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Tale of Two Past Wars - By CNJ - An Amerika/War of the Worlds Fanfiction Story
Suzanne:
Ever since I left the United States in the early 1990s and settled in Ireland, I have only been back to the US for most Thanksgivings, a few Christmases and a week or two one summer.
The forays to the US have been mostly to visit my grown daughter Debi, who today lives in Vermont with her husband Caleb and their two grammar school-age children, Ariella and Evan, and to visit one of my dearest friends, Marion Andrews.
Marion is Caleb’s mother. Marion and I have been friends since middle school.
Our lives moved in different directions when we were fourteen...midway through freshman year of high school...and I had to move away and move in with an aunt and uncle after my older brother Robert ran away and my mother’s instability and drinking made our childhood home too unstable.
I’ll never forget the winter day that we cried in each other’s arms when we had to say goodbye.
We’d written over the years as we finished growing up...we were finally able to re-unite by the mid-1990s after Marion settled in Vermont and I was in Ireland.
Today, we are proud grandmums to two lovely grandchildren.
Now I’m heading back to the States unexpectedly this September after receiving a ring from a grave Harrison Blackwood, a former US colleague of mine, that John Kincaid is now dead.
•••••••••••••
I landed in the Salt Lake City airport where I met Debi, who’d also flown in.
The other times I’ve flown into the US is Vermont, twice in New York City and twice in Washington, DC.
The first time I flew into New York and the two times I flew into DC was for international scientist team conferences as I’m a microbiologist.
“Harrison’s flight is due in about three hours,” Debi told me after we hugged.
Harrison, an astrophysicist, today lives in Seattle, Washington, where he does research for various science firms.
Harrison also married two years ago to a wonderful lady, Janice, who is an archeologist and who has a grown daughter who is close to Debi's age.
Occasionally, Harrison and I have met in a few places since we parted ways after the war battling the Mortax, then the Morthrens.
But this was my first time in Utah, which brings me a touch of apprehension.
New England, New York City and the DC metro area are just a few places in the US I feel safe in, especially landing in an airport, so I was glad Debi was here to meet me on this trip.
“Did Harrison tell you what John died of?” I asked as we headed to the car rental area to drive to the hotel room we’ve reserved.
“No,” Deb shook her head as she re-tied her long blond braid. “He was mostly cryptic.”
“I know John was struggling with addiction and went through rehab,” I said. “He seemed to be doing better in the past year.”
We put our bags down in the hotel room we'd be sharing for the next few days, then decided to have lunch at the downstairs restaurant.
I texted Harrison to let him know that Debi and I had arrived and that we’d meet him back at the airport when he arrived.
As we ate, my daughter and I did lots of catching up.
“Ariella is going on her first camping trip in early November with her Campfire troop,” Debi told me. “Evan’s class went on a field trip last Thursday to a site on the Underground railroad.”
“Wonderful.” I almost always smile at the mention of my two grandchildren. “How’s Caleb?”
“Doing great,” Deb confirmed. “He loves his position in the Burlington City Council...how’re Gretchen and Ilse doing?”
“Keeping me on the balls my feet,” I said in a light amusement. “They’re brilliant and cutting edge with the research and theories.”
Gretchen and Ilse are two friends I met about a year after I moved to Ireland. Like me, they’re microbiologists.
They’re two of the few people who are aware of the war with the extraterrestrials that tried to invade Earth in the late 1980s.
The three of us meet every so often for lunch or dinner and brainstorm scientific research ideas. We also talk about all manner of different life topics.
Gretchen is a grandmum like me while Ilse has a dozen nieces and nephews.
As we wound up our lunch, the time came close to meet Harrison at the airport.
•••••••••••••
“Suzaaaaaanne...Debiiii…” Harrison crooned as Harrison, Debi and I ran into each other’s arms in a three-way hug.
“Harrison!” Debi crowed.
“Harrison, it's so good to see you again,” I greet, feeling his warm hug.
Even his curly graying beard feels wonderful. He looks great...his curly hair is graying and he’s put on a bit of weight with age, but he looks great.
As we walked out of the airport to the rental car, Harrison finally filled us in on what had happened with John Kincaid, who was with us and part of the second part of the war with the Morthrens.
“He seemed to be doing well for a while,” Harrison told us on the way to the hotel. “Was working in the archives of the records of the war in Salt Lake. Was married briefly, but he and Kaitlin broke up after a few years.”
I remembered John telling us by text about Kaitlin and their marriage, then the divorce.
“It wasn’t so much that divorce, but several relatives of Kaitlin’s were, for lack of a better word, dysfunctional. The archives John was working in became unstable as employees were being laid off. John took to going to happy hours to deal with it all,” Harrison’s blue eyes grew grave.
“Oh, my God.” One of my hands fluttered to my mouth and I felt a tingle of tears threatening to well in my eyes.
“It was a mail carrier who found John on his living room couch passed out,” Harrison told us grimly. “He was taken to the hospital, but it was too late.”
We parked at the hotel, all of us silent, somber and grave.
John Kincaid is actually the third colleague from our extraterrestrial war who we’ve lost to death.
Two other colleagues and friends, Paul Ironhorse and Norton Drake, died during the war in the late 1980s.
As we entered the lobby, I had to blink back tears...sometimes, I still cry over Paul and Norton, who’d become dear friends of ours.
Debi reached out and held my hand, for which I was grateful...not only for her support, but also so I wouldn’t wipe my eyes and start crying in the lobby.