Shawn Inmon - The Vigilante Life of Scott McKenzie

This lifetime, then, the cancer was discovered earlier. It was more treatable. Earl went through the painful treatments with a stoic cynicism.

He died a few weeks after Halloween, this time.

Scott realized that all that he had accomplished was to cause Earl more suffering.

The rest of Scott’s life played out to a similar drumbeat.

He hung out at the Rusty Bucket and waited for Cheryl to announce that she and Mike were engaged, which she did right on schedule. By then, he was drinking heavily again, but hadn’t progressed to the drugs he had used, the drugs which had killed him in his first life.

When Cheryl and Mike’s wedding was in the rearview mirror for the second time, he hit the road again. He ended up in a different town, this time—Oceanside, California, instead of Tijuana, Mexico, but the end result was the same.

He found the drugs, or maybe the drugs found him. At this point in his lives, there was no difference.

He died the same way he did in his first life, albeit in a somewhat nicer place. He chose a deserted stretch of beach for his overdose this life.

He woke up back on the couch in his grandparents’ house, with Cheryl cooking dinner and his grandfather coming out of the bathroom.

He played through this life in this way so many times that if he had been asked, he couldn’t have told you the number.

Finally, after a particularly rough departure, thanks to a poisoned batch of black tar heroin, taken in a men’s restroom in Amarillo, Texas, he awoke as he had so many times, on the couch, covered by the quilt, in his grandparents’ house.

He sat up, looked around the empty living room and said one word.

“Enough.”

Enough.

A single word, but one that represented a decision. Scott McKenzie had finally had enough of that endless, debilitating cycle of life, death, life, death.

Making a decision is often easier than following through with it, especially when it comes to breaking well-worn habits.

When he opened his eyes—again—under the heavy quilt in his grandparents’ house, he knew that if he had truly had enough, he was going to have to do the most difficult thing a human being can do.

Change.

Change his mindset, change his attitude, change his habits.

After so many trips through this moment, he was used to waking up feeling weak and unsure of his balance. He sat up carefully, acclimating to his surroundings. He folded the quilt and put it on the back of the couch.

He heard the toilet flush and turned to see Earl coming out of the bathroom.

“Gramps? I know this is bad timing, but can I ask you a favor?”

Earl sat down in his favorite chair and said, “Of course.”

“I think it would be easy for us to sit around and mope about losing Gran, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what she would want for any of us. I’m going to call my VA rep today and see if I can get a physical therapist assigned to me. That will help. But, I’m wondering if maybe tomorrow, we can go down to the basement and start working on a few projects that will help me?”

Earl’s watery blue eyes considered Scott for several long moments. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right, of course. If she was here, she would be kicking me in the butt and asking why I was just sitting around.” He turned his head and stared at a picture of the two of them taken decades earlier. “I never thought I’d have to live without her, but here we are. First thing tomorrow, we can head down to the basement and see what we can come up with.”

Cheryl had emerged from the kitchen and listened in. She crossed over to Scott and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Scotty.”

And I have a hunch I’m going to need every bit of that love and support to turn things around.

“I love you, too. Right at this moment, I’m glad Gran taught you how to cook. I’m hungry.”

SCOTT SLEPT LONG AND deep that night. He woke up late and wandered into the empty living room. For the first time in more than a dozen lifetimes, he took the time to drink in his surroundings. The house was not large, but it was homey. Signs of Cora’s presence were everywhere. Doilies she had made covered most flat surfaces. Inexpensive paintings of vases with flowers or sunsets hung in the living room. Shelves in the kitchen were filled with jars of her canned peaches, pickles, and apple butter.

To everyone else, you died yesterday, Gran. For me, you’ve been gone a long time. I still miss you.

The basement door was open and Scott could hear Earl scuffling around. The occasional mild cuss word floated up the stairs.

Scott shouted down, “Permission to come aboard, captain?”

“Come ahead, soldier.”

Scott made his way down the stairs, but it wasn’t easy. There was no handrail and his balance was still tentative.

Earl glanced up at him. “That’s my first project.” He held up a length of steel pipe. “I’m building us a set of handholds going up and down those damn stairs. It’s only by the grace of God I haven’t killed myself yet.”

“Good idea, Gramps. Let me help you.”

They worked on the project mostly in silence for quite some time. While they were absorbed in their work, Earl began to tell Scott stories.

“Did I ever tell you about my first date with your Gran? It didn’t go so well.”

Scott smiled and shook his head. I don’t think you’ve ever told me anything about when you two were young. You’ve always seemed old to me. Hard to imagine you in the old days.

Earl told Scott a story about a disastrous date where things went from bad—him spilling a coke all over her pretty new dress—to worse—running out of gas on a lonely country highway and having to walk almost three miles to get her home.

“And there was still a second date, huh?”

“Cora was a forgiving woman. Plus, she had the ability to look inside people and see them for who they were. She was that way with your father, too. She warned your mother, but it was too late at that point. Your mother was in love.”

What’s gotten into you? Cheryl slip a truth serum into your oatmeal this morning?

“I don’t remember much of anything about Mom and Dad. Just the fights, really.”

“We never knew anything about those. If we had, I suppose we would have come and got you and your mother and brought you here. We didn’t find out until it was too late.”

“I knew that I should have told you, but I was scared of what would happen.”

“It wasn’t your job to tell us. It was our job to know. It’s the biggest regret of our lives.”

By the time Cheryl got home from school that afternoon, they had hand grips built to make the stairs easier for both of them, and had cleared out one corner of the basement. That was where they were going to build Scott’s rehabilitation center.

Over the next few weeks, it took shape. They were even able to use all the odds and ends that Earl had been keeping “just in case” for decades.

The work of building things was therapy for Scott in different ways. He got to know Earl more as a human being, instead of just as his grandfather. Plus, even before he got to start the physical therapy, the work helped him with his fine motor control and balance.