text: This is the story of a boy named Jeffery Jefferson, but before you hear the story of the boy you really must hear the story of the man. And what could be said of Jeff The Man? Volumes of books could be written about Jeff The Boy and his exploits. But Jeff The Man? Well, he was a different story altogether. &#x200B; Jeff The Man called people on the telephone for their money. He was all the world thought a man of his age should be. He reached expectations well. &#x200B; From time to time his friends or his girlfriend would ask him, “Do you enjoy what you do?” &#x200B; When asked this question he would laugh as if the answer couldn’t have mattered. Jeff The Man was not prone to such trivial ideas as “enjoying yourself” or “having fun”. Jeff The Man knew nothing of adventure, of Giants and Vampires or even love. But I am getting ahead of myself at the moment. &#x200B; After done laughing at this question he would say, “To enjoy my life I must conquer it first.” His friends didn’t know what he meant by that and consequently most made the assumption that because the statement was not understood it must also be profound and deep. Not wanting to appear dim, his friends usually chose to nod knowingly or smile sensibly. They took his answer as a hint to change the subject. So subjects changed, and those around him remembered not to ask him these questions again. &#x200B; After a hard day's work of making money Jeffery Jefferson loosened his tie and slid into his “not yet paid for” car. As he got in he saw a penny on the ground. It wasn't just any penny, it was a lucky penny. A Lucky Penny can change things. They have been known to set important events into motion. In 1842 Alexander Mackenzie, gave up the drink, and promised to follow God wherever he led. In a farmers field just outside of Ayrshire, Scotland he found a Lucky penny. He had the ability to recognize it. Only certain people can distinguish a lucky penny from a regular one. It has nothing to do with the shade of copper or what side it lands on when it escapes pockets and purses. Those who have the gift could recognize one with their eyes shut. When Mackenzie bent over to pick the penny up, he noticed it was next to a printed advertisement speaking about the new land of Canada. At that moment he made the decision to go to there. Helen, the secret love of his life also happened to move to Canada and within thirty one years he was Prime Minister of this new land and married to Helen, the only woman he ever loved. &#x200B; Lucky pennies can change things. &#x200B; Now, Jeff The Man was not the sort to believe in lucky pennies or anything like that, but as soon as his body hit the smooth vinyl seats of his bank-owned car he felt as though that penny had the answer for a question he had forgotten to ask. &#x200B; “That’s stupid,” he thought out loud to himself. The burst of speech embarrassed his lips, and yet the feeling still nagged him. &#x200B; When he made a decision to write it off and shut the door, he did just the opposite. He opened his door, looked around, slipped the dirty penny, into his clean pocket, and drove away as fast as he could, as though he had lost himself for a moment, and needed to go home to get himself back. &#x200B; When he got home he placed the penny on the coffee table that he had named “the coffee table where nothing must ever be put, not even coffee”. Jeff’s little house was a lot like a museum. Even ordinary thing looked important, shiny appliances sat on the black and white tile of his spotless counter. His walls were filled with framed pictures of places that Jeffery had never been. His bookcase was filled with books he had never read. He never let more than two people in his house at a time, so the atmosphere was that of a museum in the winter. &#x200B; Jeffery Jefferson was defined and precise; everything had its place. He tried to forget about the penny but it taunted him. Sitting boldly in that place of honor on "the coffee table where nothing must ever be put not even coffee" it could have been speaking. &#x200B; “Why did you put me here if I wasn’t important?” &#x200B; His sensibilities forced him to ignore the penny at first, but at exactly 7:37pm Jeffrey examined it for the first time. It looked so typical he was half angry. He half expected it to have some private message just for him. All it emblemed was a twiggy maple leaf on the front, and the queen Regina on the back. &#x200B; “What a perfectly normal penny. Clearly I’m going insane,” Jeffery thought, "I must do something perfectly normal. I must do laundry or clean my study." &#x200B; But The study was always in order and the laundry had already been done. &#x200B; “Curse the laundry.” He thought to himself. &#x200B; In the middle of his anger towards previously done chores he noticed something. The year on the coin was 1981. Jeff The Man tried to remember significant events of that year. Historical references occurred to him like the death of Terry Fox and Bob Marley, and the Pope being shot in the head. But for the life of him Jeff The Man could not remember a solitary personal memory from 1981. He would have been ten years old at the time. He could remember what he was told and what he had read about, but not one memory that he could call his own from that year. &#x200B; Jeff found himself at his parent’s house. It was a three hour drive. It took him two hours to decide to go. In all this time he still had not come up with one personal memory from that year. His mother was on her knees weeding in the garden. Her cheeks were red from the sun. &#x200B; “What are you doing here, Jeff?” his mom asked. &#x200B; Jeff's mother was just like Jeff. She was busy, and when she wasn't busy, she was busy thinking of things that may busy her. Even in the few minutes that her son was home she had been calculating the errands that would suffer from his visit, and when she may do them later. They loved each other, but they were too used to each other, and hadn't shared a laugh or smile in years. Jeff’s mom blamed it on the lack of grandchildren, for as she would think to herself. &#x200B; “Children are the ushers of joy.” &#x200B; Jeff hadn't noticed at all. &#x200B; “Why? Can’t I visit my parents whom I love every once in a while?” &#x200B; Jeff felt that his parents hated him coming over to get something that wasn't their quality time. So he always gushed in the first few minutes of interaction, before he dropped his real reasons &#x200B; "Jeff, I have never known you to drive three hours to see the parents you love in the middle of the week, without a holiday to celebrate.” &#x200B; “How's Dad?” &#x200B; “He's been working longer hours since he got his new job, he's always tired.” &#x200B; She said it more to herself, not putting her hope in Jeff actually listening. Jeff gave both verbal and visual feedback as he nodded. &#x200B; “Oh yeah.” &#x200B; “So what are you here for Jeff?” &#x200B; Her tone suggested that she was ok with him coming over for reasons that did not involve her quality time, and that maybe she had things to do anyway. &#x200B; “Do you still have those boxes of my old grade-school stuff?” &#x200B; “Yeah, they're in the basement in the storage room. Why?” &#x200B; “I just need something. That’s all." &#x200B; The most helpful thing that Jeff found was a stack of scrapbooks that were full of objects he’d collected and stories he had written from every year. Journal entries, drawings, pictures and report cards were also found in the mix from every year from age five to thirteen. The 1981 scrapbook did not have as much as the other years, but what was found in its pages was interesting. Jeff looked over his report card from that year and found that he had gotten A’s in social studies. Jeff remembered being horrible at social studies. There was also a picture of him and his family on a vacation at Drumheller next to a T-Rex statue. Jeff didn't even remember ever going to that town as a child. &#x200B; The most interesting find was what was not there. He hadn't written any stories the whole year. Stories had been Jeff's trademark as a child. Jeff used to write a story for every person he met. He would write stories for people as birthday presents. On Christmas of 1978 he left a novel about circus bears under the tree for his mother. He was shocked to find he had not written one story in an entire year. &#x200B; The one other thing in his scrapbook was a journal entry. He skimmed the page it was about his sledding accident that he had gotten into. He remembered that. In fact, he remembered making that very journal entry. It was vague but definitely a viable memory and Jeff was surprised to find he felt relieved by this discovery. &#x200B; He thought about the details of what he could remember from the accident. He remembered lying down in the December snow, people gathering around him saying that everything was going to be ok. The next thing he remembered was being in a hospital room, and people trying to explain to him in dumbed-down child speech that he was paralyzed from the neck down and that he would never walk again. They explained to him how he had been in a sledding accident on Suicide Hill. &#x200B; “Wait,” he thought, “I don’t remember the accident.” &#x200B; Memories are tricky things because the stories that we hear, the photographs we find become a part of our reality. They become the memories we don’t really remember. And the accident was something Jeffery Jefferson never truly remembered. &#x200B; They put a fence around the hill after the accident because it was deemed unsafe for children. Jeffrey himself became a cautionary tale told by anxious mothers. Some of the kids around town were mad at Jeff for getting the best hill in town closed down, but of course no one said anything because they all knew that being paralyzed from the neck down was enough punishment. &#x200B; The doctors who told him that he would never walk again were the same doctors who marvelled and subtly found ways to claim the credit when each day Jeff could move a little more of his body. After just two months he was walking fine. &#x200B; Jeff The Man read the journal entry, written in his mother’s tight cursive since he’d had no use of limbs at the time. The last line disturbed him. It said &#x200B; “There’s something on the tip of my mind I’m trying to stretch to remember. Something, someone, some place maybe? But it scares me and I’d rather not think about it. I’d rather forget.” &#x200B; “Odd. Very odd.” Jeff thought to himself. “Mom!” Jeff yelled looking for his mother throughout the house. &#x200B; She threw down her laundry pile, “Yes Jeff What is it?” &#x200B; “When did we ever go to Drumheller?” &#x200B; &#x200B; Jeff was intrigued up to his knees. The boring life he built took a back seat to the endless possibilities of his no longer dormant imagination. He needed to know more. After he told his mother the story so far, she suggested what was his most solitary, pervasive thought; to talk to Britt. She was his best friend when they were younger. If anyone knew what had happened that year, that day on Suicide Hill it would be her. The last he heard of her was that she was teaching at a small prairie Bible College that would only be a little out of the way to visit. &#x200B; When he got to her college he parked in an already full parking lot. Gaggles of small groups were making their way toward an auditorium building so Jeff followed suit. &#x200B; He asked a couple walking, “Do you know who Brittany Dawn is?” &#x200B; "Professor Dawn? Yeah, she’ll be at The Tab tonight,” the stranger said, pointing to the large auditorium. “Just follow the crowd.” &#x200B; The college was first instated during the depression. The dilapidated buildings and 70's rugs in every building spoke of another rural prairie college trying to make it in an urbanized-education world. Inside The Tab there was a Missionary Conference going on. The speakers had not yet begun to speak and small groups of students crowded around different mission group’s tables. The pictures on their banners showed the often toothless people groups of the world. Some banners showed pictures of bearded men half smiling for the camera. The words “Reaching Muslims For Jesus” emblazoned underneath it. &#x200B; He saw Brit in the crowd talking to a group of students. They were laughing, as she told some story that the listeners seemed to appreciate. When you’re close to someone for a long time, especially in childhood and teenage years, there are certain parts of their face that can only be seen by those closest to them. Even when they’re old and wrinkled and their appearance only seems a shadow of their younger self. The secrets of the face are always ready to be revealed to the dearest of friends. Those secrets never get old, they never leave you, they stay until the day you die. Brit’s secret was in her smile. &#x200B; Jeffrey walked up to her and tried to introduce the new him to the new her. Jeff hated seeing old friends. Sometimes he would change sidewalks or duck into stores at the mall when he was home just to avoid the inevitable catch-up conversation. He was at a loss of words for what to say. For this conversation with Britt he decided to start things off with a smile and a chuckle. He approached her from behind. &#x200B; “Hello, Professor Dawn.” &#x200B; She stared at him blankly and let his name slowly leave her mouth, as she tried not to show that she knew who he was before his first word was fully enunciated. &#x200B; “Jeffery Jefferson.” &#x200B; “Hey.” &#x200B; By this time the students Brittany was talking to were making new conversations and had gone off in different directions. It was just the two of them. There was a moment of visual readjustment that seemed to extend much longer than it was. They stared, looking at the difference between their memories and reality. Some old friends take time to digest and she was still mad at him for not coming to her wedding. &#x200B; She finally spoke. “So, what are you doing here, Jeff? I didn't know you were the missionary type.” &#x200B; “No, I'm not... not yet. I was in the area and thought you might want to talk, catch up on things” &#x200B; “Oh, well then... when you put it like that let’s talk. Job?” &#x200B; “Business.” &#x200B; “Wife?” &#x200B; “Girlfriend.” &#x200B; "Kids?” &#x200B; "Fish.” &#x200B; “Hobbies?” &#x200B; “Tennis and I just started boxing.” &#x200B; “Well, that just about covers everything,” she patted his shoulder, “I’m glad we could catch up.” &#x200B; She brought her mouth closer to Jeff’s ear and in a hushed voice said, “Listen, Jeff. I’m married now and I have two beautiful children and I’m really, really not interested in past boyfriends who’ve suddenly realized what they’ve missed, coming back to see me under the false curtain of sentimentality.” &#x200B; Jeff and Brittany Dawn had dated in high school. They had been best friends for so long that dating seemed like a good idea. It ended badly on the night of their grade twelve graduation. The next day Britt went off to work at a camp for the summer and Jeff was off to college before she came back home. Besides some Christmas and Thanksgiving run-ins, they never saw each other again; until this moment. And after a minute and a half she was already walking away. &#x200B; “I came here to ask about that day at Suicide Hill.” &#x200B; Brittany turned around white as a ghost, piercing Jeff with her eyes. &#x200B; “I knew it. I KNEW IT!” She took her first steps towards Jeff. “There’s a coffeehouse called The Oasis on campus. When this is over, be there.” &#x200B; Jeff sat at his small coffeehouse table going over all the possible conversation scenarios. His hands clenched his knees like a scared kid at the carnival. He was nervous to hear what Professor Dawn might tell him, and nervous at what she had already said. &#x200B; Brittany came in, direct and purposeful. She was in his face before her bottom hit her puffy vinyl seat and both purposely and directly asked her first question. &#x200B; “What do you remember?” &#x200B; “Nothing. I remember going to the hill and waking up paralyzed. People told me I fell. I guess I fell down the hill, off my sled, on the rocks.” &#x200B; “I’m going to tell you what happened, Jeff. I'm going to tell you because it doesn't matter anymore. I'm going to tell you because I should have told you then.” &#x200B; She cleared her throat and threw her eyes to the top left side of her head, like she always did when she was trying to think of how to say something. She finally put her hands on her seat, sadly pouted and blurted it out. &#x200B; “A year before the accident, you took me to the hill raving about earthquakes and voices. I didn’t know whether to take you seriously or not because you loved to tell stories. When we had given up looking for any signs of your story being true the earth shook and we ran. I was always a better runner than you.” &#x200B; This excited Jeff The Man that he lost track of the saliva in his mouth and spit as he spoke. “The earthquake. Yes... I remember the first one but it seemed so unreal. I think I told myself it was a dream.” &#x200B; "It was no dream. I was ahead of you, running to get away. When the shaking and the noise stopped I turned around and you were gone. The ground looked undisturbed, even our footprints were gone. I thrashed through the snow looking for you. I ran myself rasp yelling your name and you didn’t answer. When I couldn’t find you I ran to your house and told your parents. We ran out to look for you and there you were on the road, unobjectionably unaffected, walking home. I asked you what happened; about the earthquake; if you were hurt. You told us there was no earthquake and acted like I didn’t know what I was talking about. You made me look dumb and sound like a liar. I hated you in that moment, ” &#x200B; “I’m sorry, I don’t even remember that.” &#x200B; “You were so different after that day. I could never put my finger on what it was exactly. You did and said everything you were expected to do and say, but there were little things.” She stopped to think for a moment, “Like for instance do you remember our version of blood brothers?” &#x200B; Jeff’s face lit up, “Yeah, fart family.” &#x200B; “When we would hold in our farts to release at the same time.” “We would put our bums together and...” &#x200B; “FART ON EACH OTHER!” they chimed together. &#x200B; The coffee shop patrons within earshot who were now lapsed in their own conversation looked at the two thirty-something’s that found old fart stories fascinating. &#x200B; “That was so gross.” Brittany commented, her face betraying her secret self as she allowed her stern demeanor to melt into a momentary smile. &#x200B; “Yeah, I know,” Jeff added, “so gross.” &#x200B; The smile faded and Brittany’s face resumed its recent solemnity. She continued, “Well, you stopped doing fart family with me. It was like your humorous side was extracted from you and replaced by someone with no personality. I had theories that you were kidnapped by aliens or possessed or somehow got all the fun knocked out of you. I examined you, tried to exorcise you, and read every book I could find on unexplained events. But after a while I just chalked it up to losing a friend.” &#x200B; “Wow.” &#x200B; “Jeff, you did not make me laugh for one whole year. I waited; I yearned for you to say something to me that wasn’t domestic, tame, and predictable.” &#x200B; “For a year? Then what happened?” “The day of the accident when we took you to the hospital, you woke up and the doctor told you that you were paralyzed. I walked up to you to hug you, mourning over your loss with tears running down my face. You said, ‘High five,’ and stared at your arm and added jokingly, ‘Oh yeah. I’m paralyzed.’ When your hand wouldn’t move, you said you would move it with the force. I couldn’t stop laughing and you were laughing too and it was really funny to watch you laugh because you only had motion in your neck and your head would bob up and down. I cried and cried but I couldn’t stop laughing either. I was all tears and laughter. I knew I had you back. The sparkle was back in your eyes. That’s actually the day I fell in love with you.” &#x200B; “Oh, I, it’s just... I don’t remember that year at all Britt. It’s completely erased from my mind.” &#x200B; “No one’s called me Britt in years. Hey eyes welled up with tears. She blinked away their escape, and quickly changed the subject. “After you got out of the hospital and were back in school, you kept writing 1981 on all your assignments. Miss Cruthers would correct it at the top of your sheet to 1982 because it was February, and everyone was still making date mistakes. But you did it until the end of March. When Miss Cruthers corrected you out loud you argued with her until you got detention. After that you just wrote 1982. I knew something was up, but I was just so happy to have my best friend back. I didn’t want to ruin it. I never said a word. I was so afraid to lose you again and I did anyways. I held on too tight.” &#x200B; “Brittany, why can’t I remember 1981?” &#x200B; “I can’t answer that for you.” &#x200B; “Why was I acting so out of place? What happened to me? What happened to my memory?” &#x200B; “I can only show you one piece of the puzzle Jeff. I have a piece; your parents may have another. I have the sneaking suspicion that some people we don’t know, or don’t remember have bigger pieces, but this puzzle is bigger than me or you. Don’t expect to find all your answers here.” &#x200B; Jeff The Man had a long drive to think about everything that had happened and all that he had learned, but he still felt like he was at the beginning of a race. &#x200B; When he got into the city he went to his favourite Thai restaurant. He ordered the chicken and black bean sauce. Jeff The Man was a man of order. The chicken and black bean sauce was the only thing he would order. His friends would ask him to try something different when they went out but he would always respond, “If I find something I like, why would I change it?” &#x200B; As Jeff The Man ate his chicken with black bean sauce a man came into the restaurant. When Jeff’s gaze met the stranger’s, their eye’s locked. The stranger had a great big smile and Jeff thought he recognized something in his eyes. The strange man was mumbling things under his breath as he walked towards Jeff The Man. He was excited, as if to see a long lost friend. Jeff tried to ignore this stranger, but the stranger became increasingly unabashed in his exuberance. Smiling and chuckling to himself. &#x200B; Jeff was feeling, annoyed and delayed, even with nothing to do and nowhere to go. The man’s certainty in his eyes, his obvious kindness, and the honest and sincere faith that he knew the man he was staring down was the only thing that saved the poor stranger from a harshly spoken demand for a detached gaze. &#x200B; Instead the man received the timid question, “Do I know you?” &#x200B; The man smiled, “Jeffery, son of Jefferson. It’s me, Wiel, son of Mavid. I am in a bit of a disguise at the moment. I thought that you might not recognize me. It is so good to see you, I have not forgotten the vow of blood, and your promise to me the last time that we spoke." &#x200B; Jeff was lost for words. He couldn’t think of one thing to say to this strange man staring at him with a wave of simpers, still spouting off great things; strange things under his breath. &#x200B; “Why do you look at me like a stranger?” Wiel asked. &#x200B; Today was a day that had pushed Jeff’s normally shallow pool of patience to its limit. This particular moment had breached the dam and he gripped the metal edges of the table as though bracing himself for his words. &#x200B; “Whoever you are, Mr. Wiel, I do not know you and I have never known you, and you don’t know me. I don’t want to embarrass you, but I think you are looking for someone else.” &#x200B; “Don’t know me? How could this be? Is your name Jeffery, son of Jefferson?” &#x200B; "My name is Jeffery Jefferson, yes. But my Dads name is Tom. I don’t know how you know my name but..." &#x200B; Wiel interrupted him, his polite voice now taking on an urgent tone. “Listen now, I am going to say a word, you tell me if it makes you think of anything or reminds you of a memory.” &#x200B; Jeff felt overworked and short changed on this information exchange. His head was filling with grown-up thoughts like, “I have the right to eat a meal in peace” “Look at the time I’m wasting talking to this old man,” and “There’s no point to this conversation so I should end it.” &#x200B; But Jeff inhaled stiffly through his nose and decided to play along, just to get the old stranger off his back. Also he hated confrontation. &#x200B; “Ok, we'll do this quickly but then I have to finish my meal and go.” &#x200B; “Bosreal?” “Doesn’t ring a bell.” &#x200B; “The Avenue of Giants?” &#x200B; “No, sorry.” &#x200B; “The Hag?” Wiel raised his voice with each question childishly hoping that this action might help Jeff's memory. &#x200B; “Hmmm, I’m going to give that a...no. I really think you should..." &#x200B; “Princess Darwood?” &#x200B; There. Jeff could not put his finger on it but he knew that name. It was like hearing a song that you swear you’ve heard before, but can’t sing along to any of the words. Wiel found his answer in Jeff’s’ eyes. &#x200B; “My goodness, Son. You don’t even know who you are.” &#x200B; “Princess..? Who is she?” &#x200B; “You don’t even know who you are!” &#x200B; “I know who I am; my name is Jeffery David Jefferson. I live on St. Sinclair Street West. I have a great job, a good girlfriend, a nice life. But tell me now... who is that girl, that Pincess you were talking about?” &#x200B; Wiel showed his first signs of hostility and grabbed Jeff by the shoulders and whisper-yelled under his pressed breath. &#x200B; “Listen, you..... don’t.... know...who...you...are.” &#x200B; Then the kindness returned to his eyes and he let Jeff The Man go. &#x200B; “But I knew you wouldn’t forget her completely. You couldn’t.” &#x200B; "You don't know me." Jeff found he felt ashamed to look at Wiel when he said this. &#x200B; “I don’t know who you are? The problem does not lay with me but in yourself, Son of Jefferson. Can you tell me why freckles make the shape of the Big Dipper on your left arm, why you have dreams of places you’ve never seen, and why hearing the name of The Princess Darwood again tears you up on the inside? No. You cannot. But I can tell you. You have forgotten who you are, Son of Jefferson,” Wiel spoke softly now, “I apologize for your confusion. All will be explained to you, of course.” &#x200B; “What will be explained to me?” &#x200B; “Where you were twenty nine years ago.