remember you. How’s it going?” “Not too bad,” said Oliver, trying not to get into an explanation of his strange whirlwind of emotions from the past week. “How’ve you been? Are you still playing down there?” “Yep, still playing, but it’s been a little…slow lately,” said Ace, looking off to the side and seeming a bit tired. “Oh. Well, yeah, I guess sometimes you just seem to hit a dry spot, you know?” Oliver said, trying to understand exactly what he meant by that. “Well, it was good seeing you, Ace.” Ace looked back at Oliver and said, “Oh yeah, you too. I, uh, guess I’ll see you around.” “See ya,” replied Oliver. Oliver then walked out onto the street and tried to remember why he stopped going to the poker nights. “Oh well,” he thought. “This isn’t the time to think. This is the time to just walk.” And so he walked out into the night.