Short Story: Tommy Says Goodbye

Short Story: Tommy Says Goodbye

The first time the unbelievable thing happened, Tommy’s mother barely noticed it. The eight year old had always been very creative in his bedtime prayers and asked the Lord for blessings not only for his numerous friends but also for most members of his extended family. Although she suspected that the long list was a ruse to postpone bedtime a little more, Monica always sat on his bed patiently and waited for him to come to the end of his litany. That evening after saying Amen the boy added, “Goodbye, Grandpa.” His mother did not think it was unusual that he mentioned her father, although Tommy hadn't seen him in over a year, but the wording had seemed somewhat surprising.

Early the next evening her brother called and told her that their father had passed away during the afternoon. Since he was 87 years old and had suffered from Alzheimer’s disease for several years, it did not come as a shock to anybody except Monica who briefly remembered Tommy’s strange goodbye greeting. But she was so busy with the arrangements for the funeral that she soon forgot all about it. The memory of the incident did not come back to her until, a few months later, when Tommy added “Goodbye, Aunt Clara” to his evening prayer.

Monica who had not mentioned anything about their son’s first strange farewell, now told her husband about it. She asked him if he thought it was possible that there might have been a connection between it and her father’s death. Bill only laughed. “And now you’re worried about Clara? I’m sure your aunt is fine, it was just a fluke that Grandpa died the very next day. You can’t seriously believe that Tommy’s prayer had anything to do with it,” he said.

“You’re right, of course you’re right. I really don’t know what I was thinking,” she answered, somewhat relieved.

However, when Aunt Clara’s daughter called the next day to let Monica know that her mother had died that morning, Bill saw his wife go pale. Although he tried to assure her that it was just another coincidence, he, too didn’t sleep well that night. But while both thought about Tommy, they did not talk about him or his prayers.

When several months passed without any unusual happenings, they had almost forgot the incidents. But one evening there was again an add-on to Tommy’s prayer. “Goodbye, Uncle Walter,” he said. His mother hastily kissed her son goodnight before she rushed to the telephone. Bill looked at her strangely as she dialed her cousin’s number with shaking fingers.

“Hi Renee, is Walter okay?” Monica asked breathlessly when her cousin’s wife answered. The woman laughed. “Why shouldn’t he be all right? And why do you sound so scared?” Monica tried to calm herself because she did not want to alarm Renee. “I’m not scared, I’m just a bit out of breath from climbing the stairs.” And in order to give credence to her fib, she added, “After all, none of us as young as we used to be. But you’re both all right?”

“Yes, Monica, we are fine. But I’m sorry I have to cut you short. Normally I’d love to talk, but I have to hurry. We’re going to a party at the Millers’ for their Silver Wedding Anniversary. You remember the Millers, don’t you? They used to be our neighbors, but now they live on your street, just a block or two from your house. They’re having a huge celebration, and we’re late as usual. So please forgive me for hanging up. I’ll call you in the next few days, I promise.”

With a deep sigh of relief Monica sank into a chair next to her husband who was watching television. “Let me guess, another goodbye from Tommy?” Bill asked. His wife nodded and added, “But Walter is fine, I am so glad.”

“At least now you know definitely that your worries were all for nothing, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I don’t know why I made so much of this thing. Let’s just relax and watch the show.”

It was almost midnight when they heard the sirens. Monica looked out. “There must have been a bad accident, I can see several police cars, the fire department and two ambulances, no, three.” Suddenly she turned around. “You don’t think it could be . . . ? The Millers live in that direction.”

“Of course not, darling, you’re letting your imagination run away with you. And now it’s time for bed, I’m tired.”

At that moment the door bell rang. Both looked at each other before they rushed to the door. What could anybody want at this hour? A young policeman stood there, hat in hand. “Good evening,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry to disturb you this late, but there has been an accident. Are you Mr. and Mrs. Shilling?”

Both of them only nodded because they were unable to speak. “One of the victims is a Mrs. Renee Goddard. She asked me to tell you that she has been taken to St. John’s Hospital, and since you have a key to her apartment, she hopes you can take care of her cat or find somebody who can do it, until she comes home again. But don’t be alarmed. The emergency people don’t think that she is seriously hurt, nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, but the doctor wants to keep her at least overnight to make sure that there is nothing else wrong with her.”

“And her husband, what happened to her husband?” Monica finally managed to ask, but her voice did not sound like her own.

The policeman shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Goddard was killed outright. The car that hit him smashed into the driver’s side, and he never had a chance.”

For the first time in her life, Monica fainted. Bill just managed to catch her before she fell to the floor. When she came to, she was lying on the couch. “Are you all right, darling?” she heard her husband’s anxious voice. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and tried to remember what had happened. And then it came back to her. She moaned. “So Walter is really dead?” she asked, afraid of the answer. Bill nodded. He, too, was shocked.

Neither mentioned Tommy and his weird greetings, but they both pondered the three coincidences. Could there be any connection? The idea seemed preposterous, but still they wondered.

It was not long before Tommy struck again. “Goodbye, Daddy,” were the last words of his prayer about three weeks later. Monica started shaking. She decided not to mention this to Bill, but he noticed her abstraction and wormed the truth out of her. While he tried to appear calm and unconcerned, his wife saw the fear in his eyes. They both tossed and turned all night, and in the morning Monica said, “Darling, I know we do not really believe that there is anything to Tommy’s goodbyes, but let’s not take any chances. Why don’t you stay home just in case?”

“I would love to but I can’t, there are some things that I need to do in the office,” Bill responded unhappily.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” his wife said in desperation. “Please be extra careful all day long, watch every step, I beg of you.” Bill promised to watch out and left for work, somewhat reluctantly. He, too would have preferred to stay home.

When he returned that evening, much later than usual, Monica had been crying off and on for almost an hour because she was afraid that something had happened to him. She fell on his neck in relief and then asked why he was so late and how his day had gone.

“You should have seen me this morning,” now Bill could laugh about his fears since they had proved groundless, “I drove as slowly as possible, avoiding all busy intersections and taking quiet side streets. I moved over for anybody who wanted to pass; for once I did not mind being late for work. At the office, I did not take the elevator, I walked up the stairs, firmly holding on to the rail in order not to trip. I locked all sharp things in my desk drawer, and all day long I looked carefully before I moved. But still, I flinched each time the phone rang or the door opened. I was so glad when it was time to go home! I stayed away from the elevator again and then sat in the car for fifteen minutes, waiting for the traffic to thin out before I started for home. Like this morning, I went slowly and took the roundabout way. That’s why I’m so late. I’m telling you, I wouldn’t want to go through a day like this again for all the gold in Fort Knox.”

“Well, my day was no picnic either,” Monica reported. “After you left, I tried to hurry the kids who drove me nuts with their constant fighting, but they dawdled until they missed the bus. So I had to take them to school, and even in the car they kept on yelling at each other. When they finally got out, I was so glad to have some peace and quiet, and I tried to get home as quickly as possible. I was just a tiny bit over the speed limit, but a policeman stopped me and gave me a ticket. I was still fuming about that when Mrs. Bowman from down the street hailed me, leaned into my window and told me the neighborhood gossip in between complaints about her many ailments. It took me more than half an hour to get rid of her, and finally I made it home without any more interruptions. I was thinking about you and wondered whether I should call you, but then I thought it might only worry you.

"In order to stop myself from brooding, I decided to bake a cake although the mixer didn’t work and I had to stir the dough by hand, which I hate. When the cake was in the oven, I wanted to start on the laundry, but I could not get the washer to work. It has been acting up lately and we had agreed that, if it happened again, I should call a repairman. It took me ages to telephone around for one that would come today or tomorrow. When I finally got off the phone and checked the oven, the cake was burned to a crisp, and I had to throw it out. Then I had trouble with the vacuum, and all that time I was almost sick with worry about you. My head was aching so bad that I decided to lie down for just a few minutes. But having been awake for most of last night, I was so tired that I fell asleep, and when I woke up, it was almost time for the children to get home. Just as I was reaching for the phone to call you, to find out how you were doing, I could hear the kids yelling on the porch, not their normal bickering, but screams of real terror. I ran to the door, and there was our mail strewn all over the porch, and our postman lying at my feet, dead as a doornail.”