Back Across the Rubicon: Eight From the Land of No Return

I was crossing the street one morning with Ken on our way to catch the schoolbus. We were talking about G.I. Joe action figures-you know, they were popular in the early eighties. Then, suddenly, we were both hit by a car coming around the blind corner too fast. In a moment, we were stretched out on the road, lying broken in a pool of blood-dying. We were still holding hands fast. Ken wasn't moving at all. His face was a bloody mass, unrecognizeable, just a mass of flesh and hair. Then Ken's hand abruptly let go of mine. But I was too weak to help him, or myself-

And then, like a clap of thunder struck me, I wasn't lying on the ground anymore.

I was still standing on the curb by Ken, waiting to cross the road for the schoolbus. He was waving a hand over my eyes. When I came to, he gave me a pricelessly smug little look that said, "crazy Adam, what's the matter with you today?"

I remember that I shrugged it off. Until we took a step into the street, and I turned to the right and saw the car, that deadly white car, coming around the blind corner.

Which gave me a few seconds more this time. A few seconds to react, and I was prepared, unlike the unsuspecting Ken. I grabbed his preppy, purple IZOD shirt with all the strength in my body-it's a good thing Ken was smaller than me, because I managed to shove him back to the curb with my weight.

The car careened into the street where we had been standing. Ken and I were sprawled on the grass, breathing hard from the shock.

I'll never forget how Ken looked at me that day. A look of disbelief about what had happened and the realization that I, Adam Jones, his best friend, had just saved his life.

Ken and I sat on the ground, dazed, as the car sped around the corner. Across the road, the bus driver shouted something at him and then rushed over to check on us. After that, there was a lot of commotion, people telling us how lucky we were to be alive. Even our mothers heard about the incident later. That schoolbus driver was such a gossip.

But, three days later, Ken came over to our house and told me some awful news. His family was moving, because his father had been transferred somewhere to the west. California? I was pretty upset about the situation, but what could I have done? I was losing my brother, losing him, and madder than hell that I had to give him up to anybody or anything. Ken was mad, too, saying he'd refuse to go, that he'd defy his father and stay, even if he had to run away, which was more of a big deal for Ken than I can tell you. Ken absolutely never disobeyed his father, but he wanted to that night. I told Ken he could live with us, and we even made plans about it all. We'd live together until we grew old and had to get married to some dumb girl or whatever. And we said that if Ken was forced to leave that evening, we'd write each other. Every day. We'd be friends for life. Someday, we might even go to college together.

But after that visit, I never saw Ken again. Maybe because we had both shared an experience that no eight year old wants to remember, we broke our promises to stay in touch after a while. Because it was easier to forget. Isn't it always?

However, from that day on, my visions kept coming.