Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts

Monday, May 6, 2024

Losing Baggage @ the GSP



This is a cooperative short story written by B.W. Kay, S. J. Clydeson, and Hope Ellen Rapson. They are members of Scribes and Scrolls, the Christian Writers Group of Edwards Road Baptist Church, Greenville, South Carolina.


Losing Baggage @ the GSP


After a frantic drive through driving rain, and a mild altercation with the parking attendant, Coach Jay finally made it into the Greenville-Spartanburg terminal. Catching his breath, he thanked God for his safe arrival adding, “Whatever this day brings may your Name be praised.” He gazed up at the arrivals/departures board; all he saw was delayed or canceled flights. Oh, for crying out loud, he muttered to himself, a phrase he learned from his dad. After going through TSA, Jay plopped down in the nearest seat he could find, looked around, and prayed, Lord, don’t let my heart be troubled. 

Immediately his mind went back to when he and Katie, his wife of fifty years, had driven an hour to the Indianapolis Airport just to people watch. Doing the same, he saw a lady with her support Doxie cradled in her arms while pulling a large suitcase. He overheard two attractive young Hispanic women, who could have been mistaken as twins, fussing with each other while putting on their embossed boots outside the security check. 

When Jay noticed a young couple with toddler twins, his eyes teared. He and Katie had twin boys a year after they were married. They had lost one to SIDS. With this sad, lingering memory, Jay decided it might be best for him to distract himself by walking.

Jay only had one small suitcase for a five-day visit; he was an experienced packer from his time in the military. However, after thirty minutes of carrying his bag around, he decided to go somewhere out of the hustle and bustle to find some comfort. 

As Jay walked by The Asian Grill, the aroma of searing teriyaki chicken and fried rice stopped him in his tracks, but there weren’t any open tables, so he marched on. He really just needed some strong java.

Arriving at the Flatwood Grill, he spied an isolated open table, ordered large black Americano, and seated himself in that quiet spot. Jay started thinking of all the years God had been with him. In quiet reflection, he thought his greatest times were when he was a high basketball school coach to his recent retirement celebration. A smile spread across his face as he recalled all his former players that had come to pay tribute to him. Filled with emotion, he prayed the prayer of David from 1 Chronicles 17, “Who am I, O LORD God, that you have brought me thus far?’ 

His sentimental feelings had everything to do with the purpose of this trip.



*************************************************


One week. That was all he wanted. Josh had just spent days with an aging parent in the hospital. He had spent the whole month dealing with nurses and more nurses, feeling like he would never get to see the doctor in charge of his mom’s case. 

He tried to make sense of what was going on with her, both for his own sake, and so that he could explain it to the seemingly endless retinue of friends, pastor, and family members whom he barely ever spoke to except at times like this. He had spent hours engaged in group texts and phone calls speaking with people who it seemed could never be positive, and always had a sad report of “Dear, old so and so” who suffered from the same affliction and, of course, died from it. His church, who Josh turned to for comfort and prayers, just repeated the same kinds of tiresome stories. This was his mother! Not, “Dear, old-so-and-so.”

Going home didn’t seem to offer much respite either. His seven-year marriage to Molly was reasonably happy, and they were both committed to their two little towhead girls. Yet the unspoken tension between them over the situation with his mom had led to a dwindling bank account. This was compounded partly by a low paying gig, and hospital bills related to a procedure he had recently undergone, ironically due to stress.

Josh was tired of everyone’s glib advice “to turn everything over to God.” It wasn’t that easy. He had grown up going to church, listening to his pastors, and trying to do all that they said. He worked at building a “relationship with God” through reading the Bible and living a moral life. He even tried to encourage others by posting Bible verses on social media. The rub came when he prayed. Nothing seemed to go past the ceiling of his self-styled study, and what bounced back always left him with a sense of loathing and condemnation. Whether he was condemning himself or whether it was God, Josh didn’t know, but he had ceased to care.

One week. That was all he wanted. One week away to clear his head and get away from everyone who depended on him, from anyone with a “Dear, old-so-and-so,” and most of all, to get away from the God he couldn’t reach.

Josh heaved his frazzled six-foot frame down in the worn swivel chair at his dusty desk, pulled out his phone and credit card, and ordered a one-way plane ticket to Medford, Oregon. From there he would be able to get to the Redwood National Forest. If Josh could just get lost among the natural beauty maybe that would quiet his soul. Whatever he did on this trip, it had to be a break from the rat race of hospital visits and dull ruts of home life. He needed a place to think and relax, and maybe just have “fun.”



************************************************


“Did you remember to arrange for flowers to be sent?”

“Of course, I did…I thought black orchids and red poppies were the perfect pick.”

“You didn’t!”

“No, I went with your choice of white lilies with yellow daffodils as an accent. Where is your sense of humor! I know what’s appropriate for a funeral bouquet, little sister!”

“Well, don’t scare me like that, Espy; you have never shown ‘appropriateness’ to the family for a long time. I can’t tell when you are serious or not.”

“Oh, give me a break, Tess," Espy retorted. "Lighten up!"

Esperanza and Teressa Fernandez shouldered their bright colored bulging carry-ons and headed toward the TSA line to get to Gate 6 and their flight to Atlanta. Their destination was ultimately San Francisco and the reading of their estranged father’s will.

As they pulled on their embossed goatskin boots, the loudspeaker crackled and a monotone voice announced, “Attention all passengers. Due to extreme and dangerous weather conditions currently centered in the Atlanta area, all flights have been delayed for at least one hour. Please check the monitors for estimated new departure times.”

“Blast it!” Tess moaned. “We are going to miss our connection, and probably lose our luggage.”

Espy slicked her long black hair behind her ears, carefully avoiding her sterling silver hoops. 

"Not likely," she replied. "Even the connecting flights will be grounded. Let’s find some place more comfortable to wait than the gate, a place where we can have a salad, plus I need a beer or a joint or something even stronger…” 

She ignored Tess’s disdainful look.

Entering the Flatwood Grill, Tess immediately claimed a clean table between two men, lay down her things, and rifled through her purse. Espy sauntered to the counter and ordered two taco salads, a sweet tea with lemon, and a beer. She scanned the area, catching the eye of an attractive brown-haired man sitting alone left of the table where Tess was now rapidly punching numbers into her I-Phone. She smiled; he smiled back but quickly turning back to his sandwich, he missed her returning wink.

“Well, now. I just might have to introduce myself!” Espy declared to herself. Plotting that possibility, Espy didn’t notice the ketch-up smothered French Fries on the floor. Swoosh! She barely caught herself, the tray, both salads crashed to the floor, and sweet tea and beer doused her sister and their table.

Tess jumped to her feet. “Espy, really! I am soaked and now I smell like you! Really, drama just follows you everywhere you go!”

Simultaneously, two gentlemen appeared with friendly smiles and a handful of napkins.

The older one, Jay, coming from the right, motioned to the counter for help, and Josh asked Espy, “Are you okay?”

Espy just leaned on the table looking at the salad on her boots and laughed. “What a perfect ending to this week! One I don’t want to repeat in my next life!”

Josh, picking up the tray and lemon slice, remarked, “Sounds familiar! Come to think of it, I rather not repeat my whole month!” 

Jay supervised the floor clean up, and Tess went to the restroom check out the damage.

Once order was restored, Jay invited all three to join him as his larger clean table, pulling up extra chairs. “I already re-ordered your lunches, ladies, so you have to let me be your host.” He addressed Josh with “What can I get you, sir?”

“A beer would be great!” Josh replied with a quick look at Espy.

“Got it! Everyone, make yourselves comfortable.”

“So…” Josh hesitated, covering his left hand with his right. “Are you ladies caught in this flight delay, too?”

Tess just nodded, but Espy coyly countered, “Just like you, I’m guessing?”

“You guessed right,” Josh quietly responded, “and waiting anytime, anywhere drives me nuts.”

“I would have used a stronger word!” Espy whispered sarcastically, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

Observant Tess rolled her eyes commenting, “Seriously? Sometimes…” 

Then catching herself, she said, “Yes, my sister and I stuck are as well. I’m Tess and this is Espy.”

“My name is Josh, just Josh.”

Returning the older man added, “Well, I’m Jay. We might as well make the best of this situation. What better way than to talk? I know we just met, but that’s the fun of it.” Handing Josh his beer, he smiled and sat down.

“Oh, what do you think we’ve been doing? Texting?” quipped Espy, focusing her attention on Josh, who whose hands he moved beneath the table.

“I am not much for small talk,” commented Josh with a warming smile.

Jay settled in his chair, and said, “We’ve all got our own stories, and I’m sure they are all interesting. Getting to know you would not be small talk. We are all worth getting to know.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Tess laughed, throwing a dark look toward Espy, “but I’m up for it! I can’t think of a better way to spend an unexpected delay in my life.”

Espy said, “This could be interesting…an old guy, a religious prude, a beer-drinker, and (with a wink toward Josh) a handsome mystery man?”

Jay chuckled. “Well, I am the ‘oldest,’ but I don’t feel particularly ‘old.’  Looking at Espy, he asked, “Why don’t you start, since I can see you’re a talker. What are your interests? Where are you traveling?”

“Well, since you put it that way… I’m unmarried, and like men. My sister and I are attending our cheating father’s funeral in Sacramento, so we can ‘dutifully’ find out if the miserable man left his only daughters anything. We’re staying with his last wife…Rosa, who likes to claim to be our stepmother but….”

Tess interrupted. “What Espy means to say is that our father left our mother when we were in our early teen years, and it’s not been an easy situation. I’m Tess. This is the first trip I have ever taken with my sister; she and Dad did not get along. Being the baby, Daddy favored me.”

Espy sneered, “You just want to believe that. He only favored himself and, if you were honest with yourself… Oh, well! Like ‘your daddy’ always said, ‘If Tess went right, Espy would go left!”’

The waitress arrived with the cilantro loaded taco salads and two jars of salsa. Tess chose the medium green, applied it, and declared, “Well, you can see that neither Espy, nor I are sheep. She goes her way, and I go mine.”

Espy shook her head and opened the red salsa. Slowly applying it to her salad, she looked flirtatiously at Josh and asked, “And you, my mystery man, what’s your story?”

Josh realized that under the table, he was twisting his wedding ring around and hadn’t even touched his beer. This woman’s dark eyes were alluring!

He smiled shyly.  “I really don’t know exactly where I’m going, except away. I'm just looking for a change…the Redwoods, Yosemite, somewhere new and different, an adventure, I guess.” 

Jay nodded in Josh's direction, sensing the younger man's tension. He told them: “After thirty years of coaching boys’ high school basketball, most people call me 'Coach.' I retired this past Friday, at the young age of 70, and I am making an important trip to Manteca, California to see my 94-year-old uncle. I am his favorite nephew and honored to bear his name.”

“Congratulations on your career and retirement, Coach,” chimed in Tess. “I guess I don’t have much to tell…”

“She doesn’t want to tell you how many religious groups she has joined looking for a father-figure since our father died to us when he moved out to live with a younger woman,” interrupted Espy, dabbing her full red lips.

“Well, I relate to that," Jay said. "I lost my father when I was 25. He was only 55. My world seemed to go wildly out of control. You see, even with the firm foundation I had grown up in, my focus was only on myself, not where it ought to have been.”

Tess queried, “What’s this 'firm foundation' that you’re talking about? I was raised in church and in catechism learned to be a moral person, go to confession, and attend mass, and I still do sometimes, but I have also tried some other faith practices…like Mormonism, Buddhism, Transcendentalism…even some modern Wicca. None of it ever feels firm or foundational.”

“Yeah, and I find all that religious stuff to be a real bore. If any good came out of our father running off, it was that our mother didn’t make us go to church anymore. It freed me to have a lot more fun!” 

Espy leaned meaningfully toward Josh and their eyes locked.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Josh stood up. “Excuse me. Nature calls.”

Espy watched him leave, and having lost interest in the conversation, ate the rest of her salad.

Coach returned to Tess saying, “Before I answer your question let me ask you something. If you really love someone, what would you do to keep that love?”

Tess cocked her head and answered, “I guess I would try to please them as long as they pleased me.”

Espy laughed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you when you ask me why you can’t find a guy. Isn’t there a song? ‘What’s Love Got to Do with It?”’

Returning to his seat, Josh reported that the delays had been extended another hour. The group groaned.

Coach continued, “Tess, there are many ways of defining love. From a very early age, the verse in the Bible where Jesus states that we should love God first and others as He loves us was ingrained in my heart and mind. Earlier when I had mentioned that I lost that focus, I was referring to a period in life of self-pity, grief, and alcohol abuse, among other harmful things. It wasn’t until my uncle gave me this advice: “A man wrapped up in himself makes a very small package.” It made me see myself through God’s eyes and I haven’t been the same since. Love is not a god, but God is love. He revealed that by sending His only Son to take the punishment for our sins and rose from the dead to give us a new start on life starting here and continuing past the grave. I asked the Lord to forgive me and open the package of my heart and life. 

I am making this trip to thank my aging uncle for his loving commitment to me and for sharing of all this with me when I so needed it…Achoo!” Coach sneezed again. He commented, “Either my allergies are acting up, or I’ve been talking too much. I’m getting hoarse, so I better just shut up.” Pulling a tissue from his jeans jacket pocket, he blew his nose, and settled back in his chair intently looking at the countenance of his fellow sojourners, wondering if he had gone too far.

The ladies finished their salads silently, and Josh bowed his head, spun his wedding band nervously one last time under the table, and then quickly guzzled down his beer making sure to use his right hand.

Abruptly, Espy stood and announced, “Well, I’m going to freshen up; Tess would you like to join me?”

“Sure, I need to stretch my legs.”

Josh stood and said, “I’m going to get another drink; would you like something, Coach?”

“Another black coffee? Here’s some money that should cover it.”

“No, I’ve got this.” Josh smiled and headed to the counter.

Coach prayed, "Lord, you have said your sheep will recognize you voice and follow; call them now. You are the Great Shepherd."

Once everyone reassembled, Coach noticed that Espy was no longer wearing white slacks, but a short leopard-print skirt. Thanking Josh for the coffee, he asked Tess and Espy if he might get them anything else.

Tess smiled and exclaimed, “Well, since I already smell like beer anyway, I might as well have one.’”

Espy giggled and ordered, “Coffee with two sugars and cream.”

Laughing, Coach left the three to talk among themselves; he felt prompted to let them process what he had said without being present. They seemed to be doing that as he brought the drinks back towards the table. With a big grin, he faked a stumble to startle the sisters. As they gasped, he laughed, “Just reminding you of what brought us together!”

Tess teased, “That was mean!”

Espy scrunched up her face and made fake wail, “I can see it now; I will never live that story down.”

Josh chuckled, “Thanks, Espy, for being a delightful klutz. All this has been better than stewing alone in my own thoughts.”

Pretending to pout, Espy responded, “Oh, Josh, you really know how to charm a girl.”

Laughter broke out among the four as a loud squelch came over the PA system.

“Departures will resume in thirty minutes; please check the board for your flight information.”

Coach stood. “Well, ladies it has been an absolute delight spending time with you. My prayer is that you will find some resolution to your feelings and relationship with your father as you attend his funeral and that your personal stories forward will be filled with comfort and peace that only the Heavenly Father can give. God bless you!”

The rest stood up to gather their things, and Tess feeling a little awkward asked Coach if she could give him a hug.

“Of course, you may,” Coach said with a grandfatherly voice.

As she did, Tess softly whispered, “Thank you for being such a nice person to spend this time with and for all your words of wisdom. I plan to check out what you said with my different spiritual advisors when I get home. I will certainly light a candle for you the next time I go to mass.”

Out of the corner of his eye Coach saw Espy giving a Josh a lingering hug, while handing him something that Josh immediately put in his pocket. She then turned toward Coach and, with an impish grin, said, “Thank you, “Preach,” oh, I mean “Coach,” for not baptizing me with beer! Perhaps the visit with your Uncle Jay will be as meaningful as you think it will be.”

With a grin Coach replied, “Thanks, Espy. I hope your father gives you a bigger package than you expect.”

As the two ladies headed left, Jay and Josh went right. Walking a few feet in front of Coach, Josh stopped to throw something into the trash receptacle. Coach paused and inquired, “Are you okay? Did you lose something?”

“No, nothing lost, but I have decided to refund my ticket and go home to my family. This whole idea of me getting away to find myself was just me feeling sorry for myself. Man, how selfish can I be… a pretty small package, I guess. Your testimony made me see things more clearly, and when Espy gave me her phone number…well, that was a deciding moment. I hope your trip goes well. Coach, would it be possible for us to get together and talk some more when you get back?’

“Absolutely!” Coach exclaimed with joy. “Here is my contact card.”

Above the coach’s name, number, and addresses, Josh read Matthew 25:33: “And He will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left.”



END

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Solitary


This story is based on my experiences in Iran as a helicopter pre-flight instructor in Isfahan, Iran. The persons and events described are entirely fictitious. However, the Iranian trainees I taught were flesh and blood personalities, many of whom died in the 8 year Iran-Iraq war, even with Iran's superior helicopter force (738 against Iraq's 112.)

The story was first published in Buffalo Spree Magazine, the Twenty-fifth Anniversary Issue, Winter 1992.



SOLITARY
Alice C. Linsley


We were all miserable the day that Sergeant Rahmani was caged outside in the hot sun, visible from the airless staff room where the instructors gathered to drink stale coffee. There were no trees or shrubs, just an endless stretch of dusty earth and the dejected Rahmani slumped in the sweltering heat.

Company policy said that the Americans were to keep their noses out of the Iranian Army's business, and the barbed wired enclosure, 7 by 7 by 7 feet, had the strategic effect of reinforcing policy.

The Iranian government's contract with Regent Helicopter Company was concise and unambiguous. We were to teach the Iranians how to fly helicopters, to read the manuals in English, and to maintain their aircraft. We were to be respectful toward all nationals and their traditions, especially careful not to tread on any Islamic sensibilities. No boozing, no provocative dress, no public display of affection, and no public disturbances that might reflect poorly on the company when it came time to renew the contract.

I poured a second cup of coffee and turned my back to the window. I liked Sergeant Rahmani. He was one of the smart ones who had trained on fixed wing in Texas, spoke good English and kept physically fit. I was willing to bet that he didn't steal the eggs from the mess hall supply. More than likely he'd been framed. It was a game the Iranian trainees played to see who could get away with what, and it was more fun when it involved humiliating one of their betters.

“Linsley!”

The call came from the adjoining conference room where we were to be briefed about the Shah's inspection team, arriving in 3 days. Everyone was feeling the pressure from company headquarters in Tehran.

I dropped the stir stick onto the cigarette scarred table and headed to the briefing. Nick still wasn't there, which wouldn't score him any points with the boss man. He had forgotten about the meeting and I'd reminded him more than once, that very morning posting a hastily scrawled note to his locker.

Nick and I shared a Persian style house in the oldest section of Isfahan, away from where most Westerners lived. We did this to save money. Nick was sending most of his money back to his wife in Texas and figured that they'd have their mortgage paid in another year. I was buying Persian carpets for family and most of the remaining money went directly into an investment account managed by my brother, a financial genius.

I had vague ideas about what to do with the money once my contract was up with Regents. One thing for sure, I was getting out of Iran. Anti-American sentiment was on the rise.  There were rumors that the Ayatolla Khomeni, in exile in France, was rallying supporters inside the country with hopes of returning.

Besides, the flying business was getting on my nerves, and more and more I hated my image in the mirror. There was no way to look feminine in a blue flight suit and boots. I thought I'd like to do something, well . . . more normal, more ladylike.

The briefing room was stuffy, even with the windows open. It smelled of cigarettes, though the smokers had stubbed their smokes as soon as Colonel Diggert began the briefing. Most of the instructors were Vietnam vets with many flight hours and gunner training. Joe Blake could shoot his initials on the desert floor. I had watched him do it. For the most part they were all good guys. I was the only female instructor.

There was a shuffling of chairs when Nick slipped in and took a seat. Colonel Diggert thanked him for the courtesy of showing up. The others snickered. Nick shrugged his shoulders, muttered an apology and when no one was looking, winked at me. I rolled my eyes. The guy was such a loser! Still, I felt sorry for him. He really needed to go home and be with his family.

I wondered how Rahmani was doing in solitary. I considered what I would do when I got off work. I thought I'd head over to the Pahlavi Hotel for a few drinks with the other guys. For some reason I wasn't in a hurry to go home.

My mind wandered back to the briefing. Colonel D was explaining the reason for this unscheduled visit from Tehran.

“There's concern about the increase in washouts. The rate was 8% in the first group, then 12%, then 22%, and it looks as if it will go higher with this next cycle of trainees. Most of them are shepherds who haven’t even driven a car. No cause and effect reasoning. You know the deal... the Army lands a copter on the edge of a village and all the hopefuls are recruited to become pilots. Just sign on the dotted line, a 15 year enlistment. Then when they wash out of flight training, they move them to infantry.”

“Another concern is the problem of parts. Right now we aren't getting what we need to make repairs and the fleet is only 48% operational. Apparently the parts are in country, sitting on the docks in Abadan. That's not our problem to fix, but we'll still take it on the chin.”

“The good part of this story is that we have a great safety record, and you guys are to thank for that. We keep that good record and address some of these other concerns, and Regents has a good shot at being renewed.”

“The inspectors will arrive here at 1400 hours and be escorted to the flight line to review operations there. We've been told to expect about 15 people, including Regent's top people from Texas. I'll post the duty roster in the staff room. Everyone needs to look sharp!”

“When the briefing was over, I headed to my locker, slipped into my flight suit and collected my helmet and clipboard. My next student was Sergeant Yahbib, recently graduated from ground school. I recognized him as the fat one. There was only one explanation for his getting into the program: family connections. When I asked him about it, he sheepishly replied, “I have uncle.” I said, “Okay, sergeant. Let's make him proud.”

We climbed aboard and put on our helmets. I asked him, "What's the first thing you're going to do?”

“First I do checklist.”

“Roger that.”

I watched as he tested instruments, rotors and pedals.

“Good. Always do the checklist. It could save your life one day.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, his eyes growing wide in his corpulent cheeks.

“That's okay, Sergeant. 'Sir' or 'Lieutenant.' Whatever stirs your fancy.”

He looked at me blankly, not understanding the colloquialism.

“Okay, everything checks out. What’s next?”

“I get clearance.”

“Nope. Not before you secure your safety belt.”

“Too tight,” he said, his brown face creased by a toady grin.

That’s when I knew it was going to be a long day.

* * *


I returned to the house before dark, escaping the raunchy jokes invariably circulated after the guys had consumed a few too many beers. I swung open the huge metal gate and parked my motorcycle in the courtyard. The house was surrounded by a high mud wall topped with shards of broken glass. I took off my New York Yankees cap. I always wore my blonde hair tucked up when I was in public. Honestly, at times I would have preferred to wear a chador, but it wasn't practical on a motorcycle, and it was against company policy.

I entered the house, tossed my keys and some Iranian coins on the table, and went into the kitchen. The refrigerator held 3 beers, a container of bluish milk which I had mixed from powder, and two eggs. I fried the eggs, and gobbled them while I sorted through the cassettes looking for my favorite music. After I slipped the cassette into the player, I headed for the shower, and then to bed where I was asleep almost instantly.

Nick came back after midnight. I heard the metal gates rattle and then the sound of water running in the bathroom. Then came a loud tap on my door.

“What is it?" I asked.

“Can I talk to you?”

I looked at the clock by my bed. “It's already after midnight. Go to bed!”

“I just wanna talk for a minute,” he whined.

Against my better judgment, I tossed aside the sheet and got up. I slipped on my jeans and adjusted my tank top which was clinging to my sweaty breasts. Then I opened the door a crack.

“So what's so important that it can't wait until tomorrow?”

“Why didn't you stay for the celebration?”

He smelled of beer and sweat as he pushed himself into the room and flopped into the chair next to my bed. That's when I suddenly remembered that it was his birthday. Geez! The guy just turned forty and I hadn't even remembered.

“I wish you had stayed. Ya know I been feeling real lonely for my family and...”

“I'm sorry, Nick. I should have baked you a cake.”

“Nah. I wouldn't ask that.” He hung his head. “But I wouldn't mind a birthday kiss.”

“Maybe tomorrow. Right now, you need to go to bed.”

Nick rose and lost his balance as he reached for me.

“I thought maybe you were lonely too.”

“Get going, cowboy!” I opened the door wide. “Out, before you do something you'll regret.”

“You're always so high and mighty! You know you want it ...”

I shoved him out the door and heard him swear as he stumbled down the hall to his room. I dragged the chair over and wedged it under the handle. It wouldn't keep him out if he really wanted in, but I was pretty sure that he was too drunk to make a good effort.

Back into bed, I couldn't sleep. I thought about Nick, about the upcoming inspection, about Sergeants Rahmani and Yahbib. It was time for a change. I decided right then to put in for a vacation. I had been saving my days and it was time to get away. With that thought, I finally slept.

I welcomed the hectic pace of the days that followed, crossing each off my wall calendar. Nick, usually subdued, never spoke of that night. A badly sunburned Rahmani was greeted back at the barracks with much hilarity, and Yahbib washed out of the program and was transferred to artillery.

The inspection set off a chain of events that none had foreseen. The Iranian commander was demoted and replaced by a harsh critic of Americans. We could do nothing right in his eyes. Crates of rusted parts began to appear. A fresh batch of trainees arrived, all unskilled laborers, but glad to have 3 meals a day and starched uniforms. With all that was going on, Colonel D ignored my request for leave until he knew he could do without me for 2 weeks.

I’d worked twenty-three months straight, with only 1 week off. According to the terms of my contract I could take 4 weeks leave with pay. In this job one didn’t get much emergency leave, so I opted to take only 2 weeks and bought a ticket to Athens.

I slept during most of the flight and when I arrived it was late afternoon. From my window seat I could see the sun glinting off the Aegean Sea. The landing was smooth and with only one suitcase I easily made my way to the airport entrance where I hailed an eager cabbie.

“You from America?”

“Yes. From New York”

“I know New York. The Yankees, right?”

I nodded since he was watching me in his mirror.

“You have boyfriend?”

“Yes,” I fibbed. “I’m going to meet him at the hotel.”

“Hotel Syntagma very nice hotel,” he said, and thankfully that seemed to be the end of his interest in me.

The Syntagma was a luxury hotel in the heart of the city. I paid the cab driver as the bellhop took my suitcase to the front desk. My room was on the fifth floor with a view of Syntagma Square and the Parliament building. After a shower, I changed into a sundress and slipped on sandals. My first objective was to buy some drachmas and find a place to eat. The man at the front desk took care of the money exchange and recommended a traditional taverna within walking distance of the hotel.

I could smell the sea as I walked toward Plaka, the ancient city. As I made my way to the restaurant, I peeked into the shop windows. There were ceramics, textiles and beautiful glass creations. I stopped to look at a display of gold jewelry, admiring a pair of delicate gold loops. I imagined wearing them with my hair up, but I passed them by. Company policy prohibited jewelry, except for chains that could be hidden under clothing.

The taverna had café tables on the sidewalk. I sat with my back to the front door, watching people pass. Greek matrons, dressed in black, tottered by carrying parcels and grocery sacks made of plastic netting. A young couple pushed a child in a stroller. An Orthodox priest in black robes hurried by, his heavy gold cross swinging as he walked. None of the passersby seemed interested in the diners, but I found them interesting.

There was a noisy group of German tourists drinking and chatting at one of the tables farthest from me, and closer were two men who I felt certain were South Africans. One of the men wore an eye patch.

Surrounding us were the sounds of the city and the aroma of grilled lamb. I ordered lamb kebab which came with rice and fresh sprigs of rosemary. The lamb was perfectly braised so that the outside was crispy and the inside tender and juicy. The waiter also delivered a garden salad drizzled with olive oil and fresh squeezed lemon juice. The salad was topped with crumbed feta and a few briny black olives. I decided to try the house wine, which was chilled Retsina. At first, I wasn’t sure that I liked it, but its pine aroma was the perfect companion to the lamb.

After dinner I walked back to the hotel, stopping once more to look at the gold earrings. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted from my travels, and I dreamt of Nick. He was riding my motorcycle down the narrow alley to our house and waving a cowboy hat over his head. Nick had offered to buy the bike, joking that I’d probably meet a Greek lover and never return. We’d had a good laugh about that.

Then I dreamt of Sergeant Rahmani. I was feeding him kebab through the wires of his cage. He smiled and took the kebab and offered it back to me. I woke with tears in my eyes and felt a strange resolve.

I ordered breakfast and ate at the small table overlooking the balcony. When I finished eating, I cleared away the dishes and took out 2 sheets of hotel stationary. The first letter was to Nick, telling him that he could keep the motorcycle, and the second letter was to Colonel D telling him that I quit. I could have called him, but I didn’t want to deal with his attempts to talk me out of my decision.

Then I took a leisurely bath and put on a red sundress. I clipped my hair up, put on some makeup, and went downstairs to mail the letters. After mailing the letters, I cashed a few traveler’s checks and headed back to the jewelry shop for the earrings I had admired. The saleswoman held up a large hand mirror for me to see my reflection. I pulled a strand of loose hair from my face and swung my head, making the gold loops dance.

Leaving the shop, I felt free. I stood on the sidewalk watching all the activity in the square before heading to the shops on Ermou Street. I purchased a few sacks made of plastic netting that I had seen the Greek women carrying, and I continued on to the flea market, moving from vendor to vendor. Their tented stalls were packed closely together and the market was crowded with morning shoppers. The sun was already warm on my shoulders, but the fresh sea breeze kept me cool. I turned toward the largest section of the outdoor market. I smiled at the children, and contentedly lost myself in the crowd.

END



Monday, October 31, 2011

Winner of the Story Ending

The winner is Chandler Hamby.  Here is how she ended T.T. Lacey's story.


“Those were innocent people.” I said angrily. “People who never hurt you; what reason did you have to do that?”

He stared at the wall, lost in thought. Finally he answered, “I had a reason, but it’s something you probably will say I’m totally crazy for saying. I did it, because I needed release.”

Release? Release from what? I thought.

“I don’t understand what you are trying to say,” I said in some frustration, “so please tell me what exactly you needed release from, then maybe I’ll stop feeling completely lost.”

He smiled a little at that, then stood up, and began pacing back and forth across the small space of the cell. His legs brushed my knees as he walked away, and then turned around.

“It’s a long story; something that will take time even for me to totally understand. Can I share a little secret with you, Mr. O’Reilly?”

I nodded rather warily. After all, this man was supposed to be insane, and from the looks of things, I’d say he was. But I needed to hear everything, so he began.

“It all started a few years ago. I was twenty-four, and I felt completely lost. I lived in a big city in Montana, had a job as a custom home builder, and was doing ok in this big world. But all the time I had this knowing feeling inside that there was something missing. Something I hadn’t thought of before, but that I could, if I could just know how.”

He paused for breath, and I nodded for him to continue.

“I began to wonder what the thing missing was. At first I thought maybe I was just depressed. But I soon realized that this was not a mental or physical state, it was simply there. And it was persisting. So I looked into all sorts of things to try to get my mind off of it. I tried everything; TV shows, books, movies, anything that could solve my problems. That didn’t work. So then I consulted a mental expert, similar to you, Mr. O’Reilly, and he told me I just needed a change of scenery. So I went to California to try to relax and think. One day I saw a woman on the beach who attracted my attention because of her beauty or style. I simply felt attracted. She was reading aloud to a group of people gathered around her out of a small, black leather book. I listened, and soon heard her saying, “For we know that all things work together for the good of those that love God.” I realized that she was reading out of the Bible, a book I had never really read or looked into. She saw me and smiled. I smiled back, and sat down to listen. Amazingly, I sat there for over an hour, entranced. When she finished she said that she would be there again next week.

For several days I wondered if I would go listen again. I felt touched; for those few hours I felt that queer longing vanish, and I felt satisfied. So I went again the next week, and the next, and for several months. I finally realized that I had fallen in love with this lady, so after reading as usual, I asked her out to lunch, and she accepted. While during lunch I told her everything. I don’t know why, I just felt like I could trust this person. She told me something I hadn’t thought about before:
“Sir,” she began, “could I be really honest with you?”

I told her, “Of course.”

She said, “Sir, you are lost, and I believe Christ is calling you.”

I’d listened to her reading long enough to know that Jesus was supposed to be the Son of God, and I almost believed it; That’s how stirred I felt.

“I don’t know anything about Jesus except what you’ve been reading, and I need a few questions answered. The first is this: how do I know Jesus is any more real than all the other gods and religions everyone’s saying are so real? I just don’t get it.”

She sat for a few moments thinking, and then answered, “Sir, I can tell you are truly curious. As to your question, I think I can answer it.”

She pulled out the Bible she had been reading from, and flipped through it. When she found it, she began to read:

“’Now faith is the substance of things hope for, the evidence of things not seen.”’ Hebrews 11:1.” Sir, this answers your question in part, but to make it clear here is another verse; “’for I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.”’ John 14:6. this verse is basically saying that you cannot believe unless you have faith. It will take awhile, but I believe you are chosen.”

We discussed a little more each week, every time she read, afterwards we went out to lunch and talked. I gradually began to understand, and then finally I believed! This longing vanished, and I was for the first time truly happy. I went to church, professed faith and became a member. I was satisfied in Jesus! I proposed to the lady, whose name was Miss Janice Aberdeen, and we were married.”

I looked at his face. It had lit up with a beautiful light. I started to wonder if this man was insane or just still searching for answers. He continued.

“For a while I was happy finding answers in my wife, just getting my still many questions answered. This took several years, and for the time I was satisfied. But I began to hunger for more, and so we went to New York, where we heard a well known minister was preaching. We stayed for a week, and then, the night before we went to the service where the pastor would be preaching, the unthinkable happened: my wife went out to get some things we needed, and while walking by an alleyway, she was attacked, robbed and then murdered. I was staggered. My wife, after being married for four years, had been abruptly snatched away from me. I was angry and heartbroken. I left, without even seeing the minister. For several months I wandered around, over and over again asking the same question: why did this happen? She didn’t deserve that! She had done nothing against God, so why did He do this? I grew more bitter and angry every time I asked that question.

Then I began taking my wrath out on people. I was harsh, critical, and unkind towards everyone around me. I even began physically hurting people. One night, I put on my clothes, slipped a gun into my pocket, and went outside. I saw a house, and the blinds were open. I looked inside, and saw a family, a father and mother sitting together, and a little child playing, and they looked so happy, so contented I was angered, and, hardly knowing what I did, I aimed the gun at the father, and pulled the trigger. I heard screams, and saw the father fall to the ground with blood on his shirt. I had killed him pretty much instantly. The mother looked up and saw me, and screamed. I was terrified; I knew that I mustn’t be found out, so I aimed it at her, and she too fell. The child was screaming and weeping, clinging to her parent’s bodies. I shot them too and then heard a siren’s wail. Someone had called the police. Before I even really knew what happened I was grabbed and thrown down. When I fought, someone hit me and I blacked out. Then they brought me here. I’ve been here for about a week already; plenty of time to reflect.”

For about a minute we both sat in silence. Finally, I broke the silence.

“Is that all?”

“Not quite. Before I am judged and, as I know I will be, condemned, please know this. I now am, as I mentioned, in a totally different state of mind now. What I did was wrong, and could I go back, I would never have done that. You may think me crazy, and maybe I am, but I have repented. I have started finding answers.”

At this he pulled out a small black book.

“This was Janice’s.” He said, stroking it gently. “The police found it, the only thing still on her. Maybe the thieves just did not think it was worth taking it; I don’t know. I have asked Jesus to forgive me, and now I am at peace.”

As if at his words, a look of the most perfect peace and happiness spread over his face. His eyes were closed. At last he opened them and said, “Thank you, Mr. O’Reilly, that’s all.”

I left the cell more thoughtful than I had entered. I didn’t know why, but I knew I needed to start looking for this Jesus who freed Mr. Smith.

 
END

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Short Story Ending Contest

Here is a short story written by an imaginative high school freshman.  You are invited to write the ending of the story.  The best endings will be published at Students Publish Here along with T.T. Lacy's original ending.  The ending may be a surprise, funny, tragic, ironic, surreal or scary.

DEADLINE:  October 31, 2011



Just a Few Questions

by Thomas Toland Lacy  


It was around 1:00 am and I was so tired I didn't even want to look at my watch.  I'm a psychiatrist and my name is Tom O'Reilly. I assist in police investigations and it often means long hours. I got into this a few years ago when I helped the police interrogate a psychopath.  Now every time a looney is arrested, the detectives call me.

Tonight, when I entered the precint headquarters I was greeted by detective Jonas Stewart. 

"We got a real psycho this time," the detective told me.

I shook my head and responded, "Aren't they all? So what's up with this case?"

Stewart and I walked down the hall together as he explained, "Well, he isn't talking for one and we're pretty sure that he murdered three people."

"What name does he go by?"

"Smith.  He calls himself Mr. Smith."

"Oh great! Another cliche," I said, feeling annoyed by the prospect of spending a late night in a small interrogation room with a lack-luster criminal.

"That's all he'd tell us, Tom.  You have your hands full with this one!"

Detective Stewart started to humm.  His soft humming often continued during the interrogation, which was enough to drive me nuts.

We arrived at the door and I hesitated before entering. 

"Okay, let's see what I can find out."

Stewart shrugged his shoulders and opened the door.

The suspect was


He sat stiffly in the chair opposite me.

"Hello, Mr. Smith."

No response.

"Mind if I ask you a few questions?"


After a prolonged silence he said, "I guess so, but you're just some doctor trying to find out if I'm crazy."

No one had ever said that to me and before I could think of a reply, he said with some agitation, "Just start asking!"

"Okay.  Did you kill the Lovett family?"

"Yes I did. Why do you as?.  I'm in a different state of mind, you see. You may think that I'm insane, but I'm not... just in a different state of mind."

This was a first.  The man was admitting that he was insane, that is, assuming an insane state of mind.

I asked, "What state of mind are you in, Mr. Smith?"

"I'm perfectly sane, you see."

So that's how he wants to play, never giving me a straight answer.

"Okay.  Let's consider this: either you are sane or insane.  Which state of mind would you say describes you at the moment?"

"Well sir, I'm in between.  I know I did wrong to kill those people.  They never did anything to me, but I did it anyway."

I could feel my blood pressure rising. 


[...]

Sunday, August 14, 2011

A Woven Journey: A Cooperatively Written Short Story



What follows is a short story cooperatively written by the Hero’s Journey Class (May 2011).

Hope E. Rapson, Writing Instructor

Class Members

Julia Cline
Sarah Cline
Christopher McCort
Haley McCort
John Mark Porter
Jerryana Williams

A Woven Journey

 

     The yellow and red oak leaves crunched beneath Wallace’s worn black sneakers as the sixteen year old headed toward his thinking thicket. His mind filled with flashes of faces staring at him in the high school hallway. Were those eyes filled with pity, laughter, confusion, curiosity? Were those mouths talking about him? Were they speculating about his parents? Spreading rumors about the strange car in his driveway last night? Wallace had to get away and work through this; he needed to be alone.

     Crossing the dry stream bed, he though he heard the creaking of the rope of his tire swing. “Probably just wind,” he mumbled to himself. He pushed back the shrubbery, and out of the corner of his eye he saw something tumble onto the yellowing grass. Startled, Wallace stared wide eyed at the intruder. This is my turf! Anger saturated his mind; adrenaline startled his body.

     The thin girl slowly stood up and brushed dirt and leaves from her stone washed jeans. She had the look of a cornered bobcat.

     “Stay where you are!” she hissed.

     “Why?” Wallace exploded. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

     “None of your business!”

     “This is my tree house and my tire swing. I come here…”

     “…to play? Tough! Today I was here first,” she finished.

     Wallace shook his head and looked down. “Now, let’s start over here.”

     The petulant girl raised her eyebrows and stared at him with her large dark eyes; her arms crossed and waiting.

     “My name is Wallace Ohne. I live in the brick ranch on Grey Stone Lane back there. Me and my….” he hesitated, then swallowed hard. “My dad and I build this retreat together.”

     He waited for a response. The girl flicked long black hair over her shoulder and began fingering the thick woven bracelet tied on her pale wrist.

     “Well, who are you?” Wallace paused to sit down on the mossy boulder beside him.

     “Why do you want to know?” The girl replied with distrust.

     Wallace shook his head. “Whatever! I don’t need this today.”

     He rose and stomped off, heading in the direction that he had arrived. Wallace’s stride was faster and louder as he headed home through the fallen leaves. No need to be quiet now; apparently the whole world knows about my hideout.

     He frowned and pulled his coat around his shivering body. It was early evening but there was already a chill in the air that seeped through his clothes and he was having flashbacks of his father towering over him, smiling and laughing in that same clearing. Perhaps he should just give up the space to the belligerent girl, whoever she was. He didn’t know if he could bear doing it. The place brought back memories, very good memories that reminded him of how much worse life had gotten. His family would never be the same now. Wallace shook his head and sighed as he saw the outline of his house through the trees. He swiftly climbed the steps to the back porch, slammed the screen door behind him, and muttered, “Now what?”

     He slouched through the kitchen and into the living room. He headed for his father’s old leather recliner. That was where his father usually sat to muse about the events of his day. He slumped into the comfort of the familiar chair. Why had his father and mother been taken away?

     The garage door opener grind interrupted this broken hearted plea. That would be Aunt Eloise, coming back from new Wal-Mart with the groceries. He knew she would want help. As he jumped up, the rickety recliner shifted and nearly fell over. “What a klutz!” Wallace whispered barely managing to keep it upright before he heard Aunt El calling him. He rushed to help. She is all I have now, he thought.

     While carrying in the brown bags of groceries, he noticed the only other house down Grey Stone Lane had lights on in every window. A couple of days ago, he had watched the men in tan uniforms carry numerous boxes from their moving truck. He was trying to remember the name the singers whose voice drifted out of the top bedroom, when his aunt called, “Wallace! I need those groceries to make your dinner!”

     After consuming a big plate of Aunt El’s spicy spaghetti, and after doing the dishes under the strict supervision, Wallace wandered back to the living room. He noticed that the seat cover of Dad’s easy on the floor tucked beneath the chair. He was astonished to find maps and photos under the papers. Strange, he thought. Dad is a neat freak; he wouldn’t normally store things like this…and he had been sitting here reading when they came for him. Instinctively, he gathered the papers, maps and photo and headed upstairs to his room. He spread them across the top of his desk and switched the study light to a brighter level to examine them.

     The papers were some kind of legal forms, the maps were unfamiliar, and the photos were in especially bad condition. The worst one had been burned with a match and all that was visible was a little dark haired girl next three sets of legs…one her size, probably a boy, and the other two? Definitely a man and woman…perhaps her parents? What was that wrapped around her upper arm? Turning the damaged picture over carefully, Wallace read, “2012 - Lydia Kate O.”

    Wallace’s conjecture was interrupted by a voice calling from downstairs. “Wallace, I need you to take this pie to the new family down the street. I hear they have a girl about your age.”

     “Okay,” Wallace called back reluctantly. He took the stairs by two; his mind racing over the details of his discovery. He’d finish this chore and get back to his room as soon as possible.

     Wallace picked up the apple pie and pushed his way through the front screen door. Hearing the familiar slam, he yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll be home soon, Aunt El.”

     At the new neighbor’s house, Wallace rang the doorbell. He jumped backwards when the girl from the clearing opened the door.

     “It’s you! What was your name… Wallace?” The girl asked, stammering from shock herself.

     He thrust the pie into her hands, and blurted out, “This pie is to welcome you to the neighborhood. It’s from my Aunt Eloise.”

     “Okay. Thanks.” She took the pie and turned to shut the door with her hip, lifting the foil up to inspect the pie.

     “Wait!” Wallace shouted and thrust his foot onto the door jam. He winced as the door made solid contact.

     With a roll of her dark eyes, the girl opened the door wide again. “What?!” she said tapping her foot impatiently.

     “That bracelet you’re wearing. Where did you get it?”

     “I have had it since I was a kid,” she quipped. Then suspicion flashed across her face. “Why do you want to know?”

     “Lydia, who’s here?” A man’s deep voice called out with concern and curiosity. Heavy footsteps sounded louder with each step.

     Wallace removed his foot when Lydia mouthed, “Got to go!” and began to shut the door again.

     “Meet me at the tree house mid-morning tomorrow,” Wallace urgently whispered as the door closed. Turning to go, he overheard her nonchalant answer, “Just the neighbor saying hello, Pop. With a pie to welcome us.”


******

     Wallace was waiting at the tree house. Lydia was nowhere to be seen. It was far past time for her to show up. “Where is she?” Wallace wondered aloud. As he nervously glanced at the entrance, he heard leaves crunching. Lydia suddenly appeared out of the shrubbery.

     “You’re late,” said Wallace.

     “Sorry! I had to wash the dishes,” she replied.

     With a sigh, Wallace sat down on a decaying log and motioned to the seat next to him.

     “I prefer to stand, thanks,“ said Lydia. “Now, why did you want to meet?”

     Wallace reached inside his orange back pack and delicately pulled out the burned photo and held it up for her to get a good look.

     “That bracelet,” she stammered in half voice fingering hers. “It looks like mine.”

     “Exactly the reason I called you here,” Wallace answered.

     Lydia sat down beside him in deep thought, staring into space. Could that little girl be me? If it is…why does Wallace, a guy I have never met before, have this photo?

     She had always been haunted by the feeling that she didn’t belong with her Pop and her Mom. Could I have been adopted?

     That’s when the two began to talk, really talk.


*****

     At noon the next day, Lydia and Wallace entered the Woodford Community Library. Lydia paused, surveying her surroundings. Several small worn sofas sat in the corner of the room alongside cheap wooden chairs. The rest of the room was taken up with books, and more books of every imaginable kind. She was surprised that so many could be crammed into such a small space.

     “This place is…” her voice trailed off.

     “Cozy?” Wallace filled in.

     “Not exactly the word that I was going to use,” she quipped.

     Ignoring the sarcasm in her voice, Wallace continued, “Alright, you start at the computers. Search for records from about sixteen years ago and after. I’ll look in the periodicals.”

     Nodding Lydia turns towards the computers while Wallace headed to the newspaper. He flipped through the newspapers, looking at the date. Ten, twelve, fifteen and, finally, sixteen years ago. “New family moves in,” one title announced. “John Burger places first in local spelling bee.” Nothing about birth…Suddenly, Wallace pocket buzzed. Pulling out his cell phone, he opened this text:

big find meet bak lib dor

     Wallace frowned, but wove around the library stacks to where the computer cubicle was. Lydia was gone. He turned toward the exit, and was surprised to see Aunt Eloise hurriedly looking through the juvenile section.

     “Aunt El, what are you doing here?” Wallace asked.

    Pausing for a moment his Aunt said, “Just getting some books for Mrs. Halus; she’s been sick.”

     “Did you see the neighbor girl as you were coming in? She was here doing research with me, but now I can’t seem to find her. Actually, maybe the security guard has seen her.”

     His aunt cut in hurriedly, “There’s no need.” Taking his arm and turning him around she commented, “I’m sure she’ll resurface.”

     Wallace, however, felt urgency of mind and resisted. “But I have something important to tell her. I need to find her now.”

     Breaking his Aunt’s firm hold, he turned and walked quickly to the guard standing outside the door of the library.

     Walking briskly to the checkout desk, Aunt Eloise quietly handed the librarian a small piece of paper. “Do you have this title?”

     “Yes. It’s in the basement storage stacks.”

     “Here comes the boy with the security guard; lead them to the second level down. Stall them as long as you can and make sure they remain unaware that you are trying to stop them. I need plenty of time to set the trap.”

     Wallace was having quite a different conversation. The guard ended up being one of his former Boy Scout leaders, “Sure, I’ll help you find her,” said Bob.

     The librarian approached them. “Ms. Ohne informed me that you had a question. May I be of service?”

     “Yes, Ma’m.” replied Wallace. “Have you seen a girl about my age with dark hair and pale skin?”

     “Oh, yes. I directed her to the first level of the basement; follow me this way.”

     Walking down a flight of stairs they reached a room full of magazines and newspapers. “I guess she left,” said the librarian. “She might have gone to the next lower level.” After the three reached the lowest level, Wallace paused in apprehension. Lydia was not there.

     The silence was broken with a loud “Now!” A dark clad assailant rushed toward them. Bob’s trained instincts took over. Fumbling for the light switch, he yelled, “Run!” Wallace dashed out of the doorway and ran up the stairs. Once he reached the ground level, he threw himself under the heavy library desk and tried to calm his ragged breathing. Controlling himself, he looked down on the papers he had been lying on and saw to his delight that one of them was the library’s floor plan. Studying it he realized that on the bottom basement there was a small chamber that led to the outside that was apparently for the conveyance of books to and from the library. Maybe he could go there to find Lydia.

     He cautiously rose to survey the area. Aunt El, looking down isles, had her back inches away from him. Sighing with relief, he whispered her name. Eloise turned around and hugged him, but with a forced smile that was foreign to him. The previous dark assailant seized Wallace, forcing him down the stairwell, and throwing him into a side room. Stunned by Aunt Eloise’s complicity and the suddenness of these events, Wallace hardly struggled as he was gagged, and bound hand and foot to a chair. Feet away from him sat Lydia bound but not gagged; her unconscious head sagged on her chest. Inches away from her lay Robert, the security guard, with a bloody head wound, possibly alive, but probably dead. He felt a needle enter the back of his shoulder, and as his surroundings began to fade out, he thought he saw his father and mother at his left, also bound and gagged.

     Waking up with a start, he looked for them again, but only Lydia and Coach Tyler remained. Using his body, he shifted back and forth inching toward Lydia. When he got close enough, he kicked at her leg. Getting no response, he tried a second and a third time. Only on the fourth attempt did he succeed in waking her. She woke up with a start and seeing the dead man next to her, would have screamed, if she had not also caught the warning look in Wallace’s eyes. He gestured with his eyes. She responded with whispered guesses, until she understood the plan.

     Wallace winced as the Lydia’s heavy chair fell onto his legs. Lydia wiggled towards Wallace’s side pocket and slowly, with her nose and mouth retrieved the Boy Scout pocket knife. She dropped it between Wallace’s legs. Pinning it with his knees as it fell, Wallace brought his face down to it and arduously pried it open with his teeth. Then he started cutting through the duct tape that bound Lydia’s hands. Once her hands were free, she whipped through Wallace’s bonds. At that very moment, they heard movement outside the door and both of them hurriedly reordered the chairs and their bodies in their former positions.

     “Pop!” gasped Lydia. Ignoring her, Wade “Pop” Stronsky strolled forward through the inside door. He put his hand on the Wallace’s shoulder, and brought out a hand gun from his jean jacket pocket; he twirled it, enjoying both his captives’ fearful looks. Placing his face right in front of Wallace’s and pointing toward Lydia, he whispered, “Don’t worry… you won’t be around long enough…for that… Ha!”

     His assailants murderous intentions emboldened Wallace. He tucked in his head as in submission, but with one adrenaline energized jerk, swiftly butted Wade under the chin sending him sideways hard against the concrete wall. Leaping forward, Wallace grabbed Bob’s stun gun and shot it three times. He shouted to Lydia, “Quick!” and grabbing Lydia’s arm, they rushed toward the outside door.

     Aunt Eloise opened that door and was thrown to the asphalt as Wallace and Lydia charged out. They looked ahead to see a man at the back of a white delivery truck hurriedly pulling down its back door. Wallace’s parents bound and gagged lay on the floor boards. Reflexively Wallace shot at the driver’s knees. He would not lose his parents again.

     The man went sprawling and with a scream dropped the knife he was holding. Lydia now firmly held Aunt Eloise by her grey hair with one arm twisted behind her. She kicked the knife out of reach as two police cars pulled up to the scene, their sirens screaming. Bob’s shift relief came out the library’s delivery entrance. He was holding a gun and a cell phone.

     Wallace ran to free his parents. The police relived Lydia of her cursing captive, but she hung back, tightly grasping Wallace’s pocket knife in her trembling hands.

     James and Anne Ohne embraced their son, and turned toward Lydia with tears streaming down their faces. Anne slowly stepped forward and gently touched Lydia’s bracelet. She whispered, “I knew when I put this on you that you would some day come back to us …our little girl.”

     “Mommy?” The child deep within Lydia, hardened by the need to survive, spoke clearly, yearning to know, to be known, and to belong.

     As Wallace and his father approached, Lydia collapsed into her mother’s arms.

     James pulled his reunited family into his strong embrace and said, “What a journey we’ve had, all because we wanted to protect you both from something like what just happened.”

     Wallace flashed a grin and pointed to Lydia’s bracelet. Then he pulled the half burned photo from his pocket and they both looked at it again.

     “One thing is clear,” Wallace said, “we have many more questions now than when we first met.”

     Lydia giggled, her eyes shining with relief and joy.

     With that, Wallace and Lydia looked toward their parents, eager to discover the mystery of their lives. They were no longer young neighbors stuck with each other and fighting for a place to belong, but brother and sister. Theirs was a woven journey.

END
 
 

Friday, January 21, 2011

On the Mount of the Lord it Shall be Provided

The LORD Will Provide

Chandler Hamby (Grade 6)

It all started when the Harrison family, which included Mom, Dad, Edward and Christy, decided to take a trip to their vacation home on a mountain that the family had decided to call “Mount Blessing.” Here they would explore, relax and pray. The family planned to camp for a couple days, during which they intended to explore more of the mountain, going from the bottom up.

After a week of preparation, they arrived and unpacked, eager to explore before dinner. Christy suggested this as the wild freedom of the mountain thrilled her. She loved to explore the enormous gorge near the middle of the mountain, which she had discovered while looking for wildlife.

Theirs was a large stone house, with a river across the trail road and animals on the mountain slopes. It was a very secluded place so they enjoyed peace and quiet all the time.

One afternoon, Christy and her brother set out to explore the mountain from the bottom up. Edward brought his leather pouch with a survival kit, including a rope and climbing gear. Although they were well equipped, he felt an odd sensation as he drove down the mountain, and left their car on the edge of the road.

“Let’s start climbing!” Christy exclaimed, eager to start the ascent.

“Hold on, little hiker, this will take a minute,” Dad replied. After a wait they finally put on their backpacks with half the food in Edward’s and the other in Dad’s while they did the same with the gear.

After several hours of hiking, the family encountered a river with a cascading waterfall. They decided to try to wade it, as the current, though strong, was not very deep. They managed to make it to the middle, when a sudden drop-off swept Christy off her feet and carried her downstream. Her terrified shriek brought the others to see her almost at the edge of the waterfall, and rapidly approaching its edge. “Christy!” yelled Edward, who had made it to the bank and ran after her.

Upon reaching the spot where she was holding on for dear life to a small branch stuck in the water, he dove in. But the force of his weight instantly snapped the branch, and in an instant they were swept right over the roaring water. For a split second they looked back at Mom and Dad, who were running as hard as they could, and mom crying and screaming. Then, with a roar they both were drug under and over the cliff. The yells coming from Edward and Christy were something their parents never forgot, and as they plunged down the waterfall Edward held Christy’s hand and prayed, “Dear LORD save us! please, if you do we will forever dedicate this mountain to you!”

At that very moment, spying a smaller cliff with a log hanging off it, he desperately threw himself out of the water onto it and gripping her hand, managed to pull Christy out as well. For a terrified moment they shuffled and crawled towards the bank, then fell onto it gasping for breath. Christy and Edward never cried, but only looked at each other and thanked the LORD for their miraculous escape. Then Edward looked up the waterfall from whence they had come, and saw that they had fallen over two hundred feet in less than five seconds. Christy recovered, and looking at Edward asked plaintively, “How do we get back up?”

“I don’t know,” Edward replied. “I guess we could try the climbing gear. If we can climb up the waterfall we can find the path and get back to the car. Let’s pray! The LORD will provide.” Edward was peaceful and confident, although he thought that the car probably would be gone.

“Well, we must try, this mountain is rocky, and we may be able to get back, if there is any hope we must try,” replied Christy with a trembling voice.

“All right, come on," Edward said, as he took off the climbing gear and put on the climbing hooks. He tied the rope around Christy's waist and looped it around his own, hooked the spikes in to the rock, and started the long, toilsome journey. It was a long, hard climb, but to while away some time, they tried to sing all the hymns they knew that mentioned mountains, one verse of each. After three hours their efforts were rewarded by being able to see through the mist of the fall, the top. They had gone about 150 feet, and just as they were beginning to have hope about getting back, they saw a huge, snarling mountain lion. It was climbing stealthily up to where they were.

“Christy,” Edward said very quietly, “Pull the pistol out of my survival kit.”

Christy did so.

“Now aim at its head and fire,” whispered Edward still very quietly.

Christy slowly raised the pistol, aimed, breathed a prayer and fired. Her hand was shaking badly and the first bullet missed. She again fired, this time hitting the lion's head. The roar it gave was so loud it almost made them fall, but as it with its last breath sprang, it fell and rolled off the cliff. Edward's face was gray.

“Thank the LORD, Christy! I did not know why I wanted to bring this kit, but the LORD must have prompted me to, because he knew what would happen. He has truly used this mountain to strengthen our faith in him!

As they climbed they were silent. Finally, after what seemed a decade, they pulled themselves over the edge, and saw the water fall. After some searching, and thanks to Edward’s compass, they found the path from hence they had come. They found the path almost as quickly and for some hours descended it. The car was not there, and for a moment the two children stared at the space it had occupied with blank expressions. Then, with simple, child-like faith began to pray.
“Dear LORD,” began Edward, “you have saved us from death, the waterfall, and the lion. You have used this mountain to strengthen our faith, and it has. Please, oh LORD, help us to find our parents! In the name of your Son. Amen.

“Amen!” solemnly repeated Christy.

Suddenly, they heard rustling and saw their parents. They called out to them: “Mom! Dad!” and ran into their arms.
After much praising God, they told the story to their parents. They listened in silent wonder as the children recounted how the LORD had saved them.

“Children, I've heard this and indeed the LORD helped you. Because of this, we will christen this mountain, ‘Providence,’ instead of Blessing, to forever remember what God has done.”

“Amen!” the family agreed.

So they hiked back, and arrived at the cabin as the light was waning.

After a week, they returned home and when people asked what mountain they visited, they smilingly replied, “Mount Providence.” And now you know why.

--End--

Thursday, August 5, 2010

The First Ruler, Part 3

Alice C. Linsley
(Part 1 is here and Part 2 is here.)


     It was cool when Ra left his cave but it grew warmer as he descended to the spring-fed lake. He stood on the bank of the lake facing the east and began his prayers as the sun rose over the horizon. Using the half of the sacred ostrich egg, Ra scooped up water and poured the water on the ground, forming a straight line from west to east, between where he stood and the bank of the lake. He prayed:

“Father, I greet you as you come from your house in the east and begin your daily journey to your abode in the west.”

Ra then poured water in a line perpendicular to the first line, this one running north to south to form a cross. Then he prayed again:

“I have but one dwelling place as I am but dust and will return to dust. Father, grant that my territory might extend from the north to the south for as far as the eye can see.”

Then Ra stood at the center of the lines he had made with the water, at the center of the cross, and he poured the last of the water over his head and prayed:

“May I not give offense, since you see all things. Make me clean with this water as the rains wash away the dust. As the water brings life and sustains life, make me and my house to live before you. Shower me with blessings from above. Make my house into a great house. Grant that my son may have a territory like you have, with two houses, that he too may go forth like a bright light.”

When he had finished his prayers, Ra turned to hide the ostrich egg in the tree of life and was startled to see Ha's mother standing under the tree. She was watching him. He was sure that he was seeing a ghost and he started to run away but stopped when she called him by name.

"Ra, It is I. Don't be afraid."

Ra turned to face the woman.

"But I thought you were dead.  You didn't want to live. You..."

The woman stepped toward Ra and smiled.

"The Southlanders found me and took me to one of their villages. I'm alive and I've come to tell you.  It is time to make friends with the Southlanders. They are strong and know many things. They know how to read the stars and they count days by the Moon. They have work cycles for the men and for the women - 6 moon cycles for the women during which they plant and harvest and store grain.  That's the time when they bring forth their young. And there are 6 for the men when they hunt, make war and sit in council. Their numbers increase because they have food and good shelter. They have good water and they take blood from the earth."

"What do you mean 'they take blood from the earth'? How is that possible?"

"They have made great caves in the high mountains and they bring red stones out of them. Then they pound the stones to a powder and use it to make images on the walls of their caves and to bury their chiefs and their ruling women. They believe that life is in the blood as we believe that life is in the water."

"But how can I make friends with them? They will surely kill me and take Ha and my sons."

"Sons?  You have sons? Why didn't you tell me?  Take me to see them. Let's go now!"

So Ra and Ha's mother climbed to the cliff where Ra's family lived and as they climbed higher, both began to call out to Ha so that she would not be frightened as Ra had been.  When they reached the cave, Ha threw her arms around her mother and cried for joy and the two women embraced each other and wept and laughed. Ra watched his wife and her mother, noticing how much they looked alike with their eyes the color of roasted coffee beans and their long black hair framing their wide faces. They had the same high cheek bones. The older woman was almost as beautiful as the younger.

"I would have come sooner," Ha's mother said. "But I was very weak.  The wife of the chief cared for me until I was strong enough to return. She wanted me to stay and serve her, but I slipped away.  The chief will not be angry because I told him that I would return with a gift for him. If we make friends with the Southlander chief we can live more securely as neighbors."

"But won't the chief's wife be angry that you ran away?"

"Not if I bring her something of value when I return."

"What do we have of value that the Southlanders don't already have?"

Ha's mother frowned and shook her head. 

"It is something we must think about. But now, let me see these fine sons."

She sat down and took the youngest grandson into her arms. Ha sat beside her mother and smiled. 

"Let's talk about this later, " Ha said to her husband.  "Now is time to celebrate.  My mother is alive!  She is here."

Later that night Ra, Ha and Ha's mother considered how they might make friends with the Southlander chief who had saved Ha's mother. 

"We can give them ostrich eggs," Ha suggested.

"No. They have many ostriches wehre they live and the villagers use them as we do."

"Perhaps they would like our horde of turtle shells. Our's are very large and make excellent vessels for gathering seeds and berries. and for storing grain."

"No. They have turtles there," Ha's mother explained.  "We must think of something truely special to offer them, soemthing that they do not have. I know!  The tree that throbs with life.  They don't have a tree like our's.  Their sacred tree is the opposite. The branches look like serpents, all twisted about and they say the tree serpents speak to them when they eat a certain plant. Whereas with our tree, it is the roots that look like serpents going down into the ground, not trying to climb up to the heavesns. It is as if the 2 trees were reversed. Isn't that strange?"

"But we can't take the tree to them," Ra protested.  "It can't be moved, and if we cut it down it will no longer live and we will no longer have the tree wo mark the holy place." 

"Then we must bring the chief to the tree and offer it to him here."

Ra didn't like that idea. It frightened him and made his face turn down.  What would happen when the Southlanders knew about the tree?  Why should he invite them to come here where he and his family lived in peace?  What Ha's mother was asking of them was not good.  It smelled of great danger.  There had to be another way to make friends with the Southlander chief who saved Ha's mother from death and let her come home to them. There had to be a way to offer friendship without surrendering his holding, the place that he needed to build a territory for his son Ka.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Welcome, Rachel Cline!

Eating Crow
by Rachel Cline (Entering 9th grade Sept. 2009)

Matthew hurled his book bag down on the floor by the front door in rage. He ran his hand through his dark brown hair, as he stood in the front hall of his house, fuming. He was too angry to deal with his mom’s lectures, so he planned to head over to Jacob Zimmerman’s house before she got home.

Matthew had been friends with Jacob since the fourth grade. Jacob strongly believed that video games were the answer to all life’s problems. Matthew didn’t always agree with this philosophy, but today was different. Today he was furious. He wanted to blow off steam by beating virtual characters to a pulp. Then, he was sure he could talk some sense into Mrs. Lesser. After all, he did have Coach Morton on his side, as well as his own father, who would surely see things his way.

Matthew ran up the stairs and down the hallway to his room. He tore the room apart searching for his newest video games, and after finding them under a pile of papers, he ran back down the stairs, games in hand, to the kitchen.

Inside the small, familiar kitchen area, Matthew crossed from the doorway to the pantry in two steps, and retrieved a jumbo bag of chips. He smiled somewhat grimly, still mad about the day, as he thought about Jacob’s addiction to potato chips – an addiction that Jacob could rarely satisfy, due to his parents being health nuts.

As Matthew turned away from the pantry he studied the bag of chips absentmindedly. When he looked up from the bag he found that his mother was standing in the opened doorway that lead into the front hall. Her arms were crossed and she was glaring up at him. Mrs. Crow was a little more than half a foot shorter than Matthew, although this wasn’t abnormal, as he was about six feet and two inches tall.

Matthew rolled his grass green eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned against the closed pantry door, awaiting the lecture he knew was coming.

“The principal called,” Mrs. Crow said simply, sighing as she walked a few steps closer to him. Matthew sighed too, and rolled his eyes again.

Of course Mrs. Lesser had called. That woman had nothing better to do with her time but snitch on Mathew.

Matthew’s mother just stood in front of him, silent. Here it comes, he thought. He had been hoping to get to Jakes house one last time before he was grounded, So much for that idea. He stood, waiting for his sentence; as if I haven’t gotten enough grief from Lesser.

“I’m not going to ground you. In fact, I’m not going to punish you at all.” Alright! Matthew thought, Getting off easy! He refrained from grinning though, afraid that it might set Mrs. Crow off, which might land him with some kind of punishment.

“The result of that little prank you pulled is enough punishment,” Matthew’s mother went on, “And after all, you’re officially an adult in a few months and it’s time you start making your own decisions, and living with the consequences. That means I won’t help you escape the punishment Mrs. Lesser has dealt out to you, and neither will your father. I think losing football is a fine punishment, considering all that’s happened.” Matthew’s virtual grin faded.

Considering what exactly, Matthew thought. I didn’t do anything to deserve loosing football. Matthew grimaced; he had been counting on his dad to help get Mrs. Lesser to see reason.
His mother continued, although Matthew was barely listening now, “If you really think running off to play video games with Jacob will fix things, then fine, go ahead.”

“Fine,” Matthew said icily. “I’ll be at Jake’s.” He maneuvered skillfully around his mom in the small kitchen and walked towards the door. Matthew just couldn’t see what the big deal was. He had pulled a harmless prank, and it had bombed. He had been caught and he agreed maybe he should get a few days detention, but loosing football, just before the big game, that was just unfair treatment. Mrs. Lesser is just bitter… this is her way of getting back at me. Matthew thought, resentfully.

“Just one question Matt.” Matthew turned slowly, to glare at his mother again.

“What?” he said curtly.

“Where on earth did you get those pigs?”

“Zach’s Granddad owns a farm. It was a piece of cake.” Matthew answered. Even through his anger, he was proud of his idea. Mrs. Crow shook her head.

“And who came up with this scheme?”

“Well that was me obviously. That’s why none of the other guys got it as bad as me. That idiot, Carter, let it slip that I was the brain behind it all.” Matthew rolled his eyes, and shook his head at the thought of that snitch, a junior looking to get in with big guys. Carter had released the pigs and was caught red handed. Then he went and squealed on everyone who had been a part of the prank.

“I don’t know what to say Matt, but this one’s on your head, don’t go blaming anyone else for what happened,”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m leaving now.”

Matthew turned around and headed for the front door, not bothering to look at his mom’s expression, which was not one of anger at his insolence, but one of sorrow and disappointment.

Swearing under his breath, Matthew climbed into his car and pulled out of the driveway. On the short drive to Jacob’s house, he thought about the day, and began cursing again. He was trying to understand why he had been punished the way he had. It was senior year; everyone he knew was pulling pranks, making marks on the school and on the minds of fellow classmates so as to not be forgotten. Matthew’s prank could have been one of the best. As it was, it had been hilarious! Watching a pig chase Principal Lesser was something no one could forget. But it would have been much sweeter to see all the chaos if he hadn’t gotten caught, and punished the way he had been.

Matthew pulled into the Zimmerman’s’ driveway. He got out of his car, slammed the door and entered the Zimmerman household, without knocking, slamming the door behind him.

Jacob got home two hours before the rest of his family on school days. He spent this time avoiding homework and playing video games. It wasn’t that Jacob was a slacker; it was just that his parents were so strict with him that he grabbed any chance to enjoy his free time doing the pointless, mind-numbing things his parents hated, such as playing video games and eating junk food.

Matthew made his way down to the den, which was located in the Zimmerman’s half finished basement. He walked through the finished area, which was used by Jacob’s ten-year-old sister as a playroom. This part of the basement was blindingly pink, the floor strewn with Barbie dolls and ponies; Mrs. Zimmerman’s doing. The woman adored and spoiled her only daughter. Matthew kept walking through the pink nightmare, kicking aside stray toys, until he got to a door on the right, at the end of the long rectangular room. He opened the door, and walked through, going from pink fuzzy carpeting, to smooth nondescript concrete flooring.

This room was the complete opposite of the one Matthew had just been in. It was a small, dark, square room. The splintering wooden support beams creaked above Matthew’s head, as he observed the familiar movie posters that plastered every inch of the brick walls. The lighting was dim, as the only light sources were coming from a lamp in one corner, and a TV screen in another. The room smelled faintly of mildew and Jacob’s favorite cheesy potato chips Jacob was sitting on an old couch, which was situated in the left hand corner of the small room, in front of the large TV. Although the couch had originally been an olive green with a floral pattern, after spending many years in the den, it was now closer to puce than any other color. To the left of the two-person couch there was a small, beat up, wooden table, piled high with empty potato chip bags, and soda cans. On the other side, there was a very large blue beanbag, given to Jacob by his younger sister, when she had decided she’d rather have a pink beanbag. Directly in front of the couch, placed against the wall, and on top of an old, two shelved bookshelf, was Jacob’s pride a glory. It was a very high tech 48” flat screen TV given to Jacob two years ago by his father. Jacob’s dad had bought it to replace an older TV, but just over a year after Mr. Zimmerman had purchased this masterpiece, a newer more improved model came out and he decided to discard this “outdated” machine, in favor of the newest version. When Matthew had told his parent’s of Jacob’s good luck they had just shook their heads in disbelief, not even being able to fathom such waste.

Matthew made his way to the messy corner in a few strides. Jacob was sitting on the very edge of the small couch, leaning so close to the TV that Matthew couldn’t understand how the pictures on the screen could look like anything more than blurs to Jacob. Matthew kicked a few stray video game cases out of the way, and flopped down on the beanbag.

“Yo.” Jacob said, too enthralled in his game to acknowledge Matthew any further.

“Hey Jake,” Matthew said, gruffly, still upset about the day. “I brought chips.” At that Jacob paused his game, giving Matthew his full attention.

“What kind?” Jacob asked. As if he really cares, Matthew thought riley, he’ll take anything he can get.
“Your favorite,” Matthew answered simply.

“Yes,” Jacob said reverently. “Hand over the cheesy goodness.” Matthew tossed the bag to Jacob. He snatched the bag out of the air, ripped it open, and began munching.

“So I heard all about what happened today,” Jacob stated in between the hand full of chips he was shoving into his mouth.

“Of course you did,” Matthew sighed. Even though Jacob went to the more expensive high school in the town this year, he still had many friends, and informants, in his old high school who kept him in the know.

“Well, I didn’t hear everything,” Jacob corrected. “I just heard you pulled a prank, and it didn’t go so well.”

“That’s the biggest understatement of the year,” Matthew said harshly. Jacob stopped shoveling chips into his mouth, and settled into the couch again. He knew when one of Matthew’s rants was coming. He un-paused his game, and began playing, with every intention of blocking Matthew out while he blew off some steam.

“So I came up with this awesome idea for a prank, right?” Matthew started. “I made it up, I figured out how to make it work. Zach Anderson and his cousin would pick three pigs up from Zach’s Granddad’s farm, we would cover them in mud, and label them ‘pig 1’ ‘pig 2’ and ‘pig 4’. Carter would let ‘em loose, they would make a mess in the school. They would cause complete chaos, and no one would be able to find ‘pig 3’. We might have even gotten time off while they searched. And nobody would ever have suspected me as the mastermind behind it all…”

Matthew trailed off, dreaming of the glory he had been so close to. Then he snapped out of his reverie, and went on with his story, “But no, that moron Allen Carter had to get caught. That wouldn’t have been so bad, him getting caught, if he had kept his mouth shut. But he had to go and squeal. He spills the entire plan, and that I’m behind it all. So I get the blame. I have to clean up the mess the pigs left behind. I get three weeks of detention. That’s not even so bad though, the other guys that were part of the prank got all that too, but I’m the only one who gets sports revoked until the end of the year. Just because I was the one who thought the thing up! I mean, sure the pigs made a mess, and Lesser got humiliated but –”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Jacob interrupted. “Did she really get chased around the whole school by all three of the pigs?”

“Yeah man,” Matthew answered, obviously proud. Jacob whistled.

“Dude, I wish I coulda’ seen that.”

“Man, it was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. She must have slipped, like, twelve times in all the mud.” Matthew beamed for a minute, but then his grin faded as he remembered his punishment once again. “But see Jake? That’s exactly my point, it was hilarious, but, Lesser was humiliated. Which is why that has to be the only reason I’m getting a bigger punishment than any of the other guys, there’s no other explanation.”

“What do you mean ‘there’s no other explanation’?” Jacob asked, obviously confused.

“I mean, the only reason I’m getting all this crap, is because it was my joke, and Lesser was personally offended by it.”

“Wait, so you don’t know about Alec?” Jacob asked.

“Alec?” Matthew asked, surprised to here that name brought into the conversation. “What does Alec have to do with any of this?”

“He’s in the hospital man, ‘causa your joke.”

“What are you talking about?” Matthew said his voice rising slightly. “What happened? What’s wrong with him?”

“Chill Matt, he’s not dead or anything.”

“Chill yourself Jake,” Matthew said acerbically, too upset now to bother about not offending Jacob. “Tell me what happened right now.”

“Well don’t blame me if what I heard isn’t right, this is second hand information I’m giving you here.”

Matthew shot up, off the beanbag chair and practically screamed, “Just tell me what happened Jacob.”

Now Jacob realized how serious this was: Matthew never called Jacob “Jacob” it was always “Jake”.

“Alright, alright. Sit down Matt.” Matthew sat back down on the beanbag, but he was too worked up now to relax, so he stood back up again, and started pacing.

“Ok,” Jacob began, “So, from what I hear, Alec was one of the people helping to capture the pigs. My informants tell me, that he had chased one down to that one hallway on the first floor, you know, the one that has the huge staircase that leads to the basement? Well, Alec chased this pig, I think it was number four… anyways, he chased it to the top of the stair case, and well…”

Jacob trailed off, unwilling to anger Matthew further.

“Well Jake? What happened?” Matthew asked impatient.

“No one’s really sure what happened, since no one was around when he actually fell – except the pig, and he ain’t talkin’” Jacob smirked at his joke, then looked at Matthew’s face and realized that this wasn’t the time.

Anyways, somehow Alec tripped or something, ‘cause someone found him in the basement, at the bottom of the stairs. From what I hear, it seems like it happened about the time you got called into the principle’s office with all the other guys, so that’s probably why Mrs. Lesser took away sports for you. See, Alec broke a leg, and an arm, fractured and sprained, like, every other bone in his body, and he cut himself up pretty bad. I hear he’s all black and blue, and there was a bunch of blood when they found him. But the doctors say he was lucky; because he didn’t snap his neck, or land on something really sharp at the end of the stairs and impale himself or something. Plus, someone found him real quick after he fell, so he didn’t loose as much blood as he could have. So from what I hear, he’s not in danger of dying or anything. But the last person I talked to said, that the doctors are thinking that he might never be able to play soccer again, because of something he did to his legs. Even if he does recover, he’s definitely going to miss the tournament this weekend. I guess that’s why you lost football. Mrs. Lesser thought it’d be fair, since Alec might loose soccer forever. Of course, I heard that Lesser was ready to just kick you out of school, but I guess somehow you got out of that.”

“Alec…” Matthew said in a strangled tone. He fell into the beanbag chair and sat there for what seemed like forever, in a shocked stupor.

“It’s OK, Matt. He’s probably not gonna die or anything,” Jacob said, trying to reassure Matthew. He was worried at the color Matthew’s face was turning, a sort of purplish-green.

Matthew finally regained consciousness a minute later. He shot up off of the beanbag chair, and bolted for the door, shouting over his shoulder, “I have to go.”

Matthew sped through the house, nearly knocking over several of Mrs. Zimmerman’s expensive vases.

“Alec,” Matthew said again as he scrambled to get into his car, and sped down the neighborhood road. Matthew wondered why couldn’t Alec have just, not helped for once in his life? Because he’s just not that kind of person, he thought, answering his own question. Alec was always helping. Many kids in the school called him a teacher’s pet, saying that he only helped around the school to get on Mrs. Lesser’s good side. The truth was, that Alec was genuinely just a nice kid, who liked to help people however he could. But why couldn’t he have just walked away this one time?

Matthew's heart was pounding. He knew that Jacob had said Alec was not in danger of death, but who knew with second hand information. Alec could be much worse, or much better than Jacob had described. The only way to find out was to get to local hospital as soon as Matthew’s old hand-me-down car would allow.

The thought of Alec’s small body covered in blood, as Jacob had described it, made Matthew sick. But the thought of Alec dead – kind hearted, happy-go-lucky Alec – was just unfathomable. And the idea of Alec not being able to play soccer, the thing he loved the most in the world, was just cruel.

Matthew’s foot pressed on the gas peddle harder. Kat’s gonna be so mad at me, he thought as he sped down the road that lead to the small hospital. Katherine Summers, Matthew’s steady girlfriend for the past three years, and Alec’s older sister, had temper as fiery as the red hair on her head. Matthew was of the opinion that she was the most overprotective older sister in the world and, whether Alec was dead or in perfect health after his accident, the fact that it had been Matthew’s prank that had caused the whole ordeal would mean trouble for him.

Matthew pulled into the hospital parking lot, and parked in the closest spot he could find. He nearly fell out of the car in his haste, and ran into the three-story hospital. This particular hospital was as familiar to Matthew as his own home. It was quite possible that he had spent more time in this hospital than anywhere else in the small town. He had been in every examination room, for various ailments and injuries over the course of his life, and spent at least on night in each and every bed in the entire hospital. Matthew’s frantic sprint ended as he nearly crashed into the front desk on the first floor of the hospital. As he came to a stop, he nearly screamed, “Bridget!”

“Keep your voice down boy,” Bridget’s harsh voice answered, as she walked out of a small room behind the desk, carrying a piece of paper.

“Bridget I –”

“Keep quiet for minute,” the portly, African American woman said to Matthew. She was garbed in nurse’s scrubs. Her shoulder length, thick brown hair was braided, and her hazel eyes glared at Matthew before she turned her back to him to face a woman carrying a small child. She spoke to the woman for what seemed like a decade to Matthew. Finally, Bridget handed the woman the piece of paper. Then, she wheeled around to face Matthew; slapping the hand he had been tapping the counter with.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Bridget scolded.

“I had no idea, Bridget, honestly. I just found out about ten minutes ago from Jake.”

Bridget, still glaring at Matthew, looked for deceit in his eyes. When she found none, she sighed.

“Well, I better warn you. Katherine’s in there, she has been since Alec got here. He looked terrible when got here, but it turned out he wasn’t hurt as bad as we thought he might have been. Still, you know Katherine. Alec came-to a while back, when your principal came by to check on him, but then he conked out again. As far as I know, he’s still out cold, so she’s had plenty of time to stew. I’d get up there quick, before she gets anymore time to plot her revenge.”

Matthew nearly smiled, despite himself.

“Which room is he in?”

“Summer of 04,” Bridget said simply. Matthew was already moving as the words left her mouth, flying down the halls to the stairs, shouting his thanks over his shoulder as he went. ‘Summer of 04’ was referring to the room Matthew stayed in after he had been in a boating accident in the Summer of 2004.

Matthew sped by the elevators, which were much to slow for his liking, straight to the staircase. He reached the second floor in record time, and made his way through the halls, avoiding patients, nurses, and doctors, until he reached the room Alec was staying in. He stopped abruptly in the doorway, when he saw Katherine sitting in a chair that she had pulled up beside Alec’s bed. Her back was turned to him, her long, flaming red hair was braided, and hung over the back of the chair she was resting in. She was obviously asleep, but Matthew could picture the glare she would give him when she woke up. The color of her eyes changed, depending on what she was wearing but, as Matthew walked slowly and quietly into the room, and saw that she was wearing, a plain fitted light blue t-shirt, he knew that her eyes would be a piercing blue grey today. Matthew decided to let her sleep, and turned his attention to Alec.

The hospital blanket covered him up to his chest, but his left leg, wrapped in a cast, was protruding, as it was elevated on a sling handing from the ceiling. His right upper arm was bandaged. His right wrist, which was wrapped in a brace, lay on his stomach. His left arm was in a huge cast, and rested at his side. His head was wrapped in bandages, and he had a neck brace on. There were various bandages of all sizes on the rest of Alec’s body, and every inch of skin that was still visible was bruised. Matthew walked around the hospital bed as he surveyed the damage he had unintentionally done to a boy who was like a brother to him. As he came to the side of the bed opposite to Katherine, he shot a glance in her direction.

“Crap,” he muttered. She was awake, still sitting in the chair, arms cross. She was glowering at him.

“I can’t believe you Matthew Crow,” Katherine said, murder in her eyes.

“Kat, I’m so sorry, you have no idea.”

“You better be sorry. Look at my baby brother.”

“Kat, he’s not a baby anymore…” Matthew trailed off, realizing that he wasn’t helping his case. “Anyways, it wasn’t my fault that he was the one who fell down the stairs,” he said, now defensive. “It could have been anyone.”

“You’re right, it could have been anyone, but it wasn’t. And as much as I hate to say it, you’re lucky it was Alec who fell down those stairs Matthew, you really are,” Katherine said, grudgingly, still angry.

“W-what?” Matthew stuttered. He had been expected Katherine to be beyond furious. It had even crossed his mind that she might actually break up with him for this. So what did she mean now? How could her baby brother falling down two flights of stairs be a good thing?

“Honestly, Matthew, what were you thinking? With a month to go until graduation? You could have gotten yourself expelled. And then where would you be? Gosh, you should have seen what Mrs. Lesser looked like when she came to check on Alec. She just kept going on and on about how you would never get your high school diploma if she had anything to do with it. If Alec hadn’t convinced her to let you off easy, your future would be so messed up right now. That’s why, as completely ticked as I am, I’m almost glad it was Alec who fell – Almost.”

Matthew sank into a chair next to Alec’s bed and put his head in his hands. It was all sinking in now. He had acted like a jerk to his friends, and his mom, and he had badmouthed more people than he could count. He had jeopardized his entire future, his chances of becoming a doctor, his relationship with the girl of his dreams, and the life of a boy who was more like his little brother than his actual brother. With one prank, that he had been so proud of just that morning, he had caused more damage than he ever could have imagined.

“Jake told me that Alec won’t be able to play soccer ever again, is that true?” Matthew asked, his head still in his hands.

“No, it’s not. After he heals up, he’ll be able to play again. But he’s going to miss a lot of games, including the biggest one of the Season on Sunday. They have enough players, so they won’t be forced to forfeit, but they’ve still lost their best player.” Matthew knew Katherine wasn’t being bias, Alec was truly a gifted soccer player, and the star on his team. Without Alec, that team’s chances were slim.

“Wow…” Matthew trailed off, realizing everything he had done, and everything he was going to have to do to make up for it.

“Yeah, wow,” Katherine agreed. They sat in silence for a minute, while Katherine let Matthew think. “So what are you gonna do Matt?” Matthew knew what he was going to do. What he had to do. He slowly stood up.

“I have to go,” Matthew said, as he walked to the door. Katherine just followed. He turned to her and they hugged. “I’m so sorry,” Matthew said again.

“I know,” Katherine answered, looking up at him, forgiveness in her eyes. Then she smiled and impish grin and said, “You better dig in Matty, you’ve got a lot of crow to eat.”

Matthew smiled back, glad that she wasn’t so mad that she couldn’t joke. Katherine had informed Matthew early on in their relationship that “To eat crow” basically meant to admit you were wrong. It was Katherine’s own personal “I told you so” specially tailored for Matthew. It sometimes got on Matthew’s nerves, but today he knew she was right, and he didn’t mind. He knew had a lot of wrongs to right.

“Call me the second he opens his eyes.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you later then,” Matthew said. Katherine kissed him lightly, and then simply said,
“Good luck.”

Matthew smiled at her, turned, and walked down the hospital hallway. He had a lot to make up for, and he wanted to do it before Alec woke up. First and foremost, he had to talk to his Mom, then Jacob, then Mrs. Lesser, and many others. He had seriously goofed, but he was going to make up for it. As Matthew made his way past the front desk, he passed Bridget.

“And where are you going?” she asked. Matthew kept walking, but turned to face Bridget. As he walked backwards towards the hospital door he smiled and said, “Home. I have a lot of eating to do.”