Finnegan’S Wake

By Charlene Goldschmidt

Thats me over there. Im the one who looks like the science fair project. Im lying in the bed hooked up to all the machinery. My name is Williewell, really, its Wilma. But honestly, who names a baby Wilma?

When the car with me locked in the trunk was pulled from the river, one of the investigators said I was lucky.

Im not the kind of person that ends up in a hospital bedlet alone in a coma! Now the trick will be the following: how do I get out of the bed and back to my life? While were waiting, I might as well share my story with you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503571785

Charlene Goldschmidt

Charlene Goldschmidt lives with her husband, Gary, and their lilac point Siamese cat, Dudley, and their teacup Chihuahua, Bruno the Beef cake. She lives in Woodbury, Minnesota.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

That’s me, over there. I’m the one who looks like the science fair project. I’m lying in the bed hooked up to all the machinery. My name is Willie—well, really, it’s Wilma. But honestly, who names a baby Wilma? To make things worse, my middle name is Alfilda. The name Wilma means determined guardian, and the name Alfilda means she who helps the elves. So when I was young, my mother always told me, You’re a determined little guardian watching over all the tiny elves of this world. You have an important job because of your name. I often wondered how I was supposed to watch over all those little sprites if I had no idea of what they looked like or worse, how to find them. The truth is I’m not so sure I ever bought into the whole elves myth. When I was about five, I remember, I spent a whole weekend looking for signs and trace evidence to verify the existence of these elves. Then it occurred to me—the only place for sure anyone knew elves have been seen was at the North Pole with Santa Claus. I realized then, if there really were such beings as elves; they must be extinct, except for maybe at the North Pole. And I wasn’t ready to move to the North Pole just to watch over those little moody creatures! Now, don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed making snowmen and snow angels, sledding and ice skating, drinking hot coco, and candy canes just as much as the next kid. And Christmas is always a highlight of any kid’s year. But winter year round? Even by the age of five, I wasn’t ready to give up spring, summer, or even fall!

I had no trouble believing in leprechauns, however! Now leprechauns—how could I ever deny the existence of leprechauns? After all, my Grandpa Finnegan even claims to have photos of a real live leprechaun! He said he and his brother, Liam once kept a leprechaun for almost a year. That was until the leprechaun tricked them by offering them all the gold at the end of the rainbow in exchange for his release. They let the little rogue free, and that was the last they saw of him. Now all that remains are the photos, except the photos are back in Ireland with Grandpa’s brother, Liam.

I have an older brother, Alistair Patrick. He works in construction management. He actually introduced me to my ex-boyfriend Aaron. My mother says Alistair is a true Irish rover. He dates and loves a lot of women. However, he never seems to find one he likes for more than a month or two at the most.

I have an older sister, Molly Rea. She got married almost out of high school to Mac O’Malley. They have been married ten years and have two beautiful children and a puppy. Mickey is eight, and Caitlin is three.

I also have a baby sister, Claira Colleen. She’s a free spirit. She wins a lot of beauty contests and uses the earnings she wins to travel the world as part of an Irish dance troupe.

My mother is Katrina (Wiesner) Finnegan, a full-blooded German. Both her parents were born in Dinkelsbühl, Germany. Her only sister, Ava, is older and lives over in Afton. Uncle Jarvis is a private pilot, and Auntie Ava is a schoolteacher. They never had any children. My mother spends most of her time volunteering her in service to the church, helping out in the Stillwater School District, and other worthy nonprofit organizations. She believes firmly in hard work and no shortcuts, that practice makes perfect, and that everything is an opportunity to build character. She also believes in the power of prayer and that each of us is responsible for leaving this world a better place than when we entered it.

My father is Gaelan Finnegan, a full-blooded Irishman. Both his parents were born in Kilkenny City, County Kilkenny, Ireland. My father runs the building and maintenance department at the College of St. Thomas. He believes in this old Irish proverb:

Work like you don’t need money;

Dance like no one’s watching;

Sing like no one’s listening;

Love like you’ve never been hurt;

And live every day as if it were your last.

Our family motto goes something like this: We all know how to drink, be the life of the party, we feel really guilty about it the next day, hit the confessional, and start all over again.

My grandfather, Seamus Finnegan, always told us as we were growing up the traditional Irish drinking song Finnegan’s Wake was written in memory of our great-great-great-grandfather, Timothy. Claira and I tried to find out if Grandpa’s claim was true. After several attempts with no conclusive results and nothing to prove him wrong, we agreed it was totally plausible—totally. After all, our great-great-great-grandpa’s name was Timothy! And he once lived at 134 Walkin Street in Kilkenny City, County Kilkenny, Ireland. The proof is in the whisky, and he loved whisky—what more do you need than that, right?

My parents met at St. Thomas College. My mother was majoring in international business finance, and my father was in the maintenance department. My mother dropped out of college to marry my father and raise a family. We grew up near the college in a quiet area of St. Mark’s parish in the Merriam Park neighborhood. Every Sunday morning, my whole family would walk about three blocks together to Mass regardless of the weather. My mother would tell us, The family that prays together stays together. All of us kids couldn’t figure out what walking versus driving had to do with prayer. However, none of us was willing to challenge our mother over the point!

I never met my mother’s parents. Grandma and Grandpa Wiesner were both killed in an auto accident on Sheppard Road before any of us were born. My mother has shared so many stories about her parents over the years. She also has an enormous photo slide show collection of her and her family as she was growing up. I have no problem envisioning how kind, lovable, and fun they both had been. Once a month, when we were little, Auntie Ava and Uncle Jarvis would come for dinner, and we’d spend the night watching the slides projected onto the screen. Now, as a side hobby, my sister Molly is transforming the old slides into PowerPoint presentations for Mom. Mom and Auntie Ava still get together. The only difference is they now enjoy watching the PowerPoints of their past life, enhanced by the addition of music.

As for my father’s parents, Grandma Finnegan died a few months after my sister Claira was baptized. Claira was named after Grandma. By the time the doctor’s discovered Grandma had breast cancer, there wasn’t much they could do. My grandma insisted she had to die in Ireland. She also refused to return to Ireland until she met her newest grandbaby and witnessed the baby be claimed for Christ. Three months after the baptism, Grandma passed away at her parents’ home off Dublin Road on Lacken Drive back in Kilkenny City. Grandpa Finnegan says Grandma passed peacefully after bragging to her sisters about how beautiful her namesake baby was. Every time Grandpa speaks of Grandma’s passing, he always chokes up. It’s so sweet the love he shows as he recalls how Grandma was clutching a photo of Claira in her hand and how she had such a peaceful smile on her face as she slipped away.

Six months after Grandma’s funeral and after many rounds of negotiations; my father was finally successful in convincing Grandpa Finnegan to return to Minnesota. My parents insisted he come live with us. He refused to be a burden. So my father and Alistair remodeled the old garage and turned it into a quaint little two-story house for Grandpa. Mom says it’s great having Grandpa close, but not too close!

I’m SWF: single, white, female. I think of myself as pretty average. I’m not a brainiac, but I’m clever and smart, maybe a little naïve. I’m not a beauty queen like Claria. But I’d like to think I could be a finalist in the pageant. I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy, but give me a break: with a name like Willie, how could I avoid it? I don’t go out of my way to eat right or exercise. I don’t eat often, though, and I run around a lot doing errands and looking for a better employment.

My last relationship ended badly right after I graduated from college. Aaron decided he couldn’t be in a relationship with a woman who was smarter than him. The funny thing was we were in a relationship for almost three years while I was in school, and in all that time, he had never let on that it bothered him I was smart.

Aaron works as a carpenter building new homes. That’s how I ended up with my town home. I hear Aaron is going to get married on Valentine’s Day next year to a girl from Wisconsin who already has two kids and works at some dive bar. Part of me wants to throw in the cliché side comments, but I’ll let you come up with your own.

I live in a quiet neighborhood boarding between Highwood Hills and Battle Creek. Okay, it’s definitely more like the Battle Creek neighborhood. It’s just I prefer the sound of Highwood Hills—it makes my neighborhood sound so chic and stylish.

My house is a small efficient box-shaped twin home, compliments of Aaron. He and his buddies did most of the work. I ended up getting it for just slightly over cost and beer. I paid for my home with the small inheritance left to me by my Grandma Finnegan. It was almost enough to entirely pay off my home.

My house has a stucco exterior with brown-painted trim around the windows and doors. There is a nice-sized entry area, kinda like a patio in the front, where I keep a small wrought iron bistro table and a couple of slingback chairs. There are flower boxes under the windows in the front. Unfortunately, I’ve never been much of a gardener, so mostly the window boxes grow dandelions and other assorted weeds, maybe even a tree or two.

I have an attached garage that opens to the inside entry near the front door and a long mirrored closet. The hallway then leads to my office and a bathroom on the right. From there the hallway then feeds into an open space where the kitchen and the dining area are separated by an archway that leads to the living room. The laundry room is tucked into the corner off the dining room against the communal wall of the neighbor. The living room expands to a nice-sized patio with a large backyard through a set of double French doors. There is a two-sided gas fireplace that is shared between the living room and my bedroom. I have an en suite bath connected to my room. The bathroom is sort of small. Nevertheless, it has a Jacuzzi tub big enough for two. I also have a hidden wine cooler installed in the wall near the tub—so all is not lost.

The extra bedroom is off the kitchen to the left. The floor in the entry, kitchen, dining areas, and bathrooms are ceramic tiled with leaf imprints, and the rest of the floors are cherrywood laminate. I have large Oriental rugs covering most of the floors. Best of all the floors are heated. Which is a big plus during a Minnesota winter.

In the center of the kitchen is an island workspace with plenty of cupboards below. The top of the island and the counter surfaces are in matching smoky grey granite. There is a skylight in the kitchen over the island with a couple more skylights in the living room. I prefer the natural light. And during electrical storms, the view is amazing.

Around the ceiling in the living room runs tube lighting set behind a small ledge placed about nine inches below the ceiling. On the ledge I have displayed small baskets and other assorted knickknacks. I always thought this was going to be the place Aaron and I would start our family. I get the house. Aaron gets the excess baggage. I guess it all works out in the end.

My cash flow increased nicely after I sold the other side of the twin home to a woman named Gladys. I had an agent who handled all the arrangements of the sale. Though, I did meet Gladys once before she bought the unit. I immediately liked her. She is the kind of person who lives larger than life, with a loud and unforgettable laugh. She has two adult children I’ve never met, and she says she can’t wait to become a grandmother. I left my children plenty of hints. Most not very subtle either! But I don’t foresee any grandbabies in my near future. I assured her I didn’t see any babies in my near future either. I do have a cat though. So I don’t know—does that count toward anything?

I’ve been stuck in this bed for about a month, I’m guessing—who knows, maybe a year. I have no bearing of time. I don’t know the hour of the day or the day of the week. The doctors say I’m in a coma. I’m not so sure about the coma stuff. I can hear and I can feel. I just can’t seem to be able to respond to anything. The truth is, according to me, my body just needed a rest. After all, I did end up locked in the trunk of a car that was deposited into the St. Croix River. And getting into the trunk was an adventure I hadn’t planned on. I am extremely grateful to the poaching fisherman who happened to witness the whole event and had the decency to call 911 about the car going into the river. Without his help, I wouldn’t have a story to tell.

When the car with me locked in the trunk was pulled from the river, one of the investigators said I was fortunate the trunk was watertight. He also said I had a pocket of air that would have lasted about another hour. He went on to say I was lucky. Because whoever put me there used a stun gun first, and that probably kept me from panicking, which preserved my pocket of air. I suppose I should be thankful for stun guns. But I’m not quite there yet. Someone said I had sustained a really nasty blow to the head. I think that might have triggered the coma although the doctors don’t seem to agree. They keep talking about stuff I can’t even begin to grasp.

Anyway, about five months ago, I was unemployed, and my unemployment benefits were running out and my student loans were coming due. I had gone to school and graduated with honors from a paralegal program. With all the downturns in the economy and not knowing anyone in the legal field; I wasn’t having any luck landing my first foot in the door job. Instead, I was forced to apply for whatever I could find. I was hoping to find something that at least would pay better than the minimum wage. I found a part-time job at Victor’s pizza, a quarter over minimum, plus tips. And a cleaning job that paid about $9.00 an hour if I worked part-time days or $11.50 an hour for full-time overnights. I jumped for the overnight shift to pay the bills and Victor’s for fun money.

Now you know a bit of my family and life history. I know! Boring, right? That’s my point! I’m not the kind of person that ends up in a hospital bed—let alone in a coma! I was totally unprepared to deal with the events that landed me in this mess. Now the trick will be, how do I get out of the bed and back to my life! While we’re waiting, I might as well share my story with you.

CHAPTER TWO

There are two nurses who are mainly responsible for my care. That’s Nurse Amanda. I don’t particularly like her. She’s mean! She doesn’t believe I can hear or feel or anything. She’s wrong! She always makes rude remarks under her breath as she rummages around in my room. She swears at me a lot when she’s expected to do her job! She wears long fake nails and scratches me whenever it’s possible. She wears a strong, sickly-sweet–smelling rose perfume. The stink of which could render me into unconsciousness for real. She’s supposed to check in on me, fluff the pillows, watch for any changes, document my recovery—you know, stuff like that. Most days when she’s my nurse, she never bothers to come into my room until one of the annoying machines go off or the rare occasion of a doctor visit. And then, of course, in the presentence of the doctors, she exaggerates about all the ways she cares for me. I’m so looking forward to my opportunity to fill out one of those customer surveys on her. Won’t Nurse Amanda be surprised at what I am able to remember! Oh, I just can’t wait to share!

Because I have all this extra time lying around in the bed, I’ve been practicing up on my Sigmund Freud skills of psychoanalysis. I’ve deduced Nurse Amanda must have become a nurse in hopes of finding a wealthy man to marry—maybe even a doctor. Then slowly, tortuously, suck all the life and money out of him. In my analysis of Nurse Amanda, I’ve decided she must be in her late thirties to early forties. She could stand to lose between twenty to thirty pounds, definitely a bottle blonde. She fits right in with her local bar scene. She even has a favorite bar stool, which she is very possessive of. The stool is something of a status symbol for her. She enjoys drinking and smoking with her clique of friends as they poke fun and pass judgments at any outsiders who happen to straggle into the unwelcoming territory. I envision she dresses in the latest teen fashions in a size or two smaller than she should dare. She squeezes herself into the outfits in an attempt to disguise her age and advertise her camel toe. She probably has man-made designer, larger-than-life melon-sized breasts intended to attract the sugar-daddy hubby victim.

My other nurse is Nurse Lauren. At first, I didn’t know what to think or her. She’s kind of different. But overtime, she’s grown on me, and now I think of her as my friend. She spends several hours of each shift she works just sitting at my bedside just talking to me. She keeps me up-to-date on my care and takes the time to try and explain the different procedures to me. Many times I have no clue what she’s talking about and just drift off to sleep. She seems to believe I understand everything just fine. And as time goes on, I really think I have begun comprehending the importance of the different tests and procedures she describes.

Nurse Lauren keeps me informed and up-to-date on the ongoing police investigation and any progress the police have made by passing along all postings she gets out of Officer Dahlson. And she also tells me everything about what’s going on in her life.

Lauren is in love with Paul, or Pauly as she calls him. Even though Lauren has never really said anything bad about him, I can tell he’s a real jerk, a total loser. Like this one night she told me about how excited she was. Pauly was supposed to be taking her out to dinner at the Green Room that evening. The Green Room is a new downtown St. Paul posh environmentally friendly restaurant, that like costs a fortune.

Nurse Lauren did a Mall of America run to buy a new dress, jewelry, and shoes for the occasion. It sounded like it would be a beautiful night to remember. She was really excited. She was just so bubbly as she rushed around my room all day keeping track of the time as the minutes ticked away. And I was excited for her. Not that I could show it, of course, but I was.

The next time she showed up to work; she told about how she got all ready. She said, I waited over an hour for Pauly to show up before I finally broke down and called him. He said he’d forgotten all about our date. Jack, one of his buddies, had stopped by. And they shared a couple of beers. Next thing he knew, Jack decided to round up some other friends to go hang out at one of the area casinos. Pauly asked me if I would pick him up about three in the morning at his friend Jack’s place. He didn’t want to have to drive back home after drinking. I showed up a little before three, and he wasn’t quite ready to go until after five in the morning. The only problem was I had to start work at six, and I was worried I’d get in late for work. It turned out okay, though. I was only about twenty minutes late for my shift.

You see what I mean? Total loser!

Nurse Lauren tells me about her life growing up in a small town in Iowa. She’s says the