Lead Me Home, Numb3rs, Part 4/84
Don't own; don't sue.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Colby went back into the house and headed for the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a note taped to the front of the stove. He laughed as he quickly read the note:
He turned towards the living room with a smile. He hadn’t known his folks had known he’d always done the list. Of course, he hadn’t been much for sitting around then either. He hadn’t learned to be still until the Army and only then because it was life or death.
Colby pushed that thought aside as he re-entered the living room.
His mom had really out done herself this year. The six-foot pine looked like something out of a magazine with its cranberry garland and strung popcorn. Homemade ornaments and family heirlooms mixed with some newer glass balls to make an old-fashioned tree.
Colby’s favorite was the angel. She’d been hand-carved by his great-grandfather, Henry Quinn. She didn’t light up but his father had rigged a mini-spotlight to hit her so she was always the brightest spot in the room, even during the day. His mom’s nativity hid the spot’s source on the sidebar. An ever-growing Dickens’s village took over the tops of the entertainment center, bookshelves and a bit of the window ledge. Garland on the staircase and wreaths on all the doors made the place the Christmas wonderland he remembered.
Christmas had always been special for his family. Both of his parents had loved winter and the holiday. They’d even been married on Christmas Eve. So a great Christmas was a great anniversary for his folks.
Colby reached up and touched the bride and groom ornament. His great-grandfather had made it for his parent’s wedding. The old man had been a fine furniture-maker but his ornaments were exquisite. He’d made one for each of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Colby’s had been the very last he’d made before he died.
Colby’s hands trembled slightly as he opened his ornament box. The tissue paper fell away to expose that last masterpiece of his great-grandfather. The ornament wasn’t painted like his siblings’; there just hadn’t been time. But the varnish showed all the details his ancestor had taken. Individual lines to make the teddy bear appear furred, the tiny face painstakingly perfected, the ears smooth as silk under the finish. The wooden block the bear sat on looked like any building block but the faces had Colby’s initials, C, Z and G, and his birth year. The bottom had the only paint on the piece: Henry Quinn’s signature and the word great-grandson.
His throat tightened as Colby looked at the piece, like it did every year when he saw it. His great-grandfather had been 97 years old when he died and yet he’d spent the last few months of his life making this ornament for Colby. That was love at its purest. Henry Quinn had been the first person in his family, besides his parents, to hold Colby and he’d always been fascinated by the man. He showed that love by owning many of his furniture and carved pieces, all in storage until he had a house one day to show them off.
With a deep breath, he put the ornament on the tree. He placed it close to a little red light. The red made the varnish look darker, older somehow. Colby liked the illusion.
Shaking his head at his own sentimentality, he turned to pull the other ornaments from the box.
The fishing pole quickly found a home near Jason’s camping ornament.
His Boy Scout slid onto a branch near Emily’s Girl Scout.
The eagle his mom had given him when he’d made Eagle Scout was put high on the tree near the angel.
The wrestler and football player ornaments each found homes between the strings of garland.
Colby slid the first of his two graduation ornaments towards the back of the tree. He wasn’t any less proud of his Winchester High School graduation ornament than he was of his Boise State University ornament. He just liked to keep them apart on the tree. The bronco that was BSU’s mascot went with the second graduation ornament towards the front but to the other side of the tree.
His Alpha Phi Sigma and Lambda Alpha Epsilon ornaments went towards the bottom of the tree. Since both were longer, they did better where they could dangle below the boughs. These were the only two ornaments he’d gotten in the same year. They were from his sophomore year of college when he’d made the criminal justice honor society and been part of the student criminal justice organization.
Colby paused for a moment to look at his Army ornament. The logo wasn’t anything special exactly, but he still felt so much when he looked at it: the pride, the fear, the determination that had marked his service. His hand was reverential as he put the ornament just below his father’s dog tags.
A laugh broke from his throat as he looked at the last ornament. It was a badge that had said police. His mother had gotten it while he was at Quantico. She’d painted over the word, although the raised letters remained. The letters FBI had been painted over them instead. It wasn’t the best paint job but he loved his mom for trying. He hung it next to Keith’s Scales of Justice.
Eleven ornaments to mark the occasions of his life. He wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed by the pleasure he got from them or worried that there weren’t more. He was over thirty years old and he had only eleven moments worth memorializing, and most of those were from the first 20 years of life.
Colby shook his head. He’d known as a solider that glory wasn’t going to come to him (short of catching bin Laden, himself) and the FBI didn’t make superstars. He was quietly making the world a better place and that was what was important. Yes, he had medals from the Army and FBI but if he was looking for commendations he was in the wrong line of work. Colby didn’t think he was.
Guess five weeks in prison would make anyone a little down on themselves at Christmas, he thought as he turned back to his ornament box. The tissue was neatly folded and he started to set it back in the box when he realized something else was in the box.
Colby knew he only had eleven ornaments so he couldn’t imagine what else was in the box. He pulled the wrapped piece from the box and slowly drew the paper away. It was a wooden carving painted light green about two inches across by one inch high. The carving was of a symbol, Chinese or Japanese in origin. Colby flipped it over and saw a small word written in English on the back: hero.
His butt hit the couch cushion as he stared at the symbol.
Hero.
His mom was giving him an ornament for what he’d done this last year. For being a hero against the Chinese.
Hero.
Colby’s hand shook as he ran his fingers over the front of the carving.
Hero.
He didn’t want it.
Colby’s breath stuck in his chest as he realized, for the first time, he didn’t want an ornament from his mom. He didn’t want to commemorate betraying Dwayne and his team, hurting his family and going to prison, nearly dying. He didn’t want to remember any of it.
But how could he forget either? The looks on Don and David and Megan’s faces, the look on Charlie’s were all seared into his brain, never to be removed. He couldn’t forget but he couldn’t remember either.
“Hello?”
Colby startled at his mother’s voice and realized that he’d called his mom’s cell without knowing it. “Hi, Mom.”
“Colby? Are you okay? We can come home.”
Colby shook his head. “No. I’m okay. I was just…”
“Just what?”
“Looking at my new ornament.” His fingers ran over it again.
“Great, isn’t it? One of the boys down at the high school made it. We’ve got quite the little artist.”
“It’s beautiful. I’m not sure though.”
“What do you mean?”
Colby took a deep breath and tried to sort out his feelings. “Is it really appropriate? I mean, I didn’t-“
“Colby, there isn’t just one kind of hero. There are all kinds and what you did was heroic. I know that you see it as serving your country, but not many men would do what you did. Please, accept that I’m proud of you.”
“I know you are, Mom.” Colby sighed and set the ornament on the coffee table. He sat back on the couch as he continued, “I’m just not sure I’m proud of myself. I hurt so many people doing what I did. It just seems… not wrong, but… hard, maybe, to celebrate it.”
Marie was silent for a moment before speaking. “Well, it’s up to you whether it goes on the tree or not. Either way, I love you and I’m proud of you.”
Colby laughed. “You’d love me and be proud of me regardless of what I did.”
“Weeeell….”
In her hesitation, Colby thought of the five weeks he’d been a “known traitor.” He hurried to fill the moment. “Come on, you’d love me if I announced I was quitting my job to go live in a gay nudist colony.”
A laugh broke over the phone line. “I would; I’d just be uncomfortable with visiting often.”
Colby chuckled in response.
“Colb, are you trying to tell me something?”
Crap. Mentally backtracking, red flags went up in Colby’s mind. All the thoughts about Charlie had obviously been playing in his subconscious. “Uh… I don’t know. I haven’t really figured it out yet.”
“I see. Well, when you do, I’ll be here ready to listen.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Colby had always loved how non-judgmental his mother could be. Sometimes he forgot just how wonderful she was.
“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Well, I thought I’d vacuum, then dust, fold the laundry out of the dryer, maybe run the dishwasher after lunch and then at 4:15 if you’re not home preheat the oven and put in the roast.”
Marie laughed. “I see you missed number 8 on the list. Seriously, Colby, you don’t have to do any housework.”
“I know, but I want to. I’ll probably whip through your list and then snag a book from Dad’s library.”
A sigh came across the line before Marie gave in. “Fine. Do you need anything from Boise while we’re here?”
“No, I’m good. Just… just be safe and hurry home.”
“We will. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Colb.”
“Love you, too.”
Colby set his cell phone next the ornament on the coffee table. He still didn’t know what to think about the ornament or what to do with it, but he did feel better. Maybe his mom was right and this wasn’t about not hurting people but about celebrating the end of his assignment, finishing what no one else could.
Frowning, Colby picked up the ornament again. It really was beautiful. Not the way his great-grandfather’s pieces were, but pretty nonetheless. It seemed a shame for someone’s art to have to hide in a box because he was being morose at Christmas. He should be glad someone saw the good in what he’d done and wanted to celebrate it with art.
Rising, Colby took his ornament to the tree. He stood looking for a spot for the carving before stepping around and putting it on the back of the tree. Maybe next year he’d feel like putting it on the front.
“Okay, enough thinking. Let’s tackle that list.”
Next
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Colby went back into the house and headed for the kitchen. Sure enough, there was a note taped to the front of the stove. He laughed as he quickly read the note:
- Do not burn the house down--I mean it. We're not spending Christmas with the sheep.
- Vacuum--get the pine needles by the tree, but you might as well do the entire downstairs while you're at it.
- Dust--be careful with the breakables.
- Fold laundry out of the dryer when it shuts off- it would be nice if they were put away but I know better than to expect that.
- Run dishwasher after lunch.
- Put roast in the oven at 4:15 (if we're not home). Preheat the oven to 450.
- Make sure Colby rests. This is his vacation
- And don't let Colby do the whole list like when you were boys.
- Colby-please put your ornaments on the tree. They’re in their box on the side bar.
- Call my cell if you need anything.
He turned towards the living room with a smile. He hadn’t known his folks had known he’d always done the list. Of course, he hadn’t been much for sitting around then either. He hadn’t learned to be still until the Army and only then because it was life or death.
Colby pushed that thought aside as he re-entered the living room.
His mom had really out done herself this year. The six-foot pine looked like something out of a magazine with its cranberry garland and strung popcorn. Homemade ornaments and family heirlooms mixed with some newer glass balls to make an old-fashioned tree.
Colby’s favorite was the angel. She’d been hand-carved by his great-grandfather, Henry Quinn. She didn’t light up but his father had rigged a mini-spotlight to hit her so she was always the brightest spot in the room, even during the day. His mom’s nativity hid the spot’s source on the sidebar. An ever-growing Dickens’s village took over the tops of the entertainment center, bookshelves and a bit of the window ledge. Garland on the staircase and wreaths on all the doors made the place the Christmas wonderland he remembered.
Christmas had always been special for his family. Both of his parents had loved winter and the holiday. They’d even been married on Christmas Eve. So a great Christmas was a great anniversary for his folks.
Colby reached up and touched the bride and groom ornament. His great-grandfather had made it for his parent’s wedding. The old man had been a fine furniture-maker but his ornaments were exquisite. He’d made one for each of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Colby’s had been the very last he’d made before he died.
Colby’s hands trembled slightly as he opened his ornament box. The tissue paper fell away to expose that last masterpiece of his great-grandfather. The ornament wasn’t painted like his siblings’; there just hadn’t been time. But the varnish showed all the details his ancestor had taken. Individual lines to make the teddy bear appear furred, the tiny face painstakingly perfected, the ears smooth as silk under the finish. The wooden block the bear sat on looked like any building block but the faces had Colby’s initials, C, Z and G, and his birth year. The bottom had the only paint on the piece: Henry Quinn’s signature and the word great-grandson.
His throat tightened as Colby looked at the piece, like it did every year when he saw it. His great-grandfather had been 97 years old when he died and yet he’d spent the last few months of his life making this ornament for Colby. That was love at its purest. Henry Quinn had been the first person in his family, besides his parents, to hold Colby and he’d always been fascinated by the man. He showed that love by owning many of his furniture and carved pieces, all in storage until he had a house one day to show them off.
With a deep breath, he put the ornament on the tree. He placed it close to a little red light. The red made the varnish look darker, older somehow. Colby liked the illusion.
Shaking his head at his own sentimentality, he turned to pull the other ornaments from the box.
The fishing pole quickly found a home near Jason’s camping ornament.
His Boy Scout slid onto a branch near Emily’s Girl Scout.
The eagle his mom had given him when he’d made Eagle Scout was put high on the tree near the angel.
The wrestler and football player ornaments each found homes between the strings of garland.
Colby slid the first of his two graduation ornaments towards the back of the tree. He wasn’t any less proud of his Winchester High School graduation ornament than he was of his Boise State University ornament. He just liked to keep them apart on the tree. The bronco that was BSU’s mascot went with the second graduation ornament towards the front but to the other side of the tree.
His Alpha Phi Sigma and Lambda Alpha Epsilon ornaments went towards the bottom of the tree. Since both were longer, they did better where they could dangle below the boughs. These were the only two ornaments he’d gotten in the same year. They were from his sophomore year of college when he’d made the criminal justice honor society and been part of the student criminal justice organization.
Colby paused for a moment to look at his Army ornament. The logo wasn’t anything special exactly, but he still felt so much when he looked at it: the pride, the fear, the determination that had marked his service. His hand was reverential as he put the ornament just below his father’s dog tags.
A laugh broke from his throat as he looked at the last ornament. It was a badge that had said police. His mother had gotten it while he was at Quantico. She’d painted over the word, although the raised letters remained. The letters FBI had been painted over them instead. It wasn’t the best paint job but he loved his mom for trying. He hung it next to Keith’s Scales of Justice.
Eleven ornaments to mark the occasions of his life. He wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed by the pleasure he got from them or worried that there weren’t more. He was over thirty years old and he had only eleven moments worth memorializing, and most of those were from the first 20 years of life.
Colby shook his head. He’d known as a solider that glory wasn’t going to come to him (short of catching bin Laden, himself) and the FBI didn’t make superstars. He was quietly making the world a better place and that was what was important. Yes, he had medals from the Army and FBI but if he was looking for commendations he was in the wrong line of work. Colby didn’t think he was.
Guess five weeks in prison would make anyone a little down on themselves at Christmas, he thought as he turned back to his ornament box. The tissue was neatly folded and he started to set it back in the box when he realized something else was in the box.
Colby knew he only had eleven ornaments so he couldn’t imagine what else was in the box. He pulled the wrapped piece from the box and slowly drew the paper away. It was a wooden carving painted light green about two inches across by one inch high. The carving was of a symbol, Chinese or Japanese in origin. Colby flipped it over and saw a small word written in English on the back: hero.
His butt hit the couch cushion as he stared at the symbol.
Hero.
His mom was giving him an ornament for what he’d done this last year. For being a hero against the Chinese.
Hero.
Colby’s hand shook as he ran his fingers over the front of the carving.
Hero.
He didn’t want it.
Colby’s breath stuck in his chest as he realized, for the first time, he didn’t want an ornament from his mom. He didn’t want to commemorate betraying Dwayne and his team, hurting his family and going to prison, nearly dying. He didn’t want to remember any of it.
But how could he forget either? The looks on Don and David and Megan’s faces, the look on Charlie’s were all seared into his brain, never to be removed. He couldn’t forget but he couldn’t remember either.
“Hello?”
Colby startled at his mother’s voice and realized that he’d called his mom’s cell without knowing it. “Hi, Mom.”
“Colby? Are you okay? We can come home.”
Colby shook his head. “No. I’m okay. I was just…”
“Just what?”
“Looking at my new ornament.” His fingers ran over it again.
“Great, isn’t it? One of the boys down at the high school made it. We’ve got quite the little artist.”
“It’s beautiful. I’m not sure though.”
“What do you mean?”
Colby took a deep breath and tried to sort out his feelings. “Is it really appropriate? I mean, I didn’t-“
“Colby, there isn’t just one kind of hero. There are all kinds and what you did was heroic. I know that you see it as serving your country, but not many men would do what you did. Please, accept that I’m proud of you.”
“I know you are, Mom.” Colby sighed and set the ornament on the coffee table. He sat back on the couch as he continued, “I’m just not sure I’m proud of myself. I hurt so many people doing what I did. It just seems… not wrong, but… hard, maybe, to celebrate it.”
Marie was silent for a moment before speaking. “Well, it’s up to you whether it goes on the tree or not. Either way, I love you and I’m proud of you.”
Colby laughed. “You’d love me and be proud of me regardless of what I did.”
“Weeeell….”
In her hesitation, Colby thought of the five weeks he’d been a “known traitor.” He hurried to fill the moment. “Come on, you’d love me if I announced I was quitting my job to go live in a gay nudist colony.”
A laugh broke over the phone line. “I would; I’d just be uncomfortable with visiting often.”
Colby chuckled in response.
“Colb, are you trying to tell me something?”
Crap. Mentally backtracking, red flags went up in Colby’s mind. All the thoughts about Charlie had obviously been playing in his subconscious. “Uh… I don’t know. I haven’t really figured it out yet.”
“I see. Well, when you do, I’ll be here ready to listen.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Colby had always loved how non-judgmental his mother could be. Sometimes he forgot just how wonderful she was.
“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Well, I thought I’d vacuum, then dust, fold the laundry out of the dryer, maybe run the dishwasher after lunch and then at 4:15 if you’re not home preheat the oven and put in the roast.”
Marie laughed. “I see you missed number 8 on the list. Seriously, Colby, you don’t have to do any housework.”
“I know, but I want to. I’ll probably whip through your list and then snag a book from Dad’s library.”
A sigh came across the line before Marie gave in. “Fine. Do you need anything from Boise while we’re here?”
“No, I’m good. Just… just be safe and hurry home.”
“We will. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Colb.”
“Love you, too.”
Colby set his cell phone next the ornament on the coffee table. He still didn’t know what to think about the ornament or what to do with it, but he did feel better. Maybe his mom was right and this wasn’t about not hurting people but about celebrating the end of his assignment, finishing what no one else could.
Frowning, Colby picked up the ornament again. It really was beautiful. Not the way his great-grandfather’s pieces were, but pretty nonetheless. It seemed a shame for someone’s art to have to hide in a box because he was being morose at Christmas. He should be glad someone saw the good in what he’d done and wanted to celebrate it with art.
Rising, Colby took his ornament to the tree. He stood looking for a spot for the carving before stepping around and putting it on the back of the tree. Maybe next year he’d feel like putting it on the front.
“Okay, enough thinking. Let’s tackle that list.”
Next