UNTOLD STORY...

UNTOLD STORY

It is the beginning of summer in the Hamptons and I'm finding that the typical things I do at this dawn of a new day are not even coming to mind. I normally have the beginnings of a garden and I have not even started one this year.

Memorial Day has arrived and along with that are the crowds, hustling and bustling through the streets, heading to the beaches, cold as they still are, crowding into shops and grocery stores, shopping for fresh produce and seafood to get ready for the summer cookouts and beach picnics.

It had been the longest, coldest winter I can remember, so I am just appreciative of the sun and the vibrant green grass that is well established now in my big back yard.

I hadn't moved about much all winter after Fred had come by to bring in my firewood that snowy day,

My work in real estate was spotty, and I spent very little time in the office. I was not the only agent who was not busy. It had been a dreadful winter and the slow business was evidence of that. Even the rental market was off, due mainly to the new technology companies that were coming into the area and renting out houses for one to three nights at a time—no long-term rentals for them! It was destroying the year-round homeowners plan to rent out their houses for extra income as was customary in this famous resort area.

Memorial Day to Labor Day was the normal time period for homeowners to rent out their properties but that time frame had changed entirely now.

The decades-long trend of city folks coming to the Hamptons to rent a little bungalow for the summer to get out of the heat of Manhattan was over. Why rent something for a full season when you can go on the internet and get something for a weekend or even a night?

Many year-round homeowners who relied on the generous income from renting out their homes for a full summer season were now forced to rent short-term to a more transient tenant to keep up. This, or sell their homes entirely and move away. Many homeowners were being forced to do just that. They were leaving in droves.

Within one year of the way the online disrupters operated in this seaside resort, the changes in the delicate balance of the ecosystems were alarmingly noticeable.

The short-sighted tech companies know nothing about the fragile infrastructure here. The impact of so many houses being used as hotels in residential neighborhoods began to erode the healthy waterways.

A thick green scum was forming in the still water of the lakes and ponds here and it was slowly spreading to the bigger bodies of water, even the brackish waterways so essential to the balance of the ecosystems.

The still water was affected more than the ocean and the deadly blue/green algae which were killing the shellfish and other fish in these local waterways had to be removed by heavy equipment and brought inland by huge land movers and dumped so that it could be dried out, treated and burned.

The disruption of all the technology companies changed forever the rarified environment and I could feel it every day in my dealings with the homeowners who had no idea that this was happening. Between the fertilizers, for the green-carpeted lawns and the overly used sanitation systems from a hotel-like transient population, our beautiful waterways were slowly dying.

Informing the homeowners was the first step. Advising them to be patient and wait for normalcy to return, was another whole effort and it was exhausting.

All agents were explaining each and every detail to the homeowners so that calm would prevail. I am just beginning to see daylight; local folks are taking it in stride and adjusting their way of life, with the hope that things will return to normal soon.

So, with the slow time over the winter in real estate, I had begun to write the book that I had always wanted to write but had never had the time to begin. It was slow in developing but the writing was a therapeutic process that I benefited from.

I just wanted to get things down on paper—I wanted to make a few points about the real estate debacle at the same time. Public information was lacking when it comes to awareness about the “take-over” by the tech giant we were experiencing here in the Hamptons. Information as to what it is that agents really do in their work and how they make their money is unavailable; no one to my knowledge ever gave it much thought and certainly never felt as strongly about informing the public as did I.

So, my plan to write a book about it was dedicated to informing the public about what I do in my work if nothing else.

I had studied writing at Pratt Institute in Manhattan many years ago when I lived there, a course that I took to prepare myself for a future career in writing. I learned a tremendous amount in that course, and it was coming to mind a lot as I wrote during the long, cold winter.

I learned about “obscurity” in that class. My teacher was always prodding us to “write the obscure—never the obvious!” Sarah Reader was her name, and she was a gift to me. I learned everything I could from her before the class ended. I learned about life in that class. I learned about the things one never thinks or talks about; it was like writing about the shadows, things outside the lines of everyday life.

I was also missing the man I had only seen briefly during the winter.

Fred had fully recovered from his injuries, but he was battling an ailment that was a mystery to most. I learned through the grapevine that it was cancer but that could not be verified.

Someone told James at the deli counter at Schmidt’s Grocery that Fred was in the hospital again. James was always on top of the latest news in the area; he was a good source for most of the news about the underbelly of the Hamptons. He told me that the word had it that Fred was really sick. He didn’t know what it was but it was bad.

I told him “You know Fred—if he can take on a new challenge he will do it and he will win! This may just be a time of much-needed rest.” In spite of my optimism, the news did not sound good. I quickly went through the line, made my purchase, and left the store.

Schmidt’s was the place where the summer crowds always end up, and today was no different. The tangle of the big BMWs and Range Rovers made it one of the most difficult parking lots to get in and out of in all the Hamptons.

The crowds here and at the Post Office across the way made for the most challenging place to drive, even when you are clear thinking and in a high state of excitement in preparation for house guests and summer parties. But I was in a fog now—I only wanted to get the heck out of there and go where I would have a place to think.

I sat in my car for a minute or two. I just needed to think for a bit. I didn't want to head back to the office right now--not enough privacy there.

Does Fred even have family left? Is his family all gone now? Any brothers or sisters? I knew his sister, Isabelle died of an unidentified infection just before he lost his father. It was brought on by pneumonia that she got over a very bitter winter. Their house was not up to date and so it was probably not insulated and therefore Isabelle, who was a fragile young woman, contracted pneumonia and could not shake it. She died at home during the night and it was said that she never knew how sick she really was.

I also knew that he lost a brother, an older brother who had a substance abuse problem. His name was Jon, just like his father—not Junior, but Jon Stevenson, III. He was caught in the trap of addiction with no way to see his way out of the hellish prison and so he took his own life just to escape it. An overdose was the explanation—It was an attempt to hide the fact of one of the more common causes of death here among the local population—suicide.

I don't think there are any family members left or Fred would have said something about them. Certainly, he has someone to look after him as he goes through this rough patch! I was feeling somehow guilty that I was not there for him in this bad time. I wondered if he even wanted me there.

But that was an old story and I didn’t need to try to conjure up that distant feeling. I was long past the yearning and the physical reaction I used to have for Fred. That had faded over the years. Gone.  But there was still the feeling of family, somehow. We had been together as a “couple” only a very short time and it was only the physical connection we had afterward that had left the greatest impression, or so I thought.

Fred. Such a remarkable man and I don't even know that much about him. After all this time has gone by, I am just finally knowing his story, knowing things I could never, ever have known before.  But by some quirk of fate, I was learning by giving him space and time, giving him all the years he needs in order to tell me.

He always ultimately ran off whenever we were together in recent years. We were never together by a big plan, either. Seeing each other was always a surprise. I always thought that I had done something very wrong to drive him away. It was years since our affair ended but there were so many unknown factors about it that I was in a state of confusion about it, still.

My mind was drifting away from the reality that I was facing.

I came back to the present, thinking maybe I could call my friend Judith and she could fill me in about Fred and his illness. I believe he was doing some work for her at her little house in the North Sea Beach Colony. I decided to ring her and see if she knew anything.

No answer. I left a message. "Hey Jude, can you give me a call--I heard that Fred is not doing too well and wondered if you know anything about his condition. Thanks! Call me when you can!" I would wait to see what she knew.

THE BAY

Then I drove to my favorite spot, the one on Meadow Lane, across from the ocean. This is a protected area. Shinnecock Bay lay before me with the grasses flowing in the water, the green sheaves waving back and forth in the deep blue as the tide moved in. This was all a part of the Peconic Estuary, historically protected and part of Federally protected waterways.

I walked the length of the boardwalk, all the way to the end. I sat down on the last step of the boardwalk and took off my shoes. I needed to unwind, to let myself slip into the natural surroundings.

I watched in the distance as a man quickly jumped out of his pickup at the opening to the boardwalk, on the apron of the road.

He pulled his waders on, plopped a hat on his head and grabbed his casting rod all in one swift motion. He had to get to the fish that were coming in with the tide and he disappeared behind the grassy knoll that rose up out of the water. I could not see him anymore. I was hidden from view where I sat; this was by choice so I could meditate in private, in nature.

A tall white Heron stood in the shallows, waiting for the minnows to come in with the tide.

What a sight this was, water all around me as I sat on the boardwalk. A Snowy Egret swept in on quiet wings, swooped down and skimmed the water before darting off into the sky with his catch of the day.

I could not relax; nothing could keep my mind from slipping into the past—the places where I still held memories of the once vibrant and rugged man called Fred.

“Oh God, please look after him, please, please take care of him and make him heal fast!”

I decided to go back to my car; I needed to see if I had a call from Judith. I got back into my car--nothing. My phone was dark; no blinking message lights. I looked in the rear-view mirror to see if there were other cars here on Meadow Lane—none. I was completely alone here in this heavenly environment.

My mind whirled. Where should I call next? Maybe I am wrong about Judith knowing Fred. She may not really know him very well either.

"This is not good!" I said out loud to myself. I need to at least ask around, maybe head back to Schmidt's and see if James knows anything more.

My eyes kept filling with moisture. These could not be tears. I was in my favorite spot and here is where I have done my best thinking and planning. No, maybe allergies.

Then I felt a feeling that I cannot explain to this day. It was a stillness that fell over me and the entire environment there on Meadow Lane. I wondered if it was going to storm. The silence was so strange that I closed my eyes for a few minutes, thinking that would clear away the rushing thoughts. I wanted to enjoy the stillness. 

I was able to stop my mind, actually stop it from taking me down a path where I would not benefit, but where I would fall victim to helplessness.

I am NOT helpless. On the contrary, I have prided myself on my independence from all manner of things: men, money, the need to impress, the need for social recognition, material things--all of it was so far away from my real requirements. I have to keep reminding myself of all of that.

I sighed very deeply and breathed out slowly to let my body adjust to the new normal after my extreme meditation. I kept my eyes closed so as not to lose the calm state of mind I was feeling now.

Suddenly there was a rush, a soft rushing sound at first. I thought it was in my car. It sounded like it came from the back seat. I opened my eyes and looked. Nothing there.

Then a stronger rushing sound, a sound that I have never heard before. It was outside my car and as I slid the window down I heard a slow flapping of wings, like angel’s wings! And there I saw the largest swan and its partner flying in low. They were huge. Their wingspan exceeded anything I had seen before, spreading at least six feet from wingtip to wingtip!. I have seen swans from a distance, mostly on the water, arched necks and with a confidence that outshines any human I know. 

But these two were right over my car and moving in toward the water. They landed the most graceful settling into the quiet water. And then the familiar arching of their necks as they moved right past me, right in front of me as if to say: "Look at us; we are the spectacle here. Watch us and learn what real pairing is!" My mouth was agape, I am sure. They were exquisitely white, almost iridescent in the brightness of the day. 

Sadness is what came next, sadness that had no way to be released. I now knew something that had been shown to me that I never wanted to admit. I could no longer deny it.  My world was a lonely one because I created an environment that kept people at bay.

I always thought I chose it, that I wanted to be alone. To some degree I know I do like to be alone. I did choose that, but I was the type to never allow anyone to hurt me, to interfere with me. I was so programmed to NOT be hurt that I was living in an isolation that could not be healthy.

At one time I would have blamed my upbringing for the fear of being harmed. After all, my mother was a product of the Victorian era. She was so careful with her five daughters; maybe a bit too careful. I was the last child; my mother was in her late forties when I was born so I was a product of a big robust family. We all knew our own way, and when things didn’t go the way I wanted them to, I learned how to be patient until I could find a resolution. There were 6 of us and we all ended up with our own quirky ideas of human behavior.

Some of us tossed aside the Victorian platitudes and created our lives as we were influenced by the coming of age in the ’60s and ’70s. How ironic that the two eras would come together in the offspring of one generation so bottled up within itself and the next, more recent one, literally dying to be free of those Victorian restraints!

Because of this vast difference between the way I was raised and the way the real world works, I had been able to build walls around myself. That way I could be who I am and not have to rely on someone else’s influence and instinct.

I was unavailable to even the most obvious suitor. I always saw pursuit by a man as a negative thing, something that I needed to reject, almost by nature; something that I viewed as a threat to my freedom rather than an enhancement. And it became second nature to reject any man, to disappear emotionally so that I could not be harmed in any way, very much like what I saw in Fred.

He was unavailable in such a big way as well.

"I need to just go and see how he is." I started my car and drove off, back to the Village. The place to start was the hospital there, on Old Town Road.

My body ached suddenly as if I had a fever. No… no fever. Just the remnants of an old feeling. Fred needed some support and I had to bring myself together to be that strength.  I burst into sobs; uncontrollable sobs that made it very difficult to drive. I slowly took off, despite the tears.

I had to go to Fred. Now.

I went to the back entrance of Southampton Hospital. I know the way into the offices from there.

I went in through the huge double doors and walked quickly all the way to the front of the hospital, passed the full waiting room and the doormen waiting for a car to be parked.

I stopped at the front desk window and asked, "Do you have a patient here by the name of Fred?"  The woman at the window looked up and then said, "What is the last name?" I said, “Stevenson, he’s been here a couple of days, I believe.” She told me he was on the third floor, room 309. I rushed to the stairway and up the steps to the third floor.

As I walked into his room, there was a silence that was like a gray fog. The shades were pulled halfway down so the brightness of the afternoon sun was diminished. The room was so very gloomy that I didn't really want to stay, but I pushed through that, knowing that the fear I felt for Fred was at the bottom of the gloom.

"Where are you?" I asked quietly as I walked up next to the bed. He was deep in the blankets, so thin that he almost vanished from view. No answer.

I reached out, covered one of his hands with mine, and gently squeezed it. "Are you awake?" 

One leg moved to the side and I knew he had been in a deep sleep, just coming out of it.  "Do you mind if I sit here a while?" His hand moved then, too, and he slipped it out from under mine. He moved his hand to his face and rubbed the side of his face slowly, then his eyes. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers as if to pry them open.

Finally, I heard his voice, rough and uneven through dry lips, saying, "How are you? Haven't seen you for so long. What brings you here?"

"Just wanted to see if you need anything, that's all," I whispered., “I wanted to see if you are doing OK and if I can do anything to help you out. A hospital is not the most wonderful place to be." I indicated the charts and IVs, the bags of glucose and meds nearby, hanging from their metal arms.

I could see things were not going easy for him. His arms were taped up where the needles were and the deep punctures from those needles gave me goosebumps. I had a chill.

"I'm not doing so hot," he said through his dry lips. His tongue sounded like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth, so I looked around for water or ice chips. I reached for a plastic bottle with a straw and felt it, to see if it was still cool to drink, then put the straw next to his lips. "Here, take a sip. It will help you feel better". He took a long sip.

I spent the next hour sitting there while he tried to go back to sleep. He really did not seem to know or care that I was there He was in deep trouble and I knew it. No one else was there, and it did not seem that anyone else was going to show up. Where is his family? He must have someone left to come to see him; at least a short visit from someone in his line!

I stood up silently beside his bed, feeling that I should not leave. I didn't want to go. I wanted a sign that he knew, just a glimmer of his being aware that I was still there. Finally, he opened his eyes slowly and with a gulp of air, he turned toward me and said, "You don't have to stay. I think I just want to be alone here if you don't mind." I nodded and said, "Yes." I did see the deep sea-blue of his eyes; only for a moment but it gave me a sort of permission to leave. Things will be OK.

I pulled the shades up so that some sun could get into his bedside, then I was told by a nurse that I needed to go. He had just had surgery and he needed his rest.

At the desk downstairs I asked if he had family. I was told he has a nephew who came in to see him once. It was rough, though, because the nephew lived in Connecticut and could not be there as much as he wanted to be. There were no other family members to be here for Fred. His father had been gone for several years now and his sister and brother too. Then, his mother. Gone as well.

I knew his Aunt Vivian lived in Connecticut, and so I made up my mind I would reach out to her. But Vivian, Vivian who? I decided to check again at the front desk. Was there an aunt or uncle? There must be someone else! There was no record of anyone, but the young nephew and his name could not be given out to a non-family member.

When I left the hospital, I wanted to go home and just relax, get my mind off Fred and try to forget that he was so alone. I now knew he wanted to be alone—he had sent me off as if I were a bother to him. I shook off the feelings of rejection; he was really sick after all. Aside from moving in on his privacy and taking over the watch at his bedside, there was not a lot for me to do. I felt an emptiness inside that was hard to rid myself of.

I have never had a day so full of emptiness.

Yet, there was a brightness now that I had seen him. I had seen his eyes, and they were the same; just softer now and not that intense blue that I remembered so well. 

I had a feeling that Fred would improve. I don't know why, but I did feel that way. I remembered those swans, so vibrant, as though they were there for me to see something…and his eyes.

Whether there was something I needed to know about the dear man lying there in room #309 or not was unclear. I needed now to let it go, but I could not shake the idea that I would see him again. Only time will tell.

And then I slept.