Post by KG on Aug 31, 2007 0:35:19 GMT -5
Rachel
There was never a time, from the day Rachel was born, I didn’t love her. That feeling only grew over the years as we grew up together. Her hair was blond when she was a little girl, and her eyes were sparkling blue and full of the purest admiration whenever she looked at me. At least that is what I thought that look meant. I was not completely sure what she thought of me at first, but she never had a single doubt about how I felt about her. She always just assumed I wanted to pick her up and carry her back to the house, even though my back was tired from cleaning out the barn, mending fences, and whatever else needed to be done. She was always right, though. I did want to. She also assumed that as soon as we got back to the house it was playtime for us, and of course she was always right again. I could rest later, after she was safely tucked in bed.
I was like her big brother, though not really, I was just a foster kid, and she was the real thing. She was the daughter of a farmer and his wife, who were kind enough to take in a kid like me. I already knew I was lucky to be here, and sure hoped I got to stay. They like to move us around a lot for some reason, but before I had always been more than ready to go. This time was different.
I helped out on the farm. At first it was hard, as I struggled to keep up with that old farmer, Mr. McConnell. Gradually I grew and strengthened, as my muscles got used to the work. It was a really good home, compared to some of the places I’d been. The McConnells were kind, and decent people, who tried to teach me how to live my life well. I kind of enjoyed the farm work, and Mr. McConnell talked to me all the time. He told stories about farm equipment, and cows, and old friends from down at the local store.
My grades were not good, and Mrs. McConnell nagged me constantly about that, never realizing I was doing the best I could. Everyone thought I was just goofing off, and that was exactly what I wanted them to think. It really took a lot of effort to make everyone think that. It made it harder for me in some ways, because I got scolded a lot, but it was better than them knowing the truth. I felt the truth deeply, but it was my secret. To me, the truth was, I was not very bright. The teacher talked, but I had no idea what she was saying, really. I mean I understood the words, but after a while it all ran together, no matter how hard I tried to focus on her little speeches. The books were worse, full of words I’d never seen or heard before, and I couldn’t even talk without being corrected.
Apparently I didn’t understand which verb tense to use. They should not be surprised considering I had no idea what a verb tense was at that time. I responded with a laugh, and told that teacher, maybe her and her d**n verbs should calm down and not be so tense. Hell, she was always telling me to calm down, why couldn’t she take her own advice, and just be cool about this.
I was sorry though, when I saw that tired old farmer’s face. He too had been summoned to the principal’s office. It was bad enough my mouth had got me in trouble, one more time, but it was unfair to call this man away from his work, just because I cracked a joke and used a swear word or two. He didn’t look angry though, he just looked sad, very sad, and as always he looked tired.
According to the Principal I was incorrigible, and belonged in a Juvenile detention center, not a public school. I was nothing but trouble, and he was tired of trying to deal with me. He then threatened to call the Welfare officials and tell them I was disruptive to the school. He said something had to be done.
Suddenly I was scared, very scared. I felt the sweat start to trickle down my forehead as the heat of the September afternoon became amplified by this new terror. I didn’t want to go to jail, and that is what a detention center was. I knew a boy once who had been there, and though he was generally tough, and a little mean, he trembled at the thought of having to go there again. If they scared him, what would they do to me?
“Please sir,” Mr. McConnell began on my behalf. “He is a good boy at home, and never causes us a bit of trouble. He works hard on the farm, till I know he’s worn out, but he never complains, or tries to get out of his chores. Then he does all he can to help my wife in the kitchen. He’s so sweet with my baby girl. He takes on a lot of extra duties around the house without being asked. I don’t see what your problem is with him, but I am sure if I tell him to be good at school, he’ll do what I ask him. I have never asked him to do anything that he didn’t follow through on. Just let me talk to the boy, and I am sure we can solve the problem without bothering those folks down at Welfare.” Then he looked pleadingly at Mr. Trevor who had become my arch nemesis that year. “I really don’t want to loose this boy.” He said very softly.
“I really don’t see any choice here. I appreciate that he does your work, and you like him, but we cannot have the kind of disruptions he is causing. He goes beyond class clown. He is just short of riotous in his disruptions. His jokes are not appropriate for mixed company much less children, and his language is inexcusable. He used the F word five times last week. It is not that what he did today is any worse. Just that the last time was his final warning. We have tried to deal with him, but he refuses to pay attention in his classes, he refuses to do his work, and we cannot have the other children learning the words he uses.”
The old farmer, stood up, and looked nervously at me for a moment, his eyes were just a little misted, but then I saw new courage in him. “Mr. Trevor sir, you have no idea what this boy has been through, in that infernal system. When I got him, he had strap marks, bruises, and some other stuff I had to take him to the doctor for. His arm’s been broken, and they didn’t even bother to set it, they just let it heal on its on. You can see that it healed a little crooked. You can’t send him back to them. Most of the cussing… He doesn’t know any better. It is just the way he learned to talk. We are trying to teach him not to say those words, and he is doing a lot better. When we first got him it was in almost every sentence. He still slips sometimes, but he is really trying. I’ve only had him a little over a two years. His teacher didn’t have that much trouble with him last year. She spanked him a few times, but I have no problem with that. I’m sure he’s suffered worse. Can’t you just paddle him, or give him extra homework, or something? Please don’t call those people on him. He really is a good kid. After some of the people he’s been around, its understandable he would be a little rough around the edges. He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s got a good heart.”
“His third grade teacher, Mrs. Marsh didn’t have any trouble with him, but Mrs. Phelps does, now that he is in fourth grade. Is that what you are saying?”
“I guess so. Mrs. Marsh seemed to like him She helped him a lot. He seemed to be learning some things. I admit this year his grades seem to be bad, but I don’t think he really understands the work. Sometimes boys will act up when they don’t understand something, rather than let on they don’t know.”
“Well, let me talk to Mrs. Marsh then, and see what she thinks. I’ll get back to you, but I am sending him home for the day to think about what he said.”
On the way out I looked up at this man who was the closest thing I ever had to a dad. I slowly realized it was the first time anyone had ever stood up for me; the first time an adult had ever taken my side, against another adult. He smiled down, and put his hand on my shoulder. He was smiling, but he looked as if he was about to cry.
“Thanks Daddy,” I said softly. It was the first time I had called him that, and I really didn’t know how he was going to take it. I had always called him Mr. McConnell. I thought it might be presumptuous of me to call him daddy although that was the way I had begun to think of him. Deep down I think I was afraid of that feeling, and of getting too attached. I knew that they could come and get me at any time, but I also knew it was going to hurt this time no matter how much I tried to distance myself from it. I couldn’t stand the thought of loosing this Father, though he was not really my father, nor could I stand to loose little Rachel.
Mr. McConnell suddenly bent down and hugged me tightly. It almost frightened me at first. I always panicked if someone grabbed me or touched me too suddenly, but this time it felt really good. He squeezed me to him and whispered, “It’s OK son. I know you can’t help it, but you really have to try harder. I can’t stand to loose you. You are my son.” He paused a moment as I felt his tear soaked face on my cheek. “Don’t worry Davie, we’ll go home and figure out what to do.”
Several things happened, after that. My Dad went down to the welfare office, and asked about adopting me. Although my caseworker said we could not do that, since my mother was unwilling to sign the papers, she would do her very best to make sure I stayed with the McConnells from now on. It was not exactly a promise but it was a lot better than what I had before.
I had to take a test at school. They told me that I must do my best. It was important. I would take the test with only Mrs. Marsh in the room with me. No one other than my teachers and my parents would ever know the results of that test.
Well, I did my best, but people started treating me very differently after that. Whatever I did wrong in class seemed to be overlooked, and Mrs. Phelps looked at me with a lot of pity, instead of her usual contempt. I really missed that contemptuous look in her eyes now, because as frustrating as her hatred was, and as formidable a foe as she had been, her pity was so much worse. Out on the playground the other kids, who had once laughed at my dirty jokes, and insolent remarks, now shoved me around, and sometimes they called me a retard. I had to take special classes in the library, while everyone else had recess and ice cream break. Basically, I was miserable at school, but at least home was still a safe place.
Mrs. McConnell started to help me with my new homework, carefully sounding each word out. I was trying very hard since it had been determined I didn’t know how to read. I felt it was doubtful that I would ever be smart enough to master this very confusing skill. To make it worse, sometimes I couldn’t remember the lesson from the day before at all. As the years passed, I started realizing that there were a lot of things I couldn’t remember. Not just in school, but in my daily work on the farm. I couldn’t remember if I fed the dog or not, or if that was yesterday, or last week. I really felt I was loosing my mind.
A few years later, right after I turned twelve, it suddenly got a lot worse. One day I just woke up in the middle of a cornfield. As I thought back on it, I remembered that some kid much bigger than me shoved me into a box, and that it had been very dark inside. I remembered someone screaming, “Get in the box. Quit crying you little brat and get into that box now.” Then someone shoved me into a crate. It was such a tiny crate. I barely fit, and I had been tightly curled inside, for what seemed like hours. I heard a lot of words I was no longer allowed to use, from outside the box. Then I apparently went to sleep. The craziest thing was that I could swear before the lid of that box dropped I saw my own face glaring back at me, as this angry other me, closed the lid.
Standing in the Cornfield, I was terrified, as I tried to gain my sense of direction. I decided to walk down the row to the end, without changing directions no matter how long that took. It was obviously the only way to find my way out. Even if I went in the wrong direction, I would eventually come out somewhere, and I would know where I was. As things were, I had no idea. There were cornfields all over our farm, and many other cornfields throughout the county. I was sure other counties had cornfields too. For all I knew I was in another state. I started to get really frightened. I ran down the row to the end. I found myself on the highway, gathered my wits, and headed home.
Normally I would have lied about what happened, but I had decided to trust those people. Besides I had recently started to agree with the idea that lying was a sin, even if it got you out of trouble, or made you look smarter than you really were. “Be sure your sins will find you out,” The preacher’s voice thundered in my head as I hurried back home. That sermon had struck a familiar chord with me, and I had decided to tell the truth from now on. I could easily see he was right. There were just some things that could not be denied, and my stupidity was just one of them. There was no point in lying now anyway. They already knew I was dumb as a rock. What else did I have to hide?
I had been walking for almost an hour, and I was still over three miles from the house. I could not imagine how I had gotten so far away, unless someone had taken me. Surely I had been kidnapped, but that memory was getting a little foggy by the time I got home. Besides my story made no sense. I couldn’t figure out why someone would do that, or why Red hadn’t barked to warn me. I remembered clearly that I was crouched beside Daddy’s huge hunting dog, when it happened. I was telling Red about my troubles at school, and crying into his soft red coat, when that guy came up and shoved me into the box. Red would have never let something like that happen. He was a gentle dog, but not that gentle. He would have barked or probably bit the guy. It was a lame story, but I had to tell them something, because they were obviously looking for me.
I told them the truth as I remembered it, but I did not mention it had been me who locked me in the box. That just seemed too crazy. I was not about to tell them that. I also told them the other kid must have beat me, because I hurt all over. My back felt like I had been hit repeatedly with a ball bat.
They just stared at me as I finished my story. Daddy looked sad and tired again. Little Rachel wrapped her arms around me, and looked up into my face. She looked very worried. I had never seen that look on her face before.
Mrs. McConnell was the first to speak. “That is the craziest thing I ever heard. How dare you come in here and lie after slipping off like that. If you want to go for a walk, just tell us, but don’t ever take off without letting us know where you are going. We were worried sick. Lying about it just makes it worse.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but it is true. I don’t know why or how. I have been wondering that myself. It doesn’t make any sense at all, but that is what happened. I am really scared, because that is exactly what I remember happening, and I don’t understand it either.”
“Well whatever happened, you said your back hurt, let me see if there are any bruises.” Mr. McConnell had a tone in his voice he had never used towards me before. He thought I was probably lying too, but if I proved to have actual bruises or any kind of mark, it would add credence to my wild story. Unfortunately for me, there was not a mark on me, and I could not understand why I was in so much pain. I hurt all over, and felt very miserable besides. I had told the truth and no one believed me, except perhaps Little Rachel.
“Son, I don’t know why you are lying to us,” Daddy began, “but it is very hurtful that you would be so dishonest. Just tell us what really happened, and we will try to understand that, whatever it is, but don’t come in here with your tall tails and expect us to believe you. Old Red would have torn that fellow apart before he let him sneak in here and snatch you from right under his nose. He didn’t even bark. There haven’t been any cars down that dirt road all day. It rained last night, so I could tell. I already looked when we noticed you were missing. I don’t think anyone could have carried a crate with you in it for over seven miles. There is just no way that is possible. Come on Davie tell us the truth.”
I shrugged, unsure of what to say, now since they didn’t believe me. If I had been smart, I may have been able to replace my unbelievable truth, with a somewhat more credible lie, but I was not smart. That had already been established. Why couldn’t they believe that I was apparently too stupid to understand whatever had really happened.
Mrs. McConnell was suddenly raging at me. “I was terrified that you were lost. You should at least have the decency to tell us what happened. If you can’t tell us, then you will just have to spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and go to bed without supper.
Six year old Rachel stepped forward abruptly to the center of the room. She looked very angry. “Stop Mommy! He is telling the truth. See!” She looked into my face, as if it were absolute proof of my story. She was totally confounded that her parents could not see that. “Davie is hurt,” she added sympathetically.
I finally knew that Rachel truly loved me. I was more than a fun playmate, I was her friend, and that meant so much to me, it at least softened the blow of being accused of lying. I was always very appreciative when someone stuck up for me, and for her to defend me certainly meant a lot. Still it stung that they didn’t believe me, when I actually was telling them all I knew. They didn’t listen to her either though, and I was sent to bed without supper.
I really felt like going to bed anyway. I was completely exhausted from the walk home, but it would have been nice if they had checked on me. Later that night, I started to feel really sick. I tried to get up, but I couldn’t. I tried to call out, but there was no strength in my voice at all. I tried with all my might, but I could not raise my voice above a whisper. Just as I was thinking I was probably going to die, the door creaked open. Little Rachel stood in the open doorway. She looked very worried, as she ran to my bedside, and put her hand on my forehead.
“You have a fever,” she said, as she drew out her toy stethoscope playfully. “Oh Davie,” she exclaimed suddenly. She climbed up on my bed and embraced me very tightly. “You are really sick! I am so sorry it hurts. It’s going to be OK Davie! Just hold on. I’m right here.”
She cuddled me close to her. She couldn’t seem to get close enough’ as she squirmed into my chest, and pulled me tightly to her. I tried to tell her to get her father, but suddenly I just fell. I felt as if I were spiraling down a deep tunnel, but this tunnel was not dark, it was filled with bright light. I thought I must be dying, received into heaven by the embrace of a tiny angel. What a beautiful way for that to happen.
I looked around and realized I was sitting in a chair, a huge pink fluffy chair. I looked down at my body in amazement. I was just a little kid, that is why this chair seemed so big. I wasn’t any bigger than Rachel, who was now bending over me, with great concern.
“Davie, are you OK now?”
“I don’t think so Rachel? Where are we? Am I dead? Is this Heaven?”
As I asked this, I started looking around. Just my luck! Heaven was decorated entirely in pink. I would have guessed blue, or maybe green, even yellow, but this huge room was totally pink, and everything was fluffy somehow. There was pink fake fur, pink velvet, pink overstuffed pillows, pink shag carpet, and soft pink furniture. All this pink was making me feel slightly uncomfortable, but at the same time I felt strangely safe. I had never felt that exact feeling before. Security was not an emotion I was really familiar with, but I felt it here powerfully for the first time in my life. Security and love flooded my being, and I felt certain this was heaven, pink or not.
“No silly,” Rachel explained with a smile. This isn’t heaven, this is my room.”
“Rachel this is not your room. It is huge in here. This is the biggest room I have ever been in. It is bigger than the school auditorium! How is this like your room? I’ve been in your room before, and believe me this is not your room!”
I was still feeling safe, but also amazed, and just a tiny bit unnerved. I gradually became worried by the fact that Rachel was with me. If I was dead, what did this mean? Had I infected her with some awful virus? Oh God, I thought. Not her. I can’t think of a more wonderful person to spend eternity with than Rachel, but I didn’t want her to be dead. What if it was my fault somehow? Heaven could easily become hell if I had to look into that little face for all eternity, and know that I had somehow caused or allowed her to die. I could not stand that, even if it was just by letting her catch some sickness from me. I should have never let her hug me when I was sick. I knew better. Why did I let her come so close?
(Continued below)
There was never a time, from the day Rachel was born, I didn’t love her. That feeling only grew over the years as we grew up together. Her hair was blond when she was a little girl, and her eyes were sparkling blue and full of the purest admiration whenever she looked at me. At least that is what I thought that look meant. I was not completely sure what she thought of me at first, but she never had a single doubt about how I felt about her. She always just assumed I wanted to pick her up and carry her back to the house, even though my back was tired from cleaning out the barn, mending fences, and whatever else needed to be done. She was always right, though. I did want to. She also assumed that as soon as we got back to the house it was playtime for us, and of course she was always right again. I could rest later, after she was safely tucked in bed.
I was like her big brother, though not really, I was just a foster kid, and she was the real thing. She was the daughter of a farmer and his wife, who were kind enough to take in a kid like me. I already knew I was lucky to be here, and sure hoped I got to stay. They like to move us around a lot for some reason, but before I had always been more than ready to go. This time was different.
I helped out on the farm. At first it was hard, as I struggled to keep up with that old farmer, Mr. McConnell. Gradually I grew and strengthened, as my muscles got used to the work. It was a really good home, compared to some of the places I’d been. The McConnells were kind, and decent people, who tried to teach me how to live my life well. I kind of enjoyed the farm work, and Mr. McConnell talked to me all the time. He told stories about farm equipment, and cows, and old friends from down at the local store.
My grades were not good, and Mrs. McConnell nagged me constantly about that, never realizing I was doing the best I could. Everyone thought I was just goofing off, and that was exactly what I wanted them to think. It really took a lot of effort to make everyone think that. It made it harder for me in some ways, because I got scolded a lot, but it was better than them knowing the truth. I felt the truth deeply, but it was my secret. To me, the truth was, I was not very bright. The teacher talked, but I had no idea what she was saying, really. I mean I understood the words, but after a while it all ran together, no matter how hard I tried to focus on her little speeches. The books were worse, full of words I’d never seen or heard before, and I couldn’t even talk without being corrected.
Apparently I didn’t understand which verb tense to use. They should not be surprised considering I had no idea what a verb tense was at that time. I responded with a laugh, and told that teacher, maybe her and her d**n verbs should calm down and not be so tense. Hell, she was always telling me to calm down, why couldn’t she take her own advice, and just be cool about this.
I was sorry though, when I saw that tired old farmer’s face. He too had been summoned to the principal’s office. It was bad enough my mouth had got me in trouble, one more time, but it was unfair to call this man away from his work, just because I cracked a joke and used a swear word or two. He didn’t look angry though, he just looked sad, very sad, and as always he looked tired.
According to the Principal I was incorrigible, and belonged in a Juvenile detention center, not a public school. I was nothing but trouble, and he was tired of trying to deal with me. He then threatened to call the Welfare officials and tell them I was disruptive to the school. He said something had to be done.
Suddenly I was scared, very scared. I felt the sweat start to trickle down my forehead as the heat of the September afternoon became amplified by this new terror. I didn’t want to go to jail, and that is what a detention center was. I knew a boy once who had been there, and though he was generally tough, and a little mean, he trembled at the thought of having to go there again. If they scared him, what would they do to me?
“Please sir,” Mr. McConnell began on my behalf. “He is a good boy at home, and never causes us a bit of trouble. He works hard on the farm, till I know he’s worn out, but he never complains, or tries to get out of his chores. Then he does all he can to help my wife in the kitchen. He’s so sweet with my baby girl. He takes on a lot of extra duties around the house without being asked. I don’t see what your problem is with him, but I am sure if I tell him to be good at school, he’ll do what I ask him. I have never asked him to do anything that he didn’t follow through on. Just let me talk to the boy, and I am sure we can solve the problem without bothering those folks down at Welfare.” Then he looked pleadingly at Mr. Trevor who had become my arch nemesis that year. “I really don’t want to loose this boy.” He said very softly.
“I really don’t see any choice here. I appreciate that he does your work, and you like him, but we cannot have the kind of disruptions he is causing. He goes beyond class clown. He is just short of riotous in his disruptions. His jokes are not appropriate for mixed company much less children, and his language is inexcusable. He used the F word five times last week. It is not that what he did today is any worse. Just that the last time was his final warning. We have tried to deal with him, but he refuses to pay attention in his classes, he refuses to do his work, and we cannot have the other children learning the words he uses.”
The old farmer, stood up, and looked nervously at me for a moment, his eyes were just a little misted, but then I saw new courage in him. “Mr. Trevor sir, you have no idea what this boy has been through, in that infernal system. When I got him, he had strap marks, bruises, and some other stuff I had to take him to the doctor for. His arm’s been broken, and they didn’t even bother to set it, they just let it heal on its on. You can see that it healed a little crooked. You can’t send him back to them. Most of the cussing… He doesn’t know any better. It is just the way he learned to talk. We are trying to teach him not to say those words, and he is doing a lot better. When we first got him it was in almost every sentence. He still slips sometimes, but he is really trying. I’ve only had him a little over a two years. His teacher didn’t have that much trouble with him last year. She spanked him a few times, but I have no problem with that. I’m sure he’s suffered worse. Can’t you just paddle him, or give him extra homework, or something? Please don’t call those people on him. He really is a good kid. After some of the people he’s been around, its understandable he would be a little rough around the edges. He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s got a good heart.”
“His third grade teacher, Mrs. Marsh didn’t have any trouble with him, but Mrs. Phelps does, now that he is in fourth grade. Is that what you are saying?”
“I guess so. Mrs. Marsh seemed to like him She helped him a lot. He seemed to be learning some things. I admit this year his grades seem to be bad, but I don’t think he really understands the work. Sometimes boys will act up when they don’t understand something, rather than let on they don’t know.”
“Well, let me talk to Mrs. Marsh then, and see what she thinks. I’ll get back to you, but I am sending him home for the day to think about what he said.”
On the way out I looked up at this man who was the closest thing I ever had to a dad. I slowly realized it was the first time anyone had ever stood up for me; the first time an adult had ever taken my side, against another adult. He smiled down, and put his hand on my shoulder. He was smiling, but he looked as if he was about to cry.
“Thanks Daddy,” I said softly. It was the first time I had called him that, and I really didn’t know how he was going to take it. I had always called him Mr. McConnell. I thought it might be presumptuous of me to call him daddy although that was the way I had begun to think of him. Deep down I think I was afraid of that feeling, and of getting too attached. I knew that they could come and get me at any time, but I also knew it was going to hurt this time no matter how much I tried to distance myself from it. I couldn’t stand the thought of loosing this Father, though he was not really my father, nor could I stand to loose little Rachel.
Mr. McConnell suddenly bent down and hugged me tightly. It almost frightened me at first. I always panicked if someone grabbed me or touched me too suddenly, but this time it felt really good. He squeezed me to him and whispered, “It’s OK son. I know you can’t help it, but you really have to try harder. I can’t stand to loose you. You are my son.” He paused a moment as I felt his tear soaked face on my cheek. “Don’t worry Davie, we’ll go home and figure out what to do.”
Several things happened, after that. My Dad went down to the welfare office, and asked about adopting me. Although my caseworker said we could not do that, since my mother was unwilling to sign the papers, she would do her very best to make sure I stayed with the McConnells from now on. It was not exactly a promise but it was a lot better than what I had before.
I had to take a test at school. They told me that I must do my best. It was important. I would take the test with only Mrs. Marsh in the room with me. No one other than my teachers and my parents would ever know the results of that test.
Well, I did my best, but people started treating me very differently after that. Whatever I did wrong in class seemed to be overlooked, and Mrs. Phelps looked at me with a lot of pity, instead of her usual contempt. I really missed that contemptuous look in her eyes now, because as frustrating as her hatred was, and as formidable a foe as she had been, her pity was so much worse. Out on the playground the other kids, who had once laughed at my dirty jokes, and insolent remarks, now shoved me around, and sometimes they called me a retard. I had to take special classes in the library, while everyone else had recess and ice cream break. Basically, I was miserable at school, but at least home was still a safe place.
Mrs. McConnell started to help me with my new homework, carefully sounding each word out. I was trying very hard since it had been determined I didn’t know how to read. I felt it was doubtful that I would ever be smart enough to master this very confusing skill. To make it worse, sometimes I couldn’t remember the lesson from the day before at all. As the years passed, I started realizing that there were a lot of things I couldn’t remember. Not just in school, but in my daily work on the farm. I couldn’t remember if I fed the dog or not, or if that was yesterday, or last week. I really felt I was loosing my mind.
A few years later, right after I turned twelve, it suddenly got a lot worse. One day I just woke up in the middle of a cornfield. As I thought back on it, I remembered that some kid much bigger than me shoved me into a box, and that it had been very dark inside. I remembered someone screaming, “Get in the box. Quit crying you little brat and get into that box now.” Then someone shoved me into a crate. It was such a tiny crate. I barely fit, and I had been tightly curled inside, for what seemed like hours. I heard a lot of words I was no longer allowed to use, from outside the box. Then I apparently went to sleep. The craziest thing was that I could swear before the lid of that box dropped I saw my own face glaring back at me, as this angry other me, closed the lid.
Standing in the Cornfield, I was terrified, as I tried to gain my sense of direction. I decided to walk down the row to the end, without changing directions no matter how long that took. It was obviously the only way to find my way out. Even if I went in the wrong direction, I would eventually come out somewhere, and I would know where I was. As things were, I had no idea. There were cornfields all over our farm, and many other cornfields throughout the county. I was sure other counties had cornfields too. For all I knew I was in another state. I started to get really frightened. I ran down the row to the end. I found myself on the highway, gathered my wits, and headed home.
Normally I would have lied about what happened, but I had decided to trust those people. Besides I had recently started to agree with the idea that lying was a sin, even if it got you out of trouble, or made you look smarter than you really were. “Be sure your sins will find you out,” The preacher’s voice thundered in my head as I hurried back home. That sermon had struck a familiar chord with me, and I had decided to tell the truth from now on. I could easily see he was right. There were just some things that could not be denied, and my stupidity was just one of them. There was no point in lying now anyway. They already knew I was dumb as a rock. What else did I have to hide?
I had been walking for almost an hour, and I was still over three miles from the house. I could not imagine how I had gotten so far away, unless someone had taken me. Surely I had been kidnapped, but that memory was getting a little foggy by the time I got home. Besides my story made no sense. I couldn’t figure out why someone would do that, or why Red hadn’t barked to warn me. I remembered clearly that I was crouched beside Daddy’s huge hunting dog, when it happened. I was telling Red about my troubles at school, and crying into his soft red coat, when that guy came up and shoved me into the box. Red would have never let something like that happen. He was a gentle dog, but not that gentle. He would have barked or probably bit the guy. It was a lame story, but I had to tell them something, because they were obviously looking for me.
I told them the truth as I remembered it, but I did not mention it had been me who locked me in the box. That just seemed too crazy. I was not about to tell them that. I also told them the other kid must have beat me, because I hurt all over. My back felt like I had been hit repeatedly with a ball bat.
They just stared at me as I finished my story. Daddy looked sad and tired again. Little Rachel wrapped her arms around me, and looked up into my face. She looked very worried. I had never seen that look on her face before.
Mrs. McConnell was the first to speak. “That is the craziest thing I ever heard. How dare you come in here and lie after slipping off like that. If you want to go for a walk, just tell us, but don’t ever take off without letting us know where you are going. We were worried sick. Lying about it just makes it worse.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but it is true. I don’t know why or how. I have been wondering that myself. It doesn’t make any sense at all, but that is what happened. I am really scared, because that is exactly what I remember happening, and I don’t understand it either.”
“Well whatever happened, you said your back hurt, let me see if there are any bruises.” Mr. McConnell had a tone in his voice he had never used towards me before. He thought I was probably lying too, but if I proved to have actual bruises or any kind of mark, it would add credence to my wild story. Unfortunately for me, there was not a mark on me, and I could not understand why I was in so much pain. I hurt all over, and felt very miserable besides. I had told the truth and no one believed me, except perhaps Little Rachel.
“Son, I don’t know why you are lying to us,” Daddy began, “but it is very hurtful that you would be so dishonest. Just tell us what really happened, and we will try to understand that, whatever it is, but don’t come in here with your tall tails and expect us to believe you. Old Red would have torn that fellow apart before he let him sneak in here and snatch you from right under his nose. He didn’t even bark. There haven’t been any cars down that dirt road all day. It rained last night, so I could tell. I already looked when we noticed you were missing. I don’t think anyone could have carried a crate with you in it for over seven miles. There is just no way that is possible. Come on Davie tell us the truth.”
I shrugged, unsure of what to say, now since they didn’t believe me. If I had been smart, I may have been able to replace my unbelievable truth, with a somewhat more credible lie, but I was not smart. That had already been established. Why couldn’t they believe that I was apparently too stupid to understand whatever had really happened.
Mrs. McConnell was suddenly raging at me. “I was terrified that you were lost. You should at least have the decency to tell us what happened. If you can’t tell us, then you will just have to spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and go to bed without supper.
Six year old Rachel stepped forward abruptly to the center of the room. She looked very angry. “Stop Mommy! He is telling the truth. See!” She looked into my face, as if it were absolute proof of my story. She was totally confounded that her parents could not see that. “Davie is hurt,” she added sympathetically.
I finally knew that Rachel truly loved me. I was more than a fun playmate, I was her friend, and that meant so much to me, it at least softened the blow of being accused of lying. I was always very appreciative when someone stuck up for me, and for her to defend me certainly meant a lot. Still it stung that they didn’t believe me, when I actually was telling them all I knew. They didn’t listen to her either though, and I was sent to bed without supper.
I really felt like going to bed anyway. I was completely exhausted from the walk home, but it would have been nice if they had checked on me. Later that night, I started to feel really sick. I tried to get up, but I couldn’t. I tried to call out, but there was no strength in my voice at all. I tried with all my might, but I could not raise my voice above a whisper. Just as I was thinking I was probably going to die, the door creaked open. Little Rachel stood in the open doorway. She looked very worried, as she ran to my bedside, and put her hand on my forehead.
“You have a fever,” she said, as she drew out her toy stethoscope playfully. “Oh Davie,” she exclaimed suddenly. She climbed up on my bed and embraced me very tightly. “You are really sick! I am so sorry it hurts. It’s going to be OK Davie! Just hold on. I’m right here.”
She cuddled me close to her. She couldn’t seem to get close enough’ as she squirmed into my chest, and pulled me tightly to her. I tried to tell her to get her father, but suddenly I just fell. I felt as if I were spiraling down a deep tunnel, but this tunnel was not dark, it was filled with bright light. I thought I must be dying, received into heaven by the embrace of a tiny angel. What a beautiful way for that to happen.
I looked around and realized I was sitting in a chair, a huge pink fluffy chair. I looked down at my body in amazement. I was just a little kid, that is why this chair seemed so big. I wasn’t any bigger than Rachel, who was now bending over me, with great concern.
“Davie, are you OK now?”
“I don’t think so Rachel? Where are we? Am I dead? Is this Heaven?”
As I asked this, I started looking around. Just my luck! Heaven was decorated entirely in pink. I would have guessed blue, or maybe green, even yellow, but this huge room was totally pink, and everything was fluffy somehow. There was pink fake fur, pink velvet, pink overstuffed pillows, pink shag carpet, and soft pink furniture. All this pink was making me feel slightly uncomfortable, but at the same time I felt strangely safe. I had never felt that exact feeling before. Security was not an emotion I was really familiar with, but I felt it here powerfully for the first time in my life. Security and love flooded my being, and I felt certain this was heaven, pink or not.
“No silly,” Rachel explained with a smile. This isn’t heaven, this is my room.”
“Rachel this is not your room. It is huge in here. This is the biggest room I have ever been in. It is bigger than the school auditorium! How is this like your room? I’ve been in your room before, and believe me this is not your room!”
I was still feeling safe, but also amazed, and just a tiny bit unnerved. I gradually became worried by the fact that Rachel was with me. If I was dead, what did this mean? Had I infected her with some awful virus? Oh God, I thought. Not her. I can’t think of a more wonderful person to spend eternity with than Rachel, but I didn’t want her to be dead. What if it was my fault somehow? Heaven could easily become hell if I had to look into that little face for all eternity, and know that I had somehow caused or allowed her to die. I could not stand that, even if it was just by letting her catch some sickness from me. I should have never let her hug me when I was sick. I knew better. Why did I let her come so close?
(Continued below)