October

(c)  William Thierfelder 2024

1.  GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY 		We’re now in Brooklyn.	It’s late October.	An Indian Summer kind of day--nearly 80 degrees, cobalt blue sky, and not a breeze to be had.	Randy places the stone on the grave marker, white stone on white stone.	Rita does the same. Hers is grey, smooth.	They stand there quietly for a few moments, staring down at the mound of dark soil--and the marker, a small marble rectangle with LUZ RIVAS etched in Roman letters. 	They turn and walk down the hill towards one of the pathways that weaves among the tombs, headstones, and angel statues of Green-Wood Cemetery.

2. WEST SIDE BREW
	We go back a few days and find ourselves in a Manhattan coffee shop called West Side Brew, a favorite hangout for people who work at the New York Museum of Natural History.
	“So, how’d you solve it?” asks Randy’s husband Jake--a teddy bear in size, shape, and gentility.	Randy jokes: “Brilliant deductive reasoning and a liberal use of a Ouija board.”	“Come on.  Seriously.  How?”	“Actually, there was nothing to solve.” Randy--60’s, angular face, the bald look, cargo pants, button-down shirt--sips his latte. “We literally stumbled our way into it.  It was very sad actually. And raised lots of questions for us personally.”	“So, tell me.”	Randy turns to their friend, Rita. “You wanna start?”	“Why not?”  Rita Mendez--salt-and-pepper hair, slim as a rail, queen of the pullover sweater-for-every-occasion--raises a hand to get their server’s attention. “But first another round.”  	“Sounds good. I’ll hit the john while we wait.”  Randy gets up, leaving Jake in the fullness of Rita’s larger-than-life persona.  He loves Rita; he’s always considered her one of the great fringe benefits of his marriage to Randy.  The Randy and Rita Show has been going on for years, ever since they’d first met at the Museum, and it was clear to Jake when he married Randy that his sidekick--the irrepressible “Miz Rita Mendez”--was part of the deal, which is just fine with Jake; he rarely feels this comfortable around others.  But that’s Rita’s special talent, isn’t it? She puts everyone at ease.	Rita leans in, taking advantage of Randy’s absence. “So, tell me, Jake. How’s he really feeling about all this? Trust me, it was--is--a real struggle for both of us.”	“He hates how things turned out, but I don’t know all the details.  He hasn’t shared everything yet. He wanted you to tell me.  I think he took things a bit hard.”  He looks up to make sure Randy isn’t in eye-shot, then pats her arm. “Listen, before he gets back, I just wanna say thanks for letting him be your October roomie every year.  Schlepping back and forth from Saratoga on Amtrak--over five hours each way--and then trying to get a cheap hotel room--well, it can get old very fast.  So thanks.  Of course, that means I have to cook for myself for a month--and learn to love the dust bunnies.”	Rita laughs: “Honey, you know how I love Randy. It’s my pleasure. As for the cooking--it’s called ‘take out,’ sweetie.  And your dust bunnies?” She shrugged playfully.  “It gives him something to do when he gets back.”	“I’m not sure he appreciates my lack of domesticity.”	“Honey, he’ll live.”	Returning, Randy makes his way through the packed coffee shop.  A few colleagues from the Museum nod to him or ask how he’s doing.		When he sits down, he lets out a huge breath. “I wonder if other Museum people know?  About what happened, I mean.  About our involvement.” He gives Rita a worried look.	“Let’s not be paranoid, hon.”	Jake’s clearly in the dark. “So, back to the story. Randy waited until tonight to tell me anything.” 	Randy squeezes Jake’s cheek: “I know, I know. I’m such a mean husband.”	“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes.	Rita feigns impatience. “So, you wanna hear the story, or what?” 	“Shoot.” Jake leans back.  “What the hell happened?”

3.  THE RIVAS HOME		There are two more players in this saga.  One is Carlos Rivas, chief of security at the New York Museum of Natural History; the other is his 14-year-old daughter, Luz. They live in a Pre-War apartment building in Washington Heights--clanking pipes; steam radiators; and questionable paint peeling in the hallways. They’ve lived here ever since Carlos’s wife died in a car accident a few years ago. 	But now we need to add this final detail:  Luz’s bedroom is very small and is dominated by a hospital bed surrounded by IV polls and electronic equipment that’s quietly hissing and blinking.	“Hi, baby.” Carlos leans over to kiss Luz’s forehead and then produces a small plastic skull from behind his back.  “Look at this.” Wearing white gloves to protect it, he seems like a magician to her, pulling something magical from a hat.	Luz gives a weak smile. “Chad?”	“Chad.” He confirms.	It’s their nickname for the cast of the Sahelanthropus tchadensis skull in the Museum’s Human Origins exhibit.  	“But how?”  Her voice is weak but still shows her excitement.	“Daddy borrowed it for a few days.  For you.”	As a very precocious little science nerd, she knows the Museum and how specimens--even casts of specimens like “Chad”--are safeguarded. Still she smiles, knowing full well that borrowing--even borrowing by the Director of Security--probably isn’t quite the right word.	He smiles back, full well knowing how futile life can be--and yet how rewarding at a moment like this.

4. UNO’S
	We now switch the scene again.  Randy and Rita are sitting in Uno’s on Columbus and 82nd--their favorite hangout across from the Museum, sitting in their normal spot--the corner high table in the front bar--attempting to eat their customary salads--goat cheese, walnut, with berries for her; chicken Waldorf for him. Tonight, any food they try tastes bland.	“But do we say anything?” Randy asks. “That’s the real question we’ve got to tackle.”   	“I just hate the whole thing,” Rita says.	“Me, too.  But...”	“But...” Rita’s resigned.	Randy puts down his fork.  He doesn’t feel hungry any longer.  No use forcing it.  	“He’ll lose his job.  That’s for sure.”	“Probably.”  This is uglier than he wants.  “I mean, I know why he did it, but still.”	“The daughter who’s dying.” She shakes her head. “There are no words.”	Sue, their usual server, comes over to ask if everything’s all right. 	“Of course, honey.” For Rita, everyone’s a honey or a sweetie.  “Trust me, it’s not the salad.  It’s a work thing.” 	“Ah.  Got it. Hope it gets better.”	“You have no idea,” Randy says.	They’re alone again.	“So.” Frustrated sigh.	“So.” He attempts a mouthful of salad. “When we caught him with the T. rex model, he kind of begged, didn’t he?”	“Tears.  The whole nine yards.”	“Part of me is pissed as hell.” He puts down his fork.  “He knew what he was doing, Rita.  He knew he could get caught and did it anyway.”	“Yeah, but not caught by a couple of docents who happened to be doing after hours studying in a new exhibit.”	“That’ll teach us to be proactive about our tours.” He tries another mouthful.  “Suddenly I hate T. rex and his friggin’ feathers.”	“Our problem is that we understand what he did,” Rita says.  “Why he did it.”		“We caught Carlos red-handed.  But then we heard his side of the story. But...”	“Fucking but...”	“Yeah, fuckin’ but...” Randy leans over and grabs a clipboard from the messenger bag hanging over the back of his chair.  	“You filled out a report?”	“I did,” he says, unclipping the document, “but I don’t know what to do with it.”	“Let me see.”	“It’s just an outline.  Nothing formal at this point.”	He hands it across the table--and she reads the top page out loud:	“Report made by Randy Schultz and Rita Mendez on October 10th, 2020.”  She looks up.	“If you don’t want your name on it, I can take it off.”	“No, no.  We’re in this together.” 

5. THE RIVAS HOUSEHOLD
	We’re back in Luz’s bedroom. She seems to be resting comfortably.  Carlos enters the room, rolling in a small, two-level metal cart (which he’s covered to hide the contents).  After a brief conversation with the hospice nurse--Luz is comfortable; responding as well as can be expected to palliative care--she leaves, giving father and daughter a chance to talk.	Carlos goes behind the covering and pulls out a globe from the cart’s bottom shelf. It’s one of the several in the Museum that shows what the Earth looked like millions of years ago.  They were always a fascination for the ever-inquisitive Luz.  The excitement she felt when she saw what the world once was--a planet of dinosaurs, strange forests, sea monsters... 	And then--best of all--he carefully removes the cloth to reveal on the top shelf the small T. rex model. He rolls the cart nearer to her, putting it as close as he can to the hospice bed that’s stuffed into the room. He pulls down the side bars so she can reach out, though all the tubes in her arms make that a bit awkward.  Still, she stretches her hand, touches the brown feathers on its belly, and smiles.	“He’s something, right, mija?  Who knew?  All those feathers.”	“All those feathers.” She seems far away. He can barely hear her. “All those feathers.”	He tries with every ounce of his will to resist breaking into sobs--the ones trapped in his chest and throat, the sinking, plunging fist of tears that keeps radiating from his chest down into his gut. Such hell, watching a child die.

UNO’S		Rita continues reading Randy’s report aloud:	“On October 5th, at around 6:30 PM, Rita Mendez and I entered The Hall of Human Origins to do research for an upcoming Spotlight Tour of the Hall.  One of our first stops is always the wall entitled Our Family Tree, which contains skull casts of key primitive hominins, the earliest of which is Sahelanthropus tchadensis. We immediately noticed that the cast of the S. tchadensis skull was missing. At first, we thought it might have been removed for repair or for study, but we noted that the usual notice (i.e. “Temporarily Removed”) wasn’t there, but we didn’t think much of it at the time.	“Two days later, on October 7th, also around 6:30 PM, Ms. Mendez and I were on the Fourth Floor, preparing our Spotlight Tour called ‘A World of Fossils’ and noticed that one of the globes depicting our planet during the late Mesozoic Era (between the Hall of Early Mammals and Hall of Later Mammals) was missing.  Once again, we didn’t make too much out of the absence since all the globes on the fourth floor are either in need of repair or cleaning.	“Then, the following day, October 8th, also on the Fourth Floor, at approximately 8:15 PM (after a meeting of the volunteers, docents, and educators), we entered the Hall of Saurischian Dinosaurs. We were planning to do a quick review of the updated label copy for Tyrannosaurus rex as well as the new display case showing an artist’s rendering of a feathered T. rex. As we came around the bend from the gift shop into the Hall (at the west end of the Hall by Coelophysis), we noted that the security lights were on--rather than the much brighter, full Hall lighting--and that there was a slight clattering noise coming from the right hand (northern) corner near the T. rex. (This is the corner where the new display case is located.) We thought it was probably a maintenance person, but we approached cautiously because we didn’t want to startle him or her. When we got closer, we saw our Security Chief, Carlos Rivas. He had apparently removed one of the Plexiglas panels from the display case and was about to reach in towards the two-and-a-half-foot model of the feathered T. rex.  We honestly didn’t know what to think, and when we said Hello, Mr. Rivas was clearly startled.	“We asked him what was going on and rather than giving us any explanation, he tearfully begged us not to say anything. We still didn’t fully understand what was happening.	“After a little back and forth conversation, he confessed that he was going to ‘borrow’ the T. rex model, feign an investigation, and then return it along with the S.tchadensis skull and Mesozoic globe. 	“He told us that he had taken these objects--with all intentions of returning them--for his daughter Luz who is currently under hospice care at the Rivas’s apartment in Washington Heights. Luz is fourteen and dying of Stage-4 brain cancer; the girl has always loved the Museum and has a particular interest in fossils and maps.  The three objects--the skull, the globe, and the model--were only going to be in the Rivas household until she passed away, which might be a matter of a few days.	“Again, he begged us not to say anything. We didn’t know what to say.  And so, we opted to walk away, a bit gobsmacked and profoundly uncomfortable.” 	Rita gives Randy a look. “Gobsmacked?” 	“Okay, it needs work.”	She shakes her head with a smile and resumes: “And so, we opted to walk away, a bit gobsmacked and profoundly uncomfortable.  Stopping him then and there would have made us ‘good citizens’ of the Museum; letting him ‘borrow’ the T. rex along with the skull and globe would make him a hero to his daughter.”	Rita looks at me.  “That last paragraph really needs lots of work. We saw what he was doing, Randy, and did nothing.”	“I know, I know, but read on.”	She frowns, but continues:  	“All three objects ‘miraculously’ reappeared in the Security Office two days later--on October 10th--which we were to find out was the morning after Luz Rivas had passed away.	“We’ve heard from some of our friends in Security that there is erased CCTV footage; Rita and I assume that Carlos may have done this.	“On the one hand no damage was done--each object has been carefully returned to its proper place and each object may have brought great joy to a dying girl.  Yet the question of doing these things without permission or knowledge of the Administration is troubling...”	 The report ends there. Rita looks up.	“And that’s all she wrote,” Randy says, trying to quip.	“How do you plan to end this? The lack of an immediate response on our part is a big problem.”	“I know.”  He takes the document back, attaching it once again to the clipboard. “We know what we saw, but the real details will have to come from Carlos himself.”	“So the question is whether we become by-the-book narcs and try to explain away why we waited to report all this--or just let him invent whatever bullshit story he’s gonna create to cover it all up, no one being the wiser.”	“Except for us.”	Rita attempts another forkful of salad but puts it down.  She’s clearly thinking of what the Administration would say if they hand in any kind of truthful report. “Justifying to the Powers-That-Be why we said nothing won’t be easy. Of course, the reality is that apparently few, if anyone, actually noticed the missing skull and globe to begin with.  And if they did, they’d have thought, like we did, that the objects were out for repair or study.” 	“True, but he did take them, Rita. And the T. rex. You couldn’t ignore a missing T.rex model, especially since Carlos didn’t put up any kind of signage.  If he’d played his cards better, a simple “Out for Repair” label or some such would’ve probably left no suspicion at all--unless, of course, Nightenbaum or one of the other paleos came through the Hall--which they could have.  They would’ve known right away something wasn’t right.” He leans back. “What the fuck do we do, Miz Rita?”	Rita states the obvious: “If we say nothing and somehow someone finds out that we sat on the story for a few days, not only is Carlos in deep shit, but we are, too.” But added, “Potentially.”	Randy looks out the window at the evening rush hour traffic on Columbus Avenue.  “This really sucks.  Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.”	“Sucks.”	“Sucks.”

WEST SIDE BREW		“So,” Jake asks, “did you spill the beans? Or did you keep your mouth shut?”	“That’s the wild part,” Randy says.  “We didn’t have to make a choice at all.  Before we had to decide one way or the other, Carlos turned around and told the Administration everything.  Told ‘em what he’d done. Frankly, I think he was so distraught by the oncoming death of his daughter that he couldn’t take another layer of emotional crap. As it turned out, Luz died later that very day.”	“Did he say anything about you guys catching him in the act?” Jake asks.	“That’s the tough part,” Rita says. “He told them we’d come to him in the Security Department the morning after the T. rex went missing to report its loss--which we hadn’t.  He made it sound like we discovered the three losses, and not that we’d caught him red-handed. As a result, after we left his office, he ‘decided’ to do the right thing.” 	Jake can see how clearly distressed they both are by the whole story. “So, he lied to keep you out of the equation.” 	“Exactly.” Rita says. “Carlos told them we’d shown up the morning after and that our visit had been the impetus for his confession. His part in the matter--all true.  Our visitation--all lies.”	“Though it does say something about Carlos, doesn’t it?” Randy says. “Instead of getting us into potential hot water, he confessed and made us out to be the catalyst.”	Rita’s eyes show her anxiety.  “I hope we’re never put in a position like this again, having to decide one way or another.  There’s no easy way.” She looks at both of them. “I just wanted to do right by the Museum, and I wanted to do right by a grief-stricken father. How the fuck does anyone choose?” 	Randy puts his hand on hers.  “It’s never easy.”	Jake looks on for a moment, seeing how torn they both are. “Has anything happened since he confessed?”	“Well, the Administration handled it with felt-covered iron gloves,” Rita says, slightly more composed. “Carlos got demoted, but not fired.  He’s been here for years, and they chalked up his behavior to grief. We heard he’ll keep his benefits and retirement, but they’ve put Larson James as the Head of the Department.  At this point, who knows what Carlos will do?  I think he’s probably embarrassed as hell...”	“I think mortified is the better word,” Randy interrupts. “He’s ashamed, and he’s broken in two by his daughter’s death--just another blow after his wife’s death.  It’s a fucking mess.”	Jake’s trying to decipher the look on his husband’s face. “So, the brass doesn’t know you were ready to file a report? They just think you came to tell Carlos that the pieces were missing?”	Randy nods. “We never had to decide whether to file or not file our report. But, like Rita said, it’s a real mess. The guy was totally crushed by his daughter’s illness; he wanted to do something for her.  On the other hand, what if everyone at the Museum who had either the rank or the opportunity decided to ‘borrow’ things, as if the place were some kind of lending library?  It’s a real scary thought that with a little imagination and chutzpah, things can just disappear so easily.”	“I get that,” Jake says, “but I’m sure what this Carlos fellow did was the exception, not the norm.”	“Thank God.” Randy’s still clearly unsettled: “But I still feel like crap. I’m sorry he lost his position and sorry he lost his kid. His wife, too. What a fuckin’ horror for him. But I also feel like Rita and I were caught in the middle of a no-win situation.”	“It stinks,” Jake says.	Randy takes his husband’s hand. “I love you.”	“Me, too.” 

 GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY
	We’re back in the present.  Back to where we left off our opening scene, and we watch Randy and Rita continue their walk down the hill of the cemetery in silence.	Green-Wood--even on a hot October afternoon--is a photographer’s paradise: The backdrop of the lower New York skyline; the lichen-covered, ivy-walled mausoleums; the brown, gold, yellow leaves dropping from the century-old trees.	Finally Rita asks: “Now that Joe’s back upstate, has he said anything more to you?”	“Nada. I think he’ll be glad to have me back next week. Less long-distance drama.”	“It’s never dull with us two, is it?” She locks her arm around his as they walk the pathway.	“He’s used to it.”	“He’s a keeper.”	“Yup.” Rick smiles. 	Her cell vibrates. A text. She looks to see who it is but doesn’t recognize the number.	“Wanna see who that is?” Rick gives the go-ahead.	She opens the message and responds.  “Can I make a quick call? It’ll be easier.”	“No problemo.”	She walks down the path a few yards, leans against a tree, makes a call, seems to have a friendly conversation, and, after less than a minute, returns. “Guess what?” She said.  “That was Mary.”	“In the volunteer office?”	“The same. The President wants us to call her to make an appointment. She wants to give us”--Rita makes air quotes--"a ‘recognition commendation’.”	“Seriously? What the fuck? Why? We didn’t do anything.”	She puts her phone back into her shoulder bag. “Apparently what Carlos actually told them was that not only had we come in to report the loss but that after he told us what he’d done, it was us who encouraged him to tell the truth, that we convinced him. We helped him do the right thing.”	“But that’s not what happened. We did nothing.”	“Well, that ain’t what he told the President.”	“Fuck. I can’t accept a commendation. We didn’t do anything.”	“If I had to guess, I think that’s what impressed Carlos, what he appreciated.  We could have done something, and we didn’t.”	The heat’s getting to him. Rick takes off his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder. “And then we decide to visit his kid’s grave,” he says, and they start strolling again.	“We did.”	“In fucking million-degree heat.”	“Yup.”	“Why?” He stops and looks at her. “What’s that all about? Visiting the grave?” He gestures to the cemetery around them.	“Because. Like we’ve been saying: We understand what he did, why he did it.”	“And that makes us saints or something?” 	They resume their walk.	“Hardly. We came because empathy goes a long way. It’s a kindness.”	“I don’t want commendations, Rita.”	“Frankly, me neither.”	“We’ll decline,” he says, a matter-of-fact decision.	“Tell her to put something in our personnel files if she wants to.”	“Good idea.  But even that.” He shakes his head. “The guy was at his wit's end and he did something for his kid--his version of Make a Wish Come True.  He brought a flicker of joy to his girl’s final day.  We could have fucked that up.”	She comes to a stop. “You do realize what we’re saying, right? We wouldn’t have filed the report. Right?”	“After today?  After seeing that grave? I doubt it.”	Suddenly, there’s a hint of a breeze and the sound of crickets confused by the reappearance of summer. “How about you? What would you have done?  After today?”	“Now, in this moment, in this place, I think I’m with you on this one.  Seeing what I saw today, I’m glad Carlos took the choice away from us.  I think we would’ve felt like first-class schmucks if we’d filed the report.”	Once more, they start walking.	“Which then brings us back to our visit here, right?” Rick’s wondering aloud again.	“Maybe we shouldn’t analyze, honey.  Just accept we did something spontaneous. We’ll call Carlos later this week.”	“But we won’t say we came today.  It’s our little gesture.  Private. We’ll just call to see how he’s doing. Okay?”	“Anonymous,” she agrees, making a cross-my-heart gesture.	“Exactly.”	“That we understand.”	“And not just him,” Rick says. “It’s good to understand what being human is about. It’s good we understand that.” Again, with the tears in his eyes: “The world’s a fucking brutal place.”	She puts her hand on his arm. “Oh, sweetie.”	The sun is relentless, the sky almost too blue.	They look at the skyline and listen to the symphony of cicadas and urban sounds vying for attention.

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